#not very often that we see the Hulk get so overwhelmed that he has to ‘flee’ by turning back into Bruce

[daydreamerdrew]

The Incredible Hulk (1968) #240

[strawberry-lemonade-kisses]

Sound6HashiraSux

Warnings: lot's of swearing, bullying, harrassment, we are making fun of Tengen, no love only hate, mentions of sex, vulgar language

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

Tengen was a very patient man. He had 4 wives after all, how could he not be? He was quiet when needed and there in an instant if you wanted him. So it was very unusual for him to be so agitated and stressed, even more so when all 4 of his wives were completely unsure as to why.

“Tengen, love. Suma and I are going to go see Hinatsuru at work and bring her lunch, Makio is going to meet us for her lunch as well. Did you want to come?” you adjusted the scarf around your neck while you padded towards the couch where Tengen sat. He was in a very common position of his, hunched over the short coffee table, grumbling at his laptop. He ignored your question and typed furiously on the poor device, he was bound to break it soon if he kept treating it like this. “Sweetheart? Maybe you should take a break from work” Pushing back the silver bangs that were falling into his eyes you tried to soothe his growing agitation, becoming worse as the moments passed.

“Y/N! Tengen! Let's get going! Hina’s lunch starts in 20 minutes and Makio has already left!” Suma bounced into the room, smoothing down her velvet coat, bundled up for the cold weather as much as you were. Tengen huffed under your hand, swatting you away with some more mumbles. You turned towards your wife, eyebrows furrowed at the rejection of your affection. “Tengen don't be mean to Y/N!” Suma immediately latched onto your arm, cuddling into your side as you both hovered over your husband.

“Will you two leave already! You're so annoying!” He growled, leaning back into the couch cushions, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Fine, let’s go Suma, we don’t want lunch to get cold before the girls can eat.” Tugging on Suma's hand you left a pouting Tengen on the couch, letting him throw his hissy fit.

“And then he just sat there?”

“What is his problem lately? He wouldn’t even take a shower with me after work the other day” Makio spoke over her bowl of casserole, cheeks stuffed with the broccoli and rice dish.

“I don’t know, he's been stuck to that computer since the gala. Do you think the master has him tracking someone?” the annual Slayer Gala. Since the demon slayer corporation was officially recognized by the government and became a branch in their defenses the slayers and especially the hashira had been highly regarded. The safety in the streets wasn’t thanks to the cops, it was the slayers. the top slayers alongside the hashira and the master all enjoyed a televised gala as a thank you from the government's highest officials. As spouses of a hashira, it was only natural that the four of you joined Tengen, attached to his side for almost the whole night. The media took a large turn at the announcement that a hashira had so many spouses, especially ones that fought alongside him and were gorgeous. People swooned, people argued, but most of all, people loved it. Tengen was often sending articles talking about him and his wives, how beautiful of a group they were, sending praises and kissy faces over group texts.

“Hina, do you think you can get onto his computer? If he was tracking someone wouldn’t he ask you for help?” You all turned towards Hinatsuru at suma’s point.

“I’ll look into it tonight, do you think you can keep him distracted for maybe an hour after I get home?” The three of you looked at each other before nodding in agreement.

Tengen spent most of the evening hunched over his laptop, mumbling curse words before beating up his keyboard to type whatever he wanted. Whenever any of you tried to get a look his hulking figure blocked your view.

“Honey, let’s take a bath, please? You’ve been sitting here all day and I'm sure your neck hurts” Your hands found purchase on his shoulders, immediately applying pressure to his shoulder blade to try and ease the overwhelming amount of tension he had. Hinatsuru had arrived home minutes before, heading straight for the bedroom to change out of her stuffy office uniform, asking you to get him out of the living room. “Let me take care of you” you purred the words in his ear, not losing focus on his shoulders as he leaned back into you. He groaned, enjoying the feeling of your hands easing up all the tension he had.

“Okay, just for a bit” He cracked an eye open as he looked at you, smiling before moving to stand. His body released a series of cracks at him finally changing his position, adjusting itself back into a normal stance. You passed Hinatsuru on your way to the bathroom, flashing a smile her way as she moved towards the couch.

"What has you all riled up these days? Did you not have a good time at the gala?" You attempted to ease into the conversation, choosing to finally speak up after your husband was fully submerged in the steaming tub, leaning his head against your bare chest as you absently ran a hand over his massive shoulders.

"S'nothing" he shifted, sinking deeper into the water to avoid your questions. His silence about the situation was quickly becoming irritating, it was affecting the whole household and he was too wrapped up in his own obnoxious bubble of self-loathing to notice how hard you were trying to get him to open up.

“My love” your hand moved to his hair, grazing through the silver strands that hung from his head. “You haven’t been eating properly, you're going to ruin your back hunching over your laptop like that, and you’ve been snapping at all four of us. We’re worried about you, I'm worried about you. You’ve never been this closed off and distant, never once have you snapped at us as you have been. What is happening?” He grumbled into the water, creating his own bubbles before flipping himself over, burying his face into the wet skin of your breasts. You let out a sigh of defeat. If he had been moping like this for 2 weeks and still hadn’t opened up even after all this time and effort, it seemed like he would never be budging.

“I’m sorry” He mumbled the words as he lifted himself off of you, Removing himself from the bathtub and leaving the bathroom, puddles of water following him out.

“Y/N! Suma! Makio! Help!!” Screaming erupted from the living room, followed by crashing of multiple heavy objects.

“Uzui Hinatsuru give me the laptop, now!”

“Girls!” Heavy footsteps barged into the bedroom where you had just finished getting dressed, Hinatsuru ducking for cover behind you, ignoring the water falling from your hair onto her head. Tengen was right behind her, maroon eyes glaring at the crouched form behind you.

“Hinatsuru, give me the damn laptop back” He took a step forward, pointing a finger at your wife.

“Tengen, what the fuck are you doing? Calm down!” you waved his form back, forcing him to step back from where he had begun hovering over you, trying to force you into submission so he could get what he wanted.

“She” He wagged an accusatory finger at her. “She has my laptop, that's for work and is government property, she has to give it back” A smirk made its way into Tengen's face as he stood up straighter, cocking a hip to the side to show off.

“You are acting like a child, chasing your own wife around the house like a lunatic for a damn laptop”

“It’s for work!”

“How do we know that?! It's not like you tell us anything anymore! Since the gala you’ve been such an ass” The irritation was evident on his face, but you stood your ground, adjusting your leggings so they fit properly you turned back to Hinatsuru. “Thank you, my love, you did a wonderful job” She smiled, standing up so she could look at you face-to-face. You grabbed her free hand and turned to Tengen. “I asked her to get the laptop since you refuse to tell us anything. I would understand if it was for a mission, but if it was you would ask for our help. So you can either tell all of us what your problem is or we can have Hinatsuru find out for us? Your choice Uzui” You addressed him by your shared last name, something he loathed. He told you it made him feel drab and normal, not nearly as flamboyant as his full name or even just Tengen. But even then, he only liked being called by your nicknames for him (or god of flamboyance, but that will never happen) The fire in his eyes was snuffed at your words, he was at a loss for words as you stared him down.

“Y/N, it’s not that simple I can’t ju-”

“No Tengen, you can. You just won’t let your own wives know what’s going on with you, we aren’t emotional punching bags like how you've been treating us for these past few weeks but I’m over it” Hinatsuru had let go of your hand, already begun typing furiously on Tengen's laptop, her bangs hooded her eyes as she focused on her task, standing tall as you continued to argue with your husband.

“Y/N, listen to me. You wouldn't understand even if I told you what was happening, it has nothing to do with you guys so don’t worry about it”

“Don’t worry about it? Tengen, don’t be an idiot. Suma and I invited you to come with us for lunch with Makio and Hina, how did you respond?” His eyes dropped to the floor, knowing he was in the wrong. “Tell me Tengen, how did you respond?” He refused to speak, keeping his eyes trained on the floor as you approached him. “If you won’t say it then, I will. You responded by yelling at us and calling us annoying. I had to comfort Suma in the elevator while you sat here and steamed over a FUCKING LAPTOP. TENGEN” The face that Tengen made reminded you of a little boy whose ice cream fell out of the cone, complete defeat at your words.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I’m not trying-” You tuned him out as Hinatsuru nudged you, releasing the hand you still held to point at the laptop screen.

From: Sound6hashirasux

You should really just get a divorce, release the reins you had on your wives so a real man can please them

From: Sound6hashirasux

Can you even get them to orgasm? Admit it, you aren’t a real man. Not even a fancy title can save the fact that you can’t pleasure women.

To: Sound6hashirasux

A real man does not kiss and tell, what my spouses and I do is none of your business, especially not a drab little weasel like you

From: Sound6hashirasux

Sounds like bullshit

From: Sound6Hashirasux

I’m just surprised a pussyboy like you could pull women like that. Is it money? I bet big daddy Ubuyashiki pays really well, well enough for even a man like you to acquire wives like that

You shut the laptop on Hinatsuru, not sure you could stomach reading any more of the messages. Tengen stood across from you, head down.

“Love? What is this?” Tengen avoided eye contact. Choosing to focus on the fibers of the carpet instead. Suddenly the number of carpet fibers was a fascinating subject.

“You know I think we should get this carpet replaced, maybe get wood floors instead, or do you think the bed would move too much, I mean it's a large bed and with 5 of us? Maybe it would slide, maybe we’ll stick to the carpet, what are… your thoughts?” he trailed off at the look’s you and Hinatsuru were giving him.

“I’m sure I can find out the location of these messages Tengen, is this what you’ve been hiding?” Hinatsuru placed the laptop on your bed, moving closer to your husband who looked like he was shutting down.

“I tried, their untraceable, Oyakata-sama thinks that it's a demon. Based on what their account entails, it's one of the upper moons”

“One of the upper moons is sending you hate mail?” Tengen nodded, face stern as he waited for a reaction from you.

“So one of the upper moons is sending our husband hate mail because we are too pretty?” Hinatsuru didn’t hide the laugh that slipped from her lips.

“This is serious Hina, they claim that I can’t even fuck you properly, they think that I’m incapable of performing my husbandly duties. Like a regular man” You had to look away from Tengen, he was too serious about it, he was taking it way too personally. It was hilarious “I am not a normal man, I am a god and they just think I can’t please? Like a chump?” You were going to pass out trying to hold in your laughter, unlike your wife.

“Tengen stop! It’s not that serious” she laughed, clutching at her stomach between the cackles “You can fuck, don't cry it's okay” she laughed harder as Tengen let out an angry huff.

“You guys are the worst, sleep on the couch together tonight. Only Suma and Makio are allowed in the bed” He stormed out of the bedroom, leaving you to finally release the laughter you had been holding back.

[authoressskr]

Tracking Death and Magic, pt 2

Characters: f!Reader [known in this fic as Duchess], Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Phil Coulson, Peter Parker, Bruce Banner, Sam Wilson, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Clint Barton, Nick Fury, Maria Hill, mentions of Dr. Strange, OFCs

Warnings: Language, death, angst, and no Beta   ::    Notes: this was written for @captain-kelli’s #ckcomebacktour – WELCOME BACK!!    ::   Word Count: 10,414

Mythological + Fairy Tale Creatures AU feat. Alpha Werewolf/Vampire!Bucky, Alpha Werewolf/Vampire!Steve, Giant!Hulk side Bruce, Born Witch!Wanda, Hellhound mix!Reader

Someone is hunting down those with Fae blood in New York. And no one can figure out why or who is behind the crimes. So higher ups in the city hand the case over to SHIELD, who deals with the more difficult supernatural cases. But even after two weeks, this small elite team can’t seem to figure out where the person or persons responsible will strike or the reasoning behind it. Anyone with a drop of Fae blood is scared…scared of being kidnapped or killed. Time to call in some outside help.

Prompt: [*In Part 1*] “All of those people are alive right now - all because of her.”

[ Please do NOT repost, copy & paste, translate, post or share my works on any other platform without my EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION. 18+ ONLY PLEASE, all content providers don’t want serious repercussions from underage interactions, myself included. ]

-+- REBLOGGING is fine and *very* appreciated! -+-

Part One

You could feel it as you walked up to the sidewalk where Cyrus had been killed. The now dried and cleaned sidewalk not hiding it’s dark shadows from you in the waning late afternoon light.

The creeping, underhanded power of the Seelie Court brushing against you.

The poison is a prominent smell to your hound side still since it’s only been a day and a half. Cyrus’s soul hasn’t lingered, so that at least is a blessing, but the conversation with your uncle and this fresh site is putting your nerves on the very edge. You can ‘see’ the faint magic outline where he died, you knew he’d be wearing his homemade medallion to ward off evil. Swallowing, you kneel where his feet would have been, reaching out with your magic.

The flashes that echo painfully through your mind make you gasp.

The cloaked figure is stealing magic. Taking it violently. To him, the more violent and quick, the better. It honestly just makes your stomach roll, the saliva building in your closed and clenched mouth.

But why? You can taste the lighter magic associated with the Seelie Court - the Court of Light - the kind that humans and others often think of when they think of the fair folk. The court thought, it doesn’t deal with humans or others unless absolutely needed��

When you told Hades you suspected a member of the higher courts on your little walk, you hadn’t anticipated to be able to feel it. The boots, the glistening silver swords, the escape when you had moved a forgotten tiny part of the sithen under the alley -- now it all makes a lot more sense now. The shiver that runs down your spine at the implications this creates. May the God and Goddess spare all those innocents involved, you pray quickly.

A henchman for the shining Seelie Court, sweet baby Jesus. What had you gotten yourself into?? What had SHIELD stumbled into??

The residual death is quick, but still it steals into you, taking away what little baited breath you had. Feeling the tears prickle your eyes as you try to figure out these new pieces of the puzzle.

Hades can’t help you - Gods can’t interfere with other pantheons businesses, good or bad.

Hades can’t save you from the other half of yourself.

It was something you had always known in the back of your mind, but the harsh slap of it hurt more than the death and falling pieces of this horrible plot. But...just maybe there could be a light in this cave of fae intrigue and murder. There are others whom you can save.

The three stolen wouldn’t be taken to the sithen, that would be too obvious of their involvement. Plus, they were fae and thus could leave as long as not put into a dungeon there and theoretically had enough power and know-how to do so. But had the cloaked figure been draining them, you weren’t sure if they could get out or away.

So, that would mean they were still somewhere close by.

The last traces of magic from the murder, Cyrus’s own traces, and your hellhound senses in overdrive to track everything - you’re drowning as the sun sinks just a tad lower in the sky, creating the beginnings of the lovely orange autumn color you adore. Fall was closer than you remembered. You can vaguely hear your name being said, like being underwater almost. Then you can smell sage, lemon and juniper - the sweet smells of the entrance to the Underworld.

The way the newcomer says your name grounds you, while Bucky calling your name brings you closer to the surface - your mate...Bucky brings you back to reality. And he’s protective and bristling slightly at the other man who is holding your arm’s firmly.

You’re looking up at the slightly blurry face of a traditionally handsome Greek man, all muscle and blurry smile, with thick black hair and sweet honey brown eyes.

“I hate your human disguise sometimes,” You grunt and turn to plop down on your ass as Bucky watches as the man lean in and proceed to lick from your chin up to your hairline. “Okay, okay...thank you Cerb,” You shove his chest gently to get him to release you, reaching for Bucky’s hand automatically. “This is my mate, Bucky. Don’t snap at him.” Cerberus gives you puppy dog eyes, his nerves calming down slightly to hold his form better. So at least now it was one face instead of the three blurry ones superimposed over each other.

“Did you just say Cerby?!” Wanda sounds astonished.

“As in Cerberus?” Natasha questions calmly. The guardian to the Underworld stands up and he’s visibly excited looking from you to Natasha and Wanda.

“Yes,” You coo. “This is my best friend in the whole world and Underworld, Cerberus. Cerberus, this is Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers is his best friend. Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton, Phil Coulson. Wanda Maximoff and her twin, Pietro.”

“Pleasure,” His deep voice almost has an echo to it. “Lord said you needed looking after, pup. He was right. Too close.”

“I know,” You sigh out as your hand subconsciously clenches Bucky’s a little tighter even after he helps you up.

“No,” Cerberus growls. “Close.”

“Fucking great,” You growl out in reply, anger rising.

“See anything?” Phil asks, forehead furrowed just so. You sigh again, anger dissipating as quickly as it had boiled up.

“We are in a shit ton of trouble.”

“We are aware of that, kid,” Steve states, crossing his arms over his wide chest.

“Nooo. Like real shit ton of trouble. Seelie Court trouble.” Phil lets out a string of curses as Clint’s stance gets more rigid. “The cloaked asshole is working for the Seelie Court. I can taste the residual light magic. And he’s stealing magic. That’s why he’s been killing most of them. Kidnapping the more powerful ones to drain them continuously, I’m guessing.”

“He can’t take them back to the golden sithen,” Phil states, following where you’re leading. “So they’re still in the area.”

“I think he took them where there’s more greenery and nature, it would make it more comfortable for him. Someplace secretive to drain and hide them.”

“Central Park,” Bucky reasons. “It makes the most sense. It would be easy for him to hide them there, especially if he was -” He stops as you start exhibiting nervous energy beside him, enough to upset his wolf and your scent to change. “What is it?”

“Only royalty can move the sithen,” You whisper, eyes focused solely on Phil.

“I have to let Fury know…” Phil looks at you with pity and sadness appearing in his blue eyes. “Everything.”

“I figured as much when I tasted their magic,” face contorting with a pained expression is all Bucky sees on your lovely face as you whisper the words defeatedly. He’s on edge now with your changing emotions and scents, trying to keep his eyes from shifting too much or his fangs popping out to prepare for the impending fight, the need to protect and soothe you almost overwhelming him internally.

“I’m sorry,” He offers, moving forward to squeeze your shoulder sympathetically, withdrawing the phone from his pant pocket as your free hand shoots forward to grip his wrist tightly, a plea written plainly for all to see on your almost panicking face.

“Please Phil...delay it til the morning. I can’t...they’ll -” Bucky and Steve can taste the fear that’s rolling off you now, raising his hackles as Cerberus eyes him with interest before returning his gaze to Duchess.

“I won’t let your other side harm you,” Cerby snarls, his handsome olive face contorted with anger as you wince hard. Bucky tugs you into him as much as he can with your iron grip still on Phil, soothing the pacing and snarling wolf in his head as much as he is soothing you.

That’s why you said you should be better at wording things, Bucky thinks to himself, nuzzling his nose into your hair, fangs no longer a worry as your scent shifts yet again to worry. Only now he realizes you are concerned about how he sees you.

“Do you care I’m a werewolf and vampire crossbreed 100 year old plus former assassin?” Bucky mumbles softly against your head, making you pull away to look up at him, shock and confusion making you wrinkle your forehead at your mate. Your scent shifts to calm Bucky now, eyes tearing up just a tad as his wolf shakes and settles down. Mate needs reassurance.

“No!” You release Phil’s wrist to cup Bucky’s cheek, thumb moving over the course hairs of his beard. “I don’t care what you are. You’re mine, James.” The light in Bucky’s eyes stun you with his smile, his eyes crinkling beautifully. Just radiating his happiness in that simple little motion of his elated smile, your inner hound almost dopey at the tenderness your mate is exuding.

“Then why would I care if you're half fae?” He presses his forehead down against yours, making you squeeze your eyes closed to prevent the tears from falling. “You’re my mate, Duchess. I don’t care what you are, as long as I get to keep you. Understand, doll?”

“I just don’t want to be known as one of them...as one of the Shining Court. That’s not me.” You keep your eyes squeezed close, taking comfort in your mate’s touch and his surrounding scent, blocking out everything but Bucky.

“You moving that fast with that sword was hot though,” Bucky rumbles out, making laughter just peel out of you, opening your eyes to be met with those intensive cerulean orbs.

“You’re too good,” You copy his statement from the closet earlier, smiling up at the most important person in your life.

But that comment does make you think, yanking your forehead away from Bucky to snap back to Coulson.

“Phil! It’s for my father!”

“You sure?”

“It has to be! Only royalty can move the sithen! The High Prince has probably a quarter of the fae power I do and his son probably barely enough to magically open a doorway in the sithen.”

“Wait,” Clint starts, twirling a toothpick between his front teeth before pointing it at you and continuing. “So you’re a fae princess?!”

You wince again, Bucky’s metal fingers slipping under the edge of your shirt bottom to stroke your skin to ease the emotions swirling in and around you - at least they are much more in control and subdued than minutes ago. “Technically, yes.” You admit in a defeated whisper. “My grandmother is the Queen of the Seelie Court.”

“Which is why Peter said you were ordering the cloaked man to answer you,” Steve states, rolling his shoulders to relieve some tension. Too late you realize that since Steve and Bucky are actually pack that he was getting some diluted effects of your emotional rollercoaster just now just by being so close to the two of you. ‘Sorry,’ You mouth to him as he gives you a soft smile in return.

“So that’s why the ground shook?” Bucky asked, forehead slightly furrowed at Phil then down to you. “How can you move the whole sithen?”

“Oh, I can’t. I couldn’t do that unless I was Queen and would need a whole lot of blood magic to back it up to move it. And honestly, the sithen is a living thing, so it would need to be...um...convinced. But moving pieces of it - especially forgotten or ‘dead’ spaces that the court don’t access - is fairly easy if you know what you are doing. Hades is Lord of the Underworld. Is the “Underworld” just under Greece? No. It’s everywhere AND a specific place. The same properties apply to the sithen,” You shrug as if it hasn’t really occurred to you the schematics of it all.

“Ahh, sort of like the Sanctum Sanctorum of Dr. Strange’s,” Pietro supplies, tapping a finger against his chin with a small grin.

“Yes and no.”

“I was thinking more like the jet,” Wanda supplies to her twin who frowns at her.

“So if Dr. Strange had a Sanctum Sanctorum jet?”

“Jesus. Christ.” Coulson and Natasha mutter loudly in sync, sighing and turning away slightly from the twins and Clint who is nodding along with their continued discussion.

“So could you find the piece of the sithen in Central Park?” Steve moves the conversation back to the kidnapped victims, you watching him unclench and clench his right hand slightly. You move a little more into Bucky and reach for Steve’s right hand. His head snaps over to you almost comically fast, while you just try to exude a calming energy. Bucky whispers a soft ‘thank you’ against your temple before gently reaching over to squeeze Steve’s shoulder. You can almost feel Steve’s blood pressure drop once both you and Bucky are calm and now working on calming him.

“Yeah, I could. I’ve scented the magic signature he’s used both attacking me and at the crime scenes, so shouldn’t be too hard to locate it. I mean, I won’t be exactly spot on, but will be close enough to be able to move the sithen bit to me and manipulate it open hopefully.”

“So that’s the play,” Natasha states as Phil whips out his cell, causing another spike in anxiety to roll through you, but Bucky and Steve both quickly whisk it away with their touch.

“Yes, sir,” Phil states evenly. “We may have located the kidnapped parties. I request a team to subtly clear and surround Central Park. Yes, sir.” His right eyelid gives one lone twitch. “Yes, all Avengers to the Park. We are dealing with Seelie Court involved matters. Yes, she is here and will be leading us to the kidnapped hostages. Affirmative. Will do, sir.” He hangs up to find everyone staring at him. “Tony will be bringing everyone’s gear and then we’ll head to Central Park. If you have any requests or needs, please bother Stark. I have a whole ops to coordinate.” A black suv pulls up behind him, which no one even flinches at. “I’ll meet you all in an hour. Stark will know the location.”

“Onward to probable death!” Pietro mutters with fake enthusiasm and you frown at him, Cerberus moving closer to you until his arm is brushing. The scent of sage, juniper and lemon - overlapped with the scent of coffee, cinnamon, cedar and a soft ocean breeze, things distinctly Bucky to you, even the scent of orange faintly coming from Steve - do nothing to help the pit in your belly.

How true, you muse morbidly, glancing up into sad honey brown eyes. You can both catch the faint, trace smell of death.

And you both know it’s from you.

-----*****-----*****-----

Tony had brought you several SHIELD jumpsuits in various colors: gray, blue and black, smirking as you had raised an eyebrow at him. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously, little hellhound. They’ll all form to fit you. Bucky and Peter mentioned swords, so I brought some thigh holsters as well as a back holster, since I didn’t know the length of your swords. Natasha has extra guns aboard the jet if you are into that. Also, we don’t have time for you two to be frisky, so -”

“Shut up, Tony,” Bucky had growled from behind him, just making Tony smile wider. Seeing Bucky in his hero suit was a whole different sexy than last night and this morning. Well, you now understood why Tony was having concerns about you two because - dear gods did you want Bucky to bend you over something and take you with that suit on. You’d be equally happy to just drop to your knees and thank your mate for this look. Bucky obviously can see and sense the changes as you are basically drooling and clenching your thighs, while having an iron grip on the dark blue suit you had been favoring.

“Remember!” Tony says loudly while shaking a finger at you before Steve comes up beside Bucky and herds the grinning man from the room where you’re surrounded by suits and weapons.

“Eyes are glowing again, doll,” Bucky purrs as he comes to a halt before you.

“Can’t help it, it’s an emotional reaction most of the time,” You breath out, a smile playing on the corner of his lips at your answer. “Used to just do it when I was extremely pissed off. Now apparently it decides to pop up whenever I’m -”

“Horny?”

“Focusing. On. My. Mate.” You insist as he rumbles out a laugh, bending forward to kiss your forehead sweetly. You tilt your head up to catch his eye again, giving him a small smile as you reach out to take his flesh hand. “But just FYI, I can smell you’re horny too. And them pants is tiiight.” He captures your lips in a searing kiss, pulling you so tight against his chest that the buckles dig into you a little, just making you all the more riled up.

“Mate,” Bucky’s voice is part plea and warning in it’s roughness after you two pull apart, you nosing along his throat, kissing the skin where your mark should adorn.

“You could leave to let me get dressed…?”

“Where the hell is the fun in that, doll? Huh?” Both of you are chuckling, touching each other as much as possible but struggling to keep it PG.

“Bucky, I know you don’t want to bring this up…”

 “Don’t.” 

“But this could be it, ya know? So I need you to sort of brace yourself if it does.” His back is now ramrod straight and his jaw clenched tight, but holding your gaze.

“I won’t let it happen.” The determination from your first meeting is back, but you can only muster the softest look in reply, letting the suit fall to the ground as you cup his face with both hands.

“Sweetheart,” You coo gently, watching the sadness dance in his eyes that he’s trying hard to hide. “I adore you. I trust you inexplicably. I would happily spend the rest of my life with you. To mate you, to marry you...to have a little baby that looks just like you, that’s all I want. You deserve some peace and so. much. love.” His hands are gripping tight onto your waist, you can feel the fingertips digging in as you continue. “But you know I’m marked for death, Bucky. They’ve tried most of my life to circumvent it, stop it, undo it. But death comes for me regardless. I need you to not pull away from everyone if that happens. You’ll need them. Please.”

“I don’t - I don’t want to deal with that. I can’t. I can’t lose you too. I said I would protect you and keep you safe. I’m no Alpha if I don’t try. I’m no mate if I don’t try.” You’re at a standstill, both now in emotional turmoil over this topic, trying not to let it bleed into the other. He presses his forehead against yours hard, staring into each other’s eyes. “I love you,” He whispers and it’s all you ever wanted to hear. Right now, you had all wanted right here - a wonderful mate who loved you and would try to move heaven and earth for you, who didn’t care what you were. One of the most beautiful men in the whole world who looked at you like the sun rose and set by your whim. The whole thing was unfathomable.

“I love you, Bucky,” You breathe out in reply, longing for any other outcome but the one you know is coming. “And I will love you as long as you live.” Bucky makes a noise in the back of his throat, a couple tears sliding down his cheeks as yours begin to fall freely, letting him wrap his arms so securely around you as his beautiful blue jacket absorbs your quiet sobs.

