#watch him take one out of his cape only to break it on nearby stone like one would bottle of champagne

[hanakihan]

i remembered this funny french edgelord exists

[bellsarefun]

𝕯𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖈 (Dragon! Bakugo x Reader)

【ｓｕｍｍａｒｙ：(Y/N) (L/N) lives a surprisingly domestic life alongside her husband, the powerful hot-headed dragon Katsuki Bakugo.】

【ｐａｉｒｉｎｇ：Dragon! Katsuki Bakugo x Female! Reader】

【ｒａｔｉｎｇ：PG-13 — All characters featured in this story have been aged up over eighteen. Also, there is gore and blood in this, so if you are upset by that this isn’t for you.】

【ｗｏｒｄ　ｃｏｕｎｔ：2.6k 】

【Ｎｅｘｔ　Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ: Part 2】

(Y/N)’s hands kneaded soft, fluffy, pale dough on a stone counter top fitted in smooth grey stone, the flour falling like snow on her pale beige apron. Her mind wandered with the routine task; make the bread, let it rise, and then bake for one hour—she had done it all before.

Grabbing a nearby bread pan, she eased the freshly kneaded dough into the oak wood bowl. Her hands wiping the bits and pieces of stray batter on the fabric apron tied tightly around her waist. Once she had cleaned them in a nearby water basin, she laid a tea towel over the mouth of the bowl to rise for a few hours.

‘Finally, done. I can take a minute to relax.’ The woman thought to herself, untying the nice bow created by the laces of her apron. ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t get back early.’

Hanging the apron on a nearby hook near the entrance to the makeshift kitchen, she stretched her arms high over her head. Her neck muscles protested angrily as they were strained, but she smiled at the relief shooting across her form.

She looked around the kitchen, her (E/C) eyes scanning the beaten stone counter tops, the haphazardly hanging plants from the ceiling, and scratched wooden shelves for any sign of misplacement or grime. The rocky interior walls casted dancing shadows from the many flickering candles around the room.

Satisfied with her keen observation, she hummed to herself contently. Her feet spinning on their heels as she walked out of the kitchen, making a mental note to light the slab, stone oven afterward.

The kitchen lead into a larger room, large wooden support beams held up the ceiling in every corner. There was a large rounded bed pressed against the wall to her left, large furs and pelts were piled in a heap on the bed. On the farthest wall led a corridor where bright sunlight streamed through from the outside—a stairway could be seen in the corridor leading into a dimly lid spiral down.

(Y/N) noted a few of the candles had blown out in the room, presumably the breeze from outside had extinguished the weak flames. She sighed to herself, straightening out her white blouse and suspenders while she moved to a small table across from the bed.

A small green book embroidered with gold detailing waited for her on the scratched dark wood of the table. Her hands picking up the book she seated herself on one of the chairs, but she soon felt herself falling back onto the cold ground with a painful thud.

(Y/N) groaned, holding the side of her head carefully as the world spun around her in a warm blur. Her eyes managing to focus on the chair who had spitefully broken under her the moment she sat down.

“For fucks sake, of course.” She cursed under her breath, using her elbows to hoist herself up from her spot on the floor. Her hand searching for the book that had been flung from her hand, finding it a few feet away.

Looking at the chair, one of the legs had given out and the scratched up, claw-marked, and singed wood wasn’t able to hold weight any longer. It was a wonder how it didn’t break sooner.

“Fucker almost killed me.” (Y/N) voiced allowed to no one in particular, the stabbing pain in her head not receding and only increasing as she pushed herself to standing.

‘I really need to find other furniture that the ones he steals from his raids. A new set of chairs is something I’d pay money for.’ She thought to herself, running a through her hair and picking out pieces of dirt and splinters from her (H/C) locks.

A large roar shook the entire inside of the cave, the forceful vibration almost sending (Y/N) tumbling once again. The book nearly falling from her grasp, but this time she clenched it tightly in her fingers. The sound of scraping stone echoed wildly in (Y/N)’s ears, her face scrunching up at the unpleasant sound.

Her hand was quickly placed on the rocky wall beside her, watching the furniture, that had been fashioned to the wall with wires, to make sure nothing broke. ‘That bastard just had to come now.’

“Tiny! Where the fuck are you? I’m back if you hadn’t noticed.” The loud booming voice emanated from the corridor, the pissed of tone making (Y/N) roll her eyes. She scrambled to the doorway of the kitchen, her book forgotten on the table, and she checked to make sure the bread bowl hadn’t fallen off the counter—luckily, it hadn’t.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, you impatient bastard wait one minute!” (Y/N) called back to the voice, her eye brows narrowing as she noticed the plates and bowls that had fallen from their wooden shelves.

“Whaa? You calling me a bastard, you better watch your fucking mouth, human.” The voice responded sourly, the unmistakable growl that edged it’s way into the tone making (Y/N) chuckle lightly to herself.

She walked toward the corridor of the room, noting that most of the candles has blown out in the rumbling. The rocky hallway was rather small and led into a larger cave with a ceiling that stretched meters above her head. There were no stalactites, like they had been broken off purposely.

Sunlight streamed into the large cave from outside, giving it enough natural light to see around without any aid of candles or lanterns. In the corner of the cave sitting with his legs crossed, his hands tearing at the meat of a freshly killed deer, was Bakugo.

(Y/N) rubbed the back of her neck in defeat, seeing the blood already beginning to pool around the carcass of the poor animal.

“I’m here and already, you’ve made a mess.” She commented in disgust, walking over to the man as he turned around to face her—lips and cheeks smeared with thick red blood.

Bakugo swallowed the meat in his mouth, the hind leg of the deer had been ripped off the animal and was being held in his hands.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re a fucking clean freak.” He retorted, his mouth opening and taking a large squelching bite of the raw meat. “Only humans would worry about shit like this.”

(Y/N) hummed, rolling her eyes as she scanned him up and down—he would definitely need a bath after he was done his “meal.” The blood soaked into his pants and the beautiful white fur of his long red cloak around his shoulders. The red sticky ooze seeped over his toned, muscled body.

“If you’re eating all of it, just give me tender loins to cook please.” (Y/N) sighed defeatedly, the smell of raw bloody meat hitting her nostrils in an unrelenting attack of metal and gore. 

“You humans and your risk of worms.” He grumbled under his breath, his hand reached toward the back of the deer and shoved his hand into the back—through the pelt. (Y/N) winced at the sound of his hand pulling out the two strips of meat, his other hand shoving another mouthful of meat into his mouth. No matter how much (Y/N) has seen him rip flesh from bone, it still made her nauseous sometimes.

“You’re looking green, Tiny. Go back inside, if you’re going to vomit your insides out again.” Bakugo said, his crimson eyes scanning up and down (Y/N)’s pale face. His hand threw over the two pieces of tenderloin, the meat landing on the ground with a splat.

(Y/N) nodded her head silently, crouching down and delicately picking up the strips of deer. The blood was still warm in her palms and she groaned at the thought of getting the red stains on her nice blouse.

“If any of this gets on my shirt, I’m slipping laxative in your water.” (Y/N) threatened, hurrying toward the corridor once again and she heard the outraged exclamation of Bakugo behind her. 

“You better not, fucking tiny ass human. I will rip your precious books to smithereens.” Bakugo shouted after her with a growl, the woman rolling her eyes around her skull in response.

“Okay, dragon boy, let’s see you fucking try. I’ll bleach your cape pink.” (Y/N) jabbed back, calling over her shoulder at Bakugo who continued to munch on the meat. She could hear him grumbling curses under his breath and she giggled softly to herself.

(Y/N) hurried through the corridor, through the room, and into the kitchen. She could see a drop of blood preparing to fall onto the floor she zoomed toward a clean bucket and dropped the meat into it. Her palms leaned on the counter for support, for some reason the smell of the fresh meat made her feel sick to her stomach.

She sharpened a knife and began trimming the meat on the counter. It wasn’t long after she heard Bakugo come stomping through the corridor and she leaned out of the door to see the muddy tracks behind him.

“Clean your shoes off next time, I swear you lived in a barn.” (Y/N) called out, her lips frowned at the sight of the freshly mopped floors being covered in brown muck. Bakugo paused, turning around to look at the mud he was dragging through the room before he smirked deviously.

“I was raised in a cave.” He said, continuing to stride toward (Y/N) with an evil glint in his eye and her frown turned down into a scowl. “What’s wrong, Tiny? You’re looking a little pissed off.”

(Y/N) sighed and shook her head, looking at the blood still wet on his body.

“Don’t take another step, clean off the blood. We have bathing pools for a reason, dipshit.” (Y/N) demanded, pointing her sharpened bloody knife toward him. Bakugo faltered for a moment, a dangerous frown forming on his face.

“I’m not fucking that filthy. I washed yesterday, just like you asked, remember?” Bakugo retorted, his arms crossing over his chest. (Y/N) hummed at his rather adorable expression and continued flaying the strips of white fat from the meat.

“You’re covered in blood, Katsuki Bakugo, and that means your washing.” (Y/N) said, her eyes glanced down where she was happy to see that her work was pretty much finished.

Bakugo rolled his eyes and grumbled his way back toward the corridor, she was pretty sure she heard a imitation of her own voice. She simply giggled and packaged the meat in parchment paper to save for stew later and dropped any dirty dishes in the sink-bucket.

He returned a few minutes later, dripping wet and clothes in his arms. Bakugo wasn’t wearing a thing and (Y/N) noticed right away, her face turning a lovely shade of rose red.

“Okay! That’s- No clothes- Your other shirts are in the dresser!” (Y/N) said, looking away from the spectacle of a naked Bakugo. She heard his footsteps approach her and felt strong arms wrap tightly around her waist, pulling her snugly against him.

“I’ll get changed later.” He muttered against her skin, the warmth of his breath tickling the skin of her neck. “Nothing happened while I was gone?” (Y/N) was frozen in her spot, the feeling of the water dampening in her back, and her face flushing with a beautiful color of red.

“N-Nothing, the den’s been quiet as ever.” (Y/N) answered, her voice stuttering at the beginning but she managed to focus on the cutting board in front of her. “No one’s touched your precious gold horde.”

Bakugo hummed, his chin resting on top of her head, and he snuggled his face into her hair. His hands wandered about her waist, his toned chest pressing against the small of her back.

“I wasn’t worried about the gold.” He muttered quietly, the growl at the end of his voice made (Y/N)’s arms explode in goose bumps. “You smell different, tiny. Did you use the milk soap you bought a while ago?”

She paused for a moment.

“No? My smell changed?” (Y/N) asked, she had never really gotten used to the draconic abilities of her husband. Bakugo nipped at her earlobe absentmindedly, he’d always held this animalistic quality that he brought everywhere in their relationship.

“Your cinnamon smell is just different, alright? It smells like milk mixed with cinnamon.” Bakugo said, his eyes watched her hands move rhythmically as she finished up ridding the meat of any fatty tissue.

“I still don’t know why you humans are so picky.” Bakugo scoffed, shaking his head as let go of her waist and walked out of the kitchen in order to hopefully put some pants on.

“The fatty parts make the meat chewy.” (Y/N) said honestly, her eyes glanced over to Bakugo’s form but she refused to look for long—the blazing warmth in her cheeks forcing her too.

The conversation continued for awhile, (Y/N) was busily hurrying around the kitchen and chopping vegetables for the stew. Bakugo was making himself useful and watching her whisking around the kitchen from his spot sitting on one of the counters.

The stew shimmered on top of the stone oven, the bread was baking in the rocky blazing insides happily. The smell permeated the air and the warm smell making (Y/N) sigh contentedly.

“Shitty hair and pink bitch want to come over for dinner, they want to taste human cooking.” Bakugo started, the subjects of his yapping changed like the wind—it could go from hating Midoriya, to how great he is, or how he caught the deer earlier.

“Of course, I said no-”

“Why don’t you invite them over? They haven’t been over since fall, the winter’s been tough on them.” (Y/N) said, stirring the stew in the pot and sprinkling in a few herbs and spices into the shimmering pot. Bakugo scoffed.

“Hell no! They’re messier than me. That shitty hair is really fucking annoying.” He retorted, his posture straightened to a stiff board, and he muttered quietly under his breath. “He’s always touching you.”

“What is it with you dragons? Always so overprotective of your ‘mates.’“ (Y/N) sighed, looking toward her husband who huffed and shoved himself off of the counter. His shimmering ruby eyes glaring darkly in her direction, stalking over to her.

“Mates are a big fucking deal, tiny, I’ve told you this before.” (Y/N) nodded her head, her lack of listening made Bakugo snatched her wrist and pulled her roughly against his body.

“Dragons mate forever. You are mine, forever, you fucking idiot.” He growled, her smaller body was pressed flush against his. (Y/N)’s eyes widened at his serious tone, he usually wasn’t this sentimental and she expected a scoff from him instead.

Her heart fluttered in het chest, a large smile crossing her features

“I understand, Katsuki.” (Y/N) simply said, embracing her husband close to her and enjoyed the peaceful moments that followed. Two years ago, she didn’t expect to find herself here and married to the dragon that had quite rudely crashed through her house—hurting himself in the process.

For months, she nursed him back to health and somehow managed to love him in that time. Now, there they are, two years later and married. If (Y/N)’s younger self had a conversation with older (Y/N), she was sure that younger her would call her insane.

“I love you, dragon boy.” She said softly, her hand running through his spikey blond hair. Bakugo huffed and he laughed cockily.

“Who doesn’t love me?” A swift jab to the ribs made him cough and he nipped at her neck in retaliation. “Heh, I love you, tiny human.”

[dynyamight]

Midoriya, smling awkwardly; Apologies, sir, but i think you are in the wrong tower.

Bakugou, already in love: ... No, it's definitely the right one.

i offer you, flynn!bkg x musketeer!deku based off this lovely art, & woolly's precious dialouge

“You’re sure that this is the tower?”

Bakugou squints, fighting against the blaring sunlight that shines above the roof. “I guess..?”

Beside him, Todoroki groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t possibly say that when we’re already here.”

Growling, Bakugou brings a hand to shield over his gaze. “Shut up.” He snarls lowly, “I barely had any information on this damn, stupid damsel, let alone where she lives. Give me a damn break!”

“That’s why you’re supposed to ask around.”

“Yeah, let me just ask a bunch of local bimbos and lackeys where to find a tall ass tower, holding a long destined princess inside.” Bakugou stomps in his boots, throwing his arms in the air. “Oh right, that’s every fucking tower, ‘round here!”

Todoroki sighs, turning his back away from Bakugou. “Well, I’m personally choosing to not stay and watch yourself get humiliated. For both of our sakes.”

Bakugou sputters, the ends of his hair spiking. “What the hell?!” He hisses, “You’re just gonna leave me all my damn self?!”

“This isn’t my fairy tale to fulfill.”

“Fuck that! Crooks and shitty pirates could be up this stupid tower! You’re staying, Half n’ Half!”

Todoroki never ceases his steps, waving a hand behind. “I’ll be awaiting your arrival back at the creek with our horses.” He calls back.

When his figure becomes non-existent, far deep in the forest where they came from, Bakugou angrily digs his booted heels into the ground. Grittened curses and insults are easily spewed, as doubts flood Bakugou’s mind.

This had to be the tallest tower in the countryside; there was no fucking way. He and Todoroki travelled out of their safe haven village, risked their damn lives as wanted men in the kingdom, and yet, all of their efforts could potentially be wasted, over some shit tip he got, when he was young and gullible.

Now, all he hopes is that his goddamn soulmate has enough money to bail him out of the authorities' heavy watch.

That’s right; Soulmates. Connected together through a folk story or fairy tale, they were fated, destined pairs that were lucky enough to be passed down through generations. Only a few people throughout their kingdom were blessed to have this guidance.

The fairy tales differ and vary in task. The most common to be gifted was the midnight glass slipper and the kissing of a frog; feet and reptiles were fucking gross. There was the waking kiss of a cursed needle struck; stupid. And, there was the beast curse uplifting, which was the most absurd of them all; absolutely disgusting.

Yet, Bakugou had been the unfortunate bastard to have been given the family fairy tale of having to find his princess at the tallest tower of the land, and climb it with her fucking hair. Go figure.

Glancing back at the tower, Bakugou notices its many oddities. Despite no front door anywhere to be seen, there were large windows, overlooking the forest and far city below. And, on the sills and on top of the stone slabs, moss, garden flowers, and vines grew, with a year's worth of growth. And, at the highest point, the compartment of the tower looked rather large, not all small or crowded looking.

The tower didn’t scream ‘help me’. Instead, the building looked rather cozy, well taken care of, and gave off an air of home.

It bewildered Bakugou entirely.

He’s meant to save his fated princess from the heights of her secluded isolation, and yet, it feels like he’s going to fucking bother her.

Regardless, he has a mission that he needs to get over with. The sooner he can call out to his fated partner, the sooner he can have a sword to her throat and demand riches.

“Oi!” Bakugou shouts aloud at the tower, towards the largest window opening. “Open up!”

When there’s no response, he cups his hand around his mouth. “Hey! I said fucking open up, already! Let down your hair!”

Nothing.

Irritation seeps under his skin. Bakugou knows he has to quote the cringest, most idiotic words to ever leave his lips, in order for his destiny to finally be fulfilled. But, for god’s sake, he doesn’t want to.

In a way, he’s glad the damn Half n’ Half bastard wasn’t nearby to hear him make a complete fool out of himself. Looking like a fucking jester to the king.

Clearing his throat, Bakugou stubbornly tries to ignore the embarrassed burning of his cheeks. “..Rapunzel, oh Rapunzel,” He begrudgingly echoes, “Let down your hair!”

Like a hawk eying at its prey, Bakugou focuses at the window, for any sign of possible movement or noise. But, just as before, not a single shift in the air changed, or an indication of acknowledgement.

Bakugou throws down his satchel in a fit of fury. “Are you fucking deaf?!” He turns away, shouting to the sky, “I swear, in the name of Ever After, I will set this stupid, tall ass tower ablaze, if you don’t open this damn window and let me climb your long ass hair, right—!”

A creak emits from the direction of the tower, and immediately Bakugou’s heart jumps.

Slowly, he twists back to notice finally that the closed, large window now had its curtains separated, and its double panels open.

And standing atop of the perch of the balcony, was a young man, dressed in a musketeer attire and red cape. His short, green curls peeped from under his feathered hat.

“Wh-What long hair?” The man asks, genuinely confused.

Even though there was a distance between them, Bakugou could still see the beauties. Those emerald eyes; they put every ruby and sapphire to shame. Those freckles, sprinkled across his soft features; splattered nicely like stars. And, that skin; kissed and caressed by the sun’s warmth lovingly.

Bakugou doesn’t realize he’s been staring, until the man speaks out, “Are you lost, sir?”

Now, that makes Bakugou double take. “Wha— I’m supposed to be fucking asking you that.”

The young musketeer tilts his head down below. “This is my home? I live here.”

“..Rapunzel isn’t fucking here? The damsel in distress, abandoned by a wicked mother, crying alone, and shitting bricks in fear, wanting to escape to see the real world outside?”

“..I have a wonderful mom. I regularly leave to guard the kingdom’s palace, and I would think I live a blessed, calm life.” The young man voices shyly, “And, um, I’m Midoriya. Midoriya Izuku. There is no Rapunzel here..”

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Todoroki would have gone fucking mental, hearing this. And, honestly, Bakugou kinda wishes he could see his fellow bandit’s reaction.

“Shit.” Bakugou groans, running a hand through his hair. “You’re telling me this ain’t the tallest tower of the kingdom?”

“Um,” Midoriya scratches at the underside of his cheek, “I mean, this is one of them.”

“Fucking hell.”

Pointing behind him, Midoriya redirects Bakugou’s attention towards the horizon line. “The tallest towers are out to the mountainside, where their roofs graze the clouds and breeze. It will take you a few days to reach there.”

“..Are you fucking certain you ain’t the Rapunzel I seek?”

Midoriya blushes at the mention. However, smiling awkwardly, he shakes his head. “Apologies, sir. But, I do think you are at the wrong tower. I’m only a mere simpleton.”

Fucking hell. He was at the wrong tower.

