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#and GOD the pure EMOTION in his eyes at some points warring with the utter LACK of them in others
starsdies · 1 year
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I've been mulling over this and I need you to settle an internal debate: is Obi-Wan the italic "oh" moment kind of bloke or is he the bold italic, with feeling "fuck" kind of bloke when he realises he's in love with his best friend and that's gonna be a bitch to handle in the middle of a war. I'm leaning towards the latter because I'm a 'Obi-Wan curses internally a lot to deal with Things' concept except he says "fuck" outloud in the middle of his ship's hallway quite suddenly because the final light bulb in the mental neon sign of YOU'RE IN LOVE, YOU FOOLISH MAN finally lights up and there were clones walking into each other because they were just utterly scandalised.
Anyway. Thoughts?
WHAT A QUESTION. i think it's an entire timeline of small 'oh' realizations that then crescendo to the "FUCK" at least.. to me. because i think obi-wan knows he's in love with anakin by some point but he's in utter denial. especially if he's aware of padme's involvement in anakin's life to some degree and refuses to get involved initially. he probably chalks up his emotions to just attraction. anakin patches his wounds and the light catches his eye, and obi-wan realizes how handsome he's gotten. they're sparring and anakin strips his shirt away, and oh, he's strong isn't he? it's anakin teasing him, or the way their bond feels when obi-wan calls ahsoka "our padawan" <3
but i agree. obi-wan is someone that internalizes these types of thoughts - at least when it comes to anakin - so that when it finally hits him he's in the middle of ship, right about to go into battle, when he's like. god DAMMIT. i like to think after siri and satine he gave up on this idea of loving someone, because i'm pretty convinced that obi-wan thinks he's cursed, so these are things he avoids for the most part with a very pained heart. but i'm giggling thinking about anakin having just walked out of a lil meeting to go over their plans for something, and anakin is so catty and bitchy about a decision obi-wan is making that he just storms off radiating pure power and rage and determination that obi-wan finally bursts because he's VERY into that. very into capable anakin who can and still does talk back to him but now it's less of a mentor-y/student thing and more like... (dramatic obi-wan internal dialogue) stars that's really attractive i'm utterly besotted
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navree · 1 year
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How do you picture yourself Aegon's reaction to the God's Eye events? Asking for 2 reasons: 1) being genuinely interested in your vision, 2) wanting some pain
I think his primary reaction, at least at first, would just be pure shock. I genuinely think that Aemond's death came as this huge unexpected surprise to his family, because who actually expected him to die. He's an incredibly puissant warrior, he's a capable enough battlefield commander AND administrator as Aemond's regent, and he rides the largest and fiercest dragon in the world, not to mention he was fighting a much older opponent seemingly past his prime. I don't think anyone was expecting God's Eye to be his last stand, not when they thought they knew what the odds are and when they knew what kind of person and fighter Aemond was (I think the only people who went into God's Eye knowing it was the last showdown were Daemon, Alys, and Aemond according to Ewan's whole "yeah he's got an idea of when and where and how he's gonna die" thing which is fucking me up). And then suddenly, he's dead. He's just gone, and I think the first thing Aegon's going to feel is just genuine disbelief that it could have ever happened, like just total and utter surprise. And then the rest of the emotions are going to hit, and I think Aegon's going to be incredibly upset. Aegon had already suffered loss by this point, Criston and Otto are both dead and most notably so are both of his sons, which we know he felt grief over, not to mention that he's still in a lot of physical pain (timeline wise, I think God's Eye happens after the Fall of Dragonstone, which would see Aegon and Sunfyre gruesomely re-injured in the process, which would ultimately kill Sunfyre). But this is his baby brother, someone he's known his entire life, someone he took the crown for in order to protect him, and he's dead. And he's probably going to be grateful, because Aemond took out an enemy and vital fighter for the other side in the process by killing Daemon, but he's still dead. Because of Aegon. Even if Aegon wouldn't show, I'd imagine the grief to be incredibly profound (having family members die Because Of You is always going to be something that fucks people up, why do y'all think I want a Louis Philippe miniseries so badly) and that he had a really hard time dealing with it internally.