-----*****-----*****-----

The sun is nearly set, the sky streaked a hundred hues of dark pink and red as New York slowly descends into darkness.

Bucky is standing right beside you, outfit bringing out his eyes as he surveys the scene stoically. You’d chosen the dark blue jumpsuit to match his, arms brushing subtly as you stand just outside the magic lines - and sight lines from the sithen - of Central Park.

Although you can’t see them, you can vaguely sense the score of SHIELD agents and Avengers scattered on the edges of the treelines. But you can ‘see’ the edge of the piece of sithen just shy of the Azalea Pond at the center of the Ramble. Bucky had been the one with his tablet naming things off to you - you had only moved to New York two years ago after all - trying to help you narrow down areas where it could have been. You wish you had had the time for him to show you around New York, around Brooklyn, and places that still stood from when he was younger.

Cerberus is on the other side of the pond, should the cloaked figure try to escape, swathed in the grip of Underworld magic to keep him invisible and thus much more easy to herd or pounce.

Wanda is piggybacking off your abilities, twined with yours temporarily so she could sense the heartbeats of the victims now that you had a location. Sam is in the trees to the left of the pond with Peter, Steve and Tony on the right while Clint, Natasha and Pietro cut off any other possible exit points. Bruce is staying by the ambulances, ready to Hulk out should the need arise, although you could tell from his face he was radiating the bright hope it absolutely would not.

Any way the cloaked figure ran, he’d be funneled where the Avengers chose. There would be no escape. As a failsafe, Pietro would be the only one to engage with him except you, since he would be the most able to take him on with the fae speed.

You drag yourself back to reality, turning to gaze over at Bucky and steeling yourself with one last deep breath before starting down the short path to the Azalea Pond.

“Be safe for me, doll,” Bucky says softly, almost as soft as the small breeze suddenly around you two. You manage to nod, throat closing up again. The fair folk do not lie. It had been beaten into you, quite literally, when you were little at court. You want nothing more than to lie to Bucky in that moment. To reassure him you will be safe for him. But the fair folk do not lie.

Good thing you are not solely fair folk. You reach for his hand, grasping just his flesh fingertips in your grip and squeezing them hard. It’s a millisecond in time, but it seems like one of those Lord of the Rings moments that are in that slow, dramatic, longing-filled motion. “I’ll do my best, handsome.” Dropping his hand before you lose your resolve, you take the barely visible path towards the pond. Your magic is swirling with Wanda’s, your senses all in overdrive - so much so you can’t even register the smell of the flowers blooming along the landmark.

Pursing your lips, you whistle a simple five note tune that fae had used for time beyond memory.

From behind you comes that deep, craggly voice, “Greetings, highness.”

“Greetings, servant,” He gives a little hiss at the title you bestow. “SHIELD has sent me to inform you that if you cooperate, you will not be sentenced to death.”

“They are mostly human. I do not fear the humans.”

“You are not wise to not fear them,” You give a pregnant pause, making sure you give that haughty look the court loves to disperse. “If you do not accept this offer, I am to inform you that I, Princess Duchess Propolos Hekatos, will be judge, jury and - if need be - executioner.” He pushes back his cloak hood back, allowing you to finally see his scaled face. He was probably one of very few left over of those lizard scaled dwarves who stayed closer to the caverns around lakes and seas when humans first emerged as semi-civilized, with beautiful almost translucent rainbow sheened scales around his eyes and cheeks, his mouth set in a thin line with no lips.

“I was damned from the get go, princess.”

“We are only as we choose to be - it doesn’t have to be that way,” You insist, leaning a little forward, softening your eyes. Even if you disliked court life, the snobs of court who’s magic had begun to dwindle long before you were born, and how you were treated there - he was the same as you; a discarded fae. He doesn’t reply, though there is a flicker of something in his eyes, simply just unsheathes his double swords and gestures to you with his chin.

“Prepare, half breed,” Although his insult has less venom than the alley last night, you huff out a sigh at his tone. Like he’s just going through the motions. Asshat.

You shift your feet just so, straightening your spine as you wait for his move. Physically you are in that moment, but your power shifts the sithen opening to the side where Steve and Tony are waiting, causing the cloaked man to hiss, baring slightly sharpened front teeth at you. “Little bitch!” And his steel meets yours. “We will both die for this!” He snarls as he tries to drive you back towards the trees and brush opposite the pond, you holding the line as you wait for Wanda to signal you that the people had been recovered.

“I’ll deal with them when the time comes,” You growl low, blocking his blades yet again with a heavy clink, shifting just so that you can reach for Bucky’s favorite knife at the small of your back, tinged with the poison that your cloaked friend had been favoring and stabbing it into his side and piercing his lung with a squelch.

“The poison will do nothing to me,” He spits at you as you twirl your wrist to disarm him of one of the swords and slide Bucky’s knife back into its sheath.

“It will now. Dr Banner mixed it with another, a heavy iron involved one - infused with belladonna - to make you human slow,” You lean in as you block another wide swing from him with the one sword left, smiling wide. “And heal human slow.” The whole of Central Park shakes as you show your hand.

“No! NO!” He screams and hisses, attempting to swing his meaty fists at you now that he was without a weapon.

“I am still my grandmother’s first born grandchild. I am still the High Prince’s first born. I am a Princess of the Seelie High Court.” You lean in as your tone becomes more malicious with each word, watching true fear alight in his mossy green eyes. “And with all the inbreeding and decline for the last century,” You straighten up, your blue flames engulfing you as he attempts to scurry away from you, shielding his eyes against the light you emanate as he falls on his ass in the dense brush and dirt. “Let’s face it - I am probably the most powerful fae aside from the Queen of the Seelie and the King of the Unseelie.” Leaning down, fisting your hand in his cloak, you yank him back upright, snarling as your power dances behind your eyes, careful still to at least to not burn him with your flames. But watching him flinch at the heat, the basic fear all animals have towards a large flame, sets you more alight at the taste of that fear. “And absolutely the wrong person to piss off!”

“Spare me! Please!!” He screams, more high pitched than you had imagined, nearly making you wince as you see the red sparks above the tree line and see a blue clad shadow moving along the treeline coming closer to you. Pietro blurs past you, slapping old iron cuffs on the cloaked man, which sends him quite literally howling and screeching from the burn of the metal. 

Your flames give off a few large flickers before they begin to die down when Pietro says that they’ve gotten the kidnapped people to the ambulance they had on stand by, Bucky coming down the path towards you with a small smile on his lips as your eyes meet. Your magic shrinks back towards you, the weight of all the magic and your now overworked abilities settling back into you, your shoulders sagging a little with relief. It wasn’t over, but once your grandmother learned about your father and half-brother then she would be the one to end it.

The look in his cobalt eyes shift quickly, widening and moving to glare directly over your shoulder, his mouth moving in slow motion as he begins to barrel towards you, you begin to turn - only to feel the jerk of your body going forward instead. A glance downward shows a shiny red tip of one of the cloaked man’s swords protruding from just under your breasts, when you hear the mournful howl echo in and around your ears - only to realize it’s three distinct howls. The tang of blood spills into your mouth in a surprised gasp, turning slightly to see who has murdered you.

Your half brother’s hand is shaking slightly as he backs away from you, surprise written on both your faces as the scent of death finally fully fills your nose.

“I never thought -” You wheeze out, taking a few shaky steps towards your half-sibling as Bucky slides to a stop before you, his boots kicking up the fallen green leaves on the grass, both hands grasping your hips firmly as his eyes wander all over your body and face, tears already tracking down his cheeks. “You would have the balls!” You finish with another wheeze, the metallic taste much stronger now.

Bucky turns you to face him as Tony and Peter keep your half-brother from escaping, the darkening greenery of the world around you narrowing down to just Bucky. It’s a beautiful world to be relegated to actually.

“No. NO. Come on, doll. You - you gotta stay with me.” His voice is raw sounding, like he’s trying to not be loud, his metal hand putting pressure on the front wound as if it would help. His forehead is shoved against yours, your entire gaze narrowed to his blue eyes and his damp cheeks as he pulls you into his lap, collapsing the both of you to the ground. It’s funny almost to you in the moment...like you can still hear his loud, pitiful howl like a haunting melody behind everything he’s saying. “Doll, you gotta...come on, gotta fight. I need you to fight. Cerberus, he - he went to get Hades and Hecate. They’ll fix it. Just hold on til they get here, okay?”

“I love you soo much, James Buchanan Barnes,” You’re heartbroken to watch him see your bloody bottom lip tremble, and the color seeping from your face. You can see him weighing all his options through his tears, trying to move your tired hand up to touch him, to comfort him.

“I love you too, babydoll, but please God, please … just stay with me.” The choked up sound of his voice makes you want to cry for causing him this pain. No amount of forewarning could have prepared you for this feeling - the feeling of slowly breaking and killing your mate.

“Mate,” is the last thing you manage to get out before you just go limp in his arms, those jewel eyes he loves so much already just staring up at the first stars twinkling in the sky unseeing. In the back of his mind, his vampire side offers up the idea which he swore to God he would never do. But all too late.

The howl that rips from his throat is pure misery and heartache, his body bowed over his mate’s, his grip still holding her in a vice. The blood cloys her scent, furthering his heartbreak.

He looks up, needing Steve on a near visceral level, only to not see anyone at all. Confusion slightly mars his grief, looking over his shoulder and all around the darkened area, but met with no familiar faces or words in his comms. Confusion gives way to his war training, the alertness on it’s highest notch as he scans around, sniffing delicately at the air as the world seems much darker now than it had just been. When he turns back towards the pond, on edge at the very tampered down scents surrounding him, he spots three almost identical women standing there with those dark pink azaleas framing behind them almost like a fresco - just appearing as if from nowhere like Hades had earlier on the street.

“James Barnes,” The one on the left begins, long dark brown hair falling freely to her waist. “We are sorry for your loss,” the one on the right continues, her hair half up in intricate braids. “But now that we have fulfilled our ill-spoken creed,” the middle speaks, all that dark mahogany hair piled atop her hair like a crown, before they all join hands as the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stand to attention at the sudden surge of power that surrounds him, his arms tensing as a wave of azalea scent blows around the two of them, bringing Duchess as close to him as possible again. “We will return our little cousin back to you.”

His mouth goes dry, forehead wrinkled in not understanding as he looks down at his mate, her eyes still open and her skin still dampened with that death pallor. Bucky gently uses his metal digits to close her eyelids, grief and nausea rolling through him simultaneously while the ground beside Bucky gives a small shake and splits open, Hades climbing so elegantly and easily from the ground below with Cerberus - in three-headed giant black dog form - with a wispy blue thing dangling from the middle head’s mouth. There isn’t even enough room left in him to be shocked, there is just acceptance of whatever this shit show was.

“Turns out, sometimes you just have to accept Fate and go through it in order to stop it,” Hades murmurs in his deep molasses voice, bending down just so, his long fingers gripping the back of Bucky’s neck loosely. “Will you accept your fate now, Bucky?”

“I’ll do anything for her,” Bucky rasps out with conviction shining in his tear-riddled eyes.

“Splendid,” Hades motions with his free hand for Cerberus to come forward. “You must take a mouthful of this first.” He orders sternly as a beautiful blonde woman, shorter than Duchess and with a more heavy hourglass shape, emerges from the crevice to the Underworld with a black and golden chalice. Bucky marvels at the tiny wild roses popping up in her wake as she walks around Cerberus to stand between himself and Hades. She sniffles as she looks at Duchess, one hand leaving the chalice as she frowns over at the Fates before brushing two fingers down his left cheek to his chin, the warmth from just her fingers seeping quickly into his icy feeling skin. He doesn’t even notice the Fates disappearing just after that, he’s so focused on the goddess before him.

“Remove the sword, Hades.” It’s gone with a wave at the woman’s order, Bucky unconsciously tightening his hold once again on his mate. “Now, Bucky, sweet little honeysuckle boy, take a mouthful of this - but don’t swallow.” She brings the cup to his lips and tips it up. “Now, when Cerberus drops her soul back into her body, kiss her and push all the ambrosia into her mouth. It’ll take a few seconds for her soul to readjust and the ambrosia to heal her before she comes back to consciousness, okay honeysuckle?” Bucky manages a jerky nod, rewarded with a pat to his cheek before she backs up towards Hades, Cerberus giving a huff as he leans down towards Duchess’s body.

“Three. Two. One.” Hades counts down, Cerberus’s light brown eyes locked onto Bucky’s before the middle head gently opens it’s very large jaw and the blue wisp floats down to her body. “Now.” Bucky smashes his lips against hers, feeding the liquid into her mouth with an edge of desperation barely restrained within him.

“Now we wa-” A gasp startles you all, her jewel-toned eyes blinking rapidly as her hands claw at Bucky’s waist where they’re trapped between them, until they’re focused on Bucky. Bucky lets loose a sob as she smiles up at him, blood now gone from her face.

“Hi handsome,” A tiny little cough to clear her throat. “Bucky,” Duchess manages to rasp out before she’s crushed to Bucky’s chest.

“I lost you,” Bucky half gasps/half sobs into her hair, the scent of blood seemingly long gone, a terrible dream from which he can now finally awaken...it was just her again. Just his mate.

“But you found me, handsome.”

Bucky manages to get out a soft chuckle as he pulls back to cup her face in his hands. “You do anything like that again, doll, and I swear I’ll -” She cuts him off with a kiss but he doesn’t miss the smile and silent eyeroll. When they break apart, she brings her hand up to cup his cheek, rubbing her thumb over his cheekbone repeatedly as Bucky just reveals in the warmth of her fingers and palms against his skin.

“You are mine,” She whispers so damn gently, like a breath of life gently fanning over his lips as her forehead bumps against his softly. Bucky understood this was her sign that everything was alright, that closeness of foreheads pressed together and reading every emotion in each other's eyes. 

“And you are mine,” Bucky affirms, electricity buzzing down his spine before he smiles wide at his mate, happy to see her own smile widen as he does so. “You’re stuck with me for forever now.” She tries to feign a disappointed look and tone, to school her eyes and keep her lips from twitching up in a grin is poorly executed.

“Oh, no. What a terrible thing, Sarge,” It comes out more as a purr, lighting a warmth and fire from within Bucky, elation now bleeding as a scent out of him at this tiny but monumental moment with his mate. A deep voice clearing his throat behind you brings you both a bit back more to the present, Bucky glancing to the left as your smile stays gracing your gorgeous face.

“Welcome back!” The goddess burst out, tears opening flowing down her lovely and soft olive oval face, falling to her knees behind Duchess and throwing her arms around her shoulders, squeezing her fiercely. She even pulls Bucky closer, smoothing a hand up and down his back as she hugs both of them just this side of painful.

“Thank you, theía.” Duchess grunts out from the tight sandwich she’s in, looking over to her uncle. “Theíos, what happened to that little motherfucker?”

Hades stern looking face breaks out in a tiny smile, looking so kindly down at the scene before him as Cerberus’s three heads lap and nuzzle at the three on ground. “He’s still being held on the other plane. And speaking of which, we should return quickly. Hecate might actually kill him and start a bigger conflict than which we already have on our hands.”

“Well that answers some of my questions,” Bucky mutters just behind her right ear, nipping at the earlobe gently as Persephone releases you all, gently wiping away her tears.

“I’ll fill you in as best I can later. After someone fills me in, that is,” Duchess promises with a quick but warm kiss to his lips. Hades helps his wife up, kissing both of her palms and exchanging a long, loving look before extending his hand for Duchess, Bucky shooting up beside her as they each have a hand hold on her and help to steady her as she sways just a touch.

“Much later,” Bucky agrees with the barest hint of a nod, just needing to soothe his mate still. Frankly, just needing to reconnect and optimally be alone with his mate. Hopefully uninterrupted for at least two weeks, a month - two months would be absolutely dreamy and very, very far fetched with all the shit they’ll have to deal with afterwards regarding this case. But Bucky would move whole cities to make good on what she’d said to him aboard the jet too. Finally get him some of that apple pie life that he, Steve and the Commandos had talked about all those years and years ago.

He watches as you roll your neck, gently pushing away one of Cerby’s heads to shake both your arms out before reaching up to finally scratch at each of Cerberus’s heads one by one, kissing at their muzzles with gusto as the giant hellhound wiggles it’s butt with abandon. “I didn’t get that warm of a welcome,” Bucky remarks with a smirk, his mouth breaking into a wider smile at the look she shoots him.

“Because that is something personal you’ll get later on, Sarge,” 

“Geallaidhean, an dannsair beag agam,” Bucky growls softly, making sure to seal it with a deep, hard kiss. Promises, my little dancer. She looks a little flustered when they break apart, eyes not as focused as before. He knows she can smell the very pleased scent rolling off of him at her reaction.

“Such an Alpha,” She mutters with a teasing eye roll, keeping her hand on his chest. “You wear that jacket and you can have whatever you like,” comes the whisper against his lips, a soft growl punctuating the end before he takes another kiss. “Okay. Okay. Now, let’s go shank the little fairy prince,” Baring your teeth is more cute to Bucky than terrifying initially, but knowing what you’re capable of does make it scarier. And sexier, he wasn’t going to lie to himself. He loves that his mate is that intimidating.

And quite honestly, what will be more scary to the little prince than someone he feared and loathed coming back after watching them die? What's more, coming back for their retribution on him from the other side. Bucky can bet anyone that it’s not a hell of a lot actually.

“Brace yourself for it,” She whispers, hand wrapping tight around his metal one. Bucky feels a tug at his navel as the whole world around him seems to lighten at least ten shades, the overwhelming scent of blood returning, along with the pond waters, and Steve suddenly all fill his nose at once, Steve’s hands suddenly wrapping just this side of painful on his upper arms.

The scent of confusion and awe fill the area around them like a sudden breeze, the fair folk Prince calling for the God and Goddess to protect him in a whisper which might as well be a shout in the eerily quiet park. It seemed like even the regular wildlife noises in the Park had shown restraint, watching the otherworldly conflict in reverence.

“Did you miss me, brother?” No one on the other side of Manhattan could mistake the venom in her voice for anything other than deadly.

“You don’t understand!” The man - if you could call him that, no one in Central Park would though - shouts defiantly with a slice of whining at the end, his pupils blown as his eyes dart around the small clearing with barely restrained panic, nearly everywhere but on Duchess.

“Spare me your bullshit, Bradye,” Duchess growls, the lights beginning to dance behind her eyes as she moves closer to him, leaving her mate behind her. She smiles a bit triumphantly, maliciously. “You have come into this realm and by doing so are now subject to its rules and punishments. That useless title you hold will do you no good.” A few tsks come from her, “For you will face a death punishment either way. Hecate has requested the Queen come here and you and our father will pay for, let’s see, eight deaths and three kidnappings.”

“The fair folk do not lie,” He reminds in a taunt, thinking he’s won something. Her dangerous smile makes his millisecond of gloating worthless.

“Oh, of that I am well aware. I was schooled in that rule with leather. And steel. And sharp blows...and I think it may have slipped your mind, but I DID die. Charon saw me waiting upon the shore of the River Styxx. And he cannot lie about the souls he sees and ferries. Is the shaking of your hand as you drove your servant’s blade into my chest so quickly forgotten? Don’t worry,” Flames begin to gather around her ankles, slowly creeping upward like a nonsensical dance. “I have worked with SHIELD to document all you and our father have done. Did you know that there are some cameras opposite where your servant was seen entering and exiting? And that it has files that date back to before the first murder? Where you can make out two male figures walking into the park and it has a slight shake to it? Almost like an earthquake...or perhaps even a sithen moving…” The color drains from his already pasty face as Duchess strides closer, the blue and white flames now licking up her hips and lower back. There is a slight odor of urine, making Steve and Bucky both wrinkle their noses as Tony takes a small step away from him.

It’s a power move, not just the ever shifting flames but Bucky can clearly spot how sharp her teeth have grown, how her midnight blue fingernails are now black pointed tips. She’s allowing her fae side out as well, those multicolored lights bobbing and dancing behind her irises as each step she takes results in tiny little faerie rings, the tiny flowers blooming in the colors of the pinks, greens, and light blues that dance behind her eyes as small little beings descend from the trees and pixie-looking fae flit from the flowers around the Azalea Pond.

“You have no proof,” The haughtiness returns, looking down at Duchess, and had his voice not shook, might have pulled it off. He also eyes the fae joining the group in the clearing around the pond, his eyes catching sight of the faerie rings behind her and the shock that shows in his eyes is nearly equal to watching her appear back on this plane - alive.

“You hear that, Grandmother? Everything I asked Hecate’s handmaidens to give you is not proof.”

Bucky will remember that look forever. The snapping up of his head so fast it looked like it hurt, the look of complete and utter stunned surprise that seems to echo through and around him and actually make a tremor run through the little slimeball as Fury, Coulson and a lovely looking older woman with hair that went from silver at the top of her head and slowly gained a darker red as it came to rest at her waist came behind him into the clearing.

“I have heard all in this park. I have watched your hand slay your sister.” There is a flash of fury in her eyes, which Bucky notices are mismatched. One green as freshly mowed grass and the other a dark pine bark brown. “And had she not been preoccupied with keeping everyone in this park safe, sealing the sithen closed, and focused on her mate, you wouldn’t have stood a chance, you preposterous, moronic, useless child!” Her voice raises but her face never changes from an indifferent look that Bucky had seen Queen Elizabeth sport more than a few times on tv. “You and your father will be punished to the fullest extent of this plane’s laws. Before that you both will be brought before both courts of Fae and stripped of all your titles, rights, magic -” She looks down her nose at him with a sniff of disdain, “This applies more to your father as he actually has abilities. And you will also be made to pay for restitution to the families of those you had killed and of course those three whom you stole magic from and tortured. By our laws and the old ways, your sister has death rights on all three of you involved. And I must say, if I was her, I would drag your punishments out slowly...meticulously...painfully.”

Duchess strides back over to Bucky, hands already reaching out for him as the fire dies down around her - not as consuming, but still a bright warmth that shadows her entirety. Wrapped safely in his arms, Bucky rests his chin on the top of her head as Steve gently brushes his hand up and down her arm a few times, just reassuring her of their pack bond before taking a small step back to let them bond more. She pulls back a little from the comfort of his arms, tilting her head back to look up at him, Bucky knowing exactly what she wants. This was all very familiar to what happened just before she died...and honestly they all need that reassurance that everything is okay still. And this is the simplest and best way he can do it now; Her lips are soft and easily molded to his own. His sensitive ears can still pick up the little chirps and flitter sounds of small wings of the tiny fae that had climbed into this plane at Duchess’s silent command, gathered closer to her than her Grandmother, waiting for something else it seems.

A sharp featured man dressed in a black suit jacket with heavy, shining gold threaded designs along the wrists, collar, and lapels comes into the clearing with two men trailing behind him dragging a third between them.

The tiny beings begin a high pitched whine as the dragged man is thrown at the Faerie Queen’s feet. The man in black eyeing the tiny creatures with an unreadable something in his eyes.

Bucky is shocked at how much Duchess shares her face shape and nose with her father. Everything else must have come from her mother, making her features softer. Her eye color - she had told him last night - had come from her mother’s father, her mother’s side also responsible for her more soft Greek eye shape and supple body as well. Her father’s face however is harsher, more weathered looking than even his mother’s face. His eyes are a muddy brown and he looks to be maybe an inch or so taller than Duchess herself, unusual for a male - and even most women - of high Fae blood to be that short and not claim Brownie or Goblin blood, both of which a high Fae would absolutely loathe to admit to tainting their line. Him and his son seem to have been the tailings of a long and powerful bloodline, while Duchess was an anomaly of both sides of her family tree which was probably why she was so powerful. She was seemingly that red-headed gene in a sea of black hair which came about once every few generations.

Steve moves closer to the two of them again as the Queen looks down at her son with even more disgust than her grandson, which Bucky would not have thought possible a second ago. The sharp featured man comes to stand before Duchess and gives a deep nod, the two men behind him taking a knee as they come to a stop, the High Prince of the Seelie Court and his son watching from behind the Queen with shock and anger mixed on both their faces.

“Your highness, we at the Unseelie Court are thankful to you as it was a forgotten part of our court that was taken.” His bright green eyes look almost hesitant for his next words. “We are indebted to you for clearing this up. And also for clearing our court of involvement. The Unseelie Court is indebted to you, Princess Duchess Propolos Hekatos.”

Duchess pulls away a little from Bucky and Steve to sink into a deep curtsy, “Thank you, King Odhran. May your debt be cleared swiftly.” The two men behind him rise and they all go over to the Seelie Queen as Duchess’s flames die down further, pulsing softly in time with soft flutters and swayings of the tiny fae that have moved closer still.

“I will be seeing you later for their merited punishments, cousin,” The man says indifferently while also containing a hint of malice.

“Good evening until then, Odhran.” He and his men disappear as the Queen waves her hand to the men and women holding the prisoners formerly known as her family. “Fury. Coulson. We will be off now. They will be put into your custody in a week’s time. My granddaughter will, of course, be there for the handoff as a representative of the good will of my court.” Bucky doesn’t like that she’s ordering Duchess, fighting to suppress a growl. Does she not know he has plans for his mate?? She turns to address said granddaughter. “You will attend this handoff as a Princess of the Seelie Court. Come see me the morning before the handoff, as we have things we need to discuss. Please thank your goddess, Hecate, again for her swift actions and Hades for his too.” Duchess sinks into that deep curtsy once again before nodding at the trees and pond, the tiny creatures melting back into the waters and darkening branches like shadows, her Grandmother watching with something close to fondness on her face as the guards and prisoners disappear first, then her elegant frame takes a few steps and is gone as fast and quietly as the others.

Fury holds his hand straight up in the air after they vanish, no one making a move, just light breathing as everyone glances around the clearing, looking at Duchess and then Coulson who both give a firm nod before he lowers his hand and clears his throat. Fury’s good eye looks tired as fuck to Bucky.

“Alright people, shit shows over. Wanda, please begin magically cleansing this spot with Pietro, I want to be out of here in under an hour. Coulson, get me updates and signed paperwork from the three rescued for prosecution. Tony and Vision, keep the area contained until after the cleansing. SHIELD agents, please collect photos and evidence before the cleansing. Originals we keep, copies to the NYPD. Falcon and Spidey, back on patrols for the next few hours. Barnes and Rogers, take the lady home. I think she’s done and had enough for tonight. Everyone else, find something to do to make this go as fast as goddamn possible.”

“Roger, roger!” Bucky and Steve call out, Bucky tossing his flesh arm over her shoulder, Steve on his left side as they all wave silently to their friends and begin their way out of Central Park.

“This is one of the most terrible evenings of my life,” Steve mutters as Hades, Cerberus - in his human form - and a third figure, who Bucky can scent and see is definitely not the extra curvy Persephone, wave from further up the treeline ahead of them. “And I was just on the edge of the whole thing - witness and secondary pack feelings between you two. I might need a cigarette.” Steve mutters as he runs one hand through his hair and then down his face after taking a deep breath and letting it out.

“You haven’t smoked since 1938,” Bucky remarks with an eyeroll. “And that was before we knew it was bad for you, punk.”

“And this was one of the most terrible evenings of your life so far!” Steve turns his light blue eyes towards her with his Captain America signature disapproving glare at her overly perky tone. “The Seelie Queen says thank you. In that special fair folk way,” Duchess lays on the happy sarcastic tone as they approach the trio.

“As if I give a single fuck,” The woman’s dark voice growls out, her full lips set in a frown at the news. “How do you feel, mikrí mou skoteiní?”

“I told you, your little dark one is fine,” Hades reiterates with an eyeroll.