Yet, that soft, gentle smile. It leaves Bakugou whirling, with this fluttery, airy sensation overwhelmingly consuming him from the inside, out. That smile looks so good, against those supple, rosy, freckled cheeks, and paired perfectly with those iries of jade.

Midoriya didn’t have the fated long, golden hair, or the destined, donned name of Rapunzel.

But, Bakugou was always the one to chase after things he wasn’t supposed to have, stealing them away for himself. And, despite the hefty bounty on his head, begging him to stop, there was nothing wrong in stealing one last thing.

Soulmate or not, he hopes to take Midoriya's heart.

“Nah,” Bakugou snorts, the corners of his lips lifting, “This is definitely the right one.”

[the-witches-you-couldnt-burn]

Living with what you’ve done

Uhhhhh

UHHHHHHH WHAT

Ok so I started writing the 100 special but then I got to 120!?! Wtf when did this happen?

Though I would like to thank each follower personally I have social anxiety and would rather not randomly message strangers following me. Here is my public thank you!

Idk what I did while writing this but it seems I managed to copy-paste the beginning four seperate times. This brought the word count up to 5.9k but it is now edited and brought down to 2.3k

Inspired by my friend @deltaxxk who loves angst and told me I have to write a follower special

Other prompts used: One, Two

Also! There are movie references within this fic, if you get them all you get a virtual lollipop 🍭

Ao3

Disclaimer: THIS FIC IS MAJORLY ANGSTY PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS IF ANY OF THE WARNINGS WILL TRIGGER YOU

Warings: blood, fire, death (+graphic descriptions of dying), injuries, grief, human trafficking and mentions of psychopathy

———————

“Robin we’re out of time! We must leave, we’re out of time!” Her yo-yo strained with tension as she swung into a goon, sending their body flying away from her team.

They had gotten a lead on a meta trafficking ring that involved some of the Gotham elite’s children disappearing. The lead brought them to the dock, GothDrill’s warehouse sat just off to the right. Its fluorescent lights signifying signs of life, Marinette knew most weren’t there willingly.

“Make more time!” He snapped back. Ladybug fumble slightly before regaining her footing, she wasn’t expecting the coldness in his tone.

She jumped back into the fray and watched from the corner of her eye Damian take on four goons by himself. She stifled a sigh before punching the man in front of her square on his jaw, ‘must he always prove himself when he has already?’ Damian edged himself closer to the garage doorway of the shed before disappearing into the building.

Focus her attention back on the battle around her, she saw Red Hood downed under a steel beam. She rushed over, and with her enhanced miraculous strength to lift the offending metal. He groaned with pain, the beam had pinned his legs, forcing him to lay stomach down. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, supporting the majority of his weight to get him to his feet. Pain throbbed in his left leg and they stumbled onto the dock to hide behind down GothDrill crates.

Ripping the seams of his pant leg, she revealed a dark purple bruise that was rapidly spreading. She also discovered the beam had broken his femur and shattered his kneecap, how he wasn’t screaming in pain was beyond her. Pink light danced between her fingers before drifting down to his wound. Jason bit his hand to prevent any cries from leaving his mouth. He didn’t want another confrontation in his state.

The sound reached her before the light did. Jason panted as he looked up to see what distracted her from his healing. Reflections of orange and yellows dancing across her cerulean eyes. “Damian.” She whispered frozen stock still.

Something within her very core snapped and cardinal urges overtook her common sense. Shooting up like a bullet she sprinted towards the blazing inferno, her ears numb to the world around her.

Inside was worse than the burning exterior. She could see where the explosion originated from, big barrels of flammable chemicals blazed white with heat. The smoke and burning chemical gases penetrated her airways, coughs racked her chest.

She could see flames running up the walls and the lit barrels but the rest was black. The smoke was a blanket of darkness that wrapped around her.

And then she heard it. The screaming.

Multiple voices, so raw with pain, masculine and feminine, old and young. Running towards it she hoped to spot Damian but luck wasn’t on her side. Instead she found the trafficked civilians, their bodies red with burns with their hair and clothes set ablaze.

She ran full speed at the wall nearby, shattering the melted bolts. The fire blazed brighter at the new source of oxygen. She directed the victims out, the dove towards the water. The goons had fled during the initial explosion leaving the Batfam free to help.

She looked down at the bodies of those who didn’t survive. Some were burned beyond recognition, she kept looking, scouring for Damian.

She heard Red Robin calling her name, she looked up to see the scaffolding holding the roof breaking apart and falling to where she stood. She felt her body tackled out of the way and another thunderous crash hit the floor.

She was dragged outside and placed into the care of a newly arrived ambulance. Her eyes, red from the smoke and ash, looked out the back door of the vehicle. Firefighters and police had arrived on scene along with news reporters and the public. Families of the trafficked were reunited with their lost love ones and others mourned their deceased. Red Robin stood there, watching her.

“You can’t just follow me into fire.” She croaked to him, her oxygen mask muffling her.

The whites of his black cowl narrowed and his fists clenched. “Then don't run into fire,” he growled at her before walking off.

Her body moved without thinking, removing her oxygen mask against the protests of the paramedics. Ladybug reassured them she’ll be alright and that they should help the others who were more injured than she. She walked back towards the building but the black-clad figure of Batman stopped her stride.

“You’re not using your cure.” He stated. Her eyes widened, the cure could save his missing son, save the trafficked from their injuries and deaths. Who was he to deny the will of a god’s favoured?

Using the cure in Gotham was always straining and the Batfam knew that. On multiple smaller occasions, she was prevented from using it due to the amount of damage and crime being reverse causing serious health concerns they observed in Marinette. But she never thought it would also be denied on an occasion like this.

“I have to! Robin cou—“

“No, you could die.” He cut her off, her foggy mind becoming more enraged.

“And he could live!”

Without a reply he injected her neck with a sedative, her body collapsed from the drugs and exhaustion. The world going dark around her.

+++++++++++++

Three days after

Her blaring phone distracted her from her dissociative state. She was staring lifelessly at her TV, she could say what happened in the show even if her life depended on it. She scrambled to her phone, Dick’s name lit up the screen.

She accepted the call, answer with a hoarse “hello?”

“Marinette? Are you able to make it over we have some things to tell you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Pressing her phone to her ear with her shoulder she ran around her apartment, grabbing her keys, shoes and jacket. Rushing out the door she rapidly fired questions at him, “What is it? Did you find him? Is he there?” All of which were answered with silence.

“It’s best that we discuss this when you get to the manor.” And with that, he hung up. The click seemed to echo in her car, even though she knew it didn’t. Driving towards the outskirts of Gotham where Wayne manor resided, she felt a spark of hope rekindle in her chest. Although Dick didn’t give her much to go on she still hoped they found him and everything could go back to how it was.

Fate wasn’t merciful to the naive it seems.

Her world shattered around her as she saw the crisped cape on the table. The smell of burnt blood permeated the room. Her eyes stayed locked onto the cloth as she spoke, “But this is only his cape, not his body. He still could be alive somewhere! He is injured and hurt and we have to find him!”

No one spoke. Their eyes flicked to one another.

Jason limped in her direction, his crutch clicking against the stone flooring. He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, his eyes brimming with unshed emotions. “The cape was found with the body, everything else was unsalvageable except the cape.”

A silent “we’ve found him, just not how we wanted,” resounded throughout her being.

She glared at Bruce, “He could be alive if you didn’t stop me! I could have saved him!” She lashed out, tears pouring down her cheeks.

“And we would have been having this exact conversation with Damian about why we didn’t stop you. The best outcome for this situation was you living.”

“No the best outcome was both of us being given a chance at survival” Marinette screamed at him, his face was emotionless. How could he be so uncaring to the fact of his youngest son dying?

Running out of the Batcave and manor she gasped at the cold night air. A sob escaped her mouth. Her head banged against her steering wheel, tears dripping onto her pyjama pants. There was no way she’d be able to sleep tonight.

++++++++++++

Twelve days after

Fire danced in her peripheral. A medley of bright oranges and golden yellows. She remembered the times when the two of them would watch the sunset in silence, sipping on hot chocolate and green tea. This blazing inferno was different. Its colours more violent and foreboding.

The screams. They were different from the ones she heard that night. They were his screams.

She saw her body encased within his burnt arms. Damian was little more than a burnt corpse, his eyes blazed green and his bone was replaced with metal pipes. The cure resurrected him but he was not wholly there anymore.

She awoke screaming. Not in control enough to remember she had neighbours; mentally pleading that they’d understand. They knew of his disappearance but not of his death. She was still heavily in denial.

She isolated herself away from everyone, afraid she would hurt anyone else that got close. She couldn’t stop wanting to hurt Bruce for making her unable to use her cure or the goons for setting the place alight and killing her fiancé. She wanted to go scorched earth.

She snuggled into his pillowcase, his faint scent of honey was still present. She willed herself to fall back asleep, his scent surrounding her. His pillow, his shirt, his ring; but she was missing him.

++++++++

Two hundred and eighty-seven days after

Red trickled down her finger. It took her a moment to move the fabric away from the dripping blood source but managed to before it stained. It had been years since she had pricked her finger with a needle, but her subconscious must have needed to feel something; even if it was pain.

She looked around at her juvenile pink room. She had moved back into her parents six months after Damian’s death. Three months into her stay and she still had most of her belongings in boxes. The only decorations in the room were scattered commissions and a wooden blanket.

Looking down at the puddle of blood that was growing on her white desk she wonders if Damian bled before the fire cauterised his wounds. She had researched that burning to death was one of the most painful ways to die, it takes hours, each nerve ending burning. The burn victim usually passes out after a few minutes but she could imagine Damian desperately trying to put himself out, only to find more fire encompassing him.

His cape was bloody so she hopes he bled rather than burned. Or maybe he was crushed by the falling roof and killed instantly. She hoped he didn’t suffer for long.

Similar intrusive thoughts plagued her mind constantly but she kept her focus on her art to push through the days. Gazing down at the wound she found Tikki had held her and Wayzz had wiped the puddle with tissues.

Today she’ll live for them. Tomorrow she might live to try her father’s new recipe of cinnamon macarons. Last Tuesday she lived to hear Luka’s new song. Next month she might live just to pat the stray kitten that lives in the alley behind the Chinese restaurant two streets over.

++++++++++

Five hundred and twenty days after

She froze at the sight before her. Thinking it was another hallucination or she was having another nightmare. “You thought,” The glass in her hand cracked under her grip. Her brain couldn’t process what was happening. She hasn’t disassociated this much since the day he ‘died’.” That by faking your death, you could find out who you could rely on?”

“TT, yes. Now that I know everything can go back to the way it was.” She swigged her glass again, wishing it were whiskey instead of water. When they had met, Jon and his family had warned her that he was severely emotional constipated from his upbringing but this was in the psychopathic area of emotionless.

“No.”

“What?” His shock almost seems real. His eyes had widened and his body language was unsteady.

“No, we aren’t done talking about this! How ignorant do you have to be to think this won’t affect our relationship? Won’t affect me?”

“It wasn’t real. I’m here.” He stepped forward, arms rising to hug her. He never was one for physical contact. She pulled back, grabbing a steak knife and placing it between them. He told her he had set the place aflame. He found the lead for the trafficking ring. He planned it all. And now he was back, almost a year and a half later.

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt! I’m going to have nightmares for the rest of my life! How selfish, how, how stupid do you have to be to not consider what it does to someone who cared about you?!”

“Cared?”

“Do I need to spell it out? We’re done. I don’t want to see you ever again,” She seethed. “You think everything can go back to how it was before? Well, it can’t. I spent months of my life mourning over a guy who wasn’t even dead. Who didn’t even care about me enough not to toy with my emotions. My life isn’t a game Damian!”

“I only did this because I thought—”

“I don’t care. Get out. Out of my house. Out of my life. Just get out.”

“I didn’t intend to hurt you, I just wanted to know.” Hot, rage-filled tears ran down her cheeks. She jabbed the knife at him, stopping inches before his chest. She had backed him down the stair and to the front door. Neither of her parents were home and he was more unpredictable than ever.

“I hope you can live with what you’ve done, le miel”

[angeli-marco-writes]

Tom Felton - Risk

A/N - Despite writing this 8 months ago, it hasn’t been uploaded anywhere. I forgot about it until a few days ago, redrafted it, and here we go. With the (not so) recent blow up of Draco-tok and Tom’s increased following, I thought it would be a good time to upload as well, and it has a summer feel to escape the disgracefully bitter winter here in Britain. I do not own the song lyrics used. I do not know Tom, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction and entirely my own. 

Warnings - cursing, legal alcohol consumption, mutual pining, 3.4k words of fluff and angst. Nothing further.

Summary - After your break up, one that pained you to the bone, you try to escape and you find yourself taking that one risk you always thought you should, travelling. A simple day out, and the one person you don’t want to see is the one person who can help you with your car troubles. Could he help with your heart troubles too, over a reminiscent dinner perhaps?

RISK, that’s what this is. You’re taking a risk for once in your life, living a new experience and stepping outside of your comfort zone. That's what you’re supposed to do to get over a particularly brutal break up, isn’t it? So here you are, finding yourself again, exploring places you’ve always wanted to go. Current destination: Cape Town, South Africa. A haven.

You came here on a whim. Looking up some cheap prices from when you were in Barcelona, and surprisingly, you got a good direct flight and hotel deal for more than a reasonable price. 

Before your break up, you’d never have dreamt of this. You were content with your life of luxury in LA with your boyfriend after dating for a while, but with his insane work schedule and travelling, you just couldn’t reasonably keep up with the relationship. You felt neglected, work and Willow always coming above you, and you couldn’t just be solely financially reliable on him, even if he was a millionaire. So after a long few days of gruelling arguments, you packed your bags and did what he told you to do.

“Live your life the way you couldn’t do with me holding you back.”

He was sorry, so sorry, heartbroken. I can still see his face when he let me go. Too darling to forget or stay mad at. You’ve just got to find the part of yourself that stayed with him, and maybe you’ll find it half way across the globe in between gorgeous beaches and scenic mountains while staying in a luxurious five star hotel.

Your days have been filled with hiking and swimming, spa days and sunbathing, fancy meals and getting drunk under the stars. But even though you’re living the dream, you haven’t quite found yourself yet. Maybe you will with your sightseeing plans for later on.

This afternoon, after you’ve spent the morning hiking, you’re ready for a calm afternoon back at your hotel, a leisurely swim in the pool to cool down and maybe some sunning on the adjoining beach.

You make your way back to the car you hired, a beat up jeep, but it’s a pleasure to drive around the mountains. But as you walk back there, you see someone. No, it can’t be him. It was just someone with the same hairstyle as him. Wearing the same shirt that he used to wear all the time. And wearing the same glasses. It has to be a coincidence, he can’t be here, it’s just your mind playing tricks. 

Part of you even wants him to be here, but the correct part of your brain knows that your longing thought us nothing more than wantonly cohorted, made up from missing him and being away from the last place you could call home. So without another thought, you open the door to the car and climb into the driver's seat. You’re suddenly conscious of the way you’re dressed: canvas shorts with a sun top and billowy button down, but even if it is more of a practical outfit, you still look damn good in it, so calm yourself down.

Starting the car is easier said than done, because as soon as you slot the key in and turn it, the engine vibrates for a few seconds and lets out a low grumble, and then it dies. Internally you curse yourself, and you hit the steering wheel a few times to release some steam. This was always Tom’s area of expertise, you never had to deal with car mechanics, but instead of making it a big deal, you give it a go again, only for the engine to crash again.

Footsteps sound outside the car on the gravel and sand, and then a head appears at your rolled down window, followed by a voice you never thought you’d hear again.

“Need some help, Miss?”

You turn your head so quickly that you feel something pull. No no no, he cannot be here on your get away trip. 

He smiles at you lopsidedly until realisation dawns on his face. In that moment, his cheeks fall and his red eyes droop. He is definitely high, but high tom is the best tom, all slow and cuddly.

“W-what are you doing here, Y/N?” he asks incredulously, his enunciated British tone raspy and soothing all at once, grounding you.

“Vacation. Um, you?” 

You fumble over your words, scrutinised under the piercing blue of his eyes behind his glasses.

“Filming.” he says.

Even after you split up, you’d never expected it to get this awkward if you ever met again. You’re definitely not over him yet, you can tell by the way butterflies flitter inside your stomach just at the sight of his day-old stubble and the tufts of sun kissed hair that poke out from his cap.

“That’s, um, nice,” you respond and offer him a shy smile, “Would you mind, um?”

He nods and moves around to the hood of the car. You watch as he turns his cap around and rolls up his sleeves, revealing his gorgeously tanned and toned forearms. You lose yourself and all inhibitions as he works to find out the problem, his seamless movements and his cute thinking face that crinkles his forehead and scrunches his nose. How he’s always so willing to help in any circumstance and the undying love that he revels in day after day, it’s like basking in eternal joy whenever you’re around Tom because not a single moment is dull. You can’t help but remember the way it felt when he kissed you, the fire that his touch left in its wake, the gentle way he held you through countless nights.

“Sorted, sweet pea.” he says, leaning against your car door with his head against the window frame. 

Your heart skips a beat at the nickname. “No one’s called me that since you.” 

The words are out before you can stop them, your sad smile unmoving from your face despite being filled with longing, and it just so happens to match his expression exactly.

“I have to film this afternoon, but how about I take you out for dinner? We can just, I don’t know, catch up? It can’t be a coincidence that we’ve bumped into each other.”

You don’t even have to think before the answer is spilling from your lips rather enthusiastically, a definite yes with a vigorous nod. He chuckles, slipping his hand through the window to clasp yours.

“I still have your number, so I’ll text you a time and place, yeah sweet pea? I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, “bye tom.”

You watch as he walks away before starting the car, your thoughts the whole way back to the hotel filled with nothing but Tom and thoughts for the night. Dinner with your ex really is a risk, but maybe, just maybe if he reciprocated your lingering feelings, it’ll pay off.

No matter how much you want to spend the afternoon carelessly swimming and enjoying yourself, taking in the views all around you and revelling in the South African sunlight, you simply can’t. Every moment you close your eyes, Tom’s smile illuminates your thoughts and fills your body with a prickling longing. It’s a bitter feeling that scares you, unnerving you and forcing you to lose all hope for the night ahead. Your phone buzzes on your way to the spa, thinking maybe a hot stone massage will clear your mind, but you quit when you see what he’s written. You haven’t deleted his number from your phone either.

PAPI ♡ : What hotel are you at? I’ll grab you for dinner at 7. Dress fancy, preferably in that nice black dress I love, but you look perfect in everything. T x

That black dress. The same one you haven’t worn since your last night out before the break up. Maybe you will wear it, maybe you won’t. You tap out a reply, signing with a smiley face and no kisses no matter how much you want to press that x like there’s a gravitational pull, but it just doesn’t feel right in the circumstances. 

PAPI ♡ : I’ll be there, sweet pea. T x

That might be Tom’s worst habit of them all. Constantly signing his texts with ‘T’ when you obviously know that it’s him. It used to gnaw at you, especially when he’d send particularly needy texts, multiple in a row, and sign them all the same way, but often, it was rather cute. He always was crap with technology. 

All the memories come flying back at a terrifying pace, the different texts calling to you from your phone, begging for you to relive the good old days. No, you can’t. You won’t give in to such an insane impulse. It’s bad enough that you agreed to go to dinner with your ex, you can’t let anything cloud your mind to make you more malleable for the night. So to resist temptation, you throw your belongings down on a sun lounger and grasp a cocktail over a nearby bar, downing it briefly before diving head first and breaking the surface of the water. Maybe a swim will distract you until you have to get ready.

Tom spent his whole afternoon messing up lines. Not for a minute could he focus. His lunchtime beer ended up being drunk faster than he’d wanted to, and he hardly ate a thing, for his stomach was filled with butterflies. Whenever anything was said in the script or on set that linked his mind back to you, he went hazy for a solid minute. Every time he’d try to pull himself together, and would fail, remembering how your hands felt when you tied his hair back or undressed him. 

Eventually, it was too much.

“CUT!” the director screamed an hour early. “Stop, just stop. Go home, sleep, come back tomorrow. We haven’t got a single decent shot in hours, Felton.”