I also imagine that it would have a noticeable effect on him, due to timing. Aemond's death is also the first of the rest of Aegon's siblings, and they all happen in very close succession. Helaena dies very soon afterwards in a gruesome suicide, and then Daeron is killed in Second Tumbleton, also not painlessly according to stories told about it. I think Aemond's death was the start of a tipping point that made Aegon decide that he was going to be his worst self for however long this fight continued, that first step towards a darker path that would then lead to the somewhat fucked up nature of Rhaenyra's death. Because his little brother is dead, the first of his siblings to die but certainly not the last, and it's all tipping over into Too Damn Much for him to take. I think the grief was very intense, but very private, and it soon gave way to dragon's rage. Like, when Jaehaerys is killed, I do believe that Aegon's reaction was probably explosive (I've written about it but I also do imagine there were times when he was just throwing shit, and I firmly believe in the idea of him giving Aemond a beatdown that Aemond refuses to fight against that'll dissolve into abject weeping, given who Aegon is and also because I want to die), especially since the source material makes note of the fact that he "drank, and raged, and drank" or something to that effect. And with Criston and Otto and Maelor, he probably pushed down whatever he was feeling in order to concentrate on healing and on getting Sunfyre and on the war effort and on capturing Dragonstone. Aemond was probably the first death that he was able to feel since Jaehaerys, and I really think he felt it. Lots of private crying, probably a solitary prayer said for Aemond, for his soul and his peace, in the Dragonstone sept. Aegon felt his grief, and while he felt it alone, he felt it all the same and felt it keenly.
(also, for the girlies, depending on how far the rumors of their relationship at Harrenhal spread and how much info Aegon was getting, and the fact that Alys was visibly pregnant at God's Eye and Aemond publicly claimed her as his and his physical affection with her was one of his last acts, Aegon knows that Aemond had someone to come back to, a lover and a child, and he didn't, because he was fighting for Aegon. For Aegon's rights and Aegon's security. Think about that.)
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can we just take a minute to sit and appreciate sebastian stan’s acting skills
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crimsonophelia · 3 years
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hi basil !! can i request for an imagine with zhongli and an adeptus reader? the reader has been in love w him since the archon war but never told him bc they were scared, and when rex lapis “dies” they’re absolutely crushed. but when they see a certain funeral consultant preparing his funeral, they tell him about their friendship w rex lapis and how they regret never telling him how they felt. thank you!
featuring: zhongli x gn!reader
warnings: angst, a little suggestiveness, some god complex stuff if you squint hard enough, typos lol
published: may 14, 2021
form: imagine
a/n: hi anon! thank you for the request~ i’m assuming reader recognizes zhongli in his mortal form and confesses in that way! in canon, it’s kind of dubious whether or not zhongli explicitly told the adepti that he actually isn’t dead, but i’m going to take some creative liberties and assume that he tells some of his adepti friends that he’s alive in person, like so~
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Time slowed to a halt, as the body of the magnificent dragon, Rex Lapis, plummeted to the earth from the heavens, like a meteor summoned by Celestia. You felt like it was all a cruel, eldritch dream that the Archons had cursed you with, frozen among the crowd of onlookers, as the body tumbled, tumbled, and fell in a lump at the alter. Not a single sound emerged from the crowd, as they all stared in horror.
To them, their deity, their Archon who had pulled Liyue from the depths of the abyss and ascended it to wealth and prosperity, had come crashing down to earth in front of their eyes. But to you... Rex Lapis was your world. It was not Liyue that he saved from the grasp of darkness, but rather, you, you were the one he rescued. It was you to whom Rex Lapis had shown more compassion than you had ever thought possible coming from any living being—warm hands grasping your cold limbs, pulling you up, up, and up, into the light of day, giving you a purpose. A reason to live.
The body lied there, as Lady Ningguang acted fast, trying to ease the onlookers, her own horror still painted visibly upon her usually cold and composed countenance. The corpse of your god still retained some semblance of life, you thought, scales still glimmering with a slight sheen, mane fluttering in the wind of commotion, almost as if he were glowing with vibrant life not a few moments ago.
Please. Rex Lapis. Please don’t leave me. I have so much left to tell you. 