“I feel wonderful now, eroméni.” Duchess squeezes Bucky’s hand before ducking under his arm and pressing her forehead against Hecate’s as they intertwine both their hands, the power swirling softly around the two of them.

Bucky can feel the comfort in the darkness and mist that surround them temporarily, the two pulling apart and grinning at each other more like sisters or best friends than what they were.

“Mistress, this is my Bucky,” She stretches her hand out to him, Bucky forever heeding her siren call as he slips his hand into hers. “And that is our Steve Rogers.”

“I am honored to be in your company, gentleman. My mikrí mou skoteiní needs more family. I am glad she has found not only her mate, but a pack.” Her face shifts minutely from ecstatic to a little teasing. “One that will surely grow soon?”

“My baby doesn’t need to be having babies just yet!” Cerberus says in his deep honeyed voice, the slight echo noticeable now.

“My ma raised me right, ma’am. I got to mate and marry her before we go that path. My girl hasn’t even been to Coney Island.”

“Psssh. You haven’t been to Disneyland.”

“I was starting with Brookyln and Coney Island, doll.”

“Whatever you say, handsome,” She sighs out with a smile as Hades chuckles.

“And so it begins, Bucky.” Bucky grins down at his mate.

“I can’t wait.”

“Cheeseballs...the both of you,” Steve laughs out as Hades pulls Duchess into a hug, kissing her forehead before pulling away.

“Bring the boy down in a few days for brunch. Persephone will be elated, well more elated, to see you mated and bonded. Steve is welcome as well. You know how we love certain companies in the Underworld.”

“I shall bring the handmaidens as well. Perhaps we can get Mr. Rogers a mate as well,” Hecate teases again as Steve’s ears and neck turn bright red.

“We’ll call to check in tomorrow,” Hades continues, hand stuck out to Bucky who shakes it more firmly than last time which makes the God of the Underworld’s smile widen. “Gentlemen.” He extends his hand to Steve, giving him his own hard handshake before stepping back for Cerberus to enthusiastically hug all three of them.

“I love new pack members!” His echo-y deep timber reveals his obvious happiness, Hecate eye rolling good-naturedly beside him.

“I’ll text you later,” a smirk is painted on her full lips as she stares at Duchess. “But I understand if you are busy.”

“Goodnight Hecate!” comes Duchess’s embarrassed reaction, Bucky wrapping his metal arm around her waist and winking at Hecate. “Stop that!” She swats at Bucky’s chest playfully, just for him to catch it and kiss her fingertips.

“Let’s head home, doll.” Her eyes brighten instantly.

“Ooooh! I’ve never been to Stark Tower!” She states as Steve full belly laughs.

“He meant your bar or our shared apartment in Brooklyn.”

“But I’ll take you to the Tower in a few days,” Bucky promises with a kiss to her open palm as her temporary puppy dog eyes brighten.

“Goodnight all,” Hecate and Hades state simultaneously as Cerberus gives Duchess one last kiss to her cheek before rubbing his own cheek against it.

“Goodnight!” Steve, Bucky and Duchess chime in reply, watching the gods and guardian take a handful of steps before disappearing further up the path to the right, Bucky leading his pack down the left path towards 74th Street. 

“So, whatcha up to later, Sargent?” Duchess begins as they enter the area just before the Boathouse Restaurant, squinting just a bit at the brightness.

“Well, I got this mate who smells like fresh baked bread, lemon squares, cayenne, and a little hint of mint - who is in dire need of a mating mark and bond. And lots of baby making practice. Then I was thinking I take her for lunch at the Tower in a couple days to show her off.”

“Can you schedule an old school tour after the Tower lunch?”

“Of course, doll,” Bucky’s accent thickens a little as her eyes soften as she looks up at him. “I’ll even show you everywhere we got our asses kicked when we were young.”

“And by ‘ours’ he means mine after 1934,” Steve says from Bucky’s other side with a scoff, sending Duchess a wink as they get past the Alice in Wonderland bit and start on the path down towards the Model Boathouse.

“Whatever you guys wanna show me,” Duchess sighs out happily, leaning into Bucky and reaching around his back to take Steve’s hand. Steve squeezes back before kissing the back of her hand and releasing it, happy to have her in the pack.

“I’ll grab some stuff, but I’ll stay near - up in Natasha’s apartment a few floors up. Just let me know when it’s safe,” He chuckles out as a flustered look passes over her face. “Don’t worry, kid, it’s natural. Just lots of good luck to our furniture in the house with this Alpha.”

“Is Natasha’s floor far enough away, punk?”

“Well, I love my pack already,” Duchess murmurs as Bucky and Steve continue ribbing each other, watching the stars compete with the New York City lights as a few leaves rustle in the breeze and fall on the bright path ahead of them.

“Doll, as corny as it sounds, it’s amazing how I could try but I could never explain what I hear when you don't say a thing. Just your scent and hearing your heartbeat is a different kind of magic,” Bucky whispers against her hair before kissing her soft cheek, his metal fingers entwined with hers naturally.

“If every bit of magic was stripped from me tonight, I would be okay with it. Because the best magic I’ve ever received is you.”

Bless ya’ll for making it through my long ass rambling stories <3

@stay-frosty-royal-unicorn @chelsea072498 @clockworkmorningglory @sakurablossom4 @galaxiesinmymind @thewhiterabbit42​ @nobodys-baby-now​ @mizzezm​​

**PICTURE IS NOT MINE - FOUND ON GOOGLE**

**ALL RIGHTS TO THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNERS**​

[cherrysha]

Trust

hey ya’ll! Ive decided to answer asks in a new post, instead of continuing off of the asks. this is mostly because i answered like two seperate Uvo asks in one go. ALSO wanted to mention that i refer to the reader as ‘small’ in this one, and i by no means am small myself, its just that Uvo is 8 feet tall. Everyone is small to him, and everyone is capable of being manhandled by him. (also im going to use this gif of Uvo until the day i die)

@nav-chamberlain asked:

when you’re ready girl feel free to reply but nsfw scenario with uvo that has a breeding kink. y/n working her everyday tiring job as a babysitter/daycare worker & uvo being the kind himbo he is offers her a night out at the bar with them ending up drunk. y/n expresses her interest in possibly wanting a kid & uvo doesnt seem to decline. periodt.

@sug4r-ru5h asked:

hii!! i just found ur account and i really like ur writing🥺🥺maybe we could get some Uvo with a really twitchy reader after getting absolutely pounded??? im unsure if you write aftercare but if you do that'd be litty titty B)

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: Dubcon, drinking, breeding, overstimulation, a little blood, slight manipulation

“It’s not that I don’t want kids...I’m single, and younger.. ya know? I can’t think of trusting someone enough to have kids with them.” You pause, taking a sip of your drink before you whisper out a half hearted “if that makes sense.” Its not like you got to see your friend often, actually it was fairly uncommon to see him around. Whatever he did for a living, you still didn’t truly know, made him travel a lot. And you weren’t pressed on spending the majority of this evening debating about children. Uvo pushes the irritation simmering in his mind away. “You trust me, don’t you?” “That’s a dumb question Uvo” you finally peek up at his enormous figure, the scoff you had intended to let out, dying in your throat. Something Is brewing in his mind. He was never one to school his features, to hide the emotions he felt about truly anything. You're met with a glare, something akin to a smirk as well if it weren’t on Uvo’s menacing face. On him it looked more like a grimace “Then humor me.” His jaw is set tight as he lowers his head to speak directly into your ear “Do you trust me?” His lips brush against your neck, raising goosebumps in their wake and you can’t help the whimper that escapes you. This wasn't at all what you were expecting. You can’t help but to close your eyes and lean into his touch, and you can’t help but to acknowledge how warm his lips are when they finally press against your own. You know in part it’s the alcohol lowering your inhibitions and making you less inclined to think of the repercussions of kissing your long time friend. You know under normal circumstances you’d never be so brazen as to make out like a teenager in a packed bar full of scoundrels. But you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you don’t care. You want this. His hands snake around your waist, a low chuckle rumbling his chest at the startled way you jump when he finally pulls you onto his lap. “You gunna answer me sweetheart?” Uvo whispers into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and you instinctively try to wrap your arms up to loop around his neck, pouting when you realize he’s far too tall As if reading your mind, he pulls you up further along the expanse of his chest until your arms can finally settle around his neck, grinning at your content smile. “I do, Uvo, you know that.” There’s a pause, a beat in which he uses the silence in his favor to pull back and ask “Hm.. do I?” with a wry smirk on his face. Of course, You nod ‘yes’ and you're rewarded with his nose brushing against the hollow of your throat, taking a deep inhale there before asking “what do I know?” The edge of the bar is digging into your back as Uvo presses himself around you. The smell of pine and a hint of his sweat all-encompassing until it feels like you’re breathing him in. Breathily, you answer him “I trust you Uv-“ Before you can finish his mouth is on yours again, nudging against yours so excitedly that your head is forced backwards. ”Good girl” its grunted out in between kisses, and in no time his tongue is invading your mouth, clouding your senses in a way that could never compare to the alcohol in your veins. When you let out a whine at his praise, at his hands, his mouth, his scent surrounding you, the bartender finally decides he’s had enough “Hey! Hate to break it to you both, but people are paying for drinks not a show” Uvo only growls, eyes still closed he parts from you to growl out a “Fuck off” before moving to place open mouthed kisses along your jaw. “C-can we leave, Uvo? ” its whisper quiet, but he still understand the message loud and clear. “Sure, doll.” He smiles, easily lifting you up as he rises to leave.

--

How easily he could break you. Hurt you in ways that are unthinkable, but the concept of that alone shakes him to his very core. He’s wanted this for so long, has had to deal with a deep ache in his chest at even the mere thought of you being so far away from him when he’d gone on missions with the troupe. When he rips your bottoms off, all you manage to do is whine and shyly try to cover yourself underneath him. With a gruff “stop” he pushes your hands to the side to finally see what he’s wanted for so long. You beneath him, desperate for him and him alone. His smile is almost manic as his hands roam your body. Uvos never had to have patience, has always taken what he wanted regardless of anything else. But your lust filled gaze, your body so warm underneath his wide palms is enough proof that this was worth waiting for. And god, does he want to take his time with you. Wants to taste and savor every little moan you give to him, but he’s a man on a mission. So, he hopes that he’s worked you up enough at the bar and the way back to make this go smoothly. with little effort he flips you onto your stomach, grabbing harshly at your hips before lining himself up and slowly pushing in. Soft and tight, he fucks into you like it’s his duty. Hips coming to slam against your ass with so much vigor, if it weren’t for his hands gripping your soft flesh he would’ve pounded you into the mattress a long time ago.

He lets out a low growl as he pictures you swollen, your hands rubbing over your pregnant stomach, it isn’t a want at this point. It’s a desperate need that punches the air out of his lungs with every mental image. Uvo lets out a groan as he takes time to truly think about it, to savor the idea of claiming you, even if it isn’t something you truly wanted. Even if it was never your intention to be with him, this rough coupling only sourced from your lowered inhibitions due to the alcohol. He pictures you being filled by someone other than him. Someone claiming you for the rest of your life when it was obvious that you belonged to him. The thought alone so maddening that he almost doesn’t hear the high-pitched yip that you let out. His grip on you had become a little too strong, a little too painful. Cooing, Uvo wraps an arm around your middle, slowing his pace down a bit as his other hand comes to pull you to his chest by your throat. Your body knocks against him a little harder than he intended, but the mewl that you reward him with at the change in position is enough to clear his mind from any troubled thoughts. It’s delicious, the sweat that beads down the column of your throat, so enticing that Uvo has half a mind to bite down. His only distraction being the little soft sighs and whimpers and chants of his name falling from your lips as he rubs against that spot inside of you. Its unintentional, the onslaught of stimulation he so dutifully sends you with every sharp press of his body to yours. His cock so big that he has no choice but to rub against every part of you. To fill you so completely that you can only think of him. “You trust me?” he asks again, teeth nipping the soft skin of your neck. He was trying to hold back, truly he was, but the prospect of marking up what was rightfully his was becoming a little too enticing. You release a series of whines, too fucked out to even begin to form a proper sentence. Uvo laughs at that. Something carefree and gentle, unlike the way he’s still holding you to his chest by the tight grip on your throat. “C’mon little one,” he urges, free hand coming down to settle on your clit. “Tell me you trust me so I can give you what you want, hm?” And with the words numbly falling from your spit slick lips Uvo gives in to the urge to breed your sopping pussy completely. To fuck and fill and keep until the day he fucking dies. With a euphoric laugh his hips once again move against you, your cries falling on deaf ears at the brutal new pace he’s set for you. Its dizzying, maddening, so fucking disorienting you don’t comprehend the sound of your own voice as the orgasm that rips from your body catches in your throat. You thrash against his iron hold, eyes rolled into the back of your skull as Uvo’s pace doesn’t falter. “You cryin for me sweetheart?” he asks incredulously. Surely you couldn’t be overwhelmed after cumming just once, right? In all honesty, he doesn’t know, but he hushes you with a kiss to the forehead, grunting out an “It’s alright” before slowly maneuvering your body down to the bed again, strong hands ensnaring your waist and holding your pliant body against his hips. Too tired to even pretend to hold yourself up any longer, he takes joy in the knowledge that this fuck will be the one that binds you to him forever. It should be downright infuriating how quickly he cums just after you. His hips stutter of their own accord, hulking body dropping to cover yours completely, he finally gives in to the urge to sink his teeth down. Your body jolts, a cry falling from your lips as Uvo mars the flesh of your shoulder, drawing blood that mixes with his spit to form a pink hue that drips down onto the bedsheets. Its enough to make his entire body tense in pleasure, wave after wave of pure bliss rocking through him as he releases inside of you. If he wasn't so drunk off of the feeling, he’d probably chuckle at the way your little body squirms beneath him, as if trying to simultaneously get away from the feeling and scoot your weakened form closer. But he can't. all he can do is focus on not crushing you as he ever so gently rolls onto his side, making sure to keep himself pressed snugly inside of you. His hand idly travels down your side, lost in the feeling of your soft skin underneath his coarse palm. The contrast is enough to make you shiver, whining his name as he gently fondles the plump flesh of your ass. Its enough to remind you of his cock still buried deep within you, its girth the only thing holding back the fluids that surely aren’t supposed to be inside. You try to scoot away, a slurred “Gotta clean up” ungracefully leaving your mouth, but Uvo doesn’t allow it. His arm is still wrapped snugly around your middle, and there’s no give as you try to wriggle out of his hold. he offers no reasoning, just a gruff “lay back down.” And you do. You do because the heat of his body curled around you is too enticing. The feeling of his lips pressed softly against the top of your head, and the even breaths that escape his throat are, ultimately, too comforting to leave. With a sigh you listen, relaxing into Uvo’s warm chest even further.

[imagine-loki]

Omega Mine

TITLE: Omega Mine

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 21/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Loosely based on: Imagine Loki discovers the Avengers have an omega who has healing powers living with them. He’s an Alpha and he wants her, badly. 

RATING: M (eventually ) 

NOTES/WARNINGS:  Also on AO3 click here

Loki rose again, keeping your hand in his as he did.  He gave you a brilliant smile and settled your hand on the crook of his arm.  Clearly, he was going to escort you that evening.  You weren’t surprised.  Loki liked the spotlight and being the center of attention.  His pranks around the tower said as much.  But this press conference wasn’t the kind of spotlight he wanted, not with how he had been tortured and forced to attack Earth.  He didn’t want to relive that trauma, for obvious reasons.  You and the team all understood that and no one would fault him for wanting to stay near the team’s Omega, to stay near his Omega.

You smiled up at him, letting him feel your calming aura.  Everything would be alright.  Loki gave you a warm smile in return, grateful that you were there to support him.  

“Are we ready to head out?” Steve asked.  Everyone was there and Nat had finished inspecting their outfits.  

The team agreed and you all took the elevator down to the lobby to the waiting limo.  You all squished in the elevator together and Loki pulled you safely to him, not letting anyone hurt you.  He eyed the limo when he saw it, clearly having never seen such a vehicle before.  

“It’s called a limousine,” you explained when he’d helped you in and followed after you.  “They’re used for special occasions, usually by rich people.” Loki nodded along to that.  He was a prince and understood status devices.

It wasn’t far to the conference hall, which was good when you had the entire team in a limo at once.  You stepped out of the limo onto a red carpet, where the press was gathered to take pictures of you as you headed inside.  They always wanted to comment on what designer designed your dresses and suits for any event you went to.  The Avengers were famous, as one would expect with how often they saved the world.  Since you were a member of the team, despite not being a hero and on the front lines, you were just as famous.  Being a celebrity was something you were still getting used to. 

Steve glanced to you as you stepped out of the limo.  Loki was there and had offered you his hand like the prince and gentleman he was in order to help you out of the limo.  You appreciated the help in the long gown.  You gave Steve a reassuring look when you caught his glance.  He was always so nervous in social situations.  Especially when Bucky couldn’t reassure him easily.  They played down how they were still mated in front of outsiders, as people outside the team wouldn’t understand. 

Steve relaxed when he felt your aura and saw you nearby.  The team’s Omega was vital to their stability.  You all gathered for the press and posed for pictures.  Loki remained next to you, a proper escort.  Escorting you also gave him something to focus on beside the Midgardians taking his picture and gossiping about him.  His posture was stiff and he had a hard time relaxing when there were so many people ogling him for the wrong reasons.  You squeezed his arm, drawing his attention back to you.  He gave you a smile and a grateful look as your aura wrapped around him, wrapped around all of the team.  

Finally, you got to go inside and up to the stage where Steve and Thor would be announcing Loki as the newest member of the team.  You listened politely to the speech, your presence reassuring Loki as the pair spoke about him.  You watched the press too, watched and made sure they were accepting Loki.  It was your job to read people and you were damn good at it.  It was part of what made you such a good Omega for the team.  Steve explained to the press that Loki was joining the team and an official Avenger from that moment forward.  Thor reassured them that the Battle of New York had not been Loki’s fault or choice.  There was no doubt in his words and he left no room for doubt or disagreement.  He expected that since the team trusted Loki, that the Midgardians needed to do the same.  

A few questions were asked after and Loki made a couple of polite comments when prodded to do so.  

Once that was over, you started the mingling part of the evening.  You couldn’t stay on Loki’s arm the entire time, which clearly disappointed him.  The press didn’t fail to notice how Loki doted on you.  They could clearly see that there was no mating mark on your neck, that your collar remained the plain silver of an unclaimed Omega.  Clearly, Loki hadn’t laid an official claim yet, but it was very clear to anyone who looked at the pair of you that he was an Alpha courting an Omega, one who had stated his intentions and was now waiting for the Omega to accept or deny his claim.  That knowledge would keep any other Alpha at bay, unless they were idiotic enough to want to challenge Loki for the right to court you.  

This was the old way of the castes, the way things were supposed to work.  There were too many Alphas in recent history who would just take an Omega they wanted.  

Loki wasn’t like that.  

It was well known that an Alpha was at his most dangerous and volatile while he was waiting for the acceptance or denial of the Omega he was courting.  So it was amazing that he would leave your side in the group of the press.  However, he also accepted that you needed to have independence and your own life.  You were in public, in sight of him and the team.  So he allowed you to mingle, to check on each member of your pack to make sure they were alright.  He stayed at your side as much as possible, but didn’t overbear.

He was answering questions for a reporter with Thor when you went to talk to Nat, intending to get her to go with you to the ladies’ room.  None of the team would forgive you for leaving the ballroom on your own.  Not when Nat, Loki, Lady Loki, Happy, or any of the team really, would be willing to escort you.

A hand wrapped around your arm as you were walking toward Nat.  You turned to look to see who had touched you even as your instincts screamed this was wrong.  It wasn’t a member of your pack.  Your pack could touch you casually.  You scarcely even noticed when they did.  

This person wasn’t pack.  

You looked up at the hulking man in the suit.  Alpha.  Predator.  His grip tightened on your arm as he caught your scent fully, as your fear spiked at being accosted.   

“The Avengers brought an Unclaimed Omega,” he growled.   “Just begging to be claimed and knotted,” 

Your eyes widened as the scent of his lust and power hit you.  He wasn’t as strong as Loki, not hardly, but he was an Alpha and part of you demanded you submit.  You weren’t going to submit.  Not to him.  

“N-no,” you tried, but your voice stuck in your throat.  

The Alpha was moving, dragging you out of the room.  The team was all busy mingling and didn’t see.  Didn’t sense.  

“Quiet, Omega.  You’ll be claimed and mine soon enough,” the Alpha snarled, trying to overwhelm you with his power.

You had to stop this.  Had to.  Do… something, anything.

The team hadn’t been training you for nothing.  “NO!” You shrieked, using your magic to throw a blast of light in his eyes at the same time as you whirled, driving your foot into a very delicate piece of anatomy.  Nat had been drilling you on self-defense for months.  

The Alpha howled as he doubled over, clutching at his crotch with one hand, the other still managing to maintain his grip on your arm.  

You didn’t need to shriek again.  The team was alerted at your first shriek and were there in a moment.  Bones crunched in his hand as they were removed by Bucky’s metal hand.  Loki pulled you away from him a moment later and into his strong safe arms, surrounding you by his scent.  

“Are you hurt?” Loki asked you gently as the entire team held weapons aimed at the Alpha who had dared touch you.  

You shook your head.  “J-just a bruise,” and you were clearly shaken up, but no one would fault you for that.  

Loki nodded and slid his suit jacket off.  He wrapped it around your shoulders, surrounding you in his scent and safety.  He handed you, quite literally, to Thor.  A look passed between the brothers.  Thor nodded as his arm wrapped around you, pulling you to him.  His other hand held Mjolnir.  

Loki trusted Thor more than anyone else on this realm.  The pair had fought side by side for centuries, since they were old enough to hold weapons.  He trusted his brother at his back.

And he trusted his brother to protect his mate while he dealt with the danger.

That Alpha was so very, very fucked for daring to mess with Loki’s mate. 

[confusedgoldenflower]

There is No Glorious Purpose

DISCLAIMER: This is a Loki Show re-write which means I do not own the original show but some direct quotes will be used, it will not align perfectly with the cannon of the original show, and it will also be written the way I think it should have gone seeing as it was 2012 Loki who just went through Thor 1, Thanos' clutches and Avengers 1.

This is not a Loki/Sylvie or Loki-cest fic.

If you don't like, then please hit that back button and have a nice day. You don't have to agree with me, but I do expect common human decency.

For anyone remaining, please enjoy!

Chapter 1: Blue Time and Space

“Friend, I think there’s been a mistake; I am Loki of Asgard and you will regret this. I am burdened with glorious purpose, I stand at the right hand of Thanos.” The words were bitter in his mouth but then again, so was the bile that he dry-heaved up during his reconditioning.

“Yeah, yeah, come on.” B-15 waved it off, at least the letters on the helmet was the only thing pertaining to the person’s identity after they came through the yellow, rectangular prism. He watched her closely as they neared, fists clenched and fully aware of how far away the Tesseract had ended up. The cerebral recalibration the Hulk so kindly dealt him did nothing to deter him from his secret goal.

“What infinity stone conjured that?”

B-15 stopped, their own subordinates armed but waiting for their leader’s response. Then she laughed.

“No, no, it’s from the TemPad.”

“Pardon?”

“You’ll see soon enough, now, come on, I don’t wanna have to give the whole spiel again.” B-15 came at him. The baton-like weapon she wielded hurt. But he was Asguardian. He also had use of his magic now with the restraints in ruins. Twin daggers parried the baton thereafter. He came close to overwhelming her more than a few times but her subordinates always stepped in.

“Agh!” It was humiliating to be overpowered by not only a simple blow to his back but also to admit it.

B-15 smiled down at him, “let’s go, and reset th-.”

“Don’t touch that!” The soldier picking up the Tesseract and staring at it like a confused child paid him no mind.

“Ok, Variant, let’s go.” B-15 slapped something on his neck, his body involuntarily jumped the opposite way. He was dragged out of the sand and towards another yellow rectangular prism. Another soldier grabbed something that resembled an old Midguardian lantern. They passed behind him and he could not manage to twist his neck enough to watch them. Then yellow.

He involuntarily gasped at the non-consensual setting change, pain flaring in a memory. A shriveled stomach flipped. But… His brows furrowed as he soundlessly analysed himself and his sadir in respect to the surroundings. I can’t feel him… I can’t hear him.

The two soldiers carrying him wasted no time in dragging him across the floor of the large room. It too reminded him of past Midguardian styles…. But he didn’t miss the Tesseract being turned to the man behind the desk.

“Where is this? Where are you taking me?”

B-15 laughed from in front of him, “your trial, Variant.”

“Why, and what is that anyway?”

Next thing he knew, he was pushed into a room with a robot, “hello?” It said something before lasering his clothes off. He gaped in horror as his fine Aguardian leather was destroyed and he was left there in the nude. The robot smiled at him in some sort of sadistic glee as his scars and healing wounds were flaunted like war-torn cadavers against his unusually pale skin. The floor disappeared.

He landed. He folded. He panted.

“Please sign this.”

His head whipped up to the man he could barely see over the stack of paperwork on the desk. A gulp, a deep breath and Loki was the vision of regal honor. Silently, he noted that he had somehow been clothed and thanked whatever power granted him that.

“What is this?”

The man looked at him with an exhausted droll stare, “everything you have ever said.” He grabbed a paper off the printer and laid it on top. Loki nodded slightly, then signed. The world blurred.

“Please step through.”

“Pardon?” The room was slow to come into focus.

“Jotnar, please step through.” Jotnar? He hadn’t noticed his glamour having failed him. The sedir he had so ardently loved and utilized and developed was a small, twisted ball in his center. He was locked in a cage.

“Wha--how…?”

“Magic is no good in the TVA, now please, step through.”

A red-eyed stare remained on the agent as Loki stepped through the unconnected threshold. Nothing happened. Another bout of vertigo and he was being told and none-too-kindly to take a number.

“For what, what is all this?” His blue hands gesticulated some as he addressed the man.

“Take. A. Number.”

Loki grit his teeth but he stepped to the small machine attached to the stakes cordoning off where the line was. He stepped into that small, simple maze. It was another large room stylized after the later American, Midguardian twentieth century. Even scrapers looked better as they drifted in the expanse of space. He slowly meandered up towards the window behind a very loud human.

“My dad is on the board of Goldman Sachs! One call and your whole job is privatized! What even is the ticket for, huh--aaaahhhhhggg!” Said human leapt out of his skin and screamed when he caught sight of the large blue alien. Red eyes merely gazed down at him without much agency.

“Howdy, welcome to the Time Variance Authority,” the bulbous screens lit up and an American, Midguardian southern drawl spoke happily through the speakers. Loki turned his attention to the screens as something finally began explaining things though his entire being made the unanimous decision that he did not like the talking orange clock.

“I'm Miss Minutes, and it's my job to catch you up before you stand trial for your crimes. So let's not waste another minute. Settle in, sharpen your pencils, and check this out. Long ago, there was a vast multiversal war. Countless unique timelines battled each other for supremacy, nearly resulting in the total destruction of...well, everything. But then, the all-knowing Time-Keepers emerged, bringing peace by reorganizing the multiverse into a single timeline, the Sacred Timeline. Now, the Time-Keepers protect and preserve the proper flow of time for everyone and everything. But sometimes, people like you veer off the path the Time-Keepers created. We call those Variants. Maybe you started an uprising, or were just late for work. Whatever it was, stepping off your path created a nexus event, which, left unchecked, could branch off into madness, leading to another multiversal war. But, don't worry, to make sure that doesn't happen, the Time-Keepers created the TVA and all its incredible workers. The TVA has stepped in to fix your mistake and set time back on its predetermined path. Now that your actions have left you without a place on the timeline, you must stand trial for your offenses. So sit tight, and we'll get you in front of a judge in no time. Just make sure you have your ticket, and you'll be seen by the next available attendant. For all time.”