Tom gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down beneath a feathering of stubble that had made its way down there. Faintly, he nodded and ran a trembling hand through his hair before pulling a cap on. He rolled his sleeves up briefly, wandered to his dressing room, and fell into a chair, his thoughts whirring around his head too fast for him to form a sensical sentence. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about you? So, he grabbed his belongings and ran to his car, driving to his hotel to play his sorrows away while awaiting your date.

Once coming in from the pool, you spend a few hours prepping yourself, primping and dressing for the date. You want to look good for Tom, but also for yourself. You always dressed up to feel good about yourself and it was just a bonus that Tom worshipped you, even more when he knew you’d made an extra effort. Curling your hair, dabbing on lipstick, even buckling the straps on your sandals fills your stomach with butterflies and gives you goose bumps all over your skin, already prickling with the blush you received from looking in the mirror. It’s time.

Your walk out to the front of the hotel feels foreign, your ankles wobbling in the heels you decided on, and even as the humid air hits you, you feel a little exposed and chilled. However, any anxiety dissipates when you see Tom walking towards you, a dopey and ever loving smirk on his sun kissed face, crisp chinos with loafers and a billowy button down, loose around the neck. The evening breeze blows the short sleeves up and gives you a peek at the curls of ink that hug his arm in the shape of a dog, the same as how you see the contrast on his ankle between the dark palm trees and his white skin.

You don’t realise you’ve been standing still and tearing apart his every exquisite feature until he’s an inch away from you and his fingers have slipped around your own, holding your hand loosely and keeping you close.

“Hi.” he says, his mouth pulling to a grin.

“Hi.” you return, pacing your fingers with his own more intricately to distract yourself from how crimson your cheeks are.

“Come on,” he picks up his pace back to where he’s parked, “I’ve got a surprise.”

He plays show tunes the whole journey, silly show tunes that put a smile on your face and ones you can’t help but sing along to. He keeps his calloused palm on your knee, brushing some hair behind your ears or sneaking a kiss on your cheeks whenever possible, but the journey isn’t long enough for anything major, nor long enough for you to take apart every piece of hospitality he’s offered you so far. It’s just dinner with an ex, right? Yeah, that is until he pulls up outside a five-star luxury restaurant, complete with a mini ballroom floor and a stage where stands a woman in an evening gown, warbling out in a different language.

“We’re around the back, I have connections.”

His smile is as luminous as the twinkling lights that he’s had arranged in the trees on the back terrace of the restaurant. One table sits with a bottle of wine balanced precariously atop, a single rose in a fluted vase, two wine glasses and sets of cutlery, and with the sun setting and the fairy lights, it’s perfectly ambient. You want to speak, but you can’t find the words. Maybe, if he pulled out all the stops this way, he feels the same as you do.

He pulls your chair out before sitting down himself, pours your glass of rose wine first, and even orders your favourite meal. The amount of times you’ve ordered that very same thing though, it must be ingrained in his mind. Neither of you say a word except for meek thank you’s, and tension fills the air, not ceasing until the waiter delivers a bread platter.

“Oh,” Tom says to the waiter, a little startled, “do you have any crackers? She doesn’t eat bread before meals, or, well, at all.”

The waiter nods and scurries away, but you’re left with a burning blush on your cheeks, anxiously tucking your hair behind your ears.

“You remembered,” you chuckle softly, feeling a little giddy even though its one of your more stupid habits.

“Of course I did, I remember everything about you.”

He reaches over the table and leaves his palm open. You give it a moment of thought before wrapping your fingers around his own, tracing the lines and sun spots. He’s so familiar yet so different, your time apart somehow meeting your shared experiences, the cons outweighing the pros, something causing a barrier.

You engage in small talk while you eat, simple conversations of how you’ve been and what you’ve been up to, only very few anecdotes shared from your past relationship. It feels so natural between the two of you, just the sight of his wispy dark blonde curls is still enough to make your heart flutter, but both of you are holding something back. Nothing changes until you’re half-way through your second bottle of wine, liquid courage making you buzz.

“Do you miss me?” you ask, holding nothing back, taking just one more risk before you close off the Tom chapter of your life for good. “Do you miss us? The way we were? Who we were with each other?”

He doesn’t say a word, only looks at you with heavy blue eyes, pleading.

“Do you miss the way I used to kiss you good morning? The way you’d kiss me goodnight? The good times we had, even the bad. Do you not miss me at all?”

He swallows thickly and takes a heavy swig of wine. He signals to a waiter who clears your dishes, and then he leans on his bare forearms over the table, both of his hands holding yours as he stares into your soul, those mystical ocean eyes boring into your pained soul.

“I miss it all,” he says in his hoarse tone, “I miss you and our life more than you can imagine. If it was up to me, I’d never have let you go, but I couldn’t keep you tied down. So before you leave forever, can we have one nice night and pretend like we aren’t completely fucking broken?”

You see tears in his eyes, threatening to fall down his cheeks at any given moment. You hold his hands tighter, letting your soft fingers dance up his arms, anything to feel the warmth of his skin against you once more.

“I wish I hadn’t left.” you whisper, Hoping that the sound is blown away with the wind, or disguised by the melodious singing from just inside the restaurant, but no. He hears your words as clear as day.

“Then don’t go. Don’t leave me again. Come back and we’ll make it better, I won’t work, we don’t need to, and you can live out all of your goals too. It’s high time that you come back where you belong, by my side. Don’t leave again, Sweet pea. Please.”

You’ve never heard him sound so desperate. He clings to you, kisses your hands, and when you’re too dumbfounded to respond, he gently pulls you up and brings you upright to a flat area of the terrace.

A sweet and familiar melody flows with the wind and the bird song, softly filling your ears from the restaurant, seeping into your own little circle with Tom. He cradles his forearm around your waist, his hand splayed on the small of your back. His other cups the palm of your hand gracefully as you rest your head on his cloth covered shoulder. He still smells the same, that same mix of smoke and beer and firewood as always, the musk of his aftershave lingering on the expanse of his neck, a faint sweat from the sun clinging to his freckles.

As soon as the lyrics start, you bury your head further into Tom’s neck, chest to chest, keeping him close.

‘Come on skinny love just last a year,

Pour a little salt we were never here,’

“Come home with me and let's pretend you never left.” Tom suggests, swaying in time with the music, your body moving in time with his even if you aren’t particularly responsive to what he’s saying. “It’ll be better now. We can make it better.”

You hum against his neck noncommittal, the vibrations sending warmth through his chest. His hands roam your body, the snug fitting of his favourite dress hugging your body all too familiar to him. It’s muscle memory to trace the contours of your body beneath the black poplin, the gaps of lace giving him a peek to your dappled skin, and the slightly lower neckline still driving him crazy. His chinos hold his legs and give the silhouette of his muscles, tensing as he dances meek waltz steps, his body naturally leading the way for yours to follow, his shirt blowing open more as you hold him closer. His warmth is what you need, his body, his heart, all of him.

“I want to come back, we’ll make it work,” you whisper, toppling between your heels in what somehow resembles a slow dance to the music still coursing through your veins and making you alive.

‘In the morning I'll be with you

But it will be a different kind

'Cause I'll be holding all the tickets

And you'll be owning all the fines’

“Let's take the risk, sweet pea.”

His voice is no more than a hoarse whisper, illuminating your mind in places that you forgot, his words making your heart flutter. This is it, you love him and you have to go back with him.

‘Come on skinny love…’

“Maybe, “ you start, “Just maybe, this isn’t skinny love anymore.”

Reaching up on your tiptoes and cupping the back of his neck, gently tugging the hair at the nape, you bring his lips down to yours, finally meeting in a kiss, one that’s been months coming. He brings his palms up to your cheeks, holding and caressing while your eyes are squeezed shut, focussing on the deepening massage of his lips against yours. It’s so welcoming, so warming, so homely. This was definitely a risk worth taking.

[levi-weaver]

Lucid Loneliness

Dream finds himself alone again at night after a long day of work. He wishes he wasn't so isolated, but he has to keep going. Who could even know what he's going through?

Credit goes to @sagaverse for the alternate multiverse

Dream belongs to @jokublog

Core!Frisk belongs to @dokudoki

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Once again, Dream was alone. So very alone within the dusty, dark, and seemingly dreary depths of the abandoned warehouse he found himself in. Pulling one mattress up to the back wall, Dream made that corner as comfortable as he could for the night. Hours of weariness tugged at his sluggish limbs, but he pushed himself to gather a bit more for the barren space.

A couple fluffy blankets and a decent pillow from the boxes nearby made this corner feel a little less lonely. Closing his sockets, he could almost imagine curling up next to Neil or even his brother there. Tempting as it was, distant whispers and soft feathery impressions stated otherwise.

Slowly, he took off his dense circlet and unlatched his billowing cape from himself. Chilling as the quiet was, there were no screams nor stifled fears to indicate an attack would come any time soon. It was cold comfort when you were running for your life and the hope of others, but it was comfort regardless. This night paled to the anguish and suffering of many skirmishes before this point. Battles that left his bones bleeding at the marrow, and Nightmare's encroaching negativity making most of his options next to useless. His hand squeezed at the fabric of his cape to stop himself before thinking of the screams, be it his internal wails or those he heard around him. Try as he might, he could never quite distance his mind from the voices he heard. Some were desperate cries, others more enraged. The strongest of their innermost feelings made them so coherent as to screech their importance. Dream found it a miracle that he got any sleep at all with the constant commotion no one else seemed to hear or understand.

He hugged the fluff and fabric on him closer before turning to the moonlit window further off. So many souls needed aid, but he needed rest just as much now. If only a few people could do the same with him, but the lost guardian knew it wasn’t to be. What would they even say if they found out he was living like this? Without a friend, a home, or a hope, constantly running or fighting for his life, and having to mask all of this lest he feel even worse. That wasn’t even counting how selfish it felt. The guardian of positivity, breaking down in front of those he was cheering up. He would only involve more people in his life, and risk them falling to his brother just for the apple he now held. Shaking his skull, Dream closed his sockets once again. At least tonight, it would be no more than a grisly nightmare. It was time to head back to the meadow, the Tree of Feelings, Nightmare, and Neil most of all…

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In a clammy sweat, Dream jolted back up from his makeshift bed. His wavering eyelights darted around the warehouse in search of anything coming toward him with only the grey light of early morning illuminating the space. There was something here, and its aura seemed to creep in everywhere. Ever-changing, always watching, and yet eerily calm. Whoever or whatever it was, it was getting closer and closer to his bed. Whether it wanted to use him or just approach him, Dream wasn’t going to take any chances. Frantically, he summoned his staff into his shaky hands. Balling it tight, Dream held it close to himself, prepared to ready his shield if needed.

From the corner of his socket, he saw it come out of the shadows. Two dark, gaping sockets seemed to follow him as it came allegedly out of nowhere. This being having a personage comparable to the morning’s shadows and light didn’t ease his anxiety much either. Bracing himself for the worst outcome, he raised his staff upward. He wasn’t going to keep positivity alive shaking in his boots after all. Steeling his throat as best he could, Dream declared. “Whatever you came here for, I won’t let you stomp on their hopes or get the apple!” Just as he swung down his staff, its body dissipated from where it was. As quickly as it disappeared, it reemerged on the opposite side of the bed. Before he could so much as turn, it extended its hand out instead. With a soft smile, the being calmly replied. “You defend both valiantly, but I came for something else. You’ve been alone for some time, haven’t you?” Dream froze even more, if he hadn’t already from the shock alone. Out of all the sounds that could come out, a composed response was the last thing he expected. Taking a moment to process what even happened, he lowered his staff. This seemed far too strange to be real, but they didn’t seem dangerous. He looked up again with disbelief and confusion. “H-How could you know t-that? I haven’t s-sensed or seen you before. Who even are you…” Unperturbed by his questions, they hopped onto the bed to be closer to him. Their own sockets held a bit more warmth if that was even possible. “I’m Frisk, Core Frisk if you need to address others about me. I’ve witnessed all things in the multiverse, but I’m not always physically present. You’ve likely overlooked my presence many times.”

His staff disappeared as he leaned closer. Gently, Dream took their hand into his to shake it. “You must know who I am then. But I still don’t understand why you’re here. If it’s not for the apple, then what?” Core Frisk clasped his bony palm in turn. “Dream, you’ve thought about this for some time. But I’ll ask you this. Do you have somewhere to go back to?” At the question, he shrank into his collar. This was getting more and more apparent that his silent pleas had been heard. Even so, he didn’t want to get his hopes too high. It could mean something else entirely. “No… not anymore. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t stay there safely. It’s been like that for a long time.”

Core got off the bed and walked past multiple crates and shelves of unused product. Quickly grabbing his cape and circlet, Dream rushed after them in bewilderment. “Why are you walking out here?” After a while, the two of them stopped in front of the warehouse door. Core Frisk’s hand stretched to grab the knob. “I can show you a place where you can go. You don’t have to be alone anymore, Dream. You never really were to begin with.” He turned back towards the warehouse for a moment. This still seemed too good to be true, even his brother could attack the place if he knew. “What if that puts you or anyone else in danger? Many people still want me to keep themselves happy, or to drown the multiverse in misery.” They placed a hand on his shoulder before clutching his shirt firmly. “They can never truly reach me, and I’ve kept it a secret to most. You’re not selfish for receiving what you need. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.”

Dream adjusted his cape and circlet, then he turned to the door. He kept a hand on his shoulder though. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. I hope this really can work after all.” With that, Core paused for a moment before opening the door. In place of the cold, dreary street was an endless white expanse that stretched on forever. Blue clouds drifted overhead, and lush grass lined a stony path. A rush of different feelings and new echoes caught Dream by surprise. Quite a few people were inside that one plane, he could feel it. He took his first step inside after the grey child. They held Dream’s gloved hand with a tender smile across their face. “It may work more than you realize with some time. There’s plenty of people for you to meet, some that would appreciate seeing you. Welcome to the Omega Timeline, Dream. I’m glad that you’re here.” He returned the smile and looked at the path ahead. “As am I, thank you again. Let’s go meet them then.” Dream ran across the stone with excitement filling his marrow. His heart hadn’t felt this light in a long time. Perhaps this time around, he could truly find new beginnings. While the darkness of the past will dwell, Dream still had plenty to look forward to.

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"Starting over is an acceptance of a past we can't change, an unrelenting conviction that the future can be different, and the stubborn wisdom to use the past to make the future what the past was not." -Craig D. Lounsbrough

"Dreams are renewable. No matter what our age or condition, there are still untapped possibilities within us and new beauty waiting to be born." -Dale Turner

I hope you all enjoyed this one-shot. Even if this past week has been rough for you, it doesn't have to be faced alone. There's plenty to do next week and beyond as well. Have a wonderful weekend, everyone.

-Levi

[raineeskiesabove]

A Dove’s Song | Venti x Lumine Oneshot

.

“Paimon doesn’t understand why you care so much about that tone-dear bard! He’s quite bothersome if you ask Paimon,” she whined, closely following Lumine.

“He’s a good person, Paimon. You two may butt heads, but you’re both very important to me. As his friend, it’s my duty to be there for him,” Lumine responded.

She gently patted Paimon’s head to express her affection for the tiny familiar. “Well, his elemental trail leads... here,” she said, frowning to see that it was indeed Angel’s Share. She just hoped that he wasn’t wasted. Again.

Opening the door slowly, Lumine was immediately taken aback by the roar of the crowd inside, all gathered around a table. On top of it stood Venti, with a dazed look in his eyes and a bright smile on his face. Despite the rosy color of his cheeks indicating his intoxication, he was still singing and playing the lyre. Albeit, his slurs and odd movements on the instrument were beginning to create more of a comedy act than respectable entertainment.

“Another song I shall play, if a drink someone will pay!” he announced, taking a large swig from a glass offered by an audience member.

“Gods, he’s going to topple over...” Lumine pushed to the center of the crowd, her eyes now at level with Venti’s loafers.

“Ah! Lumi! You’re just in time for another solo!”

She sighed. “Venti, how many drinks have you had tonight?”

“It seems that I have lost count. But I am indeed trying to achieve a new personal record!” He beamed at her, clearly proud of himself about the idea.

Lumine pinched the bridge of her nose, growing annoyed with his silly antics. The last time he attempted to “break a record”, she found him the next day in some back alley in Monstadt. Upon waking him up, Lumine then found herself holding onto him as he emptied last night’s drinks onto the street. So much for being a regal archon.

“Venti, this isn’t safe! Let me take you home!”

“Yeah! Paimon thinks that the tone-deaf bard has had more than enough dandelion wine!”

But by then, Venti had turned his attention towards the next drink someone had paid for him, which he instantly gulped down. Streams of wine ran sloppily down his chin, staining his cape and shirt. The moment he finished the last of the glass, his body paused, seemingly frozen in motion. The crowd grew quiet, expecting the bard to perform another haphazardly done song. But instead, the pause followed with Venti collapsing onto the table, out cold from drinking too much.

“Venti!” Lumine cupped his cheek to get a better look at his face, indeed confirming that he was unconscious. Having no other choice, Lumine hoisted Venti onto her shoulder to half carry, half drag him away, to the utter shock and amusement of the crowd. She grew irritated upon realizing that no one had offered to help, let alone voice something akin to concern. But for them, she realized, this was the norm for this performer. Venti always performed for food and drinks, and overindulgence was more common than not. If anything, she was the odd one for caring enough to drag him away. She could hear Paimon nagging in her ear, saying something about how the tone-deaf bard should be left to sleep on the ground. But Lumine wouldn’t stand for such a thing.

Renting a small room from a local inn, Lumine laid Venti to rest on the room’s single bed. Upon putting him down, Lumine collapsed to the ground, panting from the strain of moving him across town. Beads of sweat ran down her face, which she wearily tried to brush away with her forearm. Meanwhile, Venti was beginning to stir, and Lumine could hear him groaning like a pond frog.

“Where...?”

“We’re at an inn that Lumine dragged you to, and paid for! You owe her!” Paimon shouted.

“Lumine...! How was my performance? They- they liked it, right?” His voice was hoarse and uneven, making it all the more clear that he wasn’t thinking clearly.

“Yes, yes, you did wonderfully, Venti. Now try to get some rest-“

“But Lumi!” He grabbed her hand suddenly, making her jump.

“Yes?”

“But did you like it?” His words made Lumine hesitate. The first lie was one thing, but was it fair to lie a second time? She reasoned that her lie was too far gone to backpedal for this second answer.

“Yes, Venti, it was lovely,” she whispered.

“Good, good... I sang... like a dove, to proclaim my love,” he mumbled, his eyes growing heavy. Venti squeezed her hand tightly before drifting into a drunken sleep.

“Ehhhh?! Tone-deaf bard likes Lumine?!” Paimon exclaimed. “Hey! Venti, wake up! Are you messing with us!” Paimon poked and prodded him to no avail, as Venti was out cold. She sighed, turning to Lumine. “That bard really is a fool. There’s no way- huh? Lumine?” Upon looking at her, Paimon saw that Lumine’s face had turned a bright red, her eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

“Wait! Do you actually like that silly bard?”

“N-no! It’s not like that! And, I mean, it’s probably not true, right? People say strange things when they’re not thinking,” she mumbled, now turning away from the bed.

“Hmm, but Paimon thinks you’re lying! Paimon sees how you look at him compared to everyone else. Oooh, Lumine’s in love~” she teased.

Lumine shot Paimon a scowl. She looked at Venti wistfully, shaking her head, “I do love him, but it doesn’t matter. He’s an archon. A protector of freedom. Love would tie him down. I would tie him down,” her voice cracked, her hand meeting her lips to cover her emerging sorrow.

“Don’t say that! Paimon doesn’t like the bard personally, but you deserve to be happy!”

“Thank you, Paimon. But please, don’t tell him. I’ll be the one to decide” she said.

Paimon sighed, “Okay, but Paimon hopes you know what you’re doing.”

“It’ll be fine,” was all Lumine said before leaving to sit by the moonlit windowsill. Alone.

By the time Venti finally came to, the sunlight shone harshly through the now opened window. He was forced to open his eyes gradually, his head spinning from the intense hangover he was now experiencing.