*****
“Master!”, you called. “Wait for me!”
You ran to catch up with archon, who had begun his daily routine of assessing the growth of his blossom trees. Tianheng Shan was a favorite location of Rex Lapis, particularly in the springtime when all the flowers on the treas began to bloom, and the glowing flowers that sprouted from the ground took root and broke up from beneath the soil.
Rex Lapis, hands locked behind his back, looked back at you, as you joined him at his side.
“Hello there, [y/n]. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
The archon really did behave like an old-spirited mortal, you thought. He had the mannerisms and idiosyncrasies down to a tee, certainly the polar opposite of the likes of Barbatos.
“I was just about to view the blossoms as well! They should be in season within a week or two”, you responded innocently. This certainly wasn’t an opportunity purely to spend time alone with Rex Lapis. You would never be so silly.
The both of you strolled along the banks of the river, eventually reaching an opening where tens, even hundreds, of pink-blossomed trees wove their way about the bottoms of the cavernous cliffs, some delicate petals already beginning to fall, sprinkling upon the river like memories across the stream of time.
Rex Lapis proceeded past you, craning his neck upwards to get a closer look at the blossoms. As he did so, the hood of his robe fell back down onto his shoulders, revealing long, silky locks of earthy amber resting upon shoulders as hardened as Cor Lapis.
“Quite lovely, aren’t they?”, he mused, almost absentmindedly. “These yinghua are often mistaken for taohua—yinghua do not produce fruit, and their blossoming period is much shorter.” For some reason, you thought, the archon’s gaze seemed to stray elsewhere, somewhere beyond the mass of trees.
“That is why the yinghua is renowned for its beauty. Its life is fleeting, yet so utterly captivating.”
Now, it was all gone. All that was left was a husk—a shell of the god you loved and devoted every ounce of your existence to. A mere gnarled tree that once possessed a beauty that transcended seasons.
*****
You entered the foyer of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, hearing the bell jingle solemnly as the door closed behind you. The place seemed to be rather empty, with nobody manning the front desk. Assorted coffins and various floral wreaths adorned the rooms of the parlor, a rather gauche little showroom of death. The taste and aesthetics reflected quite well the nature of the parlor’s director.
You treaded through the silent shop, wood creaking beneath your feet. The building must be quite old, you supposed.
“Hello?”, you called out. “Is anybody here?”
Before you could take another step, you heard a man’s voice coming from a back room, tucked away behind the main desk and obscured by a curtain.
“Just a minute, please. I will be with you shortly”, the voice called back.
After some further rustling emitting from what you guessed was the storage room, a man stepped out from behind the curtain, slightly ducking below the doorframe due to his rather imposing height.
Dressed in sharp formalwear, hair tied neatly behind his head in a long ponytail, he stepped forward from behind the desk. You noticed a geo vision dangling from the belt at his waist. How familiar, you thought. Something about him tugged at a string deep inside you, but for the life you, you couldn’t put a finger upon it.
“Greetings, how may I be of service to you?”, the man queried, amber eyes penetrating into you. There it was again. Maybe it was his voice, or his gaze, or perhaps just the way he carried himself, that felt so awfully familiar. His words seemed so... warm, even. Like some fond old memory that is slipping off the precipices of your brain. I must be going mad, you thought. One thousand years and still fawning over every handsome man I see.
Clearing your throat, you replied, “Yes, I am here on behalf of Lady Ningguang and the Qixing. We are looking for a supply of flowers to send off Rex Lapis at his funeral next week.” The man eyed you, curiously. “I was wondering if perhaps you could suggest a suitable flower wreath, preferably something in-season.”
Without a response, your odd companion began to walk towards an adjacent room attached to the lobby, hands crossed behind his back, quite like an old man, although he looked to be in his early thirties, at most. Assuming you were to follow, you stepped into a side room filled with vibrant flower wreaths of all sizes and colors.
The man begun to the scan the selection closely, as you stood to the side and watched him work. Oddly enough, the silence in the room wasn’t awkward, but was even quite comforting, in the same way a blanket warms a body.