The workers responded to the screen, “always.”

Out of one dark order and into another, Loki thought and forced down rising bile.

“--Hey, I asked for a ticket and he didn’t give me one! I--ahhhh!....” The loud human was hit with the shining, golden end of one of those batons and literally melted into nothingness. Loki clutched the ticket between his fingers tighter.

“Next.”

He stepped up to the window and offered up the small scrap of paper. The next while found him bound in chains yet again. He knew a Midguardian courtroom when he saw one, and the one he was shoved into was more like a morgue.

“Next case, please,” the judge said from her elevated chair, heads above anyone else, but below three ugly “modern art” heads. How could it be that he could even miss Thanos’ disgusting chin?

“Laufeyson. Variant L1130, AKA Loki Laufeyson, is charged with sequence violation 7-20-89. How do you plead?” She continued. Laufeyson, how preposterous, it sparked an itch to kill the Jotnar king again.

“Madam,” he began with all his silver tongue, “a god does not plead.”

“Are you guilty or not guilty, sir?” She was completely unfazed by his appearance, much like her underlings.

He thought for a moment, “guilty of some offense against this Sacred Timeline of yours? Absolutely not. You must have the wrong culprit.”

A brow raised at him, “oh, really? And who should we have?”

“The Avengers, I suspect. I came into possession of the Tesseract because they traveled through time--undoubtedly in some desperate play to avoid my ascent as God Ki--....” He couldn’t feel Thanos anymore, so what was the point? Wasn’t… he… free?

“That’s quite an accusation.”

“The cologne of two Iron Morta--er, Tony Starks is quite difficult to miss. They are your Time Criminals.” He opened his mouth again to bargain; to survive but….

“We’re not here to talk about the Avengers.”

“No?”

“No. That was supposed to happen, you escaping was not.”

“Pardon? According to whom?”

“The Time Keepers.”

“Ah… the three faces behind you, I presume? Do they happen to be open for conference?”

“No, they’re quite busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Dictating the proper flow of time.”

“So then, what do you do, Madam?”

“Dictate the proper flow of time according to their dictations. How do you plead?”

The silver tongue was heavy. His back sent shocks of pain through him especially after the re-injuring the soldiers dealt. Chains often found their way around his wrists and never had it hurt so much as in the last year. He closed his eyes. He may have been able to assemble those Midguardian fools the way he had intended, the time traveling proved that, but what else was left for him? Just more fire, and lies, and deceit. I had so wanted to see Asguard again.

“The court finds you guilty, and I sentence you to be reset. Next case, please!”

“I raise an objection!” Loki opened his eyes at the interruption as the judge sighs.

“You may approach the bench.”

“Hey, there, blue-raspberry.” The older human man made a shy sort of wave motion at Loki as he passed with a folder under his arm.

“If you're thinking what I think you are, it's a bad idea,” the judge addressed the man.

“Okay, I'm just chasing a hunch.”

“Anything goes sideways, it's on you.”

“Okay. I feel like I'm always looking up to you. I like it. It's appropriate.” Loki knew when he was witnessing groveling. Norns knew he had to do it enough times in his life just to save his brother’s skin.

“Who are you?” He asked after the judge permitted Loki’s custody to the newcomer. Said agent was walking Loki around some halls. Vertigo viscously hit when he tried to remember every twist and turn.

“Oh, I’m Agent Mobius, by the way,” Mobius cheerily said as he shuffled the two into an elevator.

“And you’re not taking me someplace to ‘reset’ me?”

“No, no, no, that was the place you just were. Ravon--I mean Judge Renslayer can be pretty brutal, but I’m just taking you some place to talk.”

“To talk?” His brow raised.

Mobius looked up at his blue stature without a care in the world, “yeah, and we know you love to talk. Talkie-talkie.” A hand mimed a moving mouth. His brows lowered into a slight scowl.

“We seem to have different understandings of my persons.”

“Well, I am an expert on Lokis.”

“... Loki-s?”

“Yeah. You’ll catch up.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Hard to tell, time moves differently here in the TVA.”

He was led out again and followed the human past several large openings in the wall of the narrow hallway that lead down into double-doored rooms. One, he couldn’t help but step towards. Then found himself outside of the elevator again.

“Ope, can’t do that, sorry.”

He stared at Mobius who was now several yards away, “magic and time works differently here.”

“Oh, it’s not magic,” Mobius held up a small device in his fingers, “it’s science.”

“Magic is science.” Loki stated plainly as he walked towards what he assumed Mobius was indicating as the destination, back straight.

“Haha, ok, Loki.” The agent opened the door for him. He nodded in thanks as was polite.

“Let’s get you comfortable,” Mobius stripped him of his chains and cuffs, “have a seat.”

Slowly, he did as asked. He could have wept as his back was finally rested.

“Not big on trust, are you?” Mobius asked as he snapped a sodapop can open. He rejected a second that was offered to him by the agent.

“Well?”

“Trust is a twisted road.”

“Haha, nice one, let’s make that one into a button.” Mobius began fiddling with a machine on the table they sat at in the middle of the darkened room.

“If the TVA overseas all of time and space, then how have I never heard of you before?”

“‘Cause you never needed to. You’ve always lived within your set path; the story you’re meant to play a part in.”

“I live within the path and story of my choosing,” Loki responded bitterly on impulse.

Mobius laughed again, “well, there’s the lie, Loki, it’s not your story.” Mobius looked him in the eye as the machine projected an image onto the blank wall.

“So I think we could start with a little cooperation, hm? I specialize in the pursuit of dangerous variants--particularly dangerous ones unlike you. I’ve got some questions for you, and if you answer them honestly, then maybe I can give you something you want. You wanna get outta here right? So, we’ll start there. Should you get out, what will you do?”

Would Thanos know? Of course Thanos would know…. Of course Thanos would come after him for deserting….

“Take over Midguard, AKA Earth?” Mobius interrupted the silence, “finish what you started maybe? Be king?”

The simple answer slipped off his tongue, “I was born to be a king.”

“Happily ever after then? A nice feather in your cap?”

“Then the Nine Realms. Then all of space.”

“Ooooh, ‘Loki, King of Space,’ haven’t heard that one before.”

“Mock me if you dare.”

Mobius chuckled again, “I’m not. Honestly, I’m a fan; your biggest. I guess I’m just curious why someone with such range would settle for just ruling whether it be Presidential or Kingly.”

“... The first and most oppressive lie was that of freedom, and someone will always be above while masses lie below.”

“How does that one go?” Mobius had his nose in his paperwork.

“For nearly every living thing, choice breeds shame and uncertainty and regret. There's a fork in every road, yet the wrong path always taken.”

“Good. Yeah. You said ‘nearly every living thing,’ so I'm guessing you don't fall into that category?”

“All of us fall into some category.”

“Oh, riddles. Love that. Anyway, a sampling of your greatest hits.”

The machine whirled and he was met again with the annoying Midguardian heroes and his brother after they bested him in New York, “if it’s all the same to you… I’ll have that drink now.”

“That just happened,” he declared.

“It's funny, for someone born to rule, you sure do lose a lot. You might even say it's in your nature.”

“The last person who said that to me did not live long enough to regret it.”

“Phil Coulson?” The clip played and Thor’s “no!” rang out.

“Didn’t the Avengers come together to literally avenge him by defeating you?”

Loki kept his face schooled diplomatically blank against the small bit of triumph he felt rising. Yes, they had come together, a force to be reckoned with especially after Loki’s clever engineering of their test-run.

“Little solace for a dead man,” he said instead.

“Do you enjoy hurting people? Making them feel small? Making them feel afraid? Making them feel little?” Mobius looked at him with an expression all too familiar from a certain one-eyed Aesir.

“Your little games won’t work on me.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I think--.”

“I know what I am.”

“A murderer?”

“A liberator.” The memory of the Other’s lightning bolt sent a shock wave through his system. He was removed from them, but he could always be put back.

“Of eyeballs maybe,” Mobius scoffed and played the clip.

“Just look at that smile, you’re enjoying it.”

Yet another clip rolled and a wealthy crowd’s screams of horror rang out. He was the center of attention. No one in that moment had attention above him… but that blue still glinted in his emerald eyes.

“Did you enjoy hurting them?”

“I don’t have to play this game; I’m a god, you dull creature.”

“Of mischief? Right… I really see that shining through.”

“No, I don’t suppose you would.”

Mobius sighed, “let’s talk about your escapes.”

“You're really good at doing awful things, and then just getting away. This is one of my favorites.”

A plane’s PA system from the 1970’s dinged, “from the flight deck, Captain William A. Scott, Northwest Orient Airlines 305, on schedule to land in Seattle. Flight time today, approximately….”

The projection showed him from an outsider’s perspective on a plane, well dressed with his hair slicked back and shades covering his eyes. His past self spoke to the flight attendant.

“Bourbon and soda?”

“Thank you,” past Loki gladly accepted the drink.

“Absolutely. Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

“I suppose we'll find out, won't we?” A note was handed off to her and she chuckled only in social politeness. A clear misunderstanding between them.

“Uh, Miss?”

“Yes, Mr. Cooper?”

“You might want to take a look at that note,” past Loki leaned forward and whispered, looking the woman in the eye over his sunglasses, “I have a bomb.” Her smile dropped. The scene skipped to when he had emptied the plane of all other passengers and was back in the air strapping a parachute to himself.

“Oh, this is the good part,” Mobius whispered.

“See you again someday,” past Loki says, still politely as he accepts the bag of $200,00 USD from the unnerved flight attendant. He had often wondered how she had recovered from the stupid, oafish ploy; he did his best not to harm anyone but he understood how it could have been quite the scare.

Past Loki turned and walked toward the tail of the plane, “brother, Heimdall, you better be ready.” He mumbleed before jumping out and getting collected by the Bifrost.

“I can't believe you were D.B. Cooper. Come on!” Mobius moved in his seat in a way reminiscent of an excited toddler.

“I was young, and I lost a bet to Thor. Where was the TVA when I was meddling with these affairs of men?”

“We were right there with you, just surfing that Sacred Timeline. So anyway, escapes… and a little psychobabble. What is it you think you’re really running from?”

He held Mobius’ stare. Time Keeper’s approval or lackthereof seemed utterly arbitrary, and the agent’s “fan-ing” of him lacking.

“Enough of this nonsense--.” Loki moved to stand but was hit yet again by vertigo and back in the chair.

“Back in your cage. See? I can play the heavy keys too.” Mobius tapped a finger on his own neck.

“What is it that you actually want?”

“I want you to be honest about why you do what you do.”

“This,” Loki motioned a blue arm towards the projection, “means you have seen my life, yes?”

“Yup. Back and forward, and variant and not. I’ve seen it all.”

“Then you must already know.”

“All I seek is a deeper understanding of the fearsome God of Mischief. What makes Loki tick?”

“Yet you have seen my life and all variations of it.”

“I wanna hear it from the ol’ horse’s mouth.”

“The satisfaction of my own ends,” he finally settled. “Is this your psychobabble? You, the great arbiters of power in the universe.”

Mobius nodded, “yup, we are!”

“Yet my path, my story and my actions are not my own? A semblance of free will belongs to every creature.”

“Hahaha, good one buddy. Look, this one’ll fire you up.” Loki stamped out the pain he had only otherwise felt when he was dropped from the Rainbow Bridge. He stamped down it all. And oh, it was easy. Simple. It was his simpler state of being.

The projection changed to Stuttgart and the projection-surrounded square of kneeling people, “the bright lure of freedom diminishes your life's joy in a mad scramble for power….”

“Precisely. I was... I am on the verge of acquiring everything I am owed, and when I do, it will be because I did it. Not because it was supposed to happen. Or because you or the Time Variance Authority permitted me to. Honestly, you are pathetic. You are an irrelevance. A detour. A footnote to my ascent.”

Mobius giggled and scoffed, “you done? You’re gonna start taking things seriously.”

His body tensed. But all that happened was a twist of a wrist and the projection changing. He was faced with himself, bound and chained in Asguardian restraints with his glamor intact and cheekily knocking his ankles together to fill the hall of the All Father with the ringing of the metal clanging together.

“If you hadn't picked up the Tesseract, you would have been taken to a cell on Asgard.” Mobius informed him.

“Loki,” a familiar honey voice said in the ringing silence.

This future Loki addressed the woman in beautiful clothes, “hello, Mother. Have I made you proud?”

Her face stayed grave as he continued with undetected fake cheerfulness, “please, don't make this worse.”

“This is the future?” Loki asked.

“Yup, like you mighta picked up, the TVA doesn’t just know your past, we know your whole life as it’s meant to be. Think of it as comforting.” Loki grimaced at that. Comfort? He did not know such a thing. The scene skipped and he recognised the dungeons.

“And am I not your mother?” A projection of his mother asked.

Future Loki chuckled bitterly, “no, you’re not.” Loki felt the need to claw off the blue skin.

“Hmm,” his mother responded, “always so perceptive to everyone but yourself.”

“And then the Dark Elves attack the palace, and you think you send them to Thor.” Mobius chimed again.

“You might wanna take the stairs to the left.” Future Loki says as most other prisoners are set free.

“But instead, you send them….” The image skips again and it’s to Frigga in the grasp of the hellish looking Dark Elf.

“I will never tell.” She declares before she is brutally stabbed and fades. Loki jumps up but only goes through the projection. He can’t help her. No, no, no, no. Another tick. Just another trick like all those in the last year! He would never do such a thing. He loved her.

“You lead them right to her.”

But why would he do that? He was spiteful but-.... No, the elf. Think, Loki, think! Ah, yes, the Aether must have been helping them and changed them to that form. But why Asgard? Why Frigga?!

“You’re lying,” he pants, “what led to this!? Where is she!? Do you have her?!”

“It is true. That's the proper flow of time, and it happens again and again and again because it's supposed to, because it has to! The TVA makes sure of it. And you did this to your own mother, Loki! What kind of monster does that?”

“I’m not a monster!” He shrieks, voice cracking. A chair slams into the wall. He does his best to compose himself but his breathing and heart rates are all still erratic.

“What led to this?” He motioned to the agent then the world blurs to the projected image of her dead face. Fresh pain spikes his back.

“Oops, sorry, only loops you, not the furniture. Now, why don’t you tell me, do you enjoy hurting people? Do you enjoy killing? Were you about to kill me like you killed your mother?”

He fixed red eyes on the blond nuisance, “I wouldn’t hurt her!” The stinging tears obstruct his vision, but he’s too prideful to wipe his eyes--or the society he had been raised by was.

The human met his hateful gaze, “you weren't born to be king, Loki. You were born to cause pain and suffering and death. That's how it is, that's how it was, that's how it will be. All so that others can achieve their best versions of themselves.”

Loki’s grimace was translated through his conflicted heart into an almost silent sobbing scream. A chitauri screeched as the projection showed the Midguardian protection force he had pissed off enough to coalesce.

But he wouldn’t do that to her… he wouldn’t… he couldn’t….

“What are you doing?” Loki barely registers the voice as B-15.

“My job. Is it yours to interrupt?” Mobius responds as Loki is still frozen staring at the wall, not even seeing the projection anymore.

“We have a situation.”

“Gah, there's always a situation. Don't go anywhere. And it was just getting good. Spirited!”

The doors closed.

Mother, I need to find her!

Escaping the room was easier than expected and the maze did nothing to deter his frantic heart.

“Hey,” he ducked down behind the desk the agent from earlier was manning.

“Hey, I know you. You’re the criminal with the blue box.”

“Shh,” he dragged the other down, “what’s your name?”

“Casey.”

“Give me the Tesseract back or I’ll gut you like a fish, Casey.”

“What’s a fish?”

“H-how do you not know what a fish is?”

“I’ve lived my entire life behind a desk, and I’d like to know what I’m being threatened with before I comply.”

“Do you not eat--death, Casey, violent and painful death.”

“Okay, okay, I comply, I comply, jeez.”

Casey leaned forward and pulled open a drawer of a moveable table, “this it?”

“Wha… Infinity Stones?” The stones, mostly green Time and red Aether or Reality, were jumbled together in the small space.

“Oh, actually, we get a lot of those. Yeah, some of the guys use them as paper weights.”

“The greatest power in the universe and you have them carelessly thrown about?”

“Well, we actually are outside of the universe AKA the Sacred Timeline. Pretty neat, right?” Casey’s musings as he stood up and presented another bulbous screen hanging from the ceiling were ignored as Loki closed his blue hand around the Tesseract. It was dim. So, so dim and dull and…. Lifeless. His jaw hung open.

An elevator dinged, “oh, you almost hit me, that’s so messed up!” Loki clicked the button and returned to the small room. Slowly, he pulled himself off of the floor, set the Tesseract down on the table and twisted the dial.

“Your birthright was to die!...” Future Odin gave future bound Loki a sadistic smile, “as a child, cast out into a frozen rock. If I had not taken you in, you would not be here now to hate me.”

“If I had not fully asked for true mercy, I’d just say swing it. It’s not that I don’t love our little talks, it’s just, I don’t love them.” He found himself muttering along with his near-future self.

“Frigga is the only reason you are still alive and you will never see her again. You will spend the rest of your years in the dungeon.” He moved back with his shackled projection. That was too far, even for Odin. A flash of a red cape and eyepatched face looking down and telling him “no” passed in front of his eyes. His finger rolled on the dial.

“I love you, my sons. Remember this place. Home….” Future Odin told both Thor and him as he disappeared into energy from the cliff Loki was fairly sure belonged to Midguard. A breath caught. What… how… could it be?

It skipped forward again, “Loki, I thought the world of you, I thought we were going to fight side by side forever.” Future Thor with shorn hair and different clothes regarded future Loki--actually regarded him. Had he died? What sort of trickery could this be? He gulped around the hope in his throat.

“Maybe you're not so bad after all, brother. Maybe not…. Thank you. If you were here, I might even give you a hug.” An eyepatched Thor smiled at his future, blue leather clad self as a glass liquor stopper was thrown.

His future self caught it, “I’m here.” He smiled at the sight, that’s all I ever wanted… to be your equal, brother. He sniffled.

His life skipped forward again, “undying? You should choose your words more carefully.” Blue features immediately smoothed out and drooped in horror at the site of the purple titan. A golden gauntlet endued with infinity stones closed around his neck. His future self writhed in the air.

“You will… never… be a… god!” He flinched at the cracking of his own neck, his future self’s body falling limp instantly. No! He wouldn’t let himself die to him! He watched helplessly as his future self’s body was dropped while Thor screamed. The power stone’s magic broke up the spaceship as Thor wept over him. Purple enveloped the screen and then “END FILE.”

“Hah… hah… hah… hehehehe,” his lungs spasmed.

“Glorious purpose,” Loki sneered to no one. He collapsed gripping the Tesseract.

“Loki?... Nowhere left to run.”

“I know. Will you be ‘resetting’ or otherwise doing away with me now?” He stared into the dull blue depths of the Space Stone’s container rather than bothering to look up at the human. There wasn’t an answer.

“I am tired, Mobius.”

Knees popped as the other slowly knelt by him, “listen, I can’t offer you salvation, but maybe I can offer you something better. A fugitive Variant’s been killing our minutemen.”

“So why me?”

“The Variant we’re hunting is, well, you.”

He lifted his head, “pardon?”

[letsunity]

Save Your Tears

Omega is gone. He failed her. The blastershot to his chest doesn't nearly compare to the hole she left behind.

He failed.

Hunter fought many, duelled even more. It usually went the same way, him taking down multiple targets at once.

That bounty hunter moved so fast that Hunter blinked and was on the ground. His hand wasn't even on the blaster; it's like it teleported. Hunter had only seen such speed in the Jedi; not even a droid had such reflexes.

What hurt the most, however, was her face as he faded from consciousness. She was so scared, terrified, likely believing that he was dead. He should be; by turning to shoot the droid, the blast barely missed his heart. The last thing he heard was her cry for help, then his brothers waking him back up.

Not even twelve hours before, Hunter told her that she was staying with them; they'd never leave her. She'd never be alone ever again. Omega, a child with no experience with the outside world, trusted him. He failed that trust; he failed her; he failed everybody. A leader is supposed to protect their squad, but he failed.

Although Hunter didn't know, he failed Crosshair first. Thanks to Wrecker, they know he's trapped in there, controlled by that chip. Even though he's not doing it, Hunter can't help but hate him, which only makes it worse.

Hunter doesn't want to hate him, he has to hate the chip, but when Crosshair threatened Omega, it was nearly impossible.

He failed them both. By delaying removing the chips, he failed Wrecker, too.

What kind of leader fails his squad so horrifically?

When Wrecker strangled him, the electricity from that Zygerrian's whip, being shot, none of that compared to the emotional anguish.

  "Several rib fractures, a crack along the sternum and lung burn. Considering the probability of surviving the shot, it should be worse."

Though he knew better, it felt like he deserved worse.

"Do you know what Bounty Hunter it was?" Hunter growled out, a hand instinctively covering his bandaged chest. His insides were on fire, even with the bacta-patch.

  "According to Cid, their name is Cad Bane. I've checked my data and found that he was the very bounty hunter who held several senators hostage, kidnapped three force-sensitive children and successfully stole a Holocron. Given that information, I've concluded that you were outmatched. The responsibility isn't on your shoulders."

Tech was trying to make him feel better. It was Hunter's responsibility; it was his fault, regardless of Tech's data.

The specialist didn't know what else to say; emotion wasn't his strength. Tech followed logic, data, information, but emotion didn't follow such consistency. It was illogical, often unreasonable; it was out of Tech's range of capability. Tech's alexithymia made him unsuitable for comforting his Seargent; he couldn't identify his own emotions, let alone Hunter's.

The lack of Omega's presence was noticeable, however. There was pressure inside of his chest, a clawing sensation in his throat. His eyes stung, despite his goggles securely fastened.

From Tech's understanding of biology, his brain was excreting chemicals that equated emotion. As there would eventually be excess, it'll leak through his tear ducts, possibly why his eyes stung. Despite understanding what was physically happening, he couldn't fathom what was going on emotionally; he wasn't connected correctly.

Was it fear, guilt, sorrow? Tech didn't know. He conflicted about it, both envious and grateful for this cross-wiring.

  "It wasn't your fault," Tech shortened, aiming to appease his brother's internal monsoon. His facial expression remained strained, indicating failure. "You'll be no help to anybody if you exacerbate your injuries."

  "The past weeks, I don't feel like I've been much help."

Ah, the illogical side of emotional turmoil. Tech didn't have a way of navigating this obstacle. He had too little data to compare and devise a plan for.

Given his unsuitability, having another take his place was the logical course of action.

  "Echo, Wrecker, I require your presence," Tech called, taking some steps back. When they stepped up to Tech, he was straight with them, like always. "I don't know how to assist emotionally."

  "Ain't like we're any better," Wrecker shrugged honestly.

  "Possibly, but you can empathise far easier. Echo, perhaps you're better suited for this task."

"What we do is stay together and support each other," Echo stated firmly, pointing back to their distracted brother. "We're in this together; we'll get through it together."

Wrecker provided a grunt of agreement. While he wanted to break something, they needed to help each other. He wanted to blow stuff up, but even that wouldn't make him feel better. It was bad enough that Wrecker tried killing Omega, but he couldn't help protect her, either.

He failed just as much as Hunter did. He wasn't a good enough big brother to her; he wasn't strong enough to help. That's all Wrecker can do, though, blow stuff up and be strong. He'd be strong for his brothers; he didn't know what else he could do other than breaking something.

While Echo was preoccupied with Tech, Wrecker entered the small set-up they had for Hunter.

  "I got her bow," Wrecker said, hoping that'd help some. "We don't blame ya."

  "You never were a good liar," Hunter responded, noting the discomfort he'd caused. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

He didn't want to, but on some level, Wrecker did blame Hunter a little. He shouldn't; Wrecker didn't even manage against Fennec, let alone this Bane guy. It wasn't right. Wrecker didn't think that anybody was to blame.

  "Yeah, I know. You're upset; we're all upset. Things get said, fists fly, it's an outlet thing, innit?"

The hulking clone shifted himself onto the makeshift bed, alerting Hunter. He manoeuvred himself behind the Seargent, wrapping his big arms around his brother. Given that Hunter was injured, Wrecker didn't hold as tight as he wanted to. Holding someone made Wrecker feel a little better, though it wouldn't make up for the emptiness.

Without the energy to fight it, Hunter accepted the embrace, shivering from the overwhelming turmoil. His body rose and fell, moved by Wrecker's breathing, something to try and focus on.

As the moments flew by, salty warm wetness tapped onto Hunter's shoulder. The smell burned his sinuses, scratching into his own eyes, demanding to be quenched.

Echo joined them, sitting to Hunter's right and integrating into the bundle. Wrecker moved his arm to add Echo, pulling the trio closer together.

Hunter could see Echo was holding her trooper doll; she'd painted it to look like him.

With Omega gone, she didn't feel like just a friend. She didn't feel like a sister, either; it was more than that. He'd been following Cut's advice; he was an acting father figure to her.

Finally, after weeks of caring for the girl, it dawned on him. She was his daughter, his child. He was her father, guiding her and protecting her, who failed her.

Echo had dealt with loss before; it was a constant being a soldier and in the 501st. He watched his brothers die constantly; he was there was Cutup was eaten, as Droidbait was shot, and as Hevy blew up, and stood by as 99 perished valiantly. He couldn't be there for his twin, Fives, something that pained him daily.

The fact that Rex probably killed Anakin hurt too. Knowing how good the General was to the 501st, he didn't deserve that fate. As Ahsoka wasn't a Jedi, maybe she survived, his dorky togruta sister living her own life. She'd grown up so much since he died.

It was hopeful, as was the thought of seeing Omega again. He didn't know how, but Echo was determined to help get her back. They needed her back; she was one of them. If the stars aligned, they could rescue Crosshair, too.

Hunter had his brothers on all sides. Even with this secure sensation, the loss of his daughter did not waver. It grew like cancer with each second, his parched cheeks begrudgingly satisfied. A leader should not cry, a soldier shouldn't break down like this, but alas, they weren't soldiers anymore.

They were a family, an incomplete family.

He failed her once; Hunter won't let it be a second time. He'll get her back; he'll prove to have earned her trust. He'll kill the emperor if it means seeing those brown eyes bright with wonder and amazement again.

They all will.

[missingartist]

The Witcher's Mate Chapter 7

Geralt’s cat eyes followed the two walkers with predator-like focus. A deep growl pushed itself from his chest as he watched Jaskier knock his shoulder against the women gently as he told her another tale from his repertoire. The Witcher’s eyes narrowed as the Adva chuckled weakly and attempted to push him back. For the past three days, they had been travelling through miles of muddy roads and dense woodland; it was beginning to take its toll on the young women’s body. Despite Geralt’s best efforts Adva refused to join him on his horse even though he could see the slouch in her figure and the exhaustion in her features as they travelled. It took all of Geralt’s free will to stop himself from yanking her up, throwing her across his saddle. The smell of apples and the ocean was teasing him; he needed it closer; he wanted to bury his face in her neck and drinking in the heady scent. It was craving, a need, a yearning, burning him from the inside out.

In the darkening sky, there was a dim glow in the near distance, a small town. The Witcher surveyed the town for a moment before returning his gaze to his new travel companion. She had been subdued since her eruption the days previous, choosing to ignore his presence and focusing on the babbling bard.

‘Geralt…Geralt there is a town...wine…meat and beds. Think about it…real-life beds. Soft, fluffy warm beds. Come on Geralt lets stay the night. We might even find a new tale...or at the very least, a warm bath and a change of clothing.’ Jaskier prodded, shinnying his best puppy dog eyes at him.