“Boo!” Paimon suddenly appeared in his field of vision, making him jump. “Lumine went to go get some food and supplies for our next trip, so she left Paimon to make sure the bard doesn’t do anything rash!” She crossed her arms proudly to emphasize the importance of her role.

“I see. Will she be back soon?” he muttered.

“Maybe?” Paimon didn’t sound all that confident.

.

Hours passed. As the sun reached its peak and began to fall, Lumine still indicated no sign of returning. By this point, both Venti and Paimon grew worried, and agreed that it was time to search for her.

“Finally! Something we agree on,” Paimon said, watching Venti scribble a quick note in case Lumine came back.

“I am her friend, and the wind is telling me there is something to amend.”

“Oh, well uh, I wouldn’t know,” Paimon answered unconvincingly.

“No matter, we should still work on finding her. At least she has her Vision set to anemo. That makes her easier to find.”

.

Eventually, he and Paimon found her at the shores of a nearby river, close to the outskirts of Monstadt.

“Look! There she-“

“Shh!!” Venti held a finger to Paimon’s lips, silencing her. A scowl formed on her face as she quieted down.

Using his Anemo powers, Venti focused on letting her voice travel on the wind, making it easier for her to be heard.

“...Oh Lumine, you’re such a fool. A human and an archon? One of freedom? It wouldn’t be fair. I just-“ she growled in frustration, periodically throwing stones into the rushing water.

Upon hearing this, Venti grew to realize that that occurrence last night wasn’t a dream. It was real, and she had heard the most unromantic way a bard could’ve possibly confessed their love. But he agreed, in that his affection for her did feel out of character. Were archons even allowed to have such feelings for a mere mortal? The division in their respective roles made him hesitate. Not because he thought lowly of her, but rather about their future. The thought of losing her made his stomach churn, but he tried to convince himself that it was the remnants of alcohol talking.

.

He approached her warily, not wanting to startle her. “Lumi? Lumi, are you alright? You didn’t return so I was getting worried.”

She turned around slowly, her shoulders shaking from trying to hold back her sobs. Venti’s heart ached from the sight of her, his saddened gaze making her cover her face in shame.

“Don’t look at me. Just- just leave, pretend you saw nothing,” she choked.

But he didn’t leave, and instead sighed before beginning to speak. “Lumine, what did I say last night?”

“You don’t... remember?”

“No, I’m sorry. But regretfully I have been listening in. I was worried of where you have been,” he explained, averting his eyes regretfully, “I said something. Something about love, yes?”

She nodded slowly, hugging herself in preparation for his rejection.

“Well, it’s true. I... I am in love with you, Lumine. I just wish I could’ve told you in a better way. Perhaps singing like a dove to express my love would’ve been much better to hear, huh?”

From that statement, Lumine suddenly stopped crying, staring at him with a look of shock. He raised an eyebrow quizzically, only more confused than before.

In the silence, Paimon added her two cents, “Oh, wow! That’s what the bard said last night too! If the rhyme was the same even when he was drunk, he must really care about Lumi!”

“Is that really true? You have feelings for me?” she asked in disbelief, reddened eyes wide with a shocked expression.

Venti nodded slowly, before taking a few steps closer to her. In response, Lumine stepped back, afraid to completely allow herself to be vulnerable in his presence.

“But why? I would take away a part of your freedom,” she argued regretfully.

He smiled, “Yes, that is true. But I’ve always envisioned Monstadt to be a city of romance and new experiences. I just never thought that there would come a day that I too would fall for someone. You’re in pain, Lumine, because you’ve bound your feelings in chains,” by the end of his statement, he found himself frowning again.

“Is it okay?”

“What is?”

“Is it okay... for me to love you?”

“Yes, it is. And it is okay for me to love you in return. This will admittedly not be easy, but I truly believe that the wind brought us together for a reason.”

This time, when he tried to approach her, she didn’t move away, instead letting him slowly step towards her shaken form. As the sun began to set over the horizon, Venti thought about how brilliantly the color reflected in her glassy eyes. It was both a stunning and heartbreaking sight, making his heart skip a beat. Soon, he grew close enough to wrap his arms around her, pulling her close against his chest. In his embrace, Lumine found comfort in how warm he was. It felt like being enveloped in a warm summer’s day. And it was then, that she finally realized that he truly loved her with all his being. Taking deep breaths, she finally closed her eyes, allotting time for them to rest.

She felt him begin to walk, still holding her close. Lumine followed his lead, trusting him enough to keep her eyes shut. Venti chose a nearby tree to rest under, guiding her down to sit with him. Awkwardly, the way she had clung to him caused her to remain in a seated position on his lap, which he admittedly didn’t mind, but it was enough to make his cheeks heat up. Still, her eyes remained closed as she nuzzled her weary face into the crook of his neck. Save for the sound of their breathing, it was quiet. Paimon had presumably left to give them some much needed space. Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.

“Lumi, are you asleep?” he whispered.

“No, I am simply resting, dear bard,” she hummed. Her sweet voice sent a shiver down his spine, the affection in her voice making his heart skip a beat.

He wondered if she was teasing him at this point, keeping her gorgeous eyes hidden from his sight. That could be fixed. Placing a hand against her cheek, he slowly lifted her face, brushing his thumb against her smooth skin. This time it was Lumine’s turn to shiver, the roughness of his calloused fingertips feeling foreign to her. He smiled to himself, before leaning in to plant a soft kiss against her perfect lips. In his shyness, he only lasted for but a brief moment before pulling away. But he got what he wanted, as the kiss had finally tempted her into revealing her eyes once more. She offered a gentle smile in return, combing a strand of hair behind her ear. Playfully, she leaned her body closer against his, blessing him with a kiss of her own. The feeling sent sparks flying in his head, his hands moving away from her face to run through her choppy hair. He felt her hands move to rest against his chest, lightly gripping his shirt to maintain balance. The two only pulled apart when Lumine finally had to pause for air, gasping for breath. Venti planted a final kiss on her forehead before tilted her face towards his gaze. The prominent circles under her eyes made him frown.

Summoning his lyre, Venti strummed it thoughtfully, playing a gentle score. With it, accompanied his voice, now expressed in the form of a soft lullaby. As he sang, he felt her head lean against his chest, her breathing growing slower with each note. By the end of his song, Lumine was already fast asleep, still holding onto him tightly. Her serene expression made him smile softly, “Off to the land of nod I see. Goodnight my friend... my love.”

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 39

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers

Running is a funny thing. Despite what you probably think, it can actually bring a lot of pleasure if done in the right circumstances. A lot of people run to feel better. Some do it for sport, or for health reasons. There's running through the park, or in the gym. There are many types of running and most of them are actually quite enjoyable.

Running for your life is not one of those.

Running for your life overrides everything you think you know about running. The adrenaline pumped into your veins allows your body to overlook some of its limits, which is very handy. It lets you do things you'd never have thought about pulling off, like, for example, cutting corners with godspeed, while also ducking your head to avoid having it bitten off. It also allows your legs to fly you through the tangled mess of gardens despite the breath hitching in your throat. 

The chemistry of the human body is truly a marvelous thing. 

You'd give it more thought, but the beast of a spider scuttling behind you occupied too much of your mind. It was a marvelous thing too, and one you wished to never mull over too deeply. There was little you wanted to do less than think about its abnormally sharp chelicerae trying to bite the flesh off your back. Or the spindly, wiry legs sending it running after you with the speed no insect, and definitely not one of that size, should ever be allowed to achieve. It was simply unfair. 

The dagger Loki gave you was still buried into one of the creature's huge, glowing eyes, now leaking a greyish muck. It should raise your morale, to see it hurt. It didn't. 

You slipped on the mud, and slid down between the trees. Thorns broke your skin and roots slammed into your legs. The spider hissed, strings of saliva spraying from its gaping mouth, when you ducked under one of the lower branches - a thick, sturdy thing that shook when the spider threw itself at it, but didn't break. Not at first, at least. 

It gave you enough time to push yourself up and back in the direction of the massive castle looming over everything. The mountain that was a part of it rose over even the highest trees. Under different circumstances, it would be a menacing sight. In yours, it was a relief not to get lost. 

The wood creaked and groaned and then broke somewhere behind you. What a pleasant way of reminding your legs that they could run even faster. 

You broke out of the woods and back onto the winding paths leading to the fountain. It was broken now, and its pieces cemented in the mud; as if running wasn't difficult enough. 

The castle was so close. There must've been someone who’d seen all that mess, someone who would surely come to help. 

But they didn't. 

"Loki!" you screamed at the top of your lungs toward the pile of marble - all that was left of the original construction. "Could you not be dead right now?!" 

There was little that could have reached the god laid sprawled among the debris. It would fit the romantic narrative if hearing your voice gave Loki new strength and raised him from the dead, but the truth was, all that he could hear was the blood pumping in his veins, the water rushing from the damaged pipes, and on top of it all the—powerful, although turned inward—scream of his devastated pride. 

To be swept like a bug, like an insect unworthy of any more attention, like a nuisance to get rid of - what a pitiful sight he must be. 

Even just imagining that made his blood boil. Steam rose from the debris and fueled his rage further. Loki was no bug. 

He was angry. 

An explosion sent the debris flying. You scuttled forward, shielding your head in your arms. For a moment, you thought something even worse than a bizarrely overgrown spider came to ruin your day. 

The golden helmet shone as Loki rose, his eyes immediately turning to the monster behind you. The god reached into the depths of his magic. It awakened eagerly.

"That's quite enough," he groaned from the heights of the pile. 

He was battered, bruised, and a little embarrassed, which was never a good sign. The green light crackled hungrily around his fingers as he eyed the monster rushing after you, stumbling through the mud. 

Mud was not what he'd prefer, but mud was all he had. 

The magic surged out of Loki's hands in a wave of shivering air and glistening frost. It writhed and bit and raised in a wave of freezing spikes. Ice crackled with sudden chill as it pierced through the belly of the spider and raised it off the ground, helplessly wriggling its legs. 

The ground was freezing under your hands as you pushed yourself up, balancing on the coat of ice. 

"Glad to see you alive," you said, backing away from the writhing spider. Yellow entrails oozed over the ice, but it still refused to die. 

Loki shot you his best grin, brushing the dirt off the leathers of his armor. "It would be rude to just leave you on your own. Besides, you'd probably hate me if I didn't take you to Valhalla with me." 

"You know me too well." 

Relief clutched his chest when you looked mostly unharmed, even if a little out of breath. There was a lot Loki wanted to say to that smile you gave him, and to the hand that grasped his in looking for balance. He even started on the words- but wasn't able to finish. The spider was a wicked thing, born of feral magic and it did not want to die. 

The spikes broke and rained shards of ice around. The huge, bulbous body shook with the impact of striking the ground again. Hissing and shaking, the spider's fury rose as it clawed the frozen mud, digging trenches into the ice.  Its eight legs were perfect for keeping balance and hurtling it with terrifying speed forward. 

Loki pushed you away as the magic surged around him and struck the monster to the side. It curled as it hit one of the statues of people long gone, and sent it flying in pieces. The cracks on the spider's back were deep, but they were already healing when it raised again like it couldn't even feel the pain. And maybe it was true and the reason why it was such a vicious, unstoppable enemy. Loki sent another spear of ice through it, washing the frost in yellow. 

You cursed, looking around for anything or anyone. 

The castle walls were right there, and the corridors you'd walked not so long ago all overlooked the gardens you now fought for your lives in, and yet, no one seemed to be aware of it. You'd waited, and hoped, and it did nothing to change the tides, so you gave that up and focused on what you knew best. 

The spider hissed and spat greenish acid as it tore itself open on Loki's spikes, pushing itself despite ripping parts of its body off. Loki kept on cutting its legs off with a lance bleeding golden dust, but it slowed the spider down only a little. 

If only there was something you could use for a bigger impact… Like the huge, already half-crumbled marble statues just standing around. 

Well, you'd already ruined some of them, how much would one more matter in the grand scheme of things? 

Loki had the full attention of the monstrous spider, which was very convenient and equally dramatic. He looked unfairly good with his green cape flowing behind him as he cut, ducked and stabbed the spider while also trying to freeze its remaining legs to the ground. 

You tried to be less dramatic while you snuck around and made it to the back of one of the statues nearby. It stood high on a pedestal, with the figure majestically carved like a moving warrior. Whoever it depicted, was standing on one leg, in the middle of a run. It was such a perfect little detail, you thought, as you took a nice, heavy block of stone and climbed up the pedestal. 

"Loki!" you shouted while chopping the marble and watching the cracks spread up its surface. "Get your ass over here!" 

There was not much time Loki could spare to see what you were doing, but he retreated a little, luring the spider after him, closer and closer to where you now stood. You pushed with your remaining strength. 

Right when the statue started to fall, Loki cut off the spider's front legs and sent another wave of frost over the already frozen ground. He jumped away while the spider struggled to stand. 

The statue had fallen with a loud, nauseating crack of splitting stone and splashed juices. 

You half-slipped, half-climbed down the now empty pedestal, trying to avoid the disgusting yellowish muck that coated everything thickly. 

You watched Loki push some bigger pieces of the carcass around with the tip of his spear. He was very focused on whatever he was doing, which was convenient, because you'd had absolutely no desire to lend him a hand. 

The ground was wonderfully cold as you knelt on it a healthy distance away from the mess. Sweat covered every part of your body that was now trembling out of exhaustion. Your breath came out in a cloud of white as you laid down on the frozen mud and crumbled stone. The stars were beautiful as always, and so huge they looked as if in your reach. 

There was nothing short of disgust on Loki's face as he held up something hidden in the soaking remains of the shriveled spider. It was a piece of stone with a slim handprint in the middle. He felt its magic under his fingers, angry to have its vessel ruined. Now that it was taken out of the carcass, its power was not enough to heal it yet again. 

Loki was very glad about that. His evening was eventful enough for his liking. He hid the stone in his pocket. 

He headed your way, discarding his golden helmet and the spear as he went. They disappeared in a shimmer.. 

You looked up at him. Blood covered the right side of his face in what a painter would call violent brushstrokes, and what looked to you like a face slammed into a fountain. 

"You look like shit." 

Loki looked at the arm you held stiffly over your stomach, and at all the scratches and scrapes you'd collected like autographs from every tree and a bush on your way. 

"At least we match." 

His face contorted in pain as he lowered himself next to you, embracing the blessed chill of the ground against his bruised flesh. The magic was a flickery thing on the Edge, and it did not like outsiders. Loki could already feel it working against his spells and undoing the coat of ice around. 

"You know what," he said, laying in the mud and looking at the stars. "I used to like spiders."

"I used to think magic was cool," you said, watching galaxies travel through the never ending night. "Now I feel like it hates me." 

"I can assure you, that abomination was aimed at us by someone much more real than the general concept of magic. And I know how to track that someone. Tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow?" 

"Yes. I think I'm done with today." 

You nodded. Your joints felt stiff and loose at the same time. "Agreed.."

The stars looked down on you, boneless in the melting sea of mud and marble. The stars understood little of the ways of mortals, but they knew what it felt to be tired. 

"Loki." 

"What." 

"How is it that you got injured by that thing?" 

"My face had been introduced to a few surfaces, you know. That smile of yours tells me enough about how much you'd seen."

"Yeah, that was marvelous, I wish I got it on tape. But, usually you don't get so roughed up. Remember when you got hit on Earth? You said it hurt, but you never blacked out." 

"It doesn't work that way. I wasn't born on Earth, so things that are inherently earthly, and lack the magic matching the one in my veins can't influence my state much. I might feel pain, and maybe get a few bruises, but it just doesn't work on my… being." 

You frowned. 

"But back when you invaded New York, you got smashed quite a few times by Hulk, and you, from what I could tell, didn't enjoy it. "

Loki sighed. "...I don't want to be talking about that incident ever again. That beast is… not entirely like everyone else on your precious Earth, that's all the explanation I can piece together."

"And that's why it Hulk-smashed you for good?" 

"To put it in terms that you can understand without any knowledge on the theory of magic, you can't destroy water with a stone, no matter how many times you clash them together in your hands. They have different… cores. But if two stones clash, they will both take damage, because their very being is similar in nature and they can interact with each other fully. I am a being born of magic. The spider was too, so every hit from it did more damage than anything else invented on Earth."

 "...so you're saying you're too stoned for guns?"

"I swear on Valhalla, on one of those nights I'm gonna murder you. Your puns are not half as funny as you think."

"That's fair, I guess. Could you please at least choose a pretty night?" 

Loki took your hand in his. He liked the feeling of your fingers linked together. "I will." 

"You're so romantic. I promise to only ever share the mud with you." 

Loki chuckled, despite the sharp pain in his cut face. He looked at you and saw stars in your eyes and love in your smile. There was dust in the kiss you shared, and blood on your tongues that didn't stop you. There were very few things in the universe that could've stopped your embrace there. In fact the stomping of the castle guards that finally made it to the gardens qualified. 

Loki still held your face in his hands when their swords aimed at you. Despite the gentleness he embraced you with, there was nothing warm in the gaze he met the guards with. 

"I suggest you reconsider your hostility," Loki's voice dripped with threat. 

The lean man with a needle-like rapier you'd seen earlier, stepped out. There was a growl in his features, and tension in his arms. The star-like freckles that used to cover the night expanse of his skin were now dim and grey. 

"My name is Faroq and I am the captain of the guard. I demand answers, now," was all he said, still as a statue himself. 

Loki didn't rise from the ground, and neither did you. He only gestured to the steaming remains of the spider behind their backs. "I believe someone has lost their pet. Do me a favor and give it back to them."

Faroq snapped orders at his guards to check on the muck underneath the broken stone. In the meantime, Loki helped you to your feet with a charming smile and his back to Faroq. Whatever the stone he had found was, Loki had no intention of sharing it with the fuming lord. 

The captain of the guard only asked you a few questions, but it was clear that he believed nothing you said, even though for once you weren't even lying. It was not your fault that someone on the Edge wanted to silence you before the investigation found the ambassador's murderer. There was no point in Loki or you setting a ravenous murder-spider on yourselves, but Faroq didn't buy it. 

When he ordered you to return to your chambers, both of you gladly followed, with as much dignity as you could muster while covered head to toe in mud. 

[sageyrage]

My End and My Beginning

This was written as my first collab piece as well as my first MHA fic! The collab is Afterlife, so please check out other amazing works here: Afterlife Collab Masterlist

I know that many people don’t like when writers put their OCs in because they want to place themselves in the scenario. However there’s a particular flow I wanted to share that required my OC to be part of the story. For this tale, please take note that my OC’s quirk is Hallucination, and I have included descriptors of attacks and weaponry that I have come up with for my OC. However, I intentionally left in “Y/N”, they/them pronouns and other descriptors for readers to add in so as to not completely ruin the story for Kirishima x reader.

***TRIGGER WARNING***

Mentions & Implications: Death

Smoke stung Kirishima’s eyes as he squinted to see where the attackers ran. Explosions, and varying colors of green and yellow electrified the skies as he heard his friends yell out their attacks. He pressed on, focused on finding the enemies that destroyed the city block. Amidst the yells for help and battle cries, he ran until he cornered his prey. Sharp shark-like teeth gleamed in his grin as his bulky shadow covered the wall of the alley. The man before Kirishima showed no fear as he grew, his body quickly covering with coarse, dense fur while a long tail grew. The head of the man transformed into that of a wolf and a loud howl pierced the darkness. The man growled at Kirishima exposing sharp fangs of his own before crouching into a fighting stance, ready to take on the unbreakable hero.

The two hulking men charged at each other and collided in a cacophony of thuds, growls and struggled grunts. Red Riot bulldozed the wolfman against the building, the hardening of his body keeping the snapping jowls of the other at bay. Back and forth, the battle of the braun went, both men clearly exhausted though neither would give up. “Why won’t you quit already?!” Kirishima grunted through his jagged teeth. The two pushed against each other; teeth, spit, sweat and determination fueled the duel until the wolfman jumped back from Kirishima with a yelp. His bloodshot eyes bulged as his paws swiped frantically at his fur. Yelps turned into terrified screams as his quirk dissolved and revealed the flesh of the man. Nails scraped and slashed at his skin, trying to remove whatever illusion he saw on his body. Kirishima turned his head to the darkness of the alley just as a shadow darker than black stepped forward.