Settling upon a modest, pink-flowered wreath of bouquets, he turned to you, indicating that he has decided upon a suggestion. He turned to you, those same eyes once again boring into you. Those were not the eyes of a young man, but something much, much more ancient, and for a moment, you stood frozen, frightened.
“Might I suggest the lovely yinghua? They are a personal favorite.”
White. White was all you saw for seconds, and when you opened your eyes, everything looked crisper, like a veil had been lifted. The world felt clearer, your thoughts came at you with greater clarity, but above all, it was no longer the funeral parlor manager that stood in front of you.
It was him. Rex Lapis.
The room started to twist and warp again, but this time not because of the spell of fog that the archon had cast to maintain your ignorance, but rather because of the salty tears clouding your vision, and the pressure of pure relief, joy, and utter agony that brought you collapsing to your knees, right then and there.
You couldn’t believe it. What about the body? Was that a mere fabrication ? Or was this vision before you an illusion, an echo of the past that had somehow manifested itself in front of you? Why would Rex Lapis do this to you, make you endure such pain? If he knew how much you loved him, how much gratitude you felt for him, how much you didn’t want to move on without him—
“Oh Archons, [y/n], please, I’m so, so sorry—”, he uttered. You felt a soft pressure surrounding you, as you became vaguely aware that the man you loved was now embracing you, the both of you huddled on the floor. “Please forgive me, I hate myself for it but I had to do it, and for the pain I have caused you, I’d much rather die, myself. ”
You could barely understand his words over the sound of your own weeping, forgoing all manners and letting your tears run free. You felt your master tighten his arms around your middle, as if scared to let you go, after already sacrificing you once.
You mustered up the strength to look up at him, seeing that now the dragon’s eyes themselves had become watery with emotion, something you had never seen in the archon before. The regret you felt was threatening to burst from your throat, a lump preventing you from being civil, or talking like a proper adeptus, or confessing your feelings to the man who you owed your life to. No more. No more weakness that plagued your heart for centuries. You may never have this opportunity again.
“[y/n], I beg of you, please forg-“
You pulled your savior’s face towards you, and without hesitation, placed your lips upon his. Too long, had this moment been forgone, and the both of you knew it, as the archon gradually deepened the kiss, intertwining his hands through your hair. This was life. The clarity of it all, the energy surging into you from the points where your skin touched, the infinity of your lips melding against his. This is the god you worshipped and would lay your life down for. Without him, there is nothing.
His lips, initially hesitant, grew more confident, more desperate as they clung onto yours. His fingers were soft as they traced the back of your neck, as if trying to memorize each one of your vertebrae. A feral yearning, something only a dragon was capable of, was unhinging behind Rex Lapis’ ministrations, as you proudly latched yourself deeper into him. The silence of the parlor was now filled with heavy pants and the rustling of fabric, as the two of you clung onto each other, one not wanting to depart before the other.
As you felt the breath in your lungs dwindling, having given all of your life and energy to Rex Lapis’ mortal body, you pulled yourself off of him. Streaks of wetness along his cheeks glinted in the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the windows. His hair had become undone in the minutes where he had been attached to you, and his face showed something of a quenched desperation. He was mortal, and he was perfect.
“Promise me. Promise me, that you will stay by my side forever.”
a/n: ohoho i hope you like it anon~ this is a little bit spicier than i usually write but tbh i kinda vibe w it
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dreamrecorder · 3 years
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When the earth crumbles to dust.
Alternatively: "Until then, we will find each other again." <|||>
fluff & angst shot, reincarnation au, modern au
| Zhongli x Guizhong | Zhongli x Reader |
Warning: ptsd, panic attack
He came to learn of the name of the young woman with billowing sleeves. Guizhong.
Zhongli realized, that the Goddess of Dust has become a prominent turning point of his life. Back then when he lived the title of the God of War, he was vicious, cold, and unfeeling. However, because of her, such attributes mellowed and eventually died out.
When the goddess died, cutting off her final words, grief and despair washed over the man. Such emotions, he had not felt before. But because of her, he feels. He felt these foreign yet strong emotions run through him. All these emotions, for her.
Yet, it was too late, Zhongli realized.