Adva look up silent at the two men, there was almost a playful banter of faux hated from the older man. In truth she didn’t care where she slept, a bed, a muddy hole on top of a bed of nettle as long as she got some rest, her body ached, literal ached, she was used to being tired especially in the last weeks in Brightwater after the attacks, but this was on a whole other level. The sort of tiredness that seeped into your bones and made you eyelids feel like lead. Adva wrinkled her nose, the clothes she wore were stained, bile rose in her throat as she runs her hand over a sticky rust colour stain on her dress, a mix of hers and Tradi’s blood. It was only then she realised she hadn’t had a change of clothes since Brightwater. The same dress that has a massive slit in the side where Griffin’s talons caught her, an overshirt had been pulled over the bodice, and her old cloak flung round her. It covered her modestly, but she dreaded to think what a state she looked. She hadn’t bathed in a week, no hairbrush or fresh clothes, she had nothing, every possess she had ever own was gone, everything she owns was currently wrapped tightly around her body. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Staring up at the Witcher, she could feel his heavy gaze on her but refused to look away; instead, she shifted uncomfortably on her feet. It didn’t take a Witcher to see the line of water collect against her lashes. Casting his golden orbs back the town he sent his jaw in a tight clench as he urged Roach onwards.

‘Hmmm’

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Heavy spices filled the air, sage and rosemary, cinnamon and nutmeg. Merchants voiced echoed through the street as people rushed from one place to the other, in a rush to get the last of their supplies before darkness fell. Upon reaching the town gates, Geralt dismounted his horse and led him through the dwindling crowd. People parted allowing the trio to slip through, edger eyes cast upon them, intrigued at the white-haired hulk of a man.

Jaskier pranced across the ground, strumming his lute softly, making the pretty young girls laugh behind their hands as he blew them kisses. Adva fell as little way behind the pair, eyes scanning the town stalls as she went. People chatted and bartered with the tradesmen; carts served the busy people with spiced ginger cake and pies as they rushed off home, the hearty smell of soup lingered in the air. A low rumble bubbled in the girl's stomach cause a pale blush to spread across her cheeks as the Witcher turned slightly, watching her out of the corner of his eye as a seller pushed his wares. Jaskier was on the other side of the street purchasing spare lute strings and bathing salts from an overly busty young woman.

Flashes of vibrant colour caught her eye. Rich pinks and orange against the vivid blues and reds. Rolls of cotton, silks and velvets in every colour imaginable. They were hanging against the wooden frame where a full range of garments,  headdress, bands, girdles, overcoats, cloaks, tunics, gowns and dresses.  The blue eyes searched the overladen walls that hung various outfits. Fingering the soft cotton of a deep red dress, she traced the simple gold embroidery design that framed the lace corset of the bodice. The next thing that caught her eyes was a dark leather underbust corset, with a cross-hatched design. Never in her life has she seen such a garment; women in the brothels often wore such a thing but made of flimsy silk or whalebone to tuck and frame their waist and push their bust-up. This, however, was a work of art, probably made for lady judging from the quality. Next was a basic blouse one in royal red and the next in aqua blue, in the softest cotton.

‘Ahhh madam, you have excellent taste…those colours would complement your skin…madams’ figure is exceptional… perhaps a tighter corset, it would empathise your hips and waist.’ A chirpy deep voice cut in.

Out of nowhere, a large jolly man bounded in her eye line. The merchant was dressed in an elegant doublet, in a brilliant shade of emerald green. Fine white whiskers framed his plump red cheeks; a large belly jiggled when he laughed. The violent greeting almost made Adva flinch back in shock, but his large friendly smile relaxed her tense shoulders. The old man waddled over and lifted up the dark leather corset and inspected it with glee.

‘I pick up this little thing in Nilfgaard year ago…it belonged to a master craftsman…see this leather work he almost went blind making it. I could not part with it to a lesser specimen of womanhood.’ He gushed as he held it up firmly against the curly-haired woman.

Adva shrieked back as the man touch, bumping into the broad chest of the brooding Witcher, who glared down at the pudgy old man.

‘Ahhhh this must be your husband… such a handsome couple…perhaps I could persuade you with some undergarments for the lady…’ the man winked up at Geralt as he pulled out several nightgowns. A simple thing, of plain sheer cotton cut in a princess style. Followed by a short lacey thing with a silk ribbon belt. A deep red blush moved across her face as Geralt peered down at the man with an unwavering gaze.

‘Geralt…Adva…where are you? I found a tavern!’ Jaskier bellowed.

With a sigh of relief, Adva darted off toward the tavern, leaving the orange eyed man behind.

‘By gum, you gotta good one there…a homely figure, a good hand full there’ The man crowed as he hung the garments back on the rack.’

Geralt’s eyes burnt into the merchant as he moved around the stall, minutes past before the silver-haired spoke. The man busied himself with plucking various garments from the walls of the stalls and folding them neatly into a bundle.

‘I need some clothes for my…wife. We left our last town in a rush.’ Geralt grunted out

The man smiled up as she continues to fold what looked like a dress into the bundle. ‘I thought so… a husband like your self can’t have a woman like that dress in rags. These should do…’ the man smiled pushing the buddle across her.

Geralt glanced across as the bundle before his eyes danced across the stall. Never in his life had he taken an interest in women’s clothes, yes he appreciated the women who wore them, but as most of them end up on the floor or ripped apart, the wasn’t much point it taken an interest. However, in this instant, he took his time to access each item, ignoring the man grinning like an idiot behind him. He had seen her finger some of the items before and picked up the garment and throw them over his arm. Glancing around he examines the remaining items, there were several lovely dresses but nonpractical for travelling long and hard across the country. The golden-skinned Adonis picked some oiled skinned brown trousers and riding boots.

Geralt tossed 30 coins into the man’s hand as he picked up the role of clothes. Grunted at how light her purse now felt.

‘ere take this.’ The older man grinned at Geralt as he tossed the underbust corset. ‘I’ve had this thing for five years, and I couldn’t let it go to a less worthy filly. You’re a lucky man, and she is a lucky woman don’t know many men that would toss down 30 coins for their woman. You must be quite enamoured.’

‘Fuck’ Geralt grunted as he turned and left in the direction of the pub.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adva sat in the snug of the pub nursing a small cup of mead from the pitcher Jaskier had brought before fluttering off after some barmaid with gorgeous Auburn hair and a pale, freckled face. The tavern was nice, large and open but most importantly, clean. Taking another sip of mead, she cringed as the yeasty drink run down her throat. It was sickly sweet and crisp in flavour but most importantly strong, the fumes for the drink along where enough to make her lightheaded.

Sighing, she forced down another gulp and rested her back against the oak seat and closed her eyes as her mind wandered over past few days. It took all her will power not to let the overwhelming emotion to pour from her. The shock was beginning to wear off, and she flight between hatred and gratefulness, she still couldn’t get her mind around what happened or why.

‘Well hello, little girl…looking for some fun?’ a voice roared drunkenly as his clumsy plopped himself down on the bench beside her.

‘Hullo love… fancy coming outside for a bit?’ the man slurred as he sloshed his flagon around.

‘No, thank you. I am waiting for my friends.’ Adva wrinkled her nose as the overpowering stench of ale the attack her, attempting to push herself to the other end of the bench.

‘That doesn’t make matta… they can join, well as long as they got nice tits.’ The man leered at her as he snatched his arm around her pulling her to him.

‘What do you think you are doing?’

Adva had never been so relieved to see anyone in his life. The hulking frame filled up the archway, his eyes were full of rage, burning away.

‘Nothing mate…Didn’t know she was your whore. Though mate I would have thought you’d have better taste…this one looks like she been dragged through a bush…though she properly has.’ A creepy laugh pushed itself through his teeth, making him hiss like a snake.

The brunette cringed as he laughed; it made her feel unclean. There had been those sorts back in Brightwater, lecherous louts who often tried to pitch her bottom as she walked past.

Geralt cleared to the other side of the room in two long strides. The supplies cast across the table as his gloved hands crumpled as he lifted the letch off the seat by his collar. The man's feet dangled off the floor, kicking weakly as the skilled arms of the Witcher lifted him higher. Adva tensed, the look in his eyes was murderous, raw and untamed, a look that she had never seen before.

‘You even look in her direction again, and I’ll gut you like the yellow-bellied fish you are.’ Geralt roared chucking the man across the floor where the landlord slammed down the pewter flagon he had been polishing to drag the man up.

‘Cumm ere Rodrol’ The older man grunted and pulled the young man by the scruff of his shirt and ejected him the muffled scream from the front of the door with a dull thump.

The landlord hurried over with some ale and a board of cold meats and cheeses, placing the offering in front of the pair with a grovelling apology before escaping promptly back to the bar.

Automatically, Adva began pouring a dishing out the mean onto the Witcher’s plate; cheese was soft and crumbly with a sharp smell. The meats moist and juicy, beef, chicken and pork, serves with chutney and mustards and thick slices of brown bread.

‘You know you don’t have to serve, you’re not a tavern wench anymore’ Geralt purred from deep in his chest.

Adva cast her eyes down and retracted her hand from the jug and placed them by her sides. It was right; she wasn’t anymore; she wasn’t sure what she was anymore. Plucked up and removed from everything she knew, stuck in an unfamiliar town with the man who had uprooted her not a penny to her name. A pained groan fell from The Witcher’s lips, so soft she was sure she imagined it. His face was pitched and concerned as he gazed at her

‘Where is Jaskier? The bard should have stayed with you.’

‘He went to sort out the rooms. A young maid was helping him.’

‘Typical’ Geralt quipped, taking a gulp of a cup in front of him and wolfing down a thick slick of tender beef, a trail of juices travelling down his chin. Adva’s eyes transfixed as tongue darted out and collected the delicious droplet.

‘Look..’ Geralt swallowed a mouthful. ‘I got you some clothing… and a few other things you might need..’

The Witcher voice was impassively soft now, almost inaudible, the deep rough sounds that made her feel safe. In front of her, he pushed a large bundle of clothing. Adva recognised them instantly from the market stall, the lush red and blues in the softest cotton she had ever touched, brown shammy trousers and a pair of boots. Digging deep a brush and soap lay on top of the red dress and undergarments. At the bottom of the bundle was the beautiful leather corset. Never in her entire life had she had new clothes given to her, instead of living on hand-me-down and cast of given to her from the working girls, that she had to stitch together into something respectable. These were her clothes.

‘These are for me, and I don’t need to do anything to keep the? No strings attached?’ Adva asked slowly, unsure and cautious.

Geralt looked up and held her gaze as he ripped a crust of bread with his teeth and washed it down with the last of his ale and refilling his cup. ‘What do you take me for? They are your clothes.’

Deep blue eye flickered across the expressionless face, her pupils darted to the deflated purse, no longer brimming with the coin from Brightwater. The Witcher had spent hard-earned coin to purchase clothes for her when he could have just thrown a pile of rags at her. No longer could contain the question that burnt at the back of the throat.

‘Why did you take me?’ the question sounded small, but it has the power to stiffen in his seat.

‘Because you weren’t safe there.’

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, Adva’s mind reeling as her mind process the series of event that lead her to where she was today.

Carefully she asked her next question. ‘What Tradi did…the experiments… the things he did…Am I really in danger? Did he really do all those awful things to get to me? Did they all die because of me?’

‘They all died because Tradi of Brownstone was a cunt. People like Tradi want power, don’t care how they get it. That is why I took you, your safe with me. Most mages are so concerned with their self they don’t care who they step on to get it…or at what cost especially if it other people.’

‘Do you know many Mages?’

‘For my sins…and there are a lot of those.’ Geralt dryly joked as he shoved a chunk of cheese into his mouth.

Adva smiled warmly across at him as she brought the clothing onto her lap to sort out. ‘Thank you… I have never had clothes like this. Thank you.’

Air rushed from her lungs as the man gave her a warm smile. It lite up his entire face, it was inviting, and a tingling sensation sparked across her body. It caused her to wonder why she had never seen him smile, most of the time he strutted around with a permeant scowl, the disdain that kept everyone at a distance.

‘Aww fuck, don’t cry.’ Geralt growled, he sat straighter in his chair, looking alarmed.

Reaching up, Adva was shocked when her fingertips met the dampness on her cheeks. Geralt was quick, so quick that she didn’t even see him move till she felt him thick arm awkwardly curl around her shoulders, pulling her body to his. A strong pulse on energy ran through her, and her heart slowed, and the nervous anxiousness that she had been carrying round in the pit of her stomach for the past three days disappeared.

They sat like that for a few moments while Adva dried her eyes, he scent was comforting, spice, ginger and cinnamon and cedarwood, she could get drunk of the smell, and subconsciously she felt herself melt into his arms and his arms tighten around her nestling her into his chest.

‘Ahhhh Geralt that is where you are. A tiny problem with the rooms. The tavern only had one room available. The delightful Griselda has selflessly allowed me access to her bed chambers, but you two have got to make some arrangement… should be too difficult seeing how you to cosy up as soon as I let you out of my sight.’ The bard sang playfully as he slid into Geralt old seat.

Jaskier settled himself down and picked at the tray of food I fronted of him and poured his cup of ale. Adva moved away out of Geralt arms and instantly became fascinated in her cup, taking small sips as Geralt glowered at the man in front of her.

‘Oh Geralt there was a man asking about you’ Jaskier mumbled his mouth full of cheese and meat.

‘Who?’ Geralt bite out.

‘Him’ the bard pointed as he stuffed another slice of pork into his already stuffed mouth.

Adva cast her eyes across the sparsely populated tavern to a group of three men, cautiously glancing at them. The trio stared suspiciously at the men as they whispered to one another. They were men of quality, at least for this small town, clothes of good quality, fur-lined cloak and full leather boots. Geralt’s hand inched towards his sword as they made their way across the small room.

‘Ahhhh Geralt of Rivia it is an honour to have you and your wife into our unworthy town.’ A middle-aged man greeted bowing lightly. ‘We hope you and your wife has been well looked after…we have something of a problem that we need help with.’

‘How much?’

‘Wife?’

[melancholicumsomnia]

[FIC] A Little Miracle In The Volume Part 2

A/N: Here’s the second part of my fic contribution to PEDRO PASCAL APPRECIATION WEEK 2021! Part 2 focuses on the #ppaw2021 theme of the day, Favorite TV show Pedro starred in. Obviously, I still loved Pedro best in The Mandalorian, but his performance as Oberyn Martell in Game of Thrones was absolutely exquisite!

Thank you to @pedrohub​ for the incentive to write this little fic. To @pedrocentric​, here is Part 2!

PREVIOUS PARTS

Part 1

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A Little Miracle In The Volume

By

Rory

Part Two

Pedro was limping back to his trailer, struggling against the urge to massage his aching groin. He had just come from the Volume to film a scene with Gina Carano, who plays Cara Dune, and Misty Rosas, who was playing the Ugnaught Kuiil. It was a simple scene actually, requiring their characters to ride through the rugged terrain of Nevarro in order to make their rendezvous with Carl Weather’s Greef Karga. In the pre-vis, they were going to ride blurrgs. In reality, the blurrgs turned out to be mechanical bulls, but with a wider girth. 

Brendan and Lateef had seen the dubious looks he was throwing at the machine and they couldn’t help laughing.

“Come on, man!” Lateef said in between wheezes. “There’s nothing to worry about. That thing won’t buck.”

“Hey! You can’t be Mando just by wearing the armor,” Brendan then goaded him. “You must ride the blurrg. Both Lateef and I have done it, so can you.”

Pedro let out a groan and gritted his teeth at that memory. Even his back was starting to ache in sympathy with his groin. “I guess I’m starting to feel my age. I really need to work out more.”

With his trailer looming not so far from him at last, he quickened his pace, wanting that ice pack he had his assistant prepare for him in the fridge. 

Before he could reach it, however, Pedro’s eyes were drawn to Werner Herzog’s trailer nearby. The German director was seated in front of his trailer beneath a beach umbrella, the Child on his lap. He was watching something on his iPad, which was propped up on its stand on top of a small table. Pedro heard snickers and he whirled to see the puppeteers Tamara Woodard, Kan, and Trevor with remote controls in their hands, hiding behind the crates. 

Deb Chow happened to be passing by and, when she saw the trio, she remarked, “You guys are the worst! You should really stop feeding that old man’s fantasies!”

“We just want to keep him happy,” Kan answered, flicking a knob so that Pedro saw Grogu’s ears go up. Sagely, he added, “We all know the stories about him and Klaus Kinski. We’re not taking any chances.” The others nodded in grim agreement, causing Deb to roll her eyes, mutter “I give up!” under her breath, and march off.

Curiosity getting the better of him in the end, Pedro cautiously approached that imperious figure. “Hi, what are you guys watching?”

Werner glanced briefly back at him and said dryly, “Oh, it’s you.” Going back to the TV show playing on his iPad, he replied, “Since you are playing our stoic bounty hunter, I thought I should explore your previous works. The Child and I were going to watch Narcos, but since it’s about Pablo Escobar, it might be too violent for the little one. So I figured the best option would be your episode in Game of Thrones.”

“Uhm, I don’t think Game of Thrones is also appropriate viewing for a kid that young,” Pedro commented in turn, only to realize what he just said. Wait! I’m talking about a puppet, not a real kid. Oh my God! This delusion is contagious! Grogu looked up then and gave him a sweet smile. But, then again, he’s so cute! Awww!

Werner’s lips pursed in a disapproving pout. “Yes, I know. I was pouring myself some iced tea when that scene of you in the brothel came on. I couldn’t cover the baby’s eyes fast enough, so he was able to catch an eyeful of ample bosoms and buttocks.” He glanced down at the baby sitting on his lap, wagging a finger. “Remember what Grandpa Werner told you. When you see a scene like that, you must never watch, you must never listen.”

Great! Pedro couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes, just as Deb had done. Now, you’re quoting Grizzly Man at him. 

At Werner’s remark, Grogu gazed up at Pedro again. There was no mistaking the now lecherous, toothy grin on his little face and the enthusiastic bobbing up and down of his brows.

Scowling, Pedro turned to the mischievous puppeteers. He mouthed out to them, “Guys! What the fuck?”

In reply, the puppeteers gave him thumbs up and wide, conniving smirks. 

“I should say though,” Werner then began thoughtfully, “I am very impressed with your performance here. Oberyn Martell, a proud, head-strong, and seductive prince desiring revenge for his poor sister… In other actors, the arrogance would overwhelm their performance, making him a figure to be detested or, worse, a caricature of similar characters in past films. But, no, behind that façade is kindness and gentleness. It’s because of your eyes, I think, and your voice. You’re speaking with a Latino accent in this one. You are from Mexico?”

“No, Chile actually.”

“You have a splendid way of expressing your emotions through tone of voice. Very few actors can do that. Brilliant performance, young man,” Werner gave that reluctant praise. “I can see why they chose you to play the Mandalorian. Even if you are not wearing the armor, you can still carry the character on your voice alone. How old were you when you did this?” “

“Uh, 38, 39, I guess.”

“And how old are you now?”

“I’m 43.” Pedro was not sure where this line of questioning was going.

“And it is only now that Hollywood has taken notice of your talent.” The German director shook his head ruefully. “Hollywood has become too reliant on the so-called ‘star power.’ I dread to think about the other precious little stars who are going unnoticed.”

Pedro was touched by Werner’s words. “It’s okay, sir. I’ve paid my dues, done my share of waiting on tables as a struggling actor. In fact, after working on Game of Thrones, I couldn’t find a single job. It took months before I got a recurring role on another TV show, The Mentalist.”

“Now, you have made it at last.”

“I’m not letting this current success get to my head. I know just how fickle Hollywood can be. To be very honest, I still don’t have that confidence. All this…” He raised his hands to the media campus surrounding them. “…All the work that I’ve been doing in the past few months, it still seems like a dream to me.”

“And that’s a very good attitude to have. Always be true to yourself. Show people who you truly are.” A wry, fond smile formed on Werner’s lips. “I suddenly remembered Klaus Kinski. He had been extremely difficult. He was a man with serious mental health problems. But he never sought to disguise his true self. It made it very hard for people like me, his family, and other people around him. Despite his foul temper, his brutality, it is that frank, straight-in-your-face honesty, I think that’s what I admired most about him.” 

Pedro chuckled. “At least, I’m not hot-tempered like Klaus Kinski.”

A towering hulk of a man marched onscreen on the iPad and Werner gasped. “That is no man! That’s a grizzly bear!”

“That’s Hafþór Júlíus Björnsson, one of the world’s strongest men. He played Ser Gregor Clegane, aka ‘The Mountain Who Rides’, in Game of Thrones.”

At that moment, a bright idea suddenly came into Pedro’s head. Should I dare ask him now? He did just praise me after all. Maybe he is already starting to accept me. Okay, I will!

“Uhm, Mr. Herzog?” Pedro began shyly. “Since you liked my past performances and appreciate my worth as an actor, may you please allow me to spend more time with the baby?”

Werner turned to him sharply, his eyes flashing like daggers. “I appreciate your worth as an actor, true. But it absolutely has nothing to do with caring for this baby.”

Pedro was crestfallen. Still, he persisted, “Sir, please. I promise you that I will and can take good care of the baby. My sister Javiera…she often entrusts the care of her kids to me.”

“But they are not your children! You are a bachelor.” Werner looked him straight in the eye. “How could you be a father to this Child when you aren’t one?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, sir, this Child is a puppet.”

“Then how can you commit to playing a father when you cannot immerse yourself in the fantasy?”

“But how can I commit when you’re keeping the Child all to yourself?”

“I have only three episodes to do in this TV show. I want to make the most of this time I have with him. We have just started filming. You have an entire season to bond with him!”

“No, I don’t! I still have to finish my commitments with Wonder Woman 1984. I only have a single episode with the Child this season, so my time here is short!”

Because the two men were arguing heatedly, none of them noticed that the Child was still watching the episode on the iPad. He was staring enrapt as the trial by combat between Oberyn Martell and the Mountain commenced. Many times, Grogu would look closely at Oberyn’s face and then gaze up admiringly at Pedro.

But then, the Mountain struck back with a vicious blow, knocking out Oberyn’s teeth. As the Child watched in growing horror, the Mountain placed his fingers over Oberyn’s eyes and pressed down.

Both Pedro and Werner were shocked when Grogu let out a high-pitched scream, his eyes wide and waving his little arms frantically. A quick glance at the iPad and Pedro realized why Grogu was in a state of mortal terror.

Before Werner could stop him, Pedro scooped the distraught Child up and started rocking him, patting his back. Grogu kept shaking his little head, rubbing his brow over the soft cloth of the cape hanging above Pedro’s collarbone.

“Sssh! Don’t cry, Grogu,” Pedro whispered soothingly in his ear, being careful that Werner did not hear the Child’s name. “It’s just a TV show. As you can see, I’m okay. He never hurt me.” To his relief, his gentle reassurances gradually calmed the Child down.

Still stunned to silence, Werner could only watch with mouth agape as Pedro placed Grogu back on his lap. To his credit, the Child raised his arms to him, wanting more hugs. Despite his longing, Pedro just gave the little one a gentle smile and a pat on the head.

“Stop watching my past works with the Child,” Pedro scolded the German filmmaker. “None of them are appropriate for kids, except for that one Touched By An Angel episode. I wouldn’t even recommend The Great Wall because he might get scared of the Tao Tei monsters.”

Having given the final word, Pedro limped off to his trailer to get that ice pack and some much-needed rest.

Neither man noticed the perplexed group of puppeteers behind them, all of them staring down at their remote controls. Kan even took to giving his controls little shakes.

When their fellow puppeteer Jason Matthews came over, Trevor asked him, “Hey, Jason! Were you controlling the puppet just now?”

“No, I was in a meeting with Dave.”

Tamara interrupted, “Did you install a mic on the kid because we just heard him scream?”

Jason stared back at them. “What mic? You know that any baby noises will be added by the sound guys later.”

Kan gripped a startled Jason’s arms. “We saw the Child move…by itself! And he also screamed, like a real baby!”

Jason grabbed Kan’s hands and slowly lowered them. “Get a grip, will ya? It’s probably just a minor malfunction. Get the puppet from Mr. Herzog and we’ll check it out.”

“But…but…”

“No buts! You shouldn’t have been playing with it to begin with. You AND Mr. Herzog.”

The puppeteers then walked off, leaving his confused crew behind. 

“But…but…we did see the Child move by itself!” they argued back feebly.

TO BE CONTINUED

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 178

Stocks dropped the next day. Nothing detrimental, but even one or two points never felt good. It was hard to explain why, too. And explain you had to, as you and Tony sat in an uncomfortable room with the Board. You weren’t scared of those people, and they couldn’t demand much of either of you. But they wanted to know what was going on. And maybe more importantly, what the two of you were planning on doing about it. If you even could. 

The Senate meeting had ended in your favor, so you’d thought. It was hard to understand why the public had had their confidence shaken. Maybe Wenham was more trouble than you originally thought. But still not a problem you couldn’t overcome, something you told the Board very strongly. And while they had their shortsightedness set on Tony for some reason, as he bore the brunt of their questions despite it being your show at the hearing, you didn’t feel bad at all for… influencing them. Just a little. Just enough to quell the heat. 

Just enough to get them to back off of him and leave feeling like everything was under control. It was, after all. This was certainly nothing you couldn’t overcome. A drop in the bucket. The next move, in fact, was easy enough to determine. If the public at large didn’t like the thought of you or any of the other Avengers being on trial for what had happened, you’d distract them with something else. Something new and exciting and shiny. Something about legacy. Something about improving the world you were still trying to clean up. 

Luckily for you and Tony, you’d just restarted the discussion about scholarships and grants. It was nice to have an easy ace in your back pocket for once. Stark Industries called for a presser three days after the senate hearing. The room was packed. 

“Tony and I are pleased to announce the initiative stages of our new grant under the banner of the September Foundation. We are looking to help bolster the dreams of students who want a better and brighter future not only for themselves but for the world. We’re targeting promising young students who have been curtailed by poor budget restrictions from public schools. Kids who need help the most and often don’t get it. Kids who are boxed out of getting scholarships that they desperately need because they’re not from a connected background or not athletically inclined. 

Kids who then have to turn to predatory loan systems that keep them bogged down in messes so great, their dreams of the future often get put on hold while they dig themselves out of debt. Stark Industries is aiming to help shape the future through kids just like that. We are in the beginning phases right now, and invite you to take a look on our website for more information. In addition to this, the pilot program for our detailed internships was an astounding success, and we’re looking to expand that program again. We’ll be looking for well qualified individuals with a taste for businesses and sciences who want hands-on experience in multiple fields. 

Tony and I will take a few questions.”

Probably a mistake. Usually always a mistake, to take any sort of questions at any sort of media event. But you had to do it for this one. And while most reporters kept their questions centered and focused on this exciting new thing Stark Industries was promoting, a few skewed towards recent events. Telling them that you’d already made a statement- several in fact- wasn’t enough for them. And you knew if you didn’t cut the meeting, it’d devolve completely into Sokovia and Avengers and Senate hearing talks. So you thanked them for their time, and tried to leave. 

It would have been smart  to disappear upstairs where no one could bother the both of you. But you had places to be immediately after. So down onto the front steps the both of you descended, while other news outlets were littered out along the sidewalk, waiting for this exact appearance. Happy was waiting with the car door open, Tony had his arm around you, the other one waving off microphones shoved in either of your direction. 

It was also a mistake- so many made today- to let Tony escort you into the back seat first. Because he was two seconds from getting in so the both of you could leave, and a question from a feisty reporter really hit its mark- “Mr. Stark! Can you comment on the public’s fear of the Hulk? Where is Bruce Banner now? Do you think he should be imprisoned for being so dangerous?” 