A hood was pulled back to reveal a seemingly floating head, E/C eyes smiled at the red-haired hero. “I thought you could use some help, Red Riot. You good?” Kirishima nodded while the panic-stricken werewolf thrashed on the ground in front of them. “He going to be ok?” The vantablack clad figure nodded. “Fur or no fur, he’s really afraid of ticks. Dynamight, Deku, and Chargebolt have the others rounded up. I’m going to do search and rescue. I’ll see you after!” A gloved hand gently cupped the rough edges of Kirishima’s face. A soft ‘I love you’ whispered at him before throwing the hood over their head and boots quickly carried the hero away. Red Riot chuckled before turning to the wailing villain and pulling him to his feet and dragged him to the waiting police cars. Seeing Y/N’s cape fluttering against the dirty yellowed building, he called out. “H/N! BE SAFE!” Y/N turned and lifted the hood of the cape to blow Kirishima a kiss before ducking into the darkened building, with only the echo of thumping boots along the floor to indicate they were there at all.

Inside the ruins was an eerie stillness. Removing the hood, Y/N shone the flashlight to watch for obstacles ahead. Faint cries lead Y/N to part of the building that was dangerously crumbling, and their voice reverberating through the exposed beams and concrete. “I’m here! I’m going to get you out, don’t worry! Everything’s going to be okay!” As Y/N sprinted onward, creaking and low rumbling throughout the rubble caused even more destabilization to the wreckage. Still, Y/N continued forward, determined to answer the pained cries of the innocent.

Tremors caused heroes and police to lose their footing and stumble as the section of a building tumbled down nearby. Chatter of the officers and stable survivors shook their heads and lamented their losses. Kirishima jogged up to his friends, patting his best friend on the back. “Great job today guys! Hey, where are Deku and H/N?” Bakugou turned around, his wild scarlet eyed friend glared at him with his lip upturned. “That damn nerd is over there talkin’ to the cops and Y/N went into that….oh shit. They were in the part of that building that collapsed. Fuck!” Kirishima’s face paled at his friend’s realization. Panic set in his eyes when he turned to see a haze of dust slowly rising into the air.

Y/N blinked to see the gray of a swirling fog. The atmosphere, not cold nor hot, but… different somehow, like the pressure had been released. “Hello? Eiji? Guys? Where is everyone? What is that light? Is it the way out?” They walked onward, steps echoing around the dizzying gray fog. The silence was deafening and why couldn’t Y/N remember what was happening before ending up in this place?

The rolling fog thinned, and Y/N found themselves in a familiar kitchen. The sizzling and popping sounds of meat in the skillet. Taking the handle in one hand and a spatula in the other, Y/N flipped the cooking ham. Mumbling voices heard in another direction. The TV was on in the other room. A brief glance showed a news blurb of a villain being taken down by H/N and Red Riot. Pulling a plate from a cabinet, food was plated and placed on the table, Kirishima already sitting and ready to eat. “Hey baby! That smells delicious! Thank you for the food!” He smiled up at his Pro Hero partner as Y/N reached out to cup his cheek only to find the image of home overtaken by the grayscale fog. Confusion on their face as they looked around and continued forward. Maybe that light in the distance was the way out. “I must’ve been hit with someone’s weird quirk. Eiji has to be on the other side of that place. Then we can get this straightened out.”

He took off toward the piles of rubble screaming their name. “H/N! Y/N!” The squad of friends followed, equally worried for the fate of their friend. The reverb of Kirishima’s bellows vibrated the breaking walls and bending beams, sending chunks of concrete tumbling around the large pro hero as he ran into the dark space to search for his love. His friends followed close behind until Dynamight held his arms out. “Get back, it’s collapsing! Riot, get back here! Eijirou!”

Fog wisped away and took Y/N to the one of the training areas at UA. Standing before them stood Kirishima, Hagakure, Midoriya, and Bakugou. Aizawa, Ectoplasm, and Gang Orca stood off to the side and watched the students get into battle stances. “Begin!” shouted Gang Orca, and the populated side of the stage rushed forward toward the single combatant. Y/N’s hood blew back as they cried, “Shrouded Sabers!” Two safely capped swords ejected from the void of their sleeves. Y/N gracefully danced around her classmates, the steel of the blades connecting with Bakugou’s gauntlets while their feet connected with the side of Midoriya’s face. “Warp refraction: Say Cheese!” The light bounced off of Hagakure effectively lighting up the training area. With quick thinking, Y/N pulled the hood over their head while reflecting the light from their sword back to her friend. A yell from Invisible Girl, and Y/N bounded backwards, their eyes peeking from the vantablack hood, and watching her classmates drop to the ground with shouts of panic. “Spiders! Get them off get them off get them off!” Hagakure screeched, while Midoriya cried, “No...no! Why?!” Explosions could be heard behind them, Y/N turned in enough time to reflect the light off of the swords into Bakugou’s eyes, causing him to veer over their head. “Ah, dammit Y/N! I’ll kill you!” Kirishima activated his hardening as a sword came down to connect with his shoulder. A hard grip to either arm and Y/N looked up to see a toothy grin just before being flipped over Kirishima’s head and thrown like a ragdoll onto the ground. Unable to sit up, the dust cleared to see the unbreakable hero straddling them and smiling. “Gotcha!” Y/N raised their hands up to hold Kirishima’s face when the scene faded into darkness.

“Y/N? Where are you?” Kirishima stumbled over debris, tripping over exposed pipes, ignoring the falling concrete from the shaking building. He ran the flashlight over the dark area, the light being enveloped into a void that caused him to gasp and run forward. “Y/N! I’m here baby. I’m here.” He removed the hood to see a mass of H/C hair sticky with sweat and blood covering eyes that were closed and holding a tranquil look of sleep. He cupped their warm face, tears streaming down his dirtied cheeks. He barely heard the voices of his friends when another assault of stone came crashing down.

Gray fog eventually gave way to gray walls of a hospital. Walking along the corridors, Y/N weaved around people, careful not to touch anyone. Hurried nurses heading to check on the multitudes of patients, and doctors on their way to various floors ready to save lives. Y/N wandered floor by floor, greeting and speaking to some they knew. Upon entering one floor, the void hero saw the backs of their friends’ heads before turning eyes to the door they waited near. Reading the red haired hero’s name, Y/N burst into the room, only to find Kirishima not in the bed. Taken aback and exiting the room, Y/N snuck from the prying eyes of their friends to seek out their love, finally finding him staring out a nearby window, drink in hand.

“Hey tall, red, and handsome.” Kirishima swiveled at the sound of a familiar voice, his face immediately lighting up the rest of the hall. He scooped up his partner and spun them into a tight hug, splattering his drink all over the floor. “Apparently you’re happy to see me!”

“Of course I’m happy to see my best babe! Don’t worry, I haven’t been waiting here for long. Just had a few bumps and scratches. They wanted to keep me for observation but I’m fine. Hey… you wanna sneak out of here? No one knows where I am!” A happy Kirishima beamed as he took another long drink from the can he held. Y/N held up a hand to cup his cheek and smiled at the contact. Bringing his face down for a kiss, Y/N shed a tear of joy, excited to be reunited once again.

The unbreakable hero held out his arm, delighted that Y/N threaded their small arm through his. Y/N laughed and nodded. “Let’s go home, big red. I’ll make dinner tonight.” Neither of them heard the panicked voices of their friends around the corner as nurses ran into Kirishima’s room with a crash cart.

[logan-is-noggin]

Anxious beauty Part 4

word count:2239

warning: violence, fighting, character death

Patton, Janus and Remus rushed into the room just in time to see the very edge of Virgil's cape disappear and the passageway turn back into a fireplace. " how! What! Who? Where's Virgil?" The three spoke over each other. Janus thrusted his arms out to halt the other two. " this has to be Logan. He must still be trying to bring about the curse he placed on him years ago." They all blasted their wands at the flames, streams of yellow blue and light green combated the flames until the flames died and they could turn the hole into stairs. They rushed up the tower until they stopped in their tracks. Patton dropped to his knees and cried " we're too late!" Remus and Janus passed Patton and went straight to the body. Remus cradled Virgil's bloodied hand already drying. Janus studied the broken key in his other hand. " the key!" He said showing Patton " Logan was watching us all this time." Patton had crawled over to the Prince as well and was held his head in his lap. " he's still breathing guys." Indeed, Virgil was taking deep even breaths so slow he could have been mistaken for dead. " what do we do now blue?" Remus asked. Patton pointed to the bed up the last two steps. " there. Bring him there." They all lifted him onto the bed. Patton folded his hands over his chest. Then he took the pieces of the key and tossed them out the window. " what do we do now? Tell the king? Go after Logan?" Janus pondered. Still staring out the window Patton shook his head. " we don't know how long Virgil will be asleep for, a few hours? days? Years? We need to make them all sleep. That way no one will know what happened." They agreed on the plan, then turning themselves small, they flew throughout the kingdom, casting a sleeping spell on everyone in town, including the two kings

Patton stretched and yawned after he stopped telling  The story. " alright kiddo, it's pretty late. We can finish the story in the morning." Roman looked distraught as Patton took the snacks into the kitchen to clean up. Instead Roman glanced over at Logan who had been reading a book while listening. Out of nowhere, Roman launched himself at Logan.

Patton dropped the bowl in the sink when he heard Logan's distress and ran back to find Roman on the ground yelling " how could you do that to my Prince you friend!" While shaking him. Patton got the two separated and as Logan straightened his glasses he said " I'm beginning to regret allowing you to use my likeness in the story Patton." " Roman, apologize to Logan. For the last time, you know how the story goes. You've watched the movie more than anyone. heck you've even acted out the story in the imagination!" " I know. And I'm sorry teach. I just get extra passionate. Especially about my favorite Prince. Other than myself!" Patton shook his head and Logan bid them goodnight as he sunk down to his room.

After breakfast everyone, including Virgil, who hadn't been around for the first parts of the story gathered to hear Patton tell it's end.

Roman rode into the forest. Using clouds instructions, he found the cottage easily.  Surely if father would meet him and see how perfect they were together, he would annul their betrothal. A marriage certainly wasn't the only way to unite their kingdoms. He reigned rose to a nearby peach tree where she happily started to munch the sweet fruit. He knocked on the closed doors. Calling into the darkness " cloud? I've returned." He pushed open the door walking into the main room of the house. Only to find someone sitting in one of the chairs. Twirling his glowing staff. With a hand on his sword, he approached the table "Ah, young Prince Roman. I was wondering when I got to meet you." "Surely we have not met. How can you know me? I am looking for my beloved. He lives here. His name is cloud." Roman said warily. Logan rolled his eyes while giving a sinister chuckle. " that really is the stupidest name I've heard for anyone. Much less... a Prince." " what are you saying?"   " I'm saying that your love of water evaporation, is Prince Virgil. Your true betrothed of your youth. I'm afraid however. It is too late for you two to ride off into the sunset." " what have you done you monster!" Cried Roman. Logan just laughed as he disappeared.

Roman was enraged that he stormed out of the house and back to his horse. Then with haste he rode out of the forest. He saw three lights fly past him before turning into full sized men. " you are Prince Roman?" Janus asked. They all seemed out of breath and very worried. " I am. Who are you?" " we are the three fairies. We raised Prince Virgil away from the palace in hopes to keep him safe from the sorcerer Logan's curse." "A lot of good that did" Remus added. " thank the gods! I just came from the cottage. Logan was there. What has happened to my Virgil?" " Logan's spell has taken effect. Virgil stabbed his hand and has gone into a sleep. So we too have made the kingdom sleep until we break the spell." " you must lead me to him so i-" A crash of thunder and bolt of lightning struck Thomas's castle from a swirling band of clouds. " I'm afraid you must defeat Logan himself before we can save Virgil." So the four raced back  until they found that the castle was covered in thorny vines that stretched for miles, blocking any hope of rescue. " there! I can see Logan atop that rocky ledge." The four raced to the base of the plateau. Roman had to stand on roses back to catch the first hand hold and used it to pull himself up. He turned back when Patton called. He used his wand to summon a large shield that shone silver with a red strip diagonally across. He tossed it to the Prince. "Sadly our powers can not be used for violence. It is the oath we swore. You must defeat him, Prince Roman." Roman climbed and climbed having hooked the shield to his belt til he reached the landing Logan was on. " stop this madness and return the kingdom as it was. Or taste the wrath of my sword!" He shouted, unsheathing his weapon, the shield in the other hand. Roman lunged forward, ready to slice the witch. But Logan threw a handful of magical blue fire towards him. He thrusted his shield out in time to hear it fizzle away. He charged on, Logan swept around toward the opposite end, leaving Roman nearer the cliffs edge. They fought on. Roman and Logan both sustaining blows from the other. Logan retreated. His eyes glowing light blue. As too the air around him began to shine. " let us see how you fare against my true form!" He cried as the magic overtook him and he began to grow. Larger and larger. His skin turning hardened by scales black and blue. His arms turning into wings, tipped with blue claws. His back growing long and spines tipped the ridges. A tail with similar spikes reached out behind him. Finally his face elongated into a snout and sharp teeth whose force could easily break bone.

" Dragon witch!" Roman uttered in shock. He couldn't let himself be distracted at the feat his kingdom needed him. Virgil needed him. With a great cry he charged the monster, sword pointed out. But had to cover with his shield as the Dragon breathed a shot of blue flames down. He forced himself to keep running under it. Trying to look for a weak point. He was hit by the creatures tail and thrown, hitting the stone hard.  His sword scattered out of his grip and off the edge of the cliff. He cried for the fairies to help him. While he could only hold his shield in front to protect himself. Remus was the one who flew up with the sword in hand. The weapon seemed to flow with its own magic. Roman grabbed it and charged back into battle. His sword his the beasts sides but the scales made for little damage. Roman circled the Dragon, making it take the position closest to the edge. The beast reared up on its hind legs to attack. When Roman cried out as he hurled his sword through the air. It caught the beast in its chest and the sound of its roar was the loudest thing any of them had heard. Losing its balance, the Dragon formally known as Logan, fell to the ground below, taking Romans sword with him.

On his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath, Roman took account for any injuries. A few burns on his hands and face. His outfit too was singed. But it was worth it. Patton was soon at his side. " all you alright Prince roman? You're hurt." He waved the fairy off as he shaking stood. " that can wait Patton. Will you help me down to rose? Logan is gone, we can finish this." With Patton flying and holding onto him they got down the cliff easily. Rose was a few yards away from where they left her, " where are your compatriots?" "They flew ahead to try and clear away a path through the thorns once you lost your sword." " I am grateful for them." He reached a hand Down" ride with me, let your wings rest." Patton held onto Romans shoulders as he urged rose into a full gallop. Soon they could make out yellow and green sparks as they blasted away the thorns. Roman noticed that the vines were withered and dark now that he that spawned them was no more, they broke easily. Roman charged through, the three fairies clearing the way in front.

Once at the fallen drawbridge, Roman left rose at the gate and with the fairies guidance, found his way into the tower.  Once he reached the landing, Roman stopped in his tracks. Sure, the fairies had told him about what had happened to Virgil. But seeing him. Laying on the bed perfectly still aside from the slight rise and fall of his chest. Roman approached the bed. Looking down . He felt guilty that his Prince, his cloud, had been put through this. All because he put the pieces together in time. Roman knelt on one knee next to the bed and slowly leaned forward. Placing a kiss to Virgil's lips. At once, color came back to his face that before had gone slightly gray. His eyes squeezed shut before opening. Roman caught him when he threw himself into Romans arms. Words couldn't express the relief to be together again. They just held each other until the more pairs of arms took over embracing Virgil as well.

An hour later found Virgil and Roman back in the chamber Virgil was originally brought to that afternoon. Romans injuries had been tended to as well as a new royal suit. The wound on Virgil's hand had disappeared as if it never existed. Once Virgil had woken, so too did the rest of the kingdom. The fairies had gone to the kings to announce Virgil and Romans arrival. Patton hinted to them that all would be explained in time. While music from the throne room could be heard in the distance, Virgil stood at the window. Looking down at the guests arriving. " why didn't you day something? That you were a Prince, and your name?" Roman said from behind him. " when we met, I had no knowledge of my royal status. The fairies never treated me as royal. I was just... me. And I suppose I was nervous about sharing my true name. You probably would have laughed." He said crossing his arms. " of course I wouldn't. At first, I was ready to break off the marriage to Virgil, in favor of cloud. I imagined he couldn't be too upset to be in an arranged marriage." Virgil turned to face him " while you are right that I was unhappy to marry someone I did not know. If I knew you had left me for some peasant in the woods, Logan's fire would be as a candle next to my anger." Roman laughed. " none of that matters now." He placed kisses on Virgil's hands before a knock on the door drew their attention. Patton entered, bowing neatly to the pair. " they're ready for you guys." " well, are you ready?" Virgil asked Roman? " Not quite." Roman went to the corner of the room, scooped up Virgil's crown and brought it back. He placed it lightly on his brow before extending his arm which Virgil took. " now I'm ready."

"And they all lived happily ever after." Patton ended. Virgil sat from his usual spot on the stairs. " why'd you make me the princess?" " as, didn't you enjoy the story virge?" Patton asked. " yeah yeah it was fine. But why was I the princess?" " because you're the fairest of them all!" Roman said grandly, joking about the emo sides complexion. Virgil and Logan groaned at the pun as Virgil left for his room.

[stephanieritaclark]

Whumptober 2021 - Day 3

No. 3 - STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT… taunting | insults | “Who did this to you?”

I was writing a completely different FFXV story when my mind started meandering in a different direction. It would have been a shame not to follow that thought at all, so I found a prompt that I felt suited it and finished it as a Whumptober story.

I also forgot to edit this. My apologies.

“Who did this to you?”

"Cor, stop the car for a moment," Regis commanded as he turned in his seat to face his son.

Noctis shrank in his seat as he realized his father's focus was on him. His large blue eyes widened. Regis gave him a soft smile.

"There's something I wanted to show you," he said. "Do you think you're up to it?"

Noctis's sapphire eyes darted between his father and Cor, who admittedly had seen more of the boy than Regis had. Another thing that was his fault and no one else's, he reminded himself.

"It'll be just a moment," he added, "but if you're not up to it, there's plenty of opportunity to look at it anytime while we're here."

Noctis pulled on the collar of his button-up shirt, a habit he had developed that confirmed to Regis that his son did not like to wear them as much as he said he did. The boy forced himself to sit up tall, and he nodded.

“Okay,” he said with that small voice of his.

Regis smiled, and he fought the urge to grab his boy in an Amicitia-style bear hug, but he knew his son did not like it even from the Amicitas, let alone from his friend who only decided to be part of his life after his mother had died.

Regis bit back a sigh as he reminded himself that he was too much like his own father.

"All right," he said, "let's go, then. It's just a short walk from here."

Regis stepped out of the car on his own, and his son, who sat in the car with his brow furrowed in confusion, waited until he rounded the car and opened the door for him. Once Regis shut the door, he held out his hand to his son, a good starting point, even if the eight-year-old likely found himself too old for it. There was no hesitation in taking it, like there had been before the start of their trip to Cape Caem, and he was grateful that there were limited strangers surrounding them on the property.

Regis guided them along a freshly remade gravel path through the old yard. The property was large, but the path reached his destination just a few steps away from the car. It was a tree with half-formed apples hanging off its branches.

"Noctis, I know this tree might not look like much," he said, "but your mother wanted this tree planted in honor of you."

It had been planted with the placenta, a detail that he was sure the boy would prefer to remain ignorant for a few years more, when he understood more things about the world.

"In honor of me?" Noctis repeated.

Regis took a chance in placing his hand on Noctis's head, and he ruffled the boy's jet black hair. Noctis recoiled with a groan, and he fixed up his hair.

"Yes," he said, chuckling, "she was so proud of you. She wanted something more permanent in this world to remind the world that you were here. She thought nothing would be more beautiful than a tree. A fruit tree, and it turned out that apple trees grow well around here."

Noctis looked up at the tree with a frown.

“Why here?”

“Your mother was more fond of Cape Caem than she was of Insomnia. She dreamed of retiring here, and she wanted as many reminders of you here as she thought she could get away with.”