Uselessly you reached up to try and get a hold of his arm, but he’d already turned towards the crowd. A fire had lit up inside him. “A comment? My comment is that those concerns are baseless and wholly irresponsible. You’re talking about an esteemed member of the scientific community- and a hero. Bruce Banner has made it a mission to save lives. Usually at the risk of his own. Anyone willing to try and cut him down to help their own narrow-minded view of the world isn’t even worth the ink you’re going to use to print this headline.” 

A real gotcha moment. Tony had realized it too little too late. But more realistically, he probably didn’t care. After saying his piece, after defending his friend, he did what he always did. Mugged for the cameras flashing in his face to show just how much that hadn’t affected him. Threw up a peace sign. And then got into the car. Happy was quick pulling off the sidewalk. 

You reached over, uncurling Tony’s fingers from their tight fisted hold. He relaxed, but only slightly. It was a stupid question to ask, but there was only one reason he’d blow up like that over a question that was at this point standard. Shouted constantly. “No hits on Bruce yet?” 

His head dropped in a small shake. “Got some on identical wreckage. Banda Sea. If Hulk went down there, he had to swim somewhere. We just don’t know where yet.” Tony would never give this up. No matter what happiness the two of you were trying to earn, in quiet moments alone you knew he was still looking for Bruce. 

The information was so scattered. Hulk had taken off in the Quinjet for some reason. And now Tony thought he’d crashed it? Maybe more likely it had run out of fuel and just went down. But if that was the case, Bruce had surely survived. It seemed like the Hulk was almost immortal, sometimes… you had high hopes that he’d found his way to whatever area was nearest. Maybe had turned back into Bruce… You soothed your fingers over Tony’s palm. “We’ll find him.” 

“Depends on how much he wants to stay gone.” There was a sure defeat etched in Tony’s heart about this. He and Bruce had always been close. This was a tough loss to swallow. 

“At least we know he’s alive.” You were sure about this. Tony nodded, so he must have agreed. “Alive and…” He sighed slowly. “Out there. Somewhere.” 

“He’ll come back.” Reaching up, you touched the side of Tony’s face, turning him your way. Gently you removed his tinted lenses, just looking at him for a long time. “He might just need time to himself. You know how he is.” 

“He’ll think himself into a hole.” Tony understood this because… he was the same way. 

“I know. But when he’s ready for help getting out of it, he’ll go to you.” This you knew in your heart. When Bruce had come to his senses and realized he wasn’t getting anywhere by himself, he’d come back to Tony. One of the only people on this planet that had treated him with such care and kindness and with such humanity from the moment they’d met. You’d like to think yourself as close, but you knew Tony and Bruce had a special bond. 

Your reassurances eased his heart a little. “You really think so?” 

“I do.” Bruce would come back. You knew this. It just might not have been for a very long time. “Until then… telling reporters off is one way of lighting the way home for him.” Giving your okay for little spats here and there. It mattered little anyway, Tony would defend Bruce as often as he had to. 

But with your blessing, he smiled. “Glad to see we’re on the same page.” 

Yep. Exactly as you’d thought. No plans to stop telling off the press. 

Because it was Bruce… that was fine. 

                                                                --- 

On July 18th, Steve’s updated, new and improved, museum exhibit was set to be live the moment the doors open that morning. But, as you checked the press docket, he wasn’t expected to show up until three, to see the exhibit for himself. Take pictures with guests. And maybe answer some questions- about the exhibit. And nothing else. But you knew better than that. 

Steve might not have. 

Which was why it wasn’t a surprise when you arrived, fifteen minutes after three PM that day, walking through the Met and its storied pieces, waiting at the back of the crowd with everyone else, finding Steve overwhelmed completely with everything going on around him. Girls were asking for selfies. Boys wanted autographs and arm wrestling matches. Press had questions he didn’t want to answer. Things he struggled to talk about- 

Even things that he should have practiced the night before. Things about the exhibit, even. It was a question by a reporter on the left, who asked something about the Howling Commandos- who asked something about James Barnes- 

It not only sparked some sense of hurt in Steve, but prompted recognition from you. That missing piece of the puzzle. Something had changed between New York and Sokovia. And its name was Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. The one that had nearly killed you- and beaten the life out of Steve. Bucky. His old friend who had died and been reborn as some Hydra experiment. 

That’s what had changed. Steve had gone out looking for him, and as far as you remembered, had come back empty handed. 

But how did that translate into his current attitude problems? You were still missing something. 

Either way, you finally took pity on Steve and parted the crowd, drawing your arm around his as cameras furiously started flashing as soon as your presence was at the forefront of the crowd. You gave them a little wave, ignoring Steve’s dual surprise and relief. You were there to save him. It couldn’t be any more obvious. “I think we should let Steve enjoy his own exhibit, shall we? He’ll be around later for more autographs, if you’d like. Let’s say around four PM.” 

Questions started coming your way- What were you doing here? What did you think of the exhibit? What’s it like fighting alongside a piece of American history? ...is there any relief expected by way of the American government for the Sokovians? You remained collected. “Let’s not take this day away from Captain America.” And promptly after that told them, “No more questions.” Drawing Steve a little tighter in your hold, and urging him away from the questions, the cameras, and all his adoring fans that he seemed to have no idea about. 

Flexing your power of persuasion (or perhaps more your status in the world) you easily got staff to keep everyone away and empty out the Cantor Roof Garden. One semi-uncomfortable elevator ride all the way up and you and Steve were allowed a big open space with no one save the people servicing the bar. “How about a drink?” 

He wasn’t frowning, but he wasn’t smiling, either. “Sure.” And he didn’t waste any time once you put an order in for two glasses of wine. “What are you doing here?” 

“Checking on you. I know these things can be overwhelming.” After dropping a hefty tip for the bartenders, you took hold of your glass and lifted the other one up Steve’s way. 

“I appreciate it.” Even this was hesitant. And as the two of you moved away to lounge at the edge of the roof, looking at the city, he continued. “That’s not all though.” 

“No.” Agreeing with him, taking a sip of liquid courage. “I thought we should talk.” 

“We’ve been doing a lot of that, for someone who’s supposed to be retired.” Finally he found a little humor, smiling around the rim of his glass. Though it disappeared as he made a face. Clearly not a fan of his drink. 

“You know me,” sighed out as you rested your elbow on the railing. “Can’t help myself.” You’d had so much you wanted to say, but… now that you were here, you didn’t know how. Or what it was supposed to sound like. 

As quick as it came, Steve’s smile warped into something nervous. Apprehension took hold of him. “Why does it feel like I’m in trouble?” 

“Look, I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just gonna say it.” 

“Okay.” 

The both of you were looking at each other. You’d thought you knew how you were going to do this. But there was no good way. “What’s your problem with Tony?” 

“What?” Both his brows shot straight up. “Where’s this coming from all of a sudden?” 

It wasn’t fair to him, but you stayed focused. Watching him. Looking beyond the image he was presenting. “I feel like I missed every opportunity to address it, but something changed between you two. And I want to know what it is.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He went just slightly defensive, and wasn’t very good at hiding it. Turning away. Expression going just short of stony. “This is ridiculous. You came all the way here to ask me that?” 

You tried to be fair to him. You’d quite literally backed him into a corner. Without your protection he’d have to go back downstairs to the rabid mob that wanted to pick him apart. Yet… you had him on the rooftop doing the exact same thing. It made sense for him to be a little more than upset. “I came here because it’s bugging me. And I need to put it to bed.” 

“So do that. I don’t have a problem with Stark. I don’t know where you’re gettin’ that from.” 

“Every time you could, you put the blame on him for everything. I don’t know what you two argued about at Barton’s ranch, but I know it was bad. After the hearing you went straight for him. And you- Steve you hurled your shield at him. You remember that he’s just a regular person right?” 

“It wasn’t at him.”

 “Yes it was. I was there.” “So was I. And I think I know what I was doing better than you do.” Just like that the two of you had started arguing. It wasn’t with loud voices, but the pain was all the same. Steve shook his head. “Besides, Stark can take a little bit of heat- and he should have, considering Ultron was his fault.” 

“He was my fault, too. And Bruce’s. But you picked on Tony the most about it-”

“What now- I’m some schoolyard bully?” 

“Are you?” You finally raised your voice to ask this, edge sharp. The two of you were left staring at one another. Guilt wracked him heavily. “Steve, I don’t know what happened- but stop lying to me. You know I can tell, right?” His eyes dropped, and he set his glass down so he could cross his arms tightly. A storm was consuming him. “You left- to go find Bucky- things were okay then. Then you came back- you told me you had no luck- and suddenly everything was different. Why?” 

His heart squeezed, his stomach dropped. These feelings so heavy they penetrated you without much probing. But he was shaking his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about- and- even if I did- what does it matter? You two left.” There was a certain pain here. 

...some sense of betrayal that he’d either hidden very well or hadn’t had time to think about when you’d said you were going. Had he just been stewing this whole time? Was that it? But none of this helped you get to the bottom of what was going on with him. 

“We’re still here. I’m still looking out for the team. For you. I still care about you.” 

“Right.” He scoffed this out, looking up at you again. “That’s why you came here. Because you care about me.” This kind of smacked you broadside. “You came here to yell at me over Stark. If he has a problem with me he knows where to find me.” 

“He doesn’t. In fact, he didn’t want me to come talk to you at all. I do. I have a problem. I don’t like the way you’ve been treating Tony. You’ve changed and I want to know why- I need to know why, Steve, because you’re in charge of a team that needs your guidance. You’re a good man, I’m not questioning that. I don’t think I ever will. I just want to know what’s wrong.” Attacking him wasn’t helping anything. You cared about Steve, and giving him the impression you were picking favorites was not doing you any favors. You were careful as you reached out, putting a hand on his arm. He looked at the connection first and then at you. “Steve. Please. You know I care about you. I love you. You’re my family. Whatever happened, you can tell me.” 

If he needed help you would get him help. If he just needed to talk, you would spend hours talking until he was all talked out. Whatever he needed you would get for him. But he had to tell you. 

“I-” He was right there. On the edge. He was holding on to something. Something terrible. You felt it now. Only because it was bubbling to the surface now with your pressing. You held your breath. Something awful had happened to Steve when he’d left. Something that was making him act out. Maybe Tony was right. Maybe it had nothing to do with him, and Steve had just picked an easy target to vent his frustrations. “-Buck- he was in there. For just a few seconds. I put the shield down. I let him beat me. Because I knew he was in there. He could’ve killed me. But he saved my life.” 

Steve turned away, away from your touch. He settled his arms on the railing, looking out onto the city. You stayed standing in place, though you did hold your arms together. Trying to keep your balance. Steve was very suddenly bleeding emotionally. He needed to talk this out. 

So you had to let him. 

His head lowered. “He dragged me out of that river. And I spent months trying to get a lead on him. I found all his files. From- ...what Hydra was making him do.” Something clutched in his throat. You watched carefully but impassively. “And I- ...I-...” He stopped himself. Anxiety- dread hit a fever pitch inside him. But perhaps he sensed you were going to ask him to go on, so he pushed through to keep you from doing so. “-Buck is the only family I’ve got left. Except Peggy. And every time I go there… she remembers, and then she doesn’t. She gets startled. My being there hurts her every time. So really it’s just Bucky. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe you’re right. Maybe something has changed. It’s frustrating, not knowing where he is.” 

“Steve…” This wasn’t satisfying. You hadn’t come there assuming it would be. But this was… so much less than what you’d been hoping for. “We’re your family, too.” 

“Yeah. Sure. But. That part of me. Only he carries that. Only he understands me. I appreciate you- everything you’ve done- you mean a lot to me. But Buck is one of the last pieces of that life I’ll ever have. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m taking something out on Tony that I shouldn’t be. I’m sure he’s not holding his breath for an apology.” 

You felt your nose wrinkling, your lips pursing. This wasn’t everything. He was holding back. But this was… something. “Does he remind you of Howard or something?” Did that make sense? Steve had one foot in the past and one foot in the present- or the future, to him at least. Maybe where he had lost Bucky and had been unable to retrieve him, where he was lamenting Peggy’s failing faculties- 

Tony reminded him of a part of his life that he was grasping at. 

A chill swept across him that startled you. His eyes closed. He linked his hands together, and squeezed. It felt like you were holding your breath again. Something dark was swirling inside of Steve. And every part of you rejected it. “Maybe he does. If I’ve been careless- or even aggressive, I’m sorry.” 

This was not even close to good enough. He was holding on to something- something important. You knew it now. “No. This is not good enough.” 

This surprised him, though, and he looked up suddenly, turning towards you. “What?” 

“You’re a bad liar- and omission is still lying. What is it? Just talk to me!” 

He got angry again. “I thought that’s what we were doing. I’m sorry what I’m going through isn’t good enough for you.” 

“That’s not what I meant. And I can’t ever know what that’s like. And I’m sorry. But there’s something else going on. And if you’re not gonna tell me what it is- I’m going to find out.” 

Steve had left to find Bucky. Fine. The last piece of that part of his life. Fine. He’d been unsuccessful and it was hurting him. Fine. But something he’d done while he was out doing that- something he’d seen or come across- He was hiding something. 

He squared up to you, facing you completely. Waiting. A small pause while his gaze stayed with yours. “Nothing else is going on.” 

Lie. Guilt. 

 He continued, even through your hard-eyed stare. “And anything else that is- ...it doesn’t have anything to do with you. Or Stark. Not everything does, sorry to say..”

He was never going to give whatever this was up. Never. You knew it now. Maybe it was something deeply personal. Maybe you had no right to it. For all you knew, maybe he’d found Bucky. Gotten into a fight with him. Murdered him by accident. Who even knew? Who knew anymore? You thought you knew Steve but clearly… clearly that had stopped being the case right around the time Bucky had reappeared. Steve was even saying as much right now. To your face. 

“That better be true.” 

“Or what?” 

Was threatening him the right move? Especially if it was something personal to him. Maybe you were going about this the wrong way. You’d wanted to talk to Steve. To tell him to clean up. You’d… sort of done that. Now this had warped into something else. And you weren’t exactly handling it well. “Or I’ll never trust you again.” 

You didn’t have to say it, as the both of you stared each other down. He seemed pained again. Hurt that you’d say something like that. Hurt that you didn’t trust him even now. 

But. Finally, “Well it is true. So I don’t know what else to tell you.” 

                                                               ---

Tony looked up from the couch as you came in. You stepped out of your heels by the front elevator and walked over to him, falling in a heap, stretching out, putting your head in his lap. He stopped what he was working on, tossing his tablet away to the other end of the couch and ran his fingers through your hair. “Good talk, huh?” 

“Oh. Great.” You let out a slow sigh, eyes fluttering closed. “He apologized for the way he was acting, at least.”

 “All his sins are forgiven, I’m sure.”

 “Mn.” You started drifting just a little with those gentle massages at your scalp.

Tony waited, letting you enjoy yourself for just a little while. But, finally, “What’s your verdict?” 

Even now you hadn’t gathered your thoughts. They weren’t anything good, anyway. Blinking up at him, your eyes found his. He waited. Patiently. And eventually… “Steve is having some internal struggles about which life he’d like to live. And as long as Bucky Barnes is at large, they’re never gonna get better.” That was the one thing that was clearest. That was the one thing that made sense. 

“...but?” But Tony knew better. Tony knew you. He knew what you’d walked in with- some large, dark cloud. He could feel your hesitation. Your uncertainty. 

You just had no idea what to do with it. “That’s not all, I don’t think, but… Steve promised me that was it. Or at the very least he went pretty hard on the idea that it’s none of our business- and has nothing to do with either of us. So. For now I have to believe him.” 

Steve wouldn’t open up. There was nothing you could do but take him at his word. 

Tony’s head dropped a little in a light nod. “You okay with that?” He reached into his pocket with a small bit of a shuffle, but then settled, taking hold of your left hand so he could slide your engagement ring back into its rightful place.

Did you really trust Steve? Were you going to be able to let this issue rest? That’s what was really being asked of you. 

What more could you do? You let yourself be distracted by the fullness of being home with Tony, safe, sound and happy. In the blissful stupor you were tired of grasping for, you made up your mind. “Yeah. I’m okay with that.” 

Hopefully that would be the end of it. 

[hopelessromantic-ghost]

the mind electric

Pairing: Jason Voorhees/Me!!! TWs: descriptions of death, mentions of blood and gore, stalking A/N: This is extremely self indulgent, lmfaoooo. can be read as a gender-neutral reader, though!! I love sharing my love with this hunk of a zombie lol. also i know the ending is SUPER cheesy, im sorry sdkjsndvkjdnv 

---

“You aren’t supposed to be here.” Stunned in place, I manage to mumble what I can while my mind cranks into overdrive. It’s certainly not the first time a group of campers have edged so close to my home, our home deep within Camp Crystal Lake, but I’ve never had someone break into the cabin in the dead of night. I stumble a bit, desperately wishing I hadn’t left our bedroom at all to investigate.

An injured woman approaches me, her full cheeks stained with dirt and tears, her dark hair tangled and, at some sections, pulled so hard from the roots that streams of blood pool down her neck. She grasps my arm, startling me out of my stupor. “Please, god, please help me.” Her grip tightens, acrylic nails digging into my skin. Jason has been out hunting and, judging by the absolute panic in her expression, he’s not far behind. I swallow, bowing my head and avoiding her eyes as best as I can. He’s always taken care of his business away from home; as much as I love him, what he does always leaves me a bit nauseated if I think on it for too long. Face to face with one of his victims feels like a nightmare -- I break out into a cold sweat the longer I try to ignore her. “He’s coming, we-- we need to hide.”

There’s not a place in this area we could hide even if I wanted to. I want to say something, warn her that staying in one place won’t help, but the second I raise my head, her expressive eyes bore into mine, glassy and so human that my heart breaks. Something about her -- the brown of her irises, the curl of her hair -- reminds me suddenly of my mother.  

In an instant, the wood of the front door splinters wide open. What little remains of the solid oak slams against the plaster of the wall, echoing so loud that even I jump out of my skin. The stranger screams, staggering backwards and effectively hiding behind me with a death grip on my shirt.

At this angle, Jason Voorhees doesn’t look like my sweet boyfriend. All six and a half feet of him crams into the open space of the door, his shoulders hunched and his blood-stained machete aimed high. I can usually spy his sunkissed blue eyes peering through with love and devotion, but with only the pale moonlight glimmering through the window, the holes of his hockey mask are pitched black. Some raw excess of unadulterated hatred and anger crowds around him like an aura, and when he stomps toward us, I can’t help but feel as though he doesn’t even see me.

The camper shrieks, scrambling for purchase and forcing me to stumble with her. “Please, please stop!” She cries.

In a wild, split second decision, I gather as much of my stilted composure as I can and raise my hands. “Jason! Jason, stop it!” But he doesn’t seem to hear me. He strides across the living room in a few short, lumbering steps, his grip on the hilt of the handle tightening. “Jason, please! Look at me!” He’s going to attack me. My head spins with barely concealed terror as I reach up, close enough to grasp the sleeve of his jacket. “Baby boy, look at me!”

That does it. Jason stutters in his motion, breathing hard. His head snaps toward me, but still, I can’t read anything through his mask.

“Jason,” My voice shakes. I force myself to remember that I’m not talking to Jason the killer, Jason the ‘monster of Camp Blood’; I’m speaking to my other half. Jason, my gentle boyfriend, my kind and soft significant other. “Jason, it’s okay. I know she’s not supposed to be here. She’s leaving right now, okay?” I find his free hand and intertwine our fingers. Sparse, thin strands of what feels like hair wind loose around his palm, pressing under mine and catching beneath my fingernails, but I try my best to ignore the alien sensation. “She won't come back. It’s okay, sweetheart.”

At first, Jason doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even acknowledge me, though he makes no attempt to push past me. I hold my breath, bracing myself for the worst possible outcome, and at long last -- he lowers his machete and nods.

I can hardly believe he’s listening to me. I gape for a second, unable to grasp the overwhelming amount of trust he’s demonstrating, and then I surge forward to hug his hulking frame. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” I murmur, decidedly also ignoring the warm liquid seeping into the front of my clothes. I hope to god it’s not his blood, but the possibility that it’s someone else’s also serves me no comfort. Still, Jason melts little by little into my touch, though his muscles remain tensed even through his clothes. He knows I can’t stand the killing, and it’s beyond touching he’d let me intervene.

As soon as I pull back, I kiss his mask and smile. With very little remaining space between us, I can finally see his eyes, narrowed with a resigned sort of love that leaves my heart full and warm.

“Come on.” I spin on my heel and find the woman shell-shocked, staring wide eyed at the both of us. It must look so strange, I muse absently, for the camper to see someone communicate and embrace the monster that has slaughtered all of her friends. Had it been me, I wouldn’t even know what to do with myself. But there’s no time for explanations, and I don’t want to test Jason’s patience more than I already have tonight. Steeling myself, I grab her arm and force her up to her feet. “Come on, you need to leave right now.”

+++

Guiding the stranger around Jason’s mountainous form is a task in and of itself, but to my dismay, the journey through the woods also proves to be a stressful trial. A deep muffling darkness blankets over the wilderness, hiding the trails well even with the waxing moon as our only light, but it becomes soon apparent that the night doesn’t quite mask all the horrors. As soon as we approach the bridge, my companion startles and stumbles, choking back her sobs. The carcass, someone from her group no doubt, slumps half in the water with a broken wrist caught on the edge of the platform and a stream of red discoloring the river around him. I glimpse at the gruesome sight for only a second longer before I refocus on the edges of the trail, wrapping my arm around her shaking form and leading her past.

Not even a few paces later, we find another one of her friends on their stomach with their entire head missing. How many of her friends had she lost just within the past twenty minutes, rushing to cross the bridge in hopes of finding freedom?

I sway a bit, a ravenous sort of guilt clawing through me. It’s best to block it out, I remind myself. They don’t deserve to die, but they shouldn’t have desecrated these woodlands the way they have. It was either them or Jason, and I’d sacrifice all of them if it meant my love would come home to me safe.

Out of nowhere, the stranger jumps out of her skin and screams, knocking us both off the beaten path and into a nearby tree. My hand whips out, barely catching the tail-end of a sturdy branch, and I wince as the rough, jagged bark embeds across my palm with a few angry scratches. “What?” I hiss, casting a glimpse across our environment. There’s no wind tonight; none of the finicky weather that often plagues these parts of the forests -- it’s eerily silent. “What is it?”

“That--” Her voice shakes, softly, as though she’s afraid of being overheard, “That thing’s still-- still following us. It’s-- It’s--”

I raise my gaze over her shoulder, and true enough -- Jason Voorhees stands within a thicket of trees, still as a statue with the stained blade of his weapon barely peeking through the leaves. He’s far enough that I would have never noticed him, let alone hear him. I’ve always known my boyfriend has a gift with his stealth, but it’s something entirely different seeing the results in person. “He’s not a thing.” I reprimand, patting her bloodied fist balling my sleeve. “And he’s just making sure you leave. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but he really doesn’t like trespassers.”

If I know Jason, though, that’s only half the reason. His protective streak is a few miles wide, and I’d wager a lot of money that he’s already prepared to kill her quick should she try anything.

+++

“This is as far as I can take you.” As soon as my feet bump against the elevated asphalt of the desolated main road, I take a step back. The stranger nearly breaks down, pulling me into a hug so tight that I’m half convinced she’s suffocating the both of us. But I endure it, winding my arms around her and rubbing her back while an onslaught of tears dampen my shirt and shoulder. She’s going home to her family, and though I know this camp will haunt her, I’m beside myself with relief that she’ll be alive to make it home.

After a few moments, she draws back, her hands sliding to my elbows in a familiar, friendly expression. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad I could help. All I ask is that you don’t tell anyone what you saw tonight, okay?” A startled level of incredulity crosses her features, but before she can protest, I raise my hands, placating, “I know, I know. But by the time the police get there, there won’t be any bodies to find. No one is going to believe you.”

“They’ll have to believe us if we go together.” She pleads. “We can escape together.”

“Escape?” It’s too hard to suppress my laughter, though I can practically feel how out of place it sounds. “I’m not trapped here. I can leave any time I want, but…” At this, a soft, dreamy smile stretches over my lips as I think of moments stolen with the love of my life -- early morning cuddles and sleepy, late night conversations with no words spoken at all. I glance back at the woods, searching for that wonderful, worn hockey mask, but he’s nowhere in sight. Even so, I can feel his gaze on me, and a delightful shiver creeps up my spine. “Nothing could take me away from him. I love him so much.”

The stranger frowns, withdrawing from my space. I do my best to ignore the disgust, the confusion clouding her features as she reluctantly lets go of my hand. “Okay…” She murmurs, pressing her now free hand over an open gash on her shoulder. The stranger nervously glances at the opening we emerged from, as if expecting an ambush, and then she nods her head. “Well, thank you. For everything.”

With that, the stranger spins on her heel and limps alone down the road’s decline. For a few minutes, I watch her pushing along, fighting with every step to return to what remains of her normal life. No doubt, she’s going to tell everyone and the police will be here by morning, but I can’t help but imagine the rumors that will spread through town. Jason Voorhees and the strange human alongside him, disrupting and, of course, terrorizing any campers unfortunate enough to find themselves within the woodlands of Camp Crystal Lake. I grin and finally turn towards my home, eager to share the rest of my life with my one and only Jason.

[headfullofstories]

Truly Monstrous Luck - part 1

   I didn’t think my day could get any worse. I lost my job after I got evicted when my landlord thought my testosterone was fucking heroine, my wallet got stolen - thanks, New York - and that meant my bus card and my money, So I have to walk from Manhattan to my brother's house in The Bronx, in the rain, without an umbrella. I thought this was the worst my day could get. Boy, was I wrong.

I was on 1st Avenue heading towards the Willis Avenue bridge, when I heard footsteps behind me. I didn't think anything of it for the first few minutes - it's New York, a lot of people live here. But these footsteps sounded like someone was wearing tap shoes, crisp and loud and menacing. It made me nervous, sure, but I didn’t think they were dangerous. The only thing of any value I had on me was my phone, this shitty old Motorola Droid X I bought used when I was 13. Even if I did get mugged, I don't think anyone wants a 9 year old smartphone, so the worst that would happen is I would get a little roughed up. Big deal, I've dealt with worse.

But as I crossed 86th Street, the footsteps behind me sped up, and as I crossed in front of an alley I felt a pull from behind me. Then I started to really panic. A thousand horrific thoughts flashed through my head then as I was pulled into the dark alley, but none of them come close to what actually happened.

The person who had been following me was a guy who looked a little older than me, maybe 24. He wore a 3 piece suit with a golden tie and a pair of dress boots, and he held a solid black umbrella. He held me by the throat, pinned against the wall and out of sight of passers-by. I was shocked for a moment, unsure what happened - this guy was really strong. Inhumanly strong. After the shock settled a little, my mind was clouded with fear. Bad things can happen in dark alleyways, and I wasn't about to become another fucking statistic. I pulled at the man's hand, desperately trying to break free. But the man in the suit had an iron grip, keeping me firmly in place, several inches off of the ground. My fight or flight had already kicked in, and I was kicking at this man with all of the force I had, which was admittedly low since I had walked 15 blocks in the rain with a binder on, not a healthy combo. Combined with the pressure on my windpipe, I could barely breathe.

The man laughed as he held me there, weak and pathetic, fighting for dear life and on the verge of tears.

"It's worthless, little boy." He growled, and I saw now he had a pair of long white canines. "There's no escape now."

Oh, fuck no. No no no no, those things aren't real. Monsters don't exist. they shouldn't, at least…

"W-what do you want?" I wheezed, tears pricking at my eyes. I started feeling an overwhelming sense of dread.

"I might kill you. Drain your blood, leave you here for someone to find you." He starts, nodding his head from side to side as if weighing his options. "Or maybe I could turn you. Curse you with eternal life, give you the thirst for blood… which would you prefer?"

"I… I don't wanna die." I whimpered, not fully thinking what I was saying, tears streaming down my face.

"Unfortunately that's not an option, dollface." He smirked. "But I'll give you the next best thing." And with that, he plunged his fangs into my neck.

Up until this point, I had tried to convince myself that this dude was just some fucked up lunatic with coincidentally long teeth. But as soon as he bit me, there was no denying it. This asshole was a vampire, and I was fully about to die. Fuck, what am I gonna tell Justin? I guess nothing, he probably wouldn’t believe me anyways, if I even survive.

I thought that getting bit would hurt a lot more than it did, but it felt a lot like getting a shot - not painless, but unpleasant. I could feel the life being sucked out of me, and the longer it went on the more hazy my consciousness became. I fully lost consciousness after 10 seconds. The last thing I remember is his breath on my neck as my humanity melted away.

I wake up as I feel someone grabbing me around the torso. My vision is hazy and I feel hungry. My mind is hazy, I can’t manage to think of anything but death. I do my best to focus on what’s happening, who’s grabbing me, and slowly my vision clears and I can see that I’m in the arms of a hulking humanoid with green skin and an underbite with two giant protruding from its mouth. I start to panic all over again. What happened after I passed out? How long was I out? I start flailing frantically, trying to escape the clutches of this green-skinned monster. It notices me squirming, and holds me out at arms length by my underarms. Its silver eyes look me up and down, and as it seems to notice the fear in my eyes its own expression softens.

“Wh-who are you?” I manage to say as my mind fills with thoughts of escape, get away, kill whoever stops you and I hold back the urge to bite this thing. “What happened? Am I dead?”

Its eyes fill with a look of hurt and grief. “God, you’re so young. Fucking monsters, doing this to a kid…” Its - their? - voice is gruff, but more in a butch lesbian way than an MMA fighter way. Their face lightens a little, forcibly, eyes still full of grief. “Sorry, where are my manners? My name is Yvonne, I work with a group that’s supposed to stop shit like this from happening to kids like you. Fuck, these assholes get so damn confident on rainy days…"

"Why did you grab me?" I ask slowly, suppressing the overwhelming thoughts of death as much as I can. "Why didn't you just leave me there?"

They take a deep breath and go down to their knees and set me on the ground, still holding onto my sides, so we're eye to eye. "Fledglings like you are often overwhelmed by their desires. I can see the bloodlust in your eyes, kid, and you're doing a hell of a job suppressing them like this. But by the time the sun sets you will have drawn blood, and that has caused a lot of good kids a lot of grief the day after. The group I work for works to prevent things like this - vampirism and lycanthropy and the like - from being spread, but sometimes shit like his happens, someone gets infected, and we have a responsibility to contain those kids, give them resources for dealing with their passive urges, help them get their fix in a way that doesn't put anyone at risk."

"I am dead." I mutter, going limp in Yvonne's arms and start crying. "Fuck, the universe won't give me a break, will it?"

"I'm sorry, baby." Yvonne mutters, pulling me back towards their - her? - chest and holding me in a tight hug. "Shit, 10 minutes and I would've been there, 10 minutes and this wouldn't've happened to you."

"Wh-why do you care about me?" I whimper, curling up in her arms. "I… I'm just some stupid kid."

"Everyone deserves someone who looks out for them, baby." She sighs. "I wouldn't wish what happened to you on my worst enemies. This area is my responsibility, this happened on my streets, I need to make sure you don't think you're alone in this."

"Th-thank you." Is all I can manage, before the thoughts are back at full force and I clutch my head, keeping my head between my legs, my mouth away from Yvonne and my eyes away from any people. I hiss as the thoughts invade my mind like a plague. All I can think about is death, of blood, of killing everyone, of killing this woman who has just shown me overwhelming kindness despite never having met me before. I start crying even harder, trying to make the thoughts go away, when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look up at Yvonne, a look of complete calm settled over her face - I wonder if she works in healthcare? - as she holds a small labelless juicebox.

"Cow blood." She says simply. "Helps with the urges."

I snatch the box out of her hand, poke the seal open with a fingernail, and chug the metallic liquid inside. It feels wrong, but my mind is so clouded with the need to drink that this seems like the greatest thing I've ever consumed. I feel a little dirty after doing it, but the thoughts are quieter.

“Can we leave?” I ask hesitantly. “I want to learn how to deal with this. And I don’t want to be here anymore.”

She nods, and stands up. “We need to get to Belvedere Castle. Do you have a way of getting home from there?”

I shake my head. “My brother lives in Mott Haven… and someone stole my wallet, so my only way of getting there is walking. All I have is my Motorola Droid.”

She nods sympathetically. “Do you want to go to your brother’s house first?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to do two subway rides in a row. Plus, I need to figure out… how to tell him.”

She nods again. “You got a name I can call you, baby?”

“Uh, V-Victor.” I respond shakily, everything that’s happened in the past half an hour has me reeling and stressed and convinced that I must’ve just been pushed into oncoming traffic and this is a comatose nightmare, that a monster lady didn’t just have to explain to me that I’m a fucking vampire now. Monsters aren't supposed to be real, they’re not supposed to be able to walk through Manhattan totally unnoticed.

I’m not supposed to be one.

"Well, Victor, you good to walk the mile down to the park?"

I nod. “I… I have a binder on though… I can’t walk very fast.”

She looks confused for a moment, then realization flashes across her face. “That's good to know. We can get you connected to other trans guys at headquarters.”

“Th-there are other guys like me?” I’ve never heard of a trans vampire before.

“Nothing says monsters can’t be queer.” She reasons. “My girlfriend is a lycanthrope.”

I nod, a sense of lingering awe hanging in my mind. There are other people like me. This isn’t as much of a death sentence as I thought it was. It’s just another half an hour of walking to get to Belvedere Castle.

The rain is coming down even harder now, the clouds dark with the threat of thunder. I smile a little at that - I've always loved the sound of thunder. Vampirism isn't gonna fuck that over for me. Nothing can fuck up the pure joy the sound of thunder or sight of lightning gives me.

We head out, and I realize now just how hard it still is to breathe. My throat is burning, my binder is crushingly tight, and on top of that my legs feel like jelly. I do my best to keep pace with Yvonne, which is difficult to do without letting her know anything is wrong.

We get to Park Avenue before I have to pause and catch my breath. I tap Yvonne's arm as I wheeze slightly, leaning on a nearby building as I take as deep of breaths as I can.

"You good, baby?" She asks gently, and I nod in between breaths.

"Fine, just… drained." I mutter, not telling her about how tight my binder is. If she knows she'll make me take it off and that'll be worse than any broken ribs I might get.

"Take your time." She reassures me, leaning against the building and crossing her arms.

I mutter an unintelligible thanks, and take a minute or so to let my heart rate slow down and my lungs return to functioning normally.

"Alright," I sigh as my breathing returns to normal, "I'm good. Let's keep going."

She nods a little hesitantly, but makes no comment. I let out a tiny sigh of relief as we continue towards the park.

Lightning fills the sky by the time we reach Belvedere Castle. I smile wide as the flashes dance through the clouds, high above the highrise buildings of Manhattan. The water in Turtle Pond is constantly shifting under the barrage of the rain, warping the reflections of the trees and the castle above. Yvonne walks around the outside of the building, periodically knocking on stones as she goes, then walking into the castle and disappears as she rounds a corner inside. I trail close behind her, glad to get fully out of the rain. As I turn the corner where Yvonne disappeared, I find myself inside of a real, proper castle, walls lined with sconces fitted with lightbulbs and a giant chandelier hangs from the high ceiling. I run up to follow right at Yvonne’s feet, as the dozen or so people milling about turn to look at us. I can feel the creeping eyes of all of the people around the hall watching me, and I grab onto Yvonne’s shirt like a little kid following his mom. I have never felt less my age than I do at this moment.

“You don’t have to be so nervous, Victor.” She mutters, “Most of them won’t bite you.”

I snort at that, but her comment does little to stop the anxiety welling in my chest. Fuck, today is utter bullshit. It’s not even noon.

Yvonne leads us down a series of hallways, and everywhere we turn there are more people turning to look at me as we pass. I bear my teeth at a few of them out of fear, before remembering that probably has very different implications now that I have horrible vampire fangs. I keep my head down after that. I can still feel all of the eyes on me, but I do my best to ignore it.

“Arthur!” Yvonne yells as she guides us into an office-type room. “We’ve got a new infected!”

A man walks out from a sideroom and glares over at her. “This fucking early?” He hisses, then he sees me poking around from behind Yvonne. His expression shifts from annoyed to sad, and lets out a deep sigh.

“Where?” He grumbles, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“86th and 1st.” She mutters. “He showed a surprising level of self-control right after he woke up. But… I still didn’t get there in time to stop it. The FUCKING train was late and now this kid’s dead.”

“It’s not as much of a death sentence as you think, Yvonne.” Arthur sighs, then looks at me. “What’s your name, son?”

“V-Victor, sir.” I respond quietly. This man is tall, maybe 6’2”, with sharp facial features.  His cheekbones are high, and his nose is a little crooked, and his skin is deathly pale. He’s wearing a black leather jacket and a Queen shirt, and he looks like hasn’t slept in a while.

“Well, Victor, I’ve been living like this for 50 years, and I’m perfectly fine… as long as I remember to eat…” he looks at me a little closer, squinting his eyes. “How old are you, kid?”

“Um… I’m twenty…” I squeak, getting a little bit of sensory overload at this point. I pop my knuckles to try and ground myself a little. My binder suddenly feels a lot tighter again.

“Jesus fuckin christ…” he groans, resting his face in his hand. “those bastards love to turn em young, huh?”

I nod a little, then things start to go out of focus. The room is spinning, my vision blacks out, and before I know it I’m on the ground. Fuck this spandex deathtrap.

[xxx-cat-xxx]

Ayy I am here with a request!! One of my favorites of your fics is the one where Tony, Clint, and Bruce are all in a safe house and can't leave and Tony has a stomach bug. I LOVE that setting. Would you be interested in writing another fic that takes place there? Maybe someone is on a mission with Tony and he starts to not feel well so they try to find a place to rest and by the time they get there, he's barely conscious? :O

Thank you for the prompt, dear! I decided to simply write a second chapter for that fic. I hope you feel better soon with your new meds and all

This is mostly whump and Avengers family fluff and banter. TW for illness and vomiting. Major thanks to @whumphoarder​ for beta reading.

___________

Safe (Chapter 2)

Read chapter 1 here. 

The thing is, none of the Avengers consider themselves particularly lucky. Brilliant, strong, heroic? Yes, without question. Happy? Not nearly often enough, but it has happened occasionally. Lucky? Not a chance.

So, maybe, Bruce thinks later, maybe they should have seen it coming. 

He’s jerked awake by Clint’s command of “Move! Let’s go, get up, come on, we need to go, now!” and for a moment he’s gripped by an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. But Clint isn’t delirious; he is as serious as Bruce has ever seen him, so Bruce complies with the orders before his brain is even fully awake. 

The two of them drag Tony to his feet and into the bedroom, and then Clint shatters the window - a bit dramatically, but really, what else to expect from a former circus kid? They jump through, landing in varying states of (non)-elegance, and make a run for it. 

Five seconds later, the house blows up. 

“What the hell -?” Tony stops dead in his tracks to look at his friends with a baffled expression. “‘s this another fever dream or did someone actually just try to kill us?”

“Oh, it’s quite real,” Clint replies casually, picking an ember from his hair with a peace of mind Bruce can only envy. “I saw their van approaching through the window. That gave us a head start - otherwise we’d be toast. Now save your breath and move.”

Tony starts to jog again with visible effort, but of course he keeps talking. “So - just to make this clear” - he interrupts himself to drag in a breath, sweat beading on his brow despite the fact that it’s been barely a minute - “your so-called ‘safe house’ is now a heap of burning ash. Call me a stickler, but I have to say that makes it a very unsafe house.”

Clint just rolls his eyes and then grabs Tony by the elbow when he almost trips over his own feet. The archer turns his head back to Bruce, who is following them close behind. “You okay?”

Bruce is wondering what about escaping death by a five-second margin could possibly make him feel “okay”, but he knows what Clint is really asking about. Bruce is scared, which means that the Hulk is actively stirring in the back of his mind, but so far he is able to keep him under control. He makes a so-so gesture with his hand before asking, “Where are we going?”

“To take cover in the woods.” Clint points at the forest a few hundred yards away. “Under different circumstances, I would fight, but we don’t have any weapons on us and this isn’t ideal…” He nods at Tony, who is now visibly having a hard time keeping up. Bruce’s stomach clenches in worry; with a fever like that, Tony shouldn’t even be on his feet, let alone running around in the open. But it’s not like they have much of a choice.

They barely make it to the treeline when Tony suddenly stops and doubles over. He braces himself against a tree and heaves, a slim stream of vomit splattering onto the ground.

“How bad is it?” Bruce asks. His vision is shimmering green by now and he blinks nervously before massaging the pressure points on the inside of his wrists in an effort to calm himself down.

Tony coughs wetly and spits onto the ground before wiping his mouth. “I’ve been worse,” he says in a weak attempt at being reassuring. “Just, break?”

Bruce looks at Clint, who nods. They barely manage to rest for two minutes before a bullet whips past them, hitting the tree Tony was just leaning against. 

“Fuck,” Clint curses, his nonchalance replaced by alertness. “Looks like they’re coming after us -” 

The rest of his words are drowned out by a growing ringing in Bruce’s ears. There’s the familiar sensation of his limbs tingling, pulsating, swelling. He can feel his thoughts slipping away, being replaced by much simpler ones. 

“No Bruce! Not now, don’t -”

But it’s too late. Danger, friends in danger, his mind screams, and that’s all it takes. 

The Hulk emerges from the forest with a roar.

*

When Bruce comes back to himself, it’s with dizziness, exhaustion, and a sense of nausea, but also with the remnants of satisfaction in the back of his mind telling him that Hulk has sufficiently taken care of the bad guys. 

He is naked, of course. Naked and alone and cold, somewhere in a forest in the middle of nowhere (and then people ask him why he dislikes his alter ego). With a sigh, he makes it to his knees, feeling shaky and lightheaded. 

“Hello?” he calls hoarsely, and then, louder, “Tony? Clint?”

It takes him twenty minutes of walking in a random direction that he keeps telling himself is the way out of the woods until someone starts answering his calls, and another fifteen until he finds Clint and Tony in a small clearing that is being illuminated by the last rays of daylight. To Bruce’s surprise, they made it quite far into the forest; he wonders what Clint had to do to make Tony walk this much. 

Tony is sitting on the ground, leaning against a tree, while Clint is balancing somewhere high up in the branches, likely keeping a lookout. When Bruce approaches the clearing, the archer jumps down with an agility that makes Bruce wonder whether they should give him a different nickname. Monkey-legs instead of Hawkeye, for example.

“Hey, Big Green,” Tony greets with an enthusiasm that can’t hide the weariness in his tone. “Or should I say Little White now?” 

“Ha ha. Very funny.” Bruce can’t even muster a grin. “Um, by any chance, do we have some spare clothes here?”

And that’s the thing about friends. They’ll tease and poke you endlessly, they’ll embarrass you without limit, but when it comes down to it, they will give you the shirt off their back without making a big deal out of it. Quite literally, because two minutes later, Bruce is wearing Clint’s jeans and button-down, while Tony is giggling into his palm, unable to tear his eyes off Clint’s colourful boxers, which are decorated with a pattern of bows and arrows (“It was a gift from Lila, dude. Now shut up, or I’ll take off your pants.”)

This time Tony obliges, but mostly because they haul him to his feet a few seconds later and his face completely drains of colour. Reeling, he squeezes his eyes shut and grasps blindly for something to hold on to. Clint and Bruce jump to support him from either side, exchanging a worried look over his head. 

“Let’s just get back to the safehouse, alright?” Clint says to Tony. “We’ll find a way to contact the others and then we’ll take you to a hospital.”

Tony nods and takes a deep breath before opening his eyes. “Okay,” he exhales. 

They make their way back very, very slowly. Bruce is shaky and nauseous himself, his body still trying to adjust to the sudden shift back to human form, but he can’t imagine how Tony must be feeling with the fever burning him inside-out. And that’s not even to mention the dehydration and tanking blood sugar he must be experiencing. The engineer is unusually quiet and visibly dizzy. Most of his weight is resting on Clint and Bruce, but he keeps tripping over roots and fallen branches.

They’ve just made it out of the forest and can already see smoke climbing in the sky when Tony suddenly sags into Bruce. “I really don’t feel well.” His voice is almost indiscernible. “I might - I, I think I’m gonna pass out.”

“We’re nearly there,” Bruce reassures, his heart beating fast in his chest. “Can you see the light?”

“I see lights everywhere,” Tony moans, still stumbling along. “Fine, but if I conk out, don’t leave me here to be eaten by wolves.”

“There are hardly any wolves in Arkansas,” Clint points out, but even he looks concerned. 

*

Tony is barely conscious by the time they reach what is left of the house. Most of it has burnt down, with only one of the exterior walls still left standing. Smoke is curling up from the ruins, making them all cough and their eyes water.

“Oh god,” Bruce whispers, imagining the state his friends would be in if Clint hadn’t gotten them out so quickly that morning. 

Clint just shrugs. “Could be worse.” He gently extricates himself from Tony’s arm around his shoulder. “I’ll check whether it’s safe - stay here for now,” he orders as he starts to climb into the ruins. 

Bruce turns his face to Tony. “Hey, you still with me?” he asks. 

The only answer is a grunt. Tony’s face is sweaty and even paler than before, his breaths coming out fast and shallow. He seems to be having difficulty focusing his eyes on Bruce. 

Luckily Clint returns a minute later, towing a smoking mattress behind him. “Whatever is left of the bedroom and bathroom is safe to enter, but I wouldn’t sleep there -  the fumes are bad. Let’s just camp out here for now.” He set the mattress down next to Tony. 

“Can we get in touch with the others?” Bruce asks. 

“Yep. Found my phone - it’s still working.” Clint holds up the device. Glancing at the engineer’s now closed eyes, he adds, “StarkTech has its perks, but don’t let Tony know. You should get settled. I’ll fetch us some water.” He turns to climb back into the building. 

“Good news - you can rest here until the others come,” Bruce addresses Tony, slowly lowering him down. 

“Hmm. Heard what Clin’ said…” Tony slurs.

“Yes, that’s great. Now lie down.”

Tony curls up on the still-smoking mattress with a little shiver that evokes a sudden instinct of protectiveness in Bruce. It’s odd; that feeling is usually left to the Hulk’s spectrum of emotions, and if anything, Tony would typically be the one to protect his friend should the need arise. Bruce shakes his head to clear the thoughts, but the warmth in his chest stays.

The blankets are beyond saving, but Bruce finds one of his sweaters that’s still mostly intact and drapes it over Tony’s form, calming the shivers running through him. 

Clint returns with a bucket of water and an empty plastic bottle to fill, more clothes, and a partially-melted bottle of Tylenol for Bruce that he accepts gratefully. He would prefer an IV in order to get Tony rehydrated and lower the fever, but they’ve got to make do with what they have. 

Bruce takes two pills himself and then sets to rouse the engineer while Clint tries to call Natasha.

“Hey, Tony,” Bruce lightly shakes the other man’s shoulder. “Take some meds, then you can rest more.”

“Mhh…” Tony blinks up at him miserably. His eyes are wide and glazed over from fever, and his breaths are still coming heavily. 

“Come on.” Bruce supports his friend’s head while Tony swallows the painkillers and a few sips of water. 

“Ugh.” A shudder runs through Tony and he swallows thickly. “Feel sick.”

“I know. Just try to keep it down, okay? It will help with the fever.” Bruce wets his sleeve with a bit of water and wipes it gently over Tony’s forehead and his cheeks, cleaning away the sweat. Tony grimaces against the nausea, but then he seems to relax a little into Bruce’s touch. He closes his eyes and sinks back onto the mattress, curling tighter into himself. 

“Roger. Talk to you later,” Clint says and ends the call. He turns to Bruce. “It was a series of orchestrated attacks on the team. Nobody was seriously injured, if you don’t count Nat’s broken ribs and Cap’s burnt eyebrow, but SHIELD’s in chaos and it will take them a few hours to get to us.”

“Ah. Okay, that’s fine.” Bruce feels the adrenaline slowly wearing off, leaving only fatigue. He takes a few sips of water himself before handing the bottle to Clint and sinking down onto the edge of Tony’s mattress.

“Are you okay?” Clint asks. 

“Yeah,” Bruce replies, “Just… tired. And, you know, glad we didn’t die.”

“Ditto.” Clint grins. “You should lie down with Tony until the cavalry arrives. I’ll keep watch and alert you in case anything happens.”

“Are you sure?” Bruce asks. Hulk-outs always leave him completely wiped out and his usual routine after missions is to tumble into bed immediately and sleep for at least a day. Being horizontal sounds incredibly tempting, but he feels bad leaving all the work to Clint. “I could stay up with you…”

“It’s okay. Trust me, this isn’t even close to the amount of stress of the average SHIELD mission.”

“Oh. Well, then…” Bruce trails off, unsure what to do with that information. It’s somehow simultaneously reassuring and concerning. “Just wake me up if anything happens, okay?”

“Sure.” 

By the time Bruce has gently shifted Tony so that he can fit next to him on the mattress, Clint has already started a campfire. Tony doesn’t fully wake up when Bruce lies down next to him, just murmurs something unintelligible and then buries his head in the shoulder of Bruce’s hoodie.

Tony is still far too hot, but between the engineer’s fever and the campfire, Bruce gets pleasantly warmed up. Usually, Bruce has a hard time falling asleep around people, and never in a million years would he have thought it could happen in the aftermath of an attack on his life, but somehow, with Tony essentially cuddling him from behind and Clint watching over them, he feels safer than at most places he ever stayed at before joining their little band of misfits. Watching the flames, it only takes him a few minutes to doze off.

Once he is sure that both men are sound asleep, Clint settles down cross-legged next to the campfire, and pulls out his phone. Then, smiling softly, he takes another photo. 

______________

All my fics

Taglist: @toomuchtoread33​  @yepokokfine​

@badthingshappenbingo​ - This is the prompt fill for the square “Kick them while they’re down”. 

[xdepthsofwinterx]

(2/2) Also, was thinking: she left before they go to the Underdark, but the Valsharess probably sent some drows after her, tracking her and trying to kill her. What did she do at that time? (next part of the ask XD)

{{Alright first off, apologies @waterdeephero​! This ask has sat in my inbox for literal years! I have been waiting for the perfect inspiration to strike for this particular part of Dhana’s story-line. It is one of my favourite parts, largely because it is where Dhana meets my lovely @aquiversfull​ Kymiel. So finally, here it is! Forgive the length, I got carried away with battle scenes again x’D}}

Waterdeep, Hordes of the Underdark, Chapter 1-2: Canon!Verse

Thwack!

Blood ran icily cold, what remained of the bolt splinteringin her periphery. The emerald sheen wasn’t lost on her. Poison. Heart thunderingagainst her ribcage, Dhana darted down another alleyway. Visibility was growingincreasingly poor as near vertical sheets of rain hammered a crescendo againstthe cobbles. Squinting revealed little of Waterdeep’s winding streets, thesorceress barely making out the looming outlines of buildings. Had she time torecast infravision, she would have, but her assailants where incessant.

Another volley whistled through the air, ripping through thetop of her ear. Dhana drew blood from clamping down on her lip, smoulderingpain erupting from the wound.

Fucking drow!

Ducking beneath washing lines that extended across her path,the woman used the sudden cover to her advantage. More complex incantationswere out of the equation, but evocation came as naturally as breathing.

Hands outstretched, fingertips dragging along brick, Dhanafocused on the pain. The way water seeped into the ragged flesh, the shreddedcartilage flapping lamely in her haste. Ice crackled to life, feeding off theweather and her adrenaline. It shot out like spiderwebs, spikes erupting frombrick at an alarming rate. A startled cry pulled out a cruel smirk.

One down. Gods know how many more to go.

Something flashed up ahead, the tell-tale sizzling of the arcane. Dark brows furrowed a moment too late, therealisation pooling horror in her gut.

Spider webs.

She felt the fibrous grip snag hold of her boots, rippingone from her foot. The momentum sent her sprawling unceremoniously in a sticky,sodden heap. Muscles and bones shrieked in protest, the skin upon her forearmsshredded to ribbons from the friction. Dhana coughed violently, head ringing asshe tried desperately to get to her feet.

‘Zexen'uma harl, rivvil.’ *

She froze, head jerking upwards at the commanding tone. Likeice it slithered over her skin, enticing a rash of goose bumps to follow. Desperateto see through the watery veil, she struggled to raise her hand. A shadow leaptoverhead, a burst of silvery light and a shattering of glass had her seeing stars.

Like a fly upon a spider’s web, she could feel their eyesupon her. Whom ever it was moved closer.

“Phu’ dos zhaunus ol zhah ilta?**” an uttered whisper, somehowaudible above the rain, called from above. Their leader – or so she surmised – stoodbefore her now. Without a light she could make out little features, but the lethalpair of short-swords spoke volumes.

‘Assassins. Like the one in the Yawning Portal.’ Shegrimaced as the figure crouched down at her level, the overwhelming scent ofchemicals upon their person. A hand captured her chin, wrenching it up at apainful angle. She was twisted this way and that, the drow inspecting her earwith a growl.

“Foolish male, have you no eyes!? This is your pathetichandiwork is it not?”

With a jerk, Dhana was released. Recoiling, she pressed herhands more firmly into the ground and forced herself up.  This time her captors allowed her to kneel,but the red hued blade at her exposed throat meant she did little else.

“If you are so intent on killing me, hurry it up. I’ve freezingmy tits off out here!”

It wasn’t a lie. Having fled the inn with next to nopossessions, desperate to avoid questioning glances, the mage wore naught buther leather and fur padded armour. Even her staff was gone.

Sliding up her gullet, the short-sword rested just under herchin. She could feel the trickle of blood forming from the nick.

“Dos phuul natha bran uss whol zhaunus***,” followed by avelvety chuckle, “I will enjoy disembowelling you like the dog you are.”

N-Now hang on, disembowelling?! No one mentioned-

Phwet.

Dhana flinched as something thick and viscous splatteredacross her face. As she sat there blinking furiously through whatever thiswas, she heard a distinctive sound.

The twang of a bowstring. And whoever it was had stirredup one hell of a hornet’s nest. Shrieking drow echoed upon the roof tops, thesounds of spells zipping through the air and breaking roof shingles. Dhana feltthe blade fall, shortly followed by a body. The sorceress wasted little time inscrubbing at her eyes. Finally her vision cleared, sepia eyes swivelling about.

There, sticking out of the hood of her fallen captor,was a blue and white tipped arrow. From this distance Dhana could tell it was aclear headshot, right through the eye socket. She whistled, impressed.

That was until a dagger sliced through the air before hernose.

‘Yes Dhana, battlefield, we are in a godforsaken battlefieldyou twat!!’

Snatching up the blade she set about cutting herself free,the webs falling away. Whomever had cast it must have met an untimely end, asthe silk vanished. Dhana stumbled to her feet, willing her magic to harden uponthe surface of her skin and armour. Pieces of rock fell away as it responded, notwithout sending a dizzying spell of vertigo her way.

I…I need to rest, badly.

Sadly it seemed Lady Tymora was ignoring her again today, asan irate roar sounded from behind her. Bewildered, Dhana instinctively rolledaway, just in time to miss the great sword that spliced the space she had onceoccupied. A hulking, silver haired beauty with a none to friendly exteriorgreeted her.