Noctis would see evidence of that once he got to see inside the house. Nothing but pictures of the three of them together all over the place. Regis had laughed when he had last looked at it, but it was not going to be so funny now once they were inside. He prayed he would not cry in front of his son.

"Come, son," Regis said. "Let's sit for a moment."

There was a bench nearby, and Regis sat. He patted the seat to indicate for his son to join him, and the boy sat on the furthest end of the bench. His shoulders were hunched, and he continued to look up at the tree, tugging at his shirt collar. It was sad to realize that a plant was more interesting to his son than he was, but that was, again, his own fault.

This trip was going to be too short, only a week long, but he intended to make the most of it, to make sure his son left knowing more about his parents than he would have ever wanted to know. He deserved that. He deserved a better father.

Regis watched his son as he pondered if he should let him have a quiet moment while he mourned his mother. The two had been much closer, closer than Regis had ever been with either of his parents, and he was too uncertain what Noctis needed. The boy was always quiet, always waiting for the moment when he could rush off to his room and be alone or to play with his friends.

Or friend. Noctis had really only ever spoken of Ignis, a boy that Regis had practically forced to be his friend at a terribly young age. He had once mentioned a boy at school, but he only asked about Ignis coming around. Luckily, Ignis seemed to enjoy Noctis's company as well.

Noctis was so small, yet so much bigger than he had been on the first day he got to hold him. They looked too similar. His eyes were identical to his mother's, but the rest of him was a Lucis Caelum through and through: the black hair, the near-permanent frown, and the pale, pale skin of someone who never liked to step outside often. Regis hoped more of his mother’s features would become obvious as he grew older, but either way, he would be beautiful.

His boy was already so beautiful.

Noctis continued to tug at his collar as he watched a breeze shake the apple tree. Regis thought he looked precious in the outfit, but he would have to ask the nanny to let him dress more business casual from now on, if he wanted his boy to feel less stifled.

The cuff of Noctis’s shirt rode down, and the skin there was darker.

Regis leaned closer to his son.

“Noctis, what’s that on your wrist?” he asked.

The boy jumped, and he snapped his sleeve over his wrist.

“There’s nothing—”

Noctis gasped as Regis grabbed his arm, and he immediately unbuttoned the cuff.

“Dad, it’s nothing—”

“Who did this to you?” Regis asked as he stared down at the bruises marring the pale skin along his son’s wrist and forearm. “Noctis, someone grabbed you too hard here. Who did this?”

“No one! I fell at school, and—and—”

“Are there bruises anywhere else, Noctis?”

“No, no, I—”

“Please, my son, be honest with me. Who did this to you?”

Noctis struggled feebly against his father’s grip, but Regis offered no resistance, allowing the boy to cradle his arm to his chest while he pulled his sleeve over his bruises again. Tears filled his eyes, and Regis hated how he could not look at him.

Regis's mind swirled with possibilities. He was allowed around so few people. There was the nanny, who had been with him since he was a tiny baby, and he had witnessed how much she cared for him. There was Cor who had been in Regis's life long before Noctis had even been conceived, and he had taken real bullets to his chest to protect them. There was Clarus Amicitia, who had devoted his life to protecting the Lucis Caelum family, and there was no man Regis trusted Noctis's life with than him.

Or maybe he just hated to think that someone close to him could have done this to his boy.

“I love you, Noctis,” Regis said, keeping his tone soft. “More than anything in this world. Do you believe that?”

The boy looked at him through his dark fringe. He swiped at the tears in his eyes, and his lower lip trembled. Then, he nodded.

“Good, and you’ll always have my love no matter what. No matter what you do, my son.”

This time, Regis did not stop himself from wrapping his arms around Noctis. He cradled the boy against his chest, and he pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“And do you understand that’s why it hurts that you’ve hidden those bruises from me? Because I love you, and I can’t stand the thought of someone hurting you.”

Sniffles came from his son, and he held him tighter.

“At least tell me if it was an adult,” Regis begged.

“No, it wasn’t—It wasn’t anyone—” Noctis sniffled more. His voice sounded more and more think with tears as he spoke. “It wasn’t even about me. It was—It was—It was about Prompto.”

“Prompto?”

“Yeah, he’s in a different—a different grade than me, but there are kids wh-who always pick on him. And I, um, tried to stop them.”

Regis's heart was torn between grief and pride. His son had stood up for someone, but he had gotten hurt in the process. He sighed, and he pressed another kiss to his son's head.

“Why did you try to hide this from us, Noctis?” he asked. “You could have told any of us, and we would have listened to you.”

“Would you?”

Regis, ignoring the stabbing pains in his chest, pushed his son away just to force the boy to look at him.

“I would always listen to you, Noctis. I swear it. On my life.”

Noctis pouted up at his father.

“Prompto said it only makes things worse if you tell someone.”

“Well, this poor boy must have gone through a great amount of pain to come to such a conclusion, and I, once we get to my office, will gladly wave my money around to make sure justice is done.”

The pout turned to annoyance.

“I hate it when you do that,” he muttered.

“Noctis, my darling, there is a very important lesson in life you have left to learn, and it’s money is how you get the most stubborn of people to listen to you. This situation must not continue, and I don’t mean this just for you but whoever else these bullies have been pushing around. Do you understand?”

Noctis pursed his lips as he glanced away for just a moment in thought, and the expression smoothed away as he nodded.

“I believe you.”

And those were words that brought Regis close to shedding tears for his son with joy rather than the dread those bruises had brought in him.

Full Masterlist here

[seeds-and-sins]

F**kin’ Diabolical (Chapter 5)

Master List

Pairing: Homelander / Original Female Character, Billy Butcher / Original Female Character

Rating: M (Strong language, sexual themes)

Decription: Carly Danvers is a reporter/radio show host/annoying little piece of- For reasons unknown to Vought, she decided to start a one man investigation on Vought’s operation. Her efforts had been quite successful so far, so much so that Stillwell would have done anything to see the young girl dead. Turns out Stillwell didn’t have to do anything at all, while one piece of evidence against Vought causes Danvers to fly too close to the sun. And Homelander flies after her.

Chapter Summary; Carly gets a visitor at the hospital. Meanwhile, Homelander throws her right into the fire without warning.

 Just his luck, after eight years he decides to ask a girl out and then this shit happens. As soon as he saw her name plastered on newspaper headlines and shot out all over the banners on CBS, Fox, CNN, MSNBC, and the like, he felt his heart plummet. He wasn't going to get all out of shape over some girl, they lived across from each other, had nice conversations, and that was that. But he also wasn't going to leave her sitting all alone on what would most likely be her death bed. When he entered that hospital, shitty flowers in one hand, he didn't know what to expect. The survivor of such a horrible fire, she most likely wouldn't be as beautiful as the last time he saw her. He was prepared for something of the worst, but not the worst that's for sure. In his mind he imagined some gruesome burns, some really heavy duty shit, the girl being on her last leg, literally. The thought repulsed him, but he cared about her enough to actively go out of his way to go visit her. If it would make her final moments more comfortable, if she was even conscious, at least he would know that he didn't have to regret not going to see her.

   He approached the front desk of the hospital, catching the sight of a few of Carly's fans as they sat in the waiting room, their signs reading phrases akin to, 'Fuck Vought', 'This is Fucking Diabolical', and 'Supes Must Die'. He cleared his throat towards the older nurse, typing away at the computer, a blank stare on her expression. She tilted her head up slightly with a sigh, shoulders hunched down. 

"How can I help you, sir?"

"Here to see Carly Danvers. Check your list." She crossed her arms over her lap and shook her head.

"You'll have to wait with the others, Sir." He glared over in the direction of the fans, he most definitely wasn't going to wait. He wasn't going to be deterred because of some old lady's attitude. 

"Actually, I am not a fan..." Her eyebrows furrowed and she cocked her head at him. He forced a smirk towards her, although it came across quite awkwardly. "I am her fiancé." 

"Oh, that so, Sir." She leaned into the screen typing out a few things. "What's the birthday then?" She deadpanned. Billy wanted to slap himself, he'd been living across the girl for five years and he couldn't remember her birthday?! Maybe he could look the birthday up on his phone, that might be too suspicious.

"August." He randomly stated, although he knew it was probably wrong. The woman rolled her eyes and then gestured over to the swarm of people.

"Please go sit, sir." He grunted his disapproval, slapping the flowers down on the desk and leaning forward, down to her, in some effort to keep things on the down low.

"Now listen you silly twat, I know Danvers better than half the blokes in this room pulled together. I practically know her better than you know the shine off your fat ass." The woman stuck a hand to her chest, appalled, eyes widened, on the verge of calling security it seem. He raised the flowers up, a snarl on his lips. "You see these flowers? I bought them for her. I figured she'd be needin' a nice gesture. What have you cunts been doing for her?" The woman huffed in shock, then sighed, shaking her head. 

"Sir, if you do not leave now, I will call security." She muttered out in sharp breathes, Butcher turned to side lean against the desk, shaking his head. 

"Can't you throw me a bone, or somethin'? How can I see her?" Billy was feeling desperate, mainly because he didn't want to walk away, only to find out she's dead and he never had the chance to tell her goodbye. As much as he tried to hide it, he did know Carly for so long, she was part of his life every day. He couldn't lose another woman in his life without saying goodbye. The woman noticed the drop in his tone, guilt riddled her features and she stood, hovering over the desk to get closer.

"Look, even if I did let you in..." She whispered, "She's unavailable at the moment."

"What? She in surgery? Dead? What the bloody hell is it?"

"I can't say..." She hissed out between clenched teeth, nervously glancing around. "Homelander was in here earlier, that's all I know." Butcher had flash backs, or what felt like them at least, like some fucked up PTSD showdown. All he could see was his beloved Becky talking to that piece of shit Supe. She got too close and now she's gone. His fist clenched around the flower stems and his jaw tightened.

"Tell me. Where is she?" He ground out, the woman reeled away, a fearful glimmer in her eyes. She sat down and continued typing away on her computer, then cocked her head up at him. She cupped a hand around her lips and urged for him to get closer with the other.

"Room 116. Second Floor." The words faded out into...

"Carly?! What the fuck are you doin'?! You are doing it all wrong!" 

"You told me to close my eyes, and-"

"Well, its annoying! You are just standing there! Fucking do something!" Homelander yelled, pacing around her, fingers slotted together behind his back, his crimson cape flowing out behind him as he stepped. His voice echoed out into the barren concrete warehouse that he brought her to immediately following their talk with Stillwell. He said he used it when he was a teenager, and then cracked an inside joke about using ‘moving targets’ at the time. The way he said it sent chills through her, she didn’t want to know what ‘moving targets’ he was talking about, so she didn’t respond. The only thing she was relieved to find was that there wasn’t anybody around. It was just Homelander and her, which made her significantly less anxious. If she did lose herself at any point in time, no one would get hurt.

"What is supposed to happen, even? What do you even do, huh? This is stupid! Can't we just take a break, or something?"

"Can't we just take a break, or something?" He mocked in a higher pitched voice, then shoved harshly at her shoulder and she stumbled over, catching her feet under her. "You are a hero, now! You don't have time to rest!" He came up behind her and helped her steady herself, hands now on her shoulders. "Now focus for-" She elbowed him, and boy, did it feel good to know that she could make the Homelander hurt. He grunted, holding his stomach and he took a few steps back. She spun on her heel and faced him, he recovered quickly, standing and they both glared at each other. 

"I just woke up three hours ago and was shoved into this shit storm without any time to adjust!" His fist shot out, hitting her chest and she flew back several feet from the force. She clutched at her sternum, as she propped herself up on her elbows to stare at him. She used her flight to carry herself back to her feet, jaw clicking as she ground her teeth together. He held a finger up at her, a warning, her fists clenched at their sides. 

"Now Carly, you are-" She let out a scream as she stepped one foot forward and red propelled from her eyes in Homelander's direction. He dodged quickly and swooped around in flight, she rolled forward skillfully as he flew past. Her eyes muted back from red to blue, and when she faced him he was arm's length from her. "You see? That's wasn't so hard-"

"Argh!" She threw a fist, which he blocked with a sturdy forearm, then a kick that he ducked under. Soon stepping back, dodging her, as her fists went flying at him, full speed. "Suck! My! Dick!" She wasn't able to land a single punch, he grabbed her fist in mid stroke and yanked her forward as he stepped back, she fell to her knees.

"Someone has quite the temper." He jested, and she swept her feet out under him. He fell backward, eyes wide in shock, where she hopped onto his waist and hit a fist down towards him. He tilted his head over, her fingers hitting the concrete brick, penetrating it and leaving a dent in the grey. His hands grabbed her waist and he flew up to stand, easily spinning and throwing her a great distance into a nearby concrete wall in the facility. Her body left a giant hole in its wake, a few chunks of concrete coming down on top of her, and like dust, she brushed them away as she stood. "Carly, you don't stand a chance. Why don't we just sit down and talk-" She picked up a medium sized bulk of concrete stone. "Carly!" She hurled it towards him with a grunt, he held his forearms up, the stone turning into rubble as it cascaded down over him. Concrete dust layered onto his dirty blonde hair, he grimaced and dusted himself off. "You're really pissing me off." Her chest was heaving in rage, she stared down at her palms, clutching her fingers tightly she gazed up at him. "You done with your little tantrum?" He said with a tight lipped sneer, crossing his arms.

"No." And she hopped up, in an attempt to try and fly towards him, she still hadn't mastered flight quite yet, only the simple forms of it. She hovered off the ground to him for a moment before sliding back into the concrete, cutting through it like butter, her body leaving a trail of rubble in its wake. She came to a stop at his feet, and he sighed as he watched her, unimpressed. He crouched down to her as she lifted her torso up, about to make some comment on how childish she was being, and then he saw the tears.

    He willed himself not to care, she was no different than everybody else, she always had been. The soft tears that trickled down her face, the edges of her eyes still red hot from the heat vision. She sniffled, raising a hand up to catch some of the wetness on her cheek with her wrist. He awkwardly glanced around, anywhere but her, what was he supposed to do?

"Alright, come on, that's enough." She then stared up at him, a wet, red, and broken stare that made him cock his head with some form of pity that didn't even know he could muster. He stood, his glove squeaked with a clench as he turned his back to her, hands now settling on his hips. "This is what you are now."

"The doctor knew..." She scratched out, and his eyes narrowed in confusion as he tilted back around to consider her. 

"What are you talking about?" He nearly spat out.

"He told me he perfected the compound. He chose me." Homelander snorted dismissively, blinking and dropping his stare down.

"He could have done that to anyone."

"But he did it to me!" She jumped up to her feet, and her eyes turned a bright red. She felt all of herself clench in rage, she could feel the power in her, surging through her. It only made her more angry, she didn't want any of it. "He fucking took everything from me! I AM NOT CARLY ANYMORE!" She screamed, eyes only getting brighter as the heat within them intensified. She then felt hands grip at her shoulders, gently caressing down, when she rose her neon red glare, it was Homelander. 

"You aren't alone, Carly. You aren't alone." Her expression creased into a sob and her eyes closed, forehead resting down onto Homelander's chest.

"You should just kill me." Her voice cracked out, it was almost a plea for help, like she'd rather die than live through this pain.

"Then what fun would you be?" He brushed his gloves fingers through her hair, palm swerving down to cup under her cheek and force her to meet his gaze. "I certainly can't have fun with a dead Carly, can I?" Her eyes dimmed down from a light red into a crystal blue, yet again. The tension in her subsiding and she placed her hands on Homelander's sides, tenderly grazing the detailed ridges and bumps on the suit. 

"I'm sorry for what Vought did to you." If he expected her to say anything, it certainly wasn't that. He closed his eyes, grinding his teeth together, trying not to surface those horrid images in his head. He shook his head and then opened his eyes again. 

"Well, I am not." He smiled, it was a forced smile, and then he shrugged at her. "You shouldn't be either. We are better now, better than they will ever know." 

"Even so, its a harsh and cold feeling, the loss of one's mortality. No one should have control over that." He brushed aside a tear sliding down her cheek, she couldn't help but feel like he’d done that way too many times today.

"And they don't, don't you realize Carly?" He chuckled darkly, his smile turning upward further into a toothy grin. "We can do whatever the fuck we want." And not shortly after, it was as if nothing had happened, his warmth pulled from her as he stepped back. He held his hands up and gestured around the training room.

"Someone's going to have to clean all this shit up, Danvers, look what you've done?"

"Homelander?" He closed his eyes, hoping she wouldn't bring up what had just been discussed. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to control the unearthed frustration and rage that came with those thoughts. She held her arms around her and stepped over the mess she had made, to close the distance between them. 

"What is it now?"

"I would like to go home."

"Well, that's-"

"My home." He crossed his arms, and then shot his eyes around the destroyed warehouse in one last time out of annoyance before nodding his to her. 

"It'll be good practice for you. We'll fly there." And the grin that he had on his face made her wish she didn't say anything in the first place.

[inheritance-cycles]

Thorta Du Ilumëo

Trigger warnings for canon-typical graphic violence and torture.

Following the Siege of Dras-Leona, Murtagh and Thorn launch a successful attack against the Varden. During the fight, Eragon falls from Saphira’s back, and Thorn uses the momentary distraction to both wound Saphira and knock Arya unconscious. Murtagh, who originally planned to capture Nasuada, decides to take advantage of this rare opportunity, and during the chaos, Thorn and Murtagh manage to seize Eragon and spirit him away to Urû'baen. Canon non-compliant fic detailing Eragon’s capture, trials, and eventual rescue.

First chapter based heavily on Nasuada’s capture. 

Part 1 || AO3 (parts 2-6)

Eragon opens his eyes.

The first thing he notices is the pounding in his head; an almost percussive agony that brings him more fully to awareness. His thoughts, however, feel thick and slow, as if he were drunk with exhaustion. Turning his head makes the pain worse, so instead he stares with detached interest at the roof above him.

Tiles cover the dark, vaulted ceiling, and upon the tiles are painted angular patterns of red, blue, and gold: a complex matrix of lines that trap his gaze for a mindless while.

The soft crackle of a smoldering fire draws his attention, and at last he musters the will and energy to look away from the intricate designs. A simmering glow emanates from a source somewhere behind him, and he senses more than sees that the illumination is due to a brazier nearby. The glow is just strong enough to reveal the shape of the octagonal room, but not so bold as to dispel the shadows clinging to its corners.

Finally, he looks down, and notices the surface upon which he’s been restrained. It’s cold, smooth, and uncomfortably hard; the rough stone chafes irritably against his exposed hands and legs. A chill creeps into his bones, and he finds himself wishing for something warmer than the tattered tunic and loose trousers he had been wearing whilst drinking with Arya. Eyeing his lower half, he also realizes that he is weaponless, a fact that is unsurprising but disappointing all the same. Chances are, both his bow and Brisingr still lay on the grassy knoll near Dras-Leona where he fell.

But where am I now?  

With immense caution, he pushes his mind out- or tries to- but to his alarm, he only feels a soft, indistinct pressure surrounding him. It’s as if bales of wool are packed around his mind, and he finds that he can neither extend his consciousness outward, nor access the part of himself that houses his magic.

He’s unsure if he’s been drugged, but if this were done by magic, it was a magic that was completely unknown to him.

Eragon shudders, then tries to sit upright, but the padded manacles that he now sees encircle his limbs prevent him from moving more than a fraction of an inch in any direction. He furrows his brow and realizes that a thick leather belt holds his head firmly against the slab as well, preventing him from turning it more than a few degrees.

Even though he knows it’s futile, he strains against the bonds with all his strength, but they are too secure for even him to break. It’s this realization that causes him to truly panic.

Eragon allows himself a few moments of chest-heaving, muscle-trembling terror before he forces himself to calm, one carefully-controlled breath at a time. The only power he has in this situation is self-control, and he is not about to relinquish it willingly.

The pace of his breaths slow further. The regular, smooth flow through his throat and nostrils begins to crowd out all else. Then, once he’s reasonably certain he is not going to come undone, he allows his gaze to wander once more.

Turning his head what little it can, he glances out the window beside him, neck muscles straining with the effort. To his shock, he actually recognizes the landscape from a fairth he had studied while in Ellesmera.