Balanced upon the balls of her feet, Dhana acted quickly. Willingwith all her strength, she coaxed the water about the drow’s feet to burst tolife. It wound up his legs tightening and crackling with incessant cold. Hehissed, barking some very uncouth words in his mother language, managing tolift his blade with increasing difficulty. Filthy, bloodied and utterly fed upherself, Dhana gave him a dark grin.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“Zu'tour ol elg'care-eugh!!!” ****

You would have thought that he’d have figured it out. After all,the metre long icicles stained red with drow blood was a massive give away.Dhana didn’t give him the satisfaction of answer.

She outstretched both hands. One hand clenched with violentintent, the other flipped a universal sign that shall not be repeated here. Thegreat sword clattered loudly upon cobblestone, her mouthy friend now the centreof a grotesque, ice sculpture.

Slumping against the wall, Dhana leaned her head back againstthe brickwork. Rain bounced off her feverish skin, refreshing despite the throbbingear. Morbidly curious as to the damage Dhana lifted a tentative finger.

“I would strongly advise against doing that.”

An involuntary spasm shook her entire body, the sorceressyelping in surprise. Leathers creaked, drawing her attention to the suddenvoice.

How he had managed to appear at her side so silently was beyondher. Well, besides the rain and the previous battle of course.

An elf knelt mere feet away, ears dripping, face clarteredin a similar fashion to her own. A heavy emerald cloak adorned his shoulders,swept across studded leather armour, held in place by a brass broach. Hisoutline blurred ever so slightly at the edges, causing her nausea to worsen. Hesmiled despite their situation, dimples appearing in his bronzy complexion. Evidently,he held this expression often.

“Please do not be alarmed, I have no interest in hurtingyou.”

She gave him a sceptical look, “Y-You sure about that?”

Those unusual ochre eyes gleamed with unspoken humour.Instead of answering he pulled back his cloak to reveal…a quiver full of blueand white tipped arrows. Dhana gawked.

“Y-You’ve got one hell of an aim!” Her elven saviour finallychuckled at this, the timbre pleasant upon her frayed nerves.

“Luckily for you, yes. Although, you are quite anintimidating fighter yourself.”

He gestured warily to the glistening, impaled drow. Sheshould have thought twice about looking, as it seemed her stomach had reachedits limit. Lurching away from her newfound companion, Dhana emptied thecontents of her gut onto the cobblestone. She could barely breathe from theconvulsions, feeling the bile burn her nostrils as well as her throat.

Movement from behind alerted her to the nearing presence. Callousedfingers gently lifted her hair, gathering it at the base of her neck. Had shethe strength Dhana would have slapped him aside, alas she could not. Weak, emotionallyexhausted the mage could do little but retch until nothing remained.

Minutes passed, odd gags threatening here and there. Oncesatisfied, the elf retreated, squatting before her with a flask.

“Drink this, please.” She squinted through watery, bloodshoteyes. He sighed patiently, “It is not poison, look.”

He sipped the contents, swallowing to prove his point.Reluctantly the sorceress nodded, taking the leather-bound container, and downingas much as she could muster.

“I have neutralised the remainder of your attackers. I suggestwe move from this location now, as it is likely another party will follow intheir footsteps.”

Dhana almost choked. Coughing, she handed back his water skin.

“What is this we?” He blinked at her as if it wereobvious. She snorted, “I do not need babysitting, master elf.”

Securing the hip flask upon his belt, the elf stood up. Headjusted his bow and quiver, before glancing back down at her.

“I prefer Kymiel if you don’t mind. That nickname is…painfullyformal,” not waiting for her to respond he bent down and secured his armabout her waist. Eyes widened rapidly, the mage squawking indignantly. Helifted her with surprising strength and ease, positioning her arm behind his head.She stumbled a bit, coming to lean into his gait. Dhana glowered.

“And you are?”

“Pissed off.”

“Well, Miss Pissed Off, you are hardly in any fit state tocontinue unaided.”

She couldn’t exactly argue with that, given the way her headspun from overexertion. Growling, she let her head flop forward whilst she centredherself. A pang of guilt ran through her.

“It’s Dhana, my name that is.”

She could feel him perk up as he began leading them away.

“Pity, I rather liked your prior name.”

“Ugh…shut up!”

Tonight was going to be longest night she had endured inmany a year.-Drow Translations- Taken from here and here.

* - “Stay down, human.”** - “Are you sure it is her?”*** - “You sure are a loud one.”**** - “Shut it, bitch!”

[f4liveblogarchives]

Fantastic Four Vol 1 #187, #188, & #189

Thur Aug 22 2019 [02:04 PM] Bocaj: 187 issues later, still fantastic but not necessarily still four [02:05 PM] Wack'd: Eh, they're still pretty Fourish [02:05 PM] Wack'd: Unless you count Franklin I guess [02:05 PM] Wack'd: Sure, Thundra, Greer, and Impy have been around a lot lately, but Greer insists she's not part of the team and Thundra and Impy don't really play well with others [02:06 PM] maxwellelvis: Also, Impossible Man's been KO'd by an unseen assailant. [02:06 PM] Wack'd: Also true [02:07 PM] Wack'd: Anyway, on the plane ride back from New Salem, the team recaps a little [02:07 PM] Wack'd: Agatha left that place in the hopes that others have her kind would be encouraged to join her, and she blames herself for raising Nicholas badly [02:07 PM] Wack'd: These are, again, the kind of details it might've been nice to have during the actual story so we could wring something out of them [02:08 PM] Bocaj: "Thundra and Impy don't really play well with others" I posit that Johnny and Ben historically haven't always played well with others [02:09 PM] Bocaj: Sometimes a family is that cat woman stray you adopted, the woman from an alternate universe where men are considered the weaker gender until you slammed her universe into another, and that annoying alien [02:09 PM] Bocaj: We'll call him the 'urkel' type [02:09 PM] Wack'd: Let me rephrase that to "are openly contemptuous of others and seem hesitant to do even the bare minimum to lend aid" [02:09 PM] maxwellelvis: Yeah, but in a different way from Impossible Man, who literally nobody except other Popuppians can stand to be around. [02:09 PM] Bocaj: Ok well thats different [02:10 PM] Wack'd: The Four discover Impy, knocked out but apparently unharmed. Sue worries that whoever did this might still be in the Baxter [02:11 PM] Wack'd: We can also add to George Pérez to the long list of comics artists who are bad at drawing children but very good at drawing tiny adults

[02:12 PM] Bocaj: George Pérez can draw a lot of things, in terms of range and also in terms of numerical things on a page but children are black magic that eludes him [02:13 PM] Aleph Null: i relate because children are also black magic that eludes me [02:13 PM] Wack'd: So Johnny flies outside to look in all the windows while Ben decides to go floor by floor. Reed is out out because they made a plan without him and Sue has to heal his fragile ego [02:13 PM] Wack'd: “Without my stretching powers, I'm not really good enough to be anything more than a nursemaid!” [02:13 PM] Bocaj: fuck off reed [02:14 PM] Aleph Null: can we retitle the blog to “fuck off reed” [02:14 PM] Wack'd: This is a nice moment

[02:15 PM] Wack'd: Honestly I like how forgiving everyone is being of Agatha. Not that anyone on this team has room to throw stones [02:16 PM] Wack'd: Oh my god Johnny is also like "man, running off on my own like I always do probably hurt Reed's feelings" [02:16 PM] Wack'd: Anyway Ben runs into KLAW! [02:17 PM] Bocaj: Ulysses Klaue Klaw? [02:17 PM] Wack'd: Whose shtick at this point is still being made of sound and also being able to fire sound monsters at people [02:17 PM] Wack'd: And not, you know, having a claw [02:17 PM] maxwellelvis: His artificial hand is his claw. [02:19 PM] Wack'd: Oh hey it's this guy

[02:19 PM] Bocaj: oh thats a bad look [02:20 PM] maxwellelvis: Actually that's not that guy. That's a different guy. [02:20 PM] Wack'd: Back in #20 he got the ability to alter non-organic matter because he was exposed to an atomic incident [02:20 PM] Wack'd: Since then he's had a couple of appearances in the 70s, one in Two in One and one in Iron Man [02:20 PM] Bocaj: The guy I knew as Molecule Man is a multiversal bomb [02:21 PM] maxwellelvis: Wait, I saw that guy shrivel up and disintegrate when separated from his wand for too long. [02:22 PM] Wack'd: Yes [02:22 PM] Wack'd: This got undone in the Iron Man appearance I mentioned [02:22 PM] maxwellelvis: oh [02:22 PM] Wack'd: Where he also gained the ability to possess people [02:23 PM] Bocaj: There was a shitty Avengers Assemble episode about Son of Molecule Man [02:23 PM] Bocaj: It had a stylistic flashback to EMH [02:23 PM] Wack'd: Given how fucking often these books are like "oh, they killed him, he's gone for real" and then in a completely different book he comes back to life and then he returns to his original book with a long winded explanation... [02:23 PM] Wack'd: I'm not sure why you would've assumed that he was actually dead [02:24 PM] maxwellelvis: Because this time he left behind a body. [02:24 PM] Wack'd: That doesn't mean anything! [02:24 PM] maxwellelvis: Well, a pile of dust in a ragged old Molecule Man costume. [02:24 PM] Wack'd: At the end of his first appearance the Watcher aged him into oblivion [02:26 PM] Wack'd: Agatha filling the role of "lady who tells Reed to suck it the fuck up" now that Medusa's gone

[02:28 PM] Wack'd: Anyway Ben gets turned into glass, Johnny is drowned in midair, Sue is...uh...

[02:28 PM] Wack'd: Sure, that's how that works [02:29 PM] Wack'd: And Reed tries to fire on the two but his gun is turned to helium and he's knocked out [02:30 PM] Wack'd: Okay so uh [02:31 PM] Wack'd: In the aftermath of that Iron Man I mentioned, Klaw found Owen's wand, with Owen's mind trapped inside, and gave it to a guy he met on the street so Owen would possess that guy [02:31 PM] Wack'd: The narrative notes that the guy was a boxer so I should probably also note that the guy was a boxer in case it becomes relevant [02:33 PM] Wack'd: So! The Four are incapacitated! Who cam save them now! [02:33 PM] Wack'd: Why, Impossible Man, of course. Not because he cares about the team, but because he's angry that someone defeated him in combat [02:34 PM] Wack'd: Impy can shapeshift so Molecule Man can't really do much to him [02:34 PM] Wack'd: And Impy removes his ears and makes himself into a non-sound-conductive material so he's immune to Klaw [02:34 PM] Wack'd: And then he kicks their asses [02:35 PM] Wack'd: Owen had been planning on using Reed's psi-amplifier (from that time Ben and Hulk switched brains) to make it so he could keep his ass in this body forever [02:35 PM] Wack'd: But Reed manages to cut the cord mid-process, sapping Owen back into his wand [02:36 PM] Wack'd: And undoing all the damage he caused [02:36 PM] Wack'd: AND THEN REED PICKS UP THE WAND WITH HIS BARE HANDS, LIKE AN IDIOT [02:37 PM] Wack'd: W E L P

[02:38 PM] Bocaj: Basically Lunella becoming Smartest was long overdue because Reed is dumb [02:38 PM] Bocaj: Someone needed to explicitly be smarter than him or else it would be very sad [02:39 PM] Wack'd: Don't think it's escaped my attention that this is our second evil Reed storyline in which Reed isn't actually evil [02:39 PM] Bocaj: Hm [02:40 PM] Bocaj: At least it’s not an evil Sue storyline [02:40 PM] Bocaj: Those are bad in many many ways [02:40 PM] Wack'd: If Gerry Conway's read on the Reed/Sue divorce arc was "if they're going to split up it should be because Reed does something truly ghastly", it seems like Wein's was "people seem to really want to make Reed a jerk, so how do I do that without altering the fact that he's genuinely a nice person" [02:42 PM] Wack'd: I loathed Conway's take, but Wein's is even worse because it denies the idea that Reed has anything to be culpable for. It seems like people have been shilling him constantly recently--Sue noticing Counter-Reed is unaffectionate to spot the ruse, Ben assuming Counter-Reed is obsessively watching the Negative Zone because he wants to save his counterpart, Counter-Reed immediately becoming a selfless paragon when his headache wears off [02:43 PM] Wack'd: And this issue, too, with everyone but Agatha assuming Reed is entitled to authority and feeling bad for hurting his feelings by doing their own things [02:44 PM] Wack'd: Maybe I'm being uncharitable because he's the cripple-the-b**** guy, but it does really seem like he sees nothing wrong with Reed's normal pattern of behavior and is mildly baffled anyone would. Which would fit well with his aesthetic of overwhelming nostalgia [02:45 PM] Wack'd: Anyway

Thur Aug 22 2019 [02:46 PM] Wack'd: So Reed's brain is trapped in Owen's wand now [02:47 PM] Wack'd: Ben destroys the Psi-Amplifier so Owen can't take over Reed's body permanently [02:47 PM] Wack'd: Owen, in retaliation, traps Sue, Johnny, Ben and Impy in an adimantium cube [02:48 PM] Wack'd: While he goes to blow off some adimantium rage [02:48 PM] maxwellelvis: Spider-Man and Venom ~ Maximum Carnage (Genesis) - Main Theme [02:49 PM] Wack'd: Johnny uses his heat to expand the air in the box, forcing it open, but it takes basically everything he's got [02:49 PM] Wack'd: You would think everybody in that box would die a million times of heat stroke but I guess not [02:50 PM] maxwellelvis: I was about to question the presence of Adamantium in an FF story, then I remembered that A. it's past 1975 now so Wolverine is a thing, and B. Len Wein is one of Wolverine's co-creators. [02:50 PM] maxwellelvis: And I think he first coined "Adamantium" to describe what his claws are made of. [02:51 PM] Wack'd: Watcher has gone from a white Grey to a fat bald guy to a Tor Johnson character

[02:53 PM] Wack'd: Watcher is still not talking, which Ben takes as a sign of apathy [02:53 PM] Wack'd: "Why don't you go to sell tickets to a funeral," he asks [02:54 PM] Wack'd: Ah yes, my favorite Tom Hanks movie

[02:55 PM] maxwellelvis: "You should make'em bugs!" [02:58 PM] Wack'd: Credit where it's due, I think this is genuinely the coolest monster design we've had in a while! You can see some remnants of the Kirby aping that still, in 1977, has not worn off, but it feels novel applied to brick and mortar, and I love the arrangements of the windows and the way the structures on the roof jut out of it's shoulders

[02:59 PM] Wack'd: Reed agrees to stop resisting, and the building returns to normal [02:59 PM] Wack'd: And then his friends show up and Reed starts resisting again [03:00 PM] Wack'd: Thanks to that resistance, Owen can't do anything to our heroes directly, and has to settle for transforming their surroundings [03:00 PM] Wack'd: This would be a lot simpler if they just kept the "no organic matter" limit from his first appearance [03:01 PM] maxwellelvis: Blame Steve Gerber, I guess. [03:01 PM] Wack'd: Impy tries to hit Owen with a giant mallet but Sue stops him because she doesn't want to hurt Reed [03:02 PM] Wack'd: Impy takes it well

[03:05 PM] Wack'd: Unfortunately, Reed's body gets knocked out anyway [03:06 PM] Wack'd: But while this renders the Reed inside of Owen's wand unconscious, it sends Owen into spasms of pain [03:06 PM] Wack'd: Causing him to release his grip on the wand, dropping it into a nearby factory furnace [03:07 PM] Wack'd: And so normalcy is restored--OR IS IT?! [03:07 PM] Wack'd: Reed's decided to resign from the Four [03:07 PM] Wack'd: And Sue's going to join him because "I already deserted my husband once, I'm not going to do it again" [03:07 PM] Wack'd: *sigh* [03:08 PM] Bocaj: 😐

Thur Aug 22 2019 [03:10 PM] Wack'd: FANTASTIC FOUR VOL 1 #189 [03:10 PM] Wack'd: Is a reprint of Annual ’66 [03:10 PM] Wack'd: Moving on [03:10 PM] Wack'd: As if there weren't enough reasons to hate Wein, it certainly seems like a lot of issues get delayed while he's around [03:11 PM] Wack'd: This is the second in less than ten issues [03:11 PM] maxwellelvis: That might explain why Chris Claremont took over Uncanny X-Men almost immediately after Wein revived it

[mutantsrisingrpg]

Congratulations DAISY! You’ve been accepted as NIX.

I did my waiting... twelve years of it... until we finally got our Nix! Daisy, let me start this off with how happy I was to see an app for Luke in our inbox and that happiness only grew when I read through it. At the very end of your details section you said that Luke is contradictory to a fault - which is the very much something I was looking for with him. Luke is a danger, yes we all know this, but regardless of that he wants to protect his family and he has everything as his fingertips that could make him “holy.” I’m so excited to see where you take him! 

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

Out of Character Information:

NAME/ALIAS: Daisy

PRONOUNS: She/Her

AGE: 24

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: EST // I work a few part-time jobs, so my free time is mostly reserved to the evenings and weekends, but once I have muse for a character and find a great writing community, I really commit to the rpg! I would give myself a 7/10, with some weeks dipping down to a 6 just because of work schedules and such. If there’s ever a time I can’t be on for longer than usual, I’ll definitely let you know!

In Character Information:

DESIRED ROLE: Luke Espinosa / Nix

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cisgender male & he/him

DETAILS & ANALYSIS: This is where you show us who the character is to you! The format of this doesn’t matter, whether it’s in bullet points or in para form, and can be as long as you’d like it to be. Feel free to get creative!

Luke — “light giving” / Espinosa — From the Spanish word, “espino,” which means “hawthorn”

It’s an irony that’s not lost on him, a simple name bestowed on him by a simple man, yet perfectly matched to his own particular talents. Privately, he smiles at the memory of his mother calling him ‘Luca,’ a nickname he’s revealed only to Isabel. (Naturally, she’s the only person he’d allow to call him that now.) Still, there’s a certain saintliness to the name that he feels is an ultimate disconnect to the man he believes himself to be: hateful, spiteful, and altogether brutal — in other words, totally undeserving of anything remotely ‘holy’. The hawthorn tree is often thought to symbolize love and protection, and are often beloved by birds for their many branches and fruits to aid in nest-making and hatchling development. Personally, I feel as though Luke wouldn’t give much thought to his surname, given the memories of the man who gave it to him. Still, I can’t help but think that this last name suits him exceedingly well, especially when I consider the arc I’d like to see him go through. Currently, Luke is someone full of anger; he’s bitter, rages often and relatively indiscriminately, and rejects responsibility out of semi-unfounded fears. He’s a weapon even though he wants to be a shield, too destructive to truly protect anyone from the wrath of the world — or worse, his own. He’s not a simple man, per se, but the outside world would be forgiven for thinking him little more than a bad-tempered, ill-mannered creature of habit, forever searching for something to destroy whether through punch or power. And yet, he manages to be more than all the red that typically surrounds him, and rather evidently, too; there’s rarely a day that he doesn’t return to the apartment if only to whip up a quick boxed dinner for Isabel and Isaac and bask in their company, sharing a laugh over Isaac’s latest mishap. He’s someone who will fight for his family, die for his family, even though he never wanted, expected, or asked for them. He struggles to balance the undeniable need to protect them against his utter lack of faith in himself and the world around them. It’s not that he doubts his powers; truly, he knows exactly how dangerous he can become, how all-consuming his light can be when his internal state reaches somewhere overwhelmingly dark. So, on the days he truly needs to get away, it’s not in the boxing rings of The Jungle or the bar at The Green Mill that call to him, but instead the rooftop of some nearby building, as close to the sun as the smokey city will allow, recharging and resetting in silence. Within the Blackburn Syndicate, he’s tough, some might even call him brave — and it’s partially true, though not because of some gallant side to his personality usually cast aside in favor of sulking in the shadows. Rather, his bravery displays itself largely in times of fear; scared for the safety of someone else, he’ll often volunteer to be put in harm’s way, though not without throwing some wayward remark about the other person’s inability to handle their job. Luke knows he’s an asset, a machine, a means to an end for the Syndicate. He’s quick to protect by means of a fierce onslaught of attack — which happens to make him the perfect weapon. He’s built his career, if not his whole life, on being menacing, on instilling fear into a person in any way he can and beating whatever’s left, out. Simply put, it’s just what he knows.  In terms of truly unleashing the full extent of his powers, there are so few lines he’d be unwilling to cross. Still, when the question of family comes up, it’s not hard to imagine him setting the world alight just to keep them safe. In short, although the baseline of his personality could default to a simple ���angry boy’ trope, I think Luke is so much more than just that. I see him as someone so craving of stability, that the fear of not having it makes it impossibly easy for him to run away; someone with the power to absorb light, yet utterly incapable of providing it for himself; a shield with no defense — contradictory to a fault. 

BIO:

[ TW for violence, death, marital/family abuse, alcohol ] Fighting had always been in his blood, and he knew it. When he closes his eyes, he still remembers coming home from school to find his precious mother, still heavily pregnant with his unborn sister, bloodied and battered on the floor, bruises formed all over her body and cuts marring her pretty face. And his father, gruff and hulking, liquor evident from his smell and the arrhythmic steps of his heavy feet, ordering the young boy to help clean up – i.e., get rid of – his fatally wounded mother. He was nine then. A boy by all measures, but the ‘monster’ within claimed his youth, clawing from the depths of his grief as he clung to his mother’s life-drained body. At a moment so dark, his body emanated light and heat, overwhelming and blinding as his tears shed freely until the world around turned black with ash and fear. At ten, he was a child trapped in a plastic prison hundreds of feet underground, blocking out all sources of natural light after enough tests determined he drew his power from the sun. His body grew weak — no, he was made to be weak, forced by human powers greater than his own — though his appetite for destruction only augmented with each passing day. When the scientists deemed him feeble enough that he’d have little chance of full-powered recovery, he was placed into a foster home with fellow mutants. Fortunately for Luke, they vastly underestimated his body’s ability to  At best, their foster parents saw each of them as little more than the monthly check; at worst, they saw their ‘children’ as nightly entertainment, watching with eager abandon as the kids with control of their powers beat up the ones whose powers hadn’t fully manifested. Unlike some of the other kids, it wasn’t the pink hair he’d seen first, nor the trembling fingers he’d recognized all too well — a trademark of someone not fully in control of their powers, yet still grasping at some invisible force in the hopes they would come back. He saw the fear in her eyes, the silent plea for help in a moment of desperation, and on instinct, he stepped in front of Isabel, shielding her from the cruelty of kids competing for a love they wouldn’t receive from ‘parents’ who were anything but. They weren’t fast friends, exactly, but something deeper: family. In a world where choice had been so quickly taken away from them simply by the nature of their genetic makeup, this act of protection without care, of love without thought, was the loudest kind of rebellion two kids confused by the world around them could muster. Soon enough, their powers grew in harmony, working with each other to learn new tricks that complemented each other’s skills. And at twelve, after enough foster homes to last a lifetime, they arrived in Chicago with nothing but a backpack between the two of them, holding little precious trinkets they’d collected or — in Luke’s case — stolen along the way. Isabel caught notice of the Blackburn Syndicate shortly after they’d settled in the snow-strewn streets. He was hesitant and prideful, believing he’d be able to provide for the both of them through whatever means necessary. He knew his aptitude for fighting could land him some money, even if it meant getting some teeth knocked out every now and then, but when he saw her knowing fear and constant shiver, he conceded once more, letting her dreams dictate their future. His apprehension for yet another home claiming to welcome them and treat them kindly remained even after Alma agreed to take them in; the distaste only grew when it was clear ‘impressing’ the woman came in the form of Isabel fainting from over-exerting her powers and an altogether destructive showing of his own. Isabel assimilated quicker than he did, finding her footing well before him; half-scared to commit himself to this new environment and half-terrified that he’d lose her if he didn’t, Luke accepted menial jobs within the Syndicate as he worked on mastering his powers. When he turned eighteen, he took an under-the-table job at The Jungle, taking and encouraging bets for certain fighters in exchange for proper lessons. Here, he studied the best of the best until he was ready for the ring himself, and by twenty-four, he carved a reputation for being quite the fearsome fighter. “The Silent Striker,” the crowds dubbed him, when his quick but quiet fighting style emerged supreme against fighters twice his size. For the past few years, he’s kept the extent of his fighting a secret from Isabel and Isaac, telling them that he liked to go just to watch, or because he was on a special assignment from the Director. It’s not that he doesn’t trust them — on the contrary, he trusts them a little too much and believes that admitting to liking, perhaps even needing The Jungle as a form of release and rush would scare them away or cause them unnecessary concern. As much as they were his saving grace, they could also be his undoing and, in turn, his desire to protect Isabel and Isaac often meant shielding them from the truth of his being — the harsh cruelty he inflicted on others in order to make sure they’d all be taken care of, outside of the confines of the Syndicate. After all, the havoc he wreaked with just his hands was nothing compared to what he could do if he let light consume him, and when all was said and done, it was safer to have them wonder, “What is he doing?” rather than “What won’t he do?” Then again, when the question of family comes up, it’s not hard to imagine him consuming the world in order to keep them safe. 

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS: 

ISABEL ACOSTA: He might never say it out loud, but she is most definitely his saving grace. She’s more than a friend, more than family. Isabel is the first person who chose him, who saw him for what he was and didn’t shy away from it but instead welcomed him — hell, even needed him. He might not have known it at the time, but he needed her just as much, and certainly needs her now. When push comes to shove, he will follow Isabel no matter the consequence, no matter the reward because he knows there is no greater advantage than having her by his side. In terms of future ideas, I’d of course love to explore the depths of his relationships with Isaac and Isabel more. The concept of ‘found family’ comes with the territory of choice, which, for a man shuffled from one house to another and utilized as a weapon for about as long as he can remember, is something precious, if not nearly divine. I’d love to see these relationships tested and tried, and really pull and poke at the bonds those characters share just for Luke to realize the depth of his choice and see the lengths he’d go to ensure their safety. I’m a sucker for angst and tension and, naturally, would love to see Luke’s faith in his family falter, to play out possible betrayals or missteps if only to see him inevitably find his way back home. 

CAIN DOUGLAS: The great shame of any fighter’s life is knowing that fighting is simply in their lifeblood, something they can’t escape and something that they won’t necessarily accept, either. When he enters the ring to fight Cain, it’s exhilarating, enthralling, and ultimately exhausting. Each match between them is an excuse to learn and train, each new bruise and bloodstain practice for the ultimate fight that’ll come between the two of them, somewhere outside of The Jungle and upon the unending concrete of the city. In my head, Luke wears some sort of mask/head covering when he fights in order to separate this exceedingly brutal side from the calmer, safer person he needs to be around Isabel and Isaac. The only reason that Cain knows his identity is because he once bested him in the ring and part of his reward was unmasking the other man. From that moment, Cain’s known his identity, which pushes Luke to train harder and harder until he can defeat the man both in and out of the ring, potentially with the intent of silencing him forever. He knows that The Jungle is mostly safe for mutants, but it’s the threat of exposing his family to something so dark, so uncontrollable, so all-consuming that scares him to his core.

EXTRA: Here’s my insp tag for Luke! (The second post in that collection gives me such Luke vibes.) And here are some headcanons:

For obvious reasons, he’s weakest in the winter. During this season, he spends most of his free time around plants, which have their own special way of storing energy from the sun, as limited as the exposure is. Luke was born and ‘raised’ in a veritable ghost town somewhere in the southwest United States, and still speaks with a kind of southern drawl. He has a sweet tooth like no other and regularly starts his day off with a hot chocolate, add two sugars. Luke doesn’t know how to drive and typically relies on Isabel to get him anywhere that the city’s transportation system can’t reach.

ANYTHING ELSE: None, thank you! But if there’s anything you need to discuss about my app, please feel free to contact me @nfwmb !!