He’s in Urû'baen.

His heart rate spikes once more, and he quickly loses what little hard-won composure he had gained.

Eragon is still working to calm his erratic breaths when he hears the footsteps in the hallway. His sensitive hearing picks them up easily: a group, some marching in rhythm, some not. The cacophony is so great that he’s unable to determine their exact number, nor their exact distance from him.

The second query is soon answered when the procession approaches, stopping directly outside the doorway to his chamber. There’s quiet murmuring, followed by two sets of clacking footsteps- the product of hard-soled riding boots, he guesses- then a single man enters the room.

The door closes with a hollow thud, and Eragon flinches.

Down the stairs the footsteps come, steady and deliberate. In his arms, the man carries a chair and places it somewhat near the brazier, his body only visible in Eragon’s periphery.

Silence reigns as he fills the copper brazier with charcoal, but then he moves it closer to the slab, closer to Eragon, and the motion produces a painful screech that drives into his ears like nails. Being well-restrained, all Eragon can do is cringe inwardly and watch, transfixed. The man takes flint and steel from the pouch on his belt and lights a nest of shredded tinder in the center of the brazier. The sparks smolder and spread, and the tinder glows like a ball of red-hot wires. Then, he bends, blowing on the incipient fire, and the sparks spring into lambent flames.

The man is not large: not fat, but broad-shouldered. A long black cape hangs draped around his well-built frame. Light from the coals cast his form in shadow, his features too dark to make out, even with Eragon’s advanced senses. Still, the shadows do nothing to obscure the outline of the sharp, pointed crown resting upon his brow, and they similarly fail to conceal the three long irons now resting in the heating coals.

Finally, the man drops into the chair with a near-silent exhale.  

One by one, he tugs on the fingers of his gauntlets, then pulls off his gloves. Tossing them carelessly aside, they land with a soft thump of hide on stone. Underneath the gloves, Eragon notices, the man’s hands are the color of tarnished bronze.

Then, the man speaks. His voice is low, rich and commanding, and Eragon shivers again. His skin prickles uncomfortably and he finds himself thinking of Elva, of all people, and her authority over people’s minds. He has no doubt that he is now in the presence of the king.

“Welcome to Urû’baen, Eragon, son of Morzan,” Galbatorix intones. “Welcome to this, my home, ‘neath these ancient piled rocks. Long has it been since a guest as distinguished as yourself has graced us with their presence. My energies have been occupied elsewhere, but I assure you, from now on, I shall not neglect my duties as host.”

The fire crackles menacingly as if to underscore the hard steel underlying the king’s tone, his words. Galbatorix leans forward, and Eragon can feel the weight of his gaze: boring into him, assessing, scrutinizing.

“You are younger than I expected. I knew you had recently come of age, but still, you are no more than a child.” He pauses for a moment, as if in thought. “Most seem as children to me these days. Foolhardy children who know not what is best for them- children who need the guidance of those who are older and wiser.”

Eragon sets his chin, not wanting to show fear or vulnerability in front of the king.

“Such as yourself?” He asks in a scornful tone.

Galbatorix chuckles. “Would you rather the elves ruled over us? I am the only one of our race who can hold them at bay. By their reckoning, even our oldest graybeards would be considered untested youths, unfit for the responsibilities of adulthood.”

“And by their reckoning, so would you.” With each word, his fear melts away, replaced by pure defiance and bubbling fury.

The amusement in the king’s eyes angers Eragon, but he stays otherwise silent.

“Ah, but I contain more than my share of years. The memories of hundreds are mine, whispering their wisdom in my ears,” replies Galbatorix, smirking conspiratorially. “You especially should understand of what I speak.”

Eragon purses his lips and refuses to confirm what they both know is true.

Galbatorix allows the silence to settle for a moment, then gestures at the room with his gauntlets, continuing unperturbed. “This is a place for truths to be told… and heard. I will tolerate no lies within these walls, not even the simplest of falsehoods.”

The legs of the chair scrape over the floor, and Galbatorix’s breath suddenly wafts, warm against his ear. “I know this will be painful for you, Eragon Shadeslayer, painful beyond belief. You will have to unmake yourself before pride will allow you to submit. In all the world, nothing is harder than changing one’s own self. I understand this, for I have reshaped myself on more than one occasion. However, I will be here to hold your hand and help you through this transition. Although we do not have much time, you need not take this journey alone. And you may console yourself with the knowledge that I will never lie to you. Not within this room. Doubt me if you wish, but in time you will come to believe me. You may ask whatever you want, and I promise you, that I shall answer truthfully. As the king of these lands, I give you my sworn word.”

Eragon’s jaw clenches painfully, and from between clenched teeth, he spits, “I’ll never tell you what you want to know!”

A slow deep chuckle fills the room. “You misunderstand; You were not brought here because I seek information. There’s nothing you could say that I don’t already know. You have no secrets from me, none whatsoever; it is pointless to insist upon holding your tongue, for it will only cause you pain and suffering.”

“Why then?” he growls.

Galbatorix moves to better meet Eragon’s gaze with his own.

“Why did I have you brought here? Because, my son, you have gifts far deadlier than anything magic or man could create. You are here because you have proven yourself worthy of my attention. I wish to have you by my side. A new order is about to descend upon Alagaësia, and I would have you be part of it. Voluntarily, if I can.”

Eragon squints, not trusting the king’s words. “Are you not going to use your mind against me?”

He shakes his head. “I have other ways to break you, my son. I could easily seize control of your mind and force you to swear fealty to me, but instead, I would have you make this decision of your own free will, and while still in possession of your faculties. For now, I am satisfied to discover just how brave you really are, Eragon, son of the Forsworn.”

Eragon clenches his muscles to prevent the growing tremors in his arms and legs from becoming visible.

“The Varden are fast approaching, desperate to rescue their Rider, so I will have to do this efficiently, and in a much shorter time frame than I would prefer.” A wickedly devious smile stretches Galbatorix’ cheeks. “Take this, then, as a sign of my regard for you, Eragon, that I must inflict such suffering to assure victory.” His voice drops to a whisper as he leans in even closer. “I would not, however, wish to exchange places with you.”  

This is my final duty: resisting my interrogation. I will not break.

“Now, before we begin,” croons Galbatorix. “I’ll ask you one last time: will you submit?”

Eragon thinks of Saphira, and his resolve hardens. “Never.”

“So be it. Let us begin.”

[jjbakaloskaiagathos]

Once-Upon in Morioh-Cho: Welcome to Morioh-Cho 🚏

In the previous chapter:

- What a weird girl.

Sliding the shutters, he sets up to work again.

Chapter 1:

It is seven a.m and Morioh-Cho is being awoken. In the one small house the girl is sleeping and while sunlight is wading through the windows. Solitude is bliss, but a ringing alarm does not care about it.

- Oh my God! Seven o'clock in the morning come to us from truly hell. Damn, my routine has come back again.

Despite the fact that Sophie hates early times of day, she is being excited. After brushing teeth and having breakfast, she has run to the table and opened a laptop, where E-mail was sent.

- Dear Sophie,

We are aware of that you arrived at the town yesterday. We hope your trip was not uncomfortable that is why we ask our new colleague to prepare something. You are a second-year student, a young girl, who can show the readership new “fresh” point of view. Morioh-Cho is admired all over Japan because of its famous people, high standard of living, life satisfaction and lower murder rate. You need to write an article or to interview an interesting person for the thesis “Morioh-Cho > Tokyo”. You must prove that Japan is not only a capital but it includes captivating small towns. Good luck! See you on Monday.

Best regards,

K.G

Sophie was sitting in the classroom, when the teacher approaches her and said that the girl would be sent for practice. She was studying hardly during these two years that is why the university has chosen Sophie. The committee analyzed her personal knowledge in the field of Romance-Germanic languages and they had a decision to improve Sophie’s skills because of practice at radio station. The town of Morioh-Cho became a perfect place to do it.

- An interesting day starts from an interesting challenge. Obviously, I absolutely don’t know this area and people who live here. Perhaps, I should go to the library, where I can find out new information, shouldn’t I?

Morioh-Cho is a charming town, representing as a suburb of the City S. The area is not populous which includes 58 713 citizens. Travelers visit Morioh-Cho to see marvelous attractions like Angelo Stone, Cape Boing Boing, Phantom Alley, Rohan Kishibe’s house and many others. Despite the terrible appearance, Angelo Stone is surprisingly famous as a meeting place for lovers, Сape Boing Boing is admired by many sailors, Phantom Alley scares foreign visitors by the legend about a dead girl and one day Rohan Kishibe’s house was rebuilt due to a fire whose repair cost around 700 million yen. Sophie did not expect that she would be suddenly acquainted with the last sightseeing’s owner.

A Morioh-Cho library is a lovely ancient building which is located in the Eastern part of the town. Benches are set up in the small yard, surrounding by the fragrant apple trees. Sometimes their branches touch windows, making a sense of rustling music.

The books’ house amazes the girl by its variety. There are many shelves of different creative works, representing all kinds of genres: classical literature, science fiction, comics, encyclopedias, vocabularies and tables with fresh newspapers and magazines.

- Smells like my grandmother’s pantry.

As Sophie thinks this place is not very popular among the locals. In the one short novel a Russian writer Checkov mentioned that a library existed because of young girls and Jews that is why there is only one figure here, excepting our second-year student.

It is a handsome man of medium height who has a beautiful slender frame. The emerald eyes is looking at the bright animal encyclopedia, describing types of exotic birds. His sharp features have got the girl’s attention: arched eyebrows, long lashes, a straight nose, a perfect-size mouth and cheekbones look magnetic. His hair is a dark-green colour and hairdo represents as an undercut that is aligned sideways. Obviously, this man has a great taste in clothes because all parts of the look match perfectly. He seems pretty young but at the same time, his face shows good life experience.

- These hands… The fingers are so long and sophisticated. Who knows, maybe he is fond of drawing or playing the piano.

Sophie keeps her gaze on him directly. He is being inspiring the girl that is why she looks again and again. She is being afraid that this charming man will notice her, making an awkward situation for both, but he does not even think about breaking away from his book. It is for a while.

- Please, help us! He is holding a gun!

- Wait, calm down! I call the police!

The man has immediately shut the book and run to the window. His eyes are turning from shining green to dark- swampy, looking at the street with hostility and astonishment. His face is changing, expressing grimaces of fear or confidence. He has gone outside.

- What has happened? What did he see?

The street is crowded. People have frozen in various poses in front of the girl's eyes: someone is lying, pressed to the ground, someone is running away without looking back and others are standing rooted to the spot with faces are full of horror. Finally, it has become clear what happened: an unknown masked man decided to rob a new jewelry store that has opened nearby. The criminal has already managed to take the seller hostage.

- I take all the money, otherwise I will kill him! Do you listen, bastards?! I will shoot his head, if you interfere!

Sophie has realized. There will be no other chance.

- [Mrs. Brightside], teleport me.

Everything happens in the blink of an eye. After a couple of seconds, Sophie is already sitting on wet pavement, holding her hand in the victim's cheek. Distance between them and the robber is enough to be safe.

- Your shoulder… It is bleeding…

Sophie uses her Stand very seldom. He got this ability, when she was a first-year student: someone hit her with the gold arrow, while she had realized that it was her last day when she may breathe and enjoy her life. The girl closed her eyes, which were full of tears, and thought about the darling people, the family. Instead of death [Mrs. Brightside] was arisen.

- Look! The police are driving! Higashikata-san! It is Higashikata-san!

- How are you? Do you need help? - says a woman in white clothes.

- I’m okay. Need to bandage his shoulder, will you? Let me go, I'm in hurry, - says Sophie, looking at her watch. She must get out of here.

- Morning, Rohan, what happened here?

- Josuke, what a “nice” meeting. Another fool tried to steal money and took the person hostage. I used [Heaven’s Door], you shouldn’t be worry. Josuke, I have got something… A weird girl arrived one day ago. I saw her today with the injured seller. She made strange things and I suppose a girl is a Sta…

- Rohan, you’re being paranoid. I don’t want to hear anything about your silly guesses. We have been quiet for more than ten years. Don’t put labels on the person who just achieved our bed town.

- But I see her around the library and then…

- Rohan, the conversation is over.

Sophie has approached the house, wiping sweat from your face.

- Higashikata-san, welcome me to Morioh-Cho!

⬅️ To be continued

[pyrewriter]

Forced Out

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Few were so fool hardy as to wander into even an abandoned Eliksni den let alone an entire compound. If proximity alarms were tripped inside then there were a few possibilities. One: brave fools just wandered in thinking themselves lucky or were forced in here by heavy fighting outside. Two: an animal wandered in seeking shelter from a storm or just to sleep and knew no better. Three: Risen. The wind carried in no scent of rain from a storm nor the waft of churned earth or rumble from any sort of fighting. Instead there was only the smell of ozone entailed that the worst of the three was true and the guild was woefully unprepared. 

"All, be silent, prepare" Ogethres ordered as quietly as his booming voice would allow in the echo chamber of the Ceremony Hall. The hall fell to an almost dead quiet, the only sound was that of breathing and the crackle of torches that seemed to reverberate off the walls around us in the silence. No one dared to make a sound, voices ,faint as they were, carried in with the wind and they were getting close. 

"My Arkon, if Risen enter, we distract" I clicked using my hand to muffle the sound. He did not respond aloud but I could a surprised huff in his breathing, "Throw at entrance" I explained then turning to my brother "Brykis, with me?" I asked. A nod from both of us was enough to elicit an accepting sigh from Ogethres. I felt him grab me by the armor with both his sub and main arms, looking over I saw he did the same with my brother. The voices of the Risen became louder and clearer as they moved deeper into our compound, lack of resistance always made them cocky. Hardly any time had passed since I voiced my idea when the Risen's lights could be seen bouncing off the walls just outside the entrance to the hall.  

At the time I did not understand everything that was said but their conversing was casual in tone, I will do my best to transcribe what was said that day.  "Are we really sure that ghost is still alive? I mean it's the Fallen we're talking about here". 

"I feel inclined to agree with our resident Sunbreaker Titan, since their apparent unification they've become much more ravenous for technology. If they've somehow gotten their hands on a ghost there's no telling what they could have done to it by now".

"Oh relax ,the both of you, there's five of us and I'm a top notch Hunter and Gunslinger so three shots is all I need. Besides so far the reports of this place being a major stronghold have only been half right, it's just big and I ain't had nothing to kill". 

"I suppose you are correct, we have yet to encounter even a lowly Dreg despite the size of this so-called stronghold. Perhaps they have already fled?".

"Nah, Fallen wouldn't leave so much tech and recourse behind, you Warlocks sure talk smart but didn't you see that hanger. They might be out right now but I doubt even the Fallen wouldn't be so wasteful as to leave all this behind. Knowledge shouldn't be coming from the oaf who used fist of havoc on the dear outside". 

They were far too lax for infiltrating an Eliksni compound if they were so casually revealing their numbers and capabilities for all to hear. As their voices grew closer I could feel a shift from Ogethres which meant his arms were spring loaded and ready to throw the brothers he had just ascended mere minutes ago. Light came pouring in from the entrance of the Ceremony Hall in the same moment that I felt another shift and found myself hurtling toward it with Brykis not far behind. There was a scream of surprise mixed with fear as the first Risen saw a pair of flying Eliksni Vandals coming straight for them. 

I slammed into the first dazing it before I drew my dagger and plunged it into it's upper shoulder dragging it toward the neck. The iridescent sheen from the liquid that splattered the wall and myself told this was one of those machines that houses a human conscience. Looking up from my work I saw Brykis grappling with another for a moment before using his sub arms to draw his twin daggers and sinking each into the abdomen of his opponent. The survivors stared at us then turned their gaze deeper into the chamber behind us as a little machine every Risen possessed materialized above the fresh body I made. 

"Why you!" one the three survivors shouted, reaching into the air, there was a flash and in their hand was a weapon ,a pistol made of fire, but it was nothing we hadn't already seen. Brykis used the soon to be corpse he was still holding to shield himself from a shot that instantly dissolved and another of the little machines appeared in its place. In the same moment I had pulled my dagger out and lunged forward before the Risen fired again. Reaching out I grasped the burning weapon ,it was only warm to the touch, moving it aside as it fired twice more before vanishing.

The Risen grappled with me as it tried to draw one the knives from it's belt or arms to defend itself.My newfound Vandal strength was greater however, pounding their head against the stone wall until their helmet was concave was sufficient to make a little machine appear. Before I could turn my attention to the next Risen the one I had just finished bashing appeared in front of me with a flash of light already brandishing their weapon. Luckily they were swiftly put down by a well placed wire rifle bolt from somewhere behind me before they could use it. A second shot rang out and another Risen ,most likely the one who resurrected the one I had killed, fell with a smoldering hole in its face plate. 

Turning my attention ahead of me I didn't see anything but there were only four little machines and bodies around us. Two wore robes adorned with ornate pasterns and ornaments but, the one I had slammed into initially wore heavy armor with large pauldrons and smelled of ozone. The second I had beaten with a wall sported an elegant flowing cape with a more medium type of armor. In the moment of calm I could hear Ogethres barking orders for everyone to leave through the second exit that led to the hangar. We were abandoning the compound but among the rumble of the guild evacuation and our Arkon's voice I heard Pyrrhaks saying something about taking what we could. 

Unfortunately the moment of calm was cut short as I saw the last Risen come barreling around the corner before a bright flash flooded my vision. I felt something burning and blunt impact my chest ,breaking a few bones in the process and puncturing a lung, my feet were knocked from beneath me. Before I knew what happened I was face down on the floor in a daze with the taste of liquid ether and copper filling my mouth in a matter of seconds. Looking up I saw Brykis coming toward me but he was knocked off his feet by the force coming from a nearby robe wearing Risen. Tumbling over the edge into the sea of evacuees Brykis was lost below while the Risen had resurrected each other which brought them back to full strength.

I could hear the pop of Risen projectile weapon fire and feel the air around me charge from the bolts of Eliksni weapons. The sound of Eliksni crying out in pain as they were struck by the crude but effective arms of those chosen by the Great Machine. Everything in that moment fueled a fire in my chest that replaced the pain of my punctured lung and broken bones. Slamming my fist down I activated my ether life support system housed in my armor, ether flowed directly into my veins, healing my wounds and invigorating me. Bringing down both fists with a roar of fury I bounced from face down on the floor to standing with a burning glow coming from my eyes, the sight stopped the room dead.

I spat and spread my arms in unmistakable open challenge ,still the room was silent, then one of the larger two Risen ran at me and was engulfed in flame with a loud clang. Breaking into a charge of my own we rammed one another and locked hands, they were strong and under normal circumstances I would not dare to take the brunt of a Risen's power. But I had ether, it ran through my veins, into every fiber of muscle, it gave me strength enough to match my resolve and my opponent. If either of us falters for even a single second the unfortunate loser would have their hands crushed and bent the wrong way before most likely being killed. 

Neither of us were able to overpower the other during the deadlock we created but at the same time we blocked any line of sight to Ceremony Hall ultimately making it my victory. The Risen reared its head back so far it’s back looked as though it threatened to break, I knew what they were doing and matched the move. Gritting my teeth to brace both the Risen and myself rammed our helms together, rattling our skulls and creating a sound that echoed off the walls like thunder. Our heads stayed pressed together for a moment before we broke away to take a step back, staring we let our enhanced states fade. Again I raised my arms and was met with the same stance by the Risen.

I woke from a stupor covered in oil and blood, my ether reserves were drained, Sekos-4 was carrying me. I recognized the sounds around me from when the Vandal growth process, I was in the medical bay of the Ketch, Ogethres, Pyrrhaks, and Brykis were chattering in concern. Coughing I tapped the shell of Sekos to let him know I was awake, "Escape?" I asked before groaning in pain. Suddenly we stopped and I felt the hands of my family reach out as they leaned over me in relief. After some time in the med bay and a lot of ether Ogethres and Pyrrhaks filled the gaps in my memory while Brykis was just overjoyed that I was alive let alone conscious.                     

"Matched Risen blow for blow, snapped neck, ravaged others after, little care for self" Ogethres had stayed to watch the duels while the others evacuated. He was proud and amazed at the savagery and brutality that I displayed in defiance of the Risen to protect the guild. Brykis had apparently been injured by his fall and trampled slightly but was quickly picked up and brought aboard the Ketch. 

I sighed with a mournful clicking, "Failed to save all, how many?".

"Only handful, more if not for you, well done" Ogethres told me, I had to restrain myself from letting out a scorned howl. "I go to guide, guild moving inland, rest now, will need best scouts" I nodded silently in acknowledgement. 

A day or so later Pyrrhaks founds managed to find time to see me with Brykis in-tow "Saved heritage, all here, will live on, for the lost". It was good to hear that we didn't lose any more of ourselves to those Risen but from what I was told of my actions I made them pay more than a few times. "Will be released soon, miss you in field, join next ether resupply?" Pyrrhaks asked. 

"Miss being in field, miss family" I clicked, a smile crossing my face, "Need out, taking up ether and space here". We lost members of our guild and the compound but we lived and so long as there are Eliksni with bonds strong enough there is a place to be called home.

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[littlesliceofmarvel]

Manipulating a God | chpt. three

Request/Synopsis: Trying to break the information out of Loki during the attack of 2012 wasn’t exactly the easiest task, but it was a challenge you were willing to take head on. So, what happened when a master manipulator tried to get information from the God of Mischief?

Series warnings: Swearing, mentions of violence, blood and gore

Pairings: Stark!Reader x Loki

A/N: I’m having so much fun writing this, your feedback is also suppper sweet and always brings a huge smile to my face so keep it coming! Message me if you want to be added to the taglist! Also, I am going to make a masterlist for the series!

As the brisk wind hit your face, you swore your nose was actually going to fall off. You mentally cursed your brother for dragging you out of the jet - he was nice, cozy, warm and safe in his suit, but on the other hand, your blood felt like it was turning into ice in your veins.

The ground got closer and closer, the rough landing being the only thing your body could feel as Tony’s suit touched down. He didn’t let you touch the ground, but you could feel the impact through him.

“If being an Avenger means being dragged out of planes, I want out,” you breathed out, softly touching your boots to the dirt ground below you. Tony chuckled at your comment as the two of you took in your surroundings.

You were standing in the middle of a dense patch of trees, an ominous fog making it hard to see past ten feet. Steve stood not too far in front of you guys, squinting as he looked around.

Looking up, the jet had disappeared - you had a feeling Natasha was probably cursing away at having to come back and pick you guys up after this. The wind kept hitting your body even though you were landed, the painfully cold air ruining the peaceful atmosphere.

Well, not that peaceful. You could hear distant voices yelling at each other but no one else was in sight, meaning Thor and Loki had to be nearby.

“I hear accents, it’s gotta be the ass brothers,” Tony whispered, beginning to walk towards the sound of the voices.

“Asgardian.” You corrected him, not really sure why you did it. You followed him, Steve making his way behind the two of you without speaking. Tony was right though, you could hear the accents, though quite faint. Something about a King or whatever.

No one could say another word though, because as the three of you came around a tree and locked sight on the two brothers arguing, Tony blasted off and came crashing into Thor, knocking him over the edge of the rock. Loki stood unmoving, still looking at the spot where Thor stood just seconds ago.

You exchanged a look with Steve before the both of you took off to where Tony and Thor crashed into the ground. You figured this could be the perfect opportunity for Steve to go fight Loki, but he followed you to the two-man crash sight.

As the two of you rounded the rock, your eyes landed on Tony standing above Thor, the Iron Man mask not on, but the repulsors aimed straight down.

“Do not touch me again,” Thor’s voice boomed, the same accent as his brother. If you weren’t familiar with Thor beforehand, you’d definitely still be able to tell that he was a God. Glistening silver armour detailed with out-of-this-world intricacy, and wow - muscles that easily put Dwayne Johnson to shame. His long blond locks were slightly disheveled, but everything else on him appeared to be spotless, despite crashing down here from another planet.

“Then don’t take my stuff,” Tony retaliated as Thor stood up, grasping the hammer in his hand. Steve went to stand next to Tony, leaving you standing alone behind a tree, watching the encounter.

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” Thor threatened, making Tony scoff in amusement.

“Uh, Shakespeare in the park? Does mother know you weareth her drapes?” Tony joked in a British accent, pointing towards Thor’s vibrant red cape. Thor, quite unamused by this, rolled his eyes in the most dramatic way you had ever seen anyone do so. And your brother is the Tony Stark, so that’s saying something.

“This is beyond you, metal man,” Thor tried to insult Tony, “Loki will face Asgardian justice.”

You let out a small chuckle, making yourself seen from behind the tree as you decided to speak up, “If he gives up the tesseract, he’s yours.” Thor was about to respond to you but was cut off by Tony stepping between the two of you, cutting off your visual of the defined God.

“Until then, stay out of our way,” the Iron Man mask came down over Tony’s face as he spoke, “Tourist.” As he finished speaking he walked over to face you, turning away from Thor to walk away, he was instantly knocked to the ground by the large hammer flying in his direction.

“Tony!” You ducked out of the way, looking behind you as you crouched behind the same tree. Loki, still standing up on the hill, now seated, wore a smirk on his face as he watched the encounter go down, glad he was not a part of the fight this time.

You had to admit, you’d rather be up there too.

“Okay,” Tony groaned, standing back up and turning to face Thor, blasting him into the trees with a flash of golden light. Thor went flying backwards with a painful groan, landing a good twenty feet away from where he previously stood. Steve motioned for you to get out so you took this as your chance, darting towards the rock that Loki was perched upon.

Tony noticed you leaving out of the corner of his eye and prevented Thor from seeing your escape, not wanting you to get dragged back into a fight you couldn’t defend yourself from. 

You could hear crashing and swearing from behind you as the fight broke out, but you focused solely on climbing up the rock out of Loki’s view. Your fingers were starting to bleed, the stone shards digging into your skin as you pulled yourself up.

As you reached the top, you quickly looked down to make sure Tony was alright, gazing down just in time to see Thor and Tony meeting mid-air, a blast of wind and light coming out of their collision, blowing through your hair as if you were in a Vogue commercial.. You gripped onto a stone to hold your balance, unfortunately catching Loki’s attention.

He turned to face you, making you freeze in your step as his cold eyes met yours, “Don’t think you can try to fight me alone.”

He turned back to face the fight, the smirk making its way back to his lips as you thought about what to say. You took in his appearance, trying to read him as silence fell between the two of you. The same green and gold armour covered his body, detailed with the same intricacy as you previously saw on Thor. The dark green cape flowed delicately in the wind. His face was quite slim, but accented with cheekbones that looked like they could slice through your skin easier than the rocks you climbed up on. His eyes, although a light shade of baby blue, looked dark and sunken in. You blamed it on the night time lighting, but something about him looked sick.

“You can stop staring,” he quipped, catching you off guard.

“You can stop trying to invade my planet,” you crossed your arms, taking your eyes away from him to look back down to where the fight diminished. Steve looked exhausted as he laid back on the ground, his shield in the air.

Loki chuckled darkly, shaking his head, “Alright, tell me - what do you do when you see a cockroach?”

His question confused you, but you answered nonetheless, “Step on it, usually. Unless it’s moving, then I get the fu--”

“Step on it - kill it, exactly,” he looked back at you, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he waited for you to catch on to his point.

“Excuse me? Are you calling me a cockroach?” You tried not to act offended, but you were. 

“Yes.”

Who was this guy to come onto your planet and insult you?

Of course, you couldn’t take it personally - this guy had a history of thinking himself above humans. A history of two days, but a history nonetheless. You turned away from him just in time to be met with Tony landing in front of you, the Iron Man suit slightly tainted and scraped, but less than you were expecting. Thor landed next to him, and Steve slowly climbed his way up the rock as you had done previously.

“Blue eyes, blondie, the two of you are getting on the jet with us,” Tony’s authoritarian voice made the two brothers roll their eyes in sync. Loki, however, seemed to be fine with it as no comment or restraint came from him in any way.

The jet lowered into the open patch of grass outside of the trees and the five of you made your way over. You couldn’t wait to be back on the helicarrier where you could shower and crawl into bed - honestly, it was all you could think about as you made your way to where Natasha was standing. Ignoring the snide comments between the four men behind you, you greeted her with an exhausted smile as you climbed onto the jet.

You sat down on the metal seat, the coolness no longer desirable against your already cold skin. Tony, Steve, Thor and Loki climbed in behind you and Natasha took this as her cue, lifting the jet off the ground and heading back towards the helicarrier.

-

With a surprisingly smooth landing, you guys were finally back on the helicarrier. Fury, along with eight armed Shield agents, greeted you with their presence as the jet opened up. The agents rushed over to Loki, aggressively handcuffing him and dragging him away before anyone could say anything. You watched them force him inside as you made your way over to Fury.

“I am not cut out to be an Avenger, dude,” you sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. He chuckled, not responding as he turned away and walked in the same door Loki was just dragged into. 

Natasha stayed behind, telling Fury she’d bring the scepter to the lab, and bid you a goodbye as you turned to catch up.

The four of you followed him, walking down long glass hallways and past busy labs. Once you arrived in the main control room, he pointed to the large glass table you were previously seated in.

“Now, you wait here, I’ll be right back,” Fury left the room with purpose, leaving the four of you awkwardly standing around. You looked down at the bowl in the middle of the table, some pretty glossy green apples catching your eye.

“Is there any less healthy food around here? A girl needs to eat,” you looked at Maria, who turned to face you with her hands on her hips.

“There should be some stuff down the hall, to your left, there’s a tiny kitchen with a fridge,” she turned back to face the screen she was focused on. You mumbled an ‘oh thank god’ and started to walk in that direction, stopping in your tracks when you noticed something moving under the surface of the glass table.

You walked over to analyze, seeing that under the glass top was a screen, which showed Loki in a large, glass cylindrical cage.

“Shit, Fury’s built himself his own Azkaban, guys,” you motioned for them to come see. Tony let out a low whistle as he watched Loki pace around in the glass container, Fury coming into view not long after.

“Azkaban? Is that the name of this... craft?” Thor asked curiously.

“No, it’s - never mind,” you waved him off, looking back down to the screen, Fury’s voice being heard throughout the room.

“Incase it’s unclear, you try to escape, you so much as scratch this glass--” Fury pressed a button, opening a hatch under Loki’s cage, the sound of the harsh air pressure difference being heard quite clearly as the wind nearly knocked Fury over. 

“Thirty thousand feet down in a steel trap! You get how that works?” Fury shouted over the wind, closing the hatch back up and pointing to Loki, “Ant,” and then to himself, “Boot.”

Natasha and Bruce walked into the room, immediately turning their attention to the screens on the table. You looked up, noticing everyone in the room was watching it too, not a word being spoken by anyone as we all watched the encounter between the two.

“It’s an impressive cage,” Loki complimented, eyeing the glass chamber, “Not built, I think, for me.”

Fury scoffed, “Built for something a lot stronger than you.”

Something about the grin on Loki’s face set you off as he faced the camera, “Oh, I’ve heard. The mindless beast, makes play he’s still a man.”

Turning to face Banner, you immediately knew Loki was talking about him. How he knew he was here, you had no idea, but the uncomfortable look on Banner’s face told you everything you didn’t need to know.

“How desperate are you? That you call upon such lost creatures to defend you?”

You looked up to Tony, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair as you continued to listen. 

“How desperate am I?” Fury’s voice sounded more agitated than ever, “You threaten my world with war - you steal a force you can’t hope to control. You talk about peace, but you kill cause it’s fun. You have made me very desperate. You might not be glad that you did.”

A sudden sense of pride made it’s way through you after hearing Fury’s little speech. You turned to Natasha, who nodded her head approvingly at what she had heard. Loki, however, didn’t seem phased as the same smirk played on his lips.

“Ooh, it burns you to come so close. To the tesseract, to have power - real power. And for what? A warm light for all mankind to share, and then to be reminded what real power is.”

“Well,” Fury turned away, “let me know if ‘real power’ wants a magazine or something.” And with that, he was out of the shot and Loki stood alone, smirking up at the camera until the shot cut out.

You let out a sigh, turning to face the rest of the team who seemed to wear the same expression. Loki, although quite outnumbered and out-powered at the moment, didn’t seem to take the disadvantage seriously. Something didn’t seem right, and you knew the team felt it too.

“He kind of grows on you, doesn’t he?” Banner joked to hide his discomfort.

“Loki’s gonna drag this out. So, Thor, what’s his play?” Steve asked, everyone turning to face the blond Asgardian.

“He has an army called the Chitauri. They’re not of Asgard or any world know,” he started to explain.

An alien army?

Oh, come on.

“He means to lead them against your people. They will win him the Earth. In return, I suspect, for the Tesseract,” he stated as if it were no big deal.

You let out a sarcastic laugh, “Any tips on how to stop him then?” Thor looked down, shaking his head in denial, “Great.”

“An army? From outer space?” Steve mumbled to himself in disbelief, looking around the room to gage everyone else’s reactions.

As the team continued to discuss Loki’s intentions, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. It didn’t click in your head. If Thor had known of Loki’s army and all of this, why didn’t he warn us ahead of time? Unless it was an impulsive reaction on Loki’s end. If it was, what snapped to get him to dot his? What does he want with Earth if we’re just ‘cockroaches’? Is it to show some sort of dominance?

But he’s a God. How much more dominant and powerful can you get?

So many questions.

“I don't think we should be focusing on Loki. That guy's brain is a bag full of cats, you could smell crazy on him,” Banner’s voice broke though your thoughts as he insulted Loki.

Thor immediately stepped in to defend his brother, “Have care of how you speak. Loki is beyond reason, but he is of Asgard. And he is my brother.”

Although Loki was crazy, you had to admire Thor’s loyalty to his brother. You knew deep down that if Tony were to do something like this, you’d somehow still find a way to defend him too.

“He killed 80 people in two days,” Natasha remarked.

Thor tilted his head awkwardly, “He’s adopted.”

“Guys,” you started, getting completely ignored, “Guys.” You tried again, still getting drowned out by the ever-growing conversation happening around you. Slightly ignoring out the talk about iridium and portals, you couldn’t help but think that maybe there was a way you could be of use. The entire situation - though you guys believed you had the upper hand - didn’t make sense.

“That man is playing Galaga,” you tuned in just in time to hear Tony calling out a Shield employee on his computer, “Thought we wouldn’t notice, but we did.”

You rolled your eyes as Tony tried impersonating Fury by covering his eye and turning in circles, trying to read the screens in front of him, “How does Fury do this?”

“He turns,” Maria confirmed, arms crossed.

“Sounds exhausting,” Tony sighed, taking his hand away from his face, “The rest of the raw materials, Agent Barton can get his hands on pretty easily. Only major component he still needs is a power source. A high energy density, something to kick start the cube.”

Not having payed attention to the first half of this conversation, you weren’t really sure where this was stemming from, but part of you felt as if you couldn’t be of help in the science aspect anyways.

Listen next time, you idiot.

“When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?” Maria asked sarcastically.

“Last night,” Tony replied dryly.

Only half listening as Tony and Bruce started bonding over science, Fury walked in with a gloomy look on his face. Only partially satisfied about capturing Loki, he seemed to think the same way you did about how it seemed too easy. You could read his expression like a book.

“Banner is only here to track the cube, I was hoping you might join him,” Fury announced himself, all eyes in the room turning to face him.

“Or how about we start with the scepter?” You asked, finally speaking up, “What is it?”

Fury dropped his head slightly, “I don’t know, but it looks to be powered by the cube. And I’d also like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys.”

Thor grunted in confusion, “Monkeys? I do not understand--”

“I do!” Steve raised his hand, causing you and your brother to roll your eyes in sync, “I - uh - I understood that reference.” 

You had to admit, his boost of excitement when he understood made you laugh. Steve had spent seventy years in ice, he had missed a lot. That had to suck. Did he even know about Harry Potter?

“Look - uh - anyways, Fury, what do we do? We need this information, we can’t exactly go into this blind. We’ll get killed - or worse, he’ll get what he wants,” you crossed your arms as you focused on the topic once again, looking up to Fury from the seat you had installed yourself in, voicing your thoughts.

“I did have something in mind,” Fury trailed off, looking around the room, “We need someone insanely skilled to do this, but I think it would be best to crack the information out of Loki instead of fighting it out of him. He has his name titled for him, he’s smart, he’s manipulative, and he won’t stand out of the way to get what he wants. So, if we were to use that against him--”

“I stand by that,” Thor’s voice was louder than it had been before as he cut off fury, coming back in defence of his brother, “No harm shall come to Loki until he inflicts it himself.”

“He’s inflicted enough harm, Dwayne,” you replied, ignoring Thor complaining about not understanding the reference again.

Due to public knowledge, you knew Loki was a master manipulator, liar, and troublemaker, but when Fury suggested the idea of turning those exact things against him to get information out of him, a part of you really wanted to do it.

Having mastered the task of manipulation from a very young age (cough, cough, using it to get into Shield’s Avengers Initiative program), something inside of you knew that you were the only one fit enough to do the job. Sure, Natasha was pretty good at this stuff too, but because Loki had brainwashed and taken over the mind of her friend Clint, her emotions were bound to eventually get the best of her.

Plus, part of you could sense that there was something Loki was hiding something that would probably blow up in your faces eventually.

“I’ll do it.”

Everyone in the room turned to face you, and you almost looked to find the voice yourself if their gazes hadn’t told you you were the one who said it.

“I’m sorry, what?” Tony stood up, walking over to you, arms crossed as his big brother instinct kicked in. He knew first hand that you were insanely skilled in the power of persuasion, but the thought of having his little sister pretend to bond with some intergalactic psycho was enough to get him to stand guard.

“I said I’ll do it,” you repeated, certain this time that you were the one speaking, “We need someone who has experience in getting information out of someone, I can do that. Besides, I won’t take Loki’s shit to heart, I don’t have an emotional connection in this mess.”

“I’m right here,” Tony mumbled, practically ignoring all of your other points. Of course, Tony was always your weak point, but you had dealt with enough people coming after him that you were able to tell when he was really in trouble, not just someone lying to use it against you.

The room sat in silence for a good moment, a couple people giving little hums of approval to your proposal, which made you quite pleased.

“She’s right,” Natasha spoke up, breaking the dull silence, “I’m the only other person who can use someone’s lies against them, but he’s got Barton - he could use that against me.”

You nodded, turning to Tony to give him the puppy eyes, “Come on, Tony, I’ve practically been waiting my whole life for this. I’ve been sitting on my ass while you guys have been out kicking ass, or whatever, and I just want to be useful. The universe literally lies at this guy’s hands and if we don’t stop him, all of this could cease to exist. Trust me enough to let me do this.”

Tony groaned, lifting his hand to run it down his face and stop at his chin as if he were thinking the deepest thoughts known to man, “Fine, I’m trusting you, but if anything goes sideways, you stop immediately.”

“Promise.”

You pulled your brother in for a hug, grinning proudly. To get the information out of Loki would make you one of the saviours of the universe - who wouldn’t want that title? Of course, he does go by the literal name of God of Mischief and Lies, but what kind of challenge is easy anyways?

“Alright, Y/N Stark, you’re officially out private investigator into the case of Loki,” Fury stuck his hand out for you to shake it as if some government secret deal was just made. In a way, it was, but this was way cooler.

“Can we call it the case of the manipulator and the psychopath?” You grinned, sticking out your hand to shake his. He chuckled, opening his mouth to speak but being beat by Thor’s voice.

“That’s my brother,” he uncrossed his arms, “Loki may seem dangerous but he is good at heart.” Thor’s defensiveness over his brother was to be admired, but Loki was now your task to decipher, so his word was no longer of value to you.

“Do we have to mention the 80 murders in two days again?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Still--” Thor mumbled, “He was nice once. Oh, but this one time, he disguised himself as a snake, he knew I loved snakes, and--”

“That’s great, but this isn’t story time,” Tony cut him off, turning back to face you, his eyes expressing his worries.

“Hm, guess I’ll find out myself how ‘nice’ he can be,” you shrugged, picking up an apple that you previously eyed and took a big bite out of it, proud of yourself for finally finding your strong spot in the team.

This was going to be a fun experience.

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