It was hard for him to stand back up after her death in the field of wilted glaze lilies. Yet the man hardened himself, as he is the very embodiment of the earth. Thus, he protected her people and his which would later unite to what is Liyue today.
Perhaps, if he had not met her, Liyue would not exist.
However, to this day the memory of her death still haunts him. What would have she said, if she completed her final words?
'If you can unlock it-' then what? If the man was being honest, he was not sure if he wanted to hear those words. However, truth be told Zhongli does know how to complete the puzzle Guizhong had left him.
He was just scared. Afraid even. The Memory of Dust... Zhongli was afraid that if he unlocked it, it would also turn into dust, just as the goddess did. This is why he did not bother unlocking the artifact as it is his final memento of his love... Zhongli knew that the time will come when he is ready to open the artifact. As such, the God of Contracts made a contract to himself.
...
There was a time, actually, when he was ready to unlock the secrets of the Memory of Dust. However, a certain someone made him rewind his emotions of grief and longing all over again.
A woman with long, snow white hair and a pair of red eyes- along with the skill of crafting and constructing proven by the floating chamber above Liyue. Everything about that woman reminded him of Guizhong. It just pains him. In fear of feeling grief again, he avoided her as much as possible. But it didn't help him any further preparing himself to open the Memory of Dust.
So, he waited, abiding by the contract Zhongli made for himself.
...
Sipping tea, Zhongli finishes typing the last of his speech for a seminar regarding the history and culture Liyue. He leaves the cafe, with the next destination in mind- the local museum of Liyue. As a man of culture, Zhongli finds visiting the museum a pleasant experience. However, today's visit made him empty.
Just as he was gazing on a painting of glaze lilies, a young woman with billowing sleeves, stood by him.
At first, he had not paid you any attention. He only did when you spoke.
"You know... when I painted this, most of the time I think something's missing. Even now, actually."
Zhongli's gaze focused on the woman, and he swore he saw her. He gulped.
"I think... the scenery is perfect by itself already. What would you have added if you think your piece is still lacking?"
You pondered a bit, white hair shfting as your head tilted. Your red eyes, suddenly deep with wisdom.
"I don't know..." you began as doubt laced your voice. "I thought of two different scenarios before... But whatever scenario I choose, their outcome would be the same. They would make me... sad?
I'm not gonna lie, I like how this piece turned out. To others, it would seem that scene conveys serenity and happines, but to me... It just seems so... empty."
Zhongli hummed in understanding and agreement, as he, too also sees the emptiness in the painting despite the great skill and detail in it. It was missing her. The painting was empty, just like his heart. "If you don't mind, would you like to share to me what you wanted to add?"
You met the man's eyes and a flick of familiarity whirred in your head, but you ignore it. "Maybe another time? I'm just here for a quick visit the director."
For some reason, Zhongli felt disappointed. "I see. Perhaps another time then. I'm usually here every Sunday evening."
"Sure, I... I think I can work with that. See you then." And with that, you left. Leaving the man in the dust.
The next time Zhongli met you, it was another Sunday evening. When proper introductions were done, again, there was that flick of familiarity, but you did not bother. Once the both of you are seated in the benches just outside the museum, you showed him your laptop. When you did, you saw the the way Zhongli's expression shifted into a familiar sadness. It was almost like the expression you make whenever you face the empty painting.
"The field of glaze lillies, you see... I dream of it a lot. But not as the one displayed in the gallery. There were always two scenarios in the same field of glaze lillies."
Nostalgia filled Zhongli's entire being and he felt the Memory of Dust hum softly within him. It gave him a sense of comfort. The first picture was that of him and Guizhong in perfect likeness of their appearances. And the second... The second was also in perfect likeness of her death.
Observing the man's reaction. Something- sank into you. A realization. "Why... why do you look like him?"
The question brought Zhongli back to reality and quickly recovered himself, replying that it must be pure coincidence and chance. But he knows that you are her.
You were suspicious at his answer first, but brushed it off. Then your phone rang. Looking at the caller, you stood up. It was time for you to leave again.
"It seems that our time together has come to an end. As for the paintings, forget about it, would you?" Then you turned around, about to leave.
Those words... those words were also what Guizhong uttered when she-
The bench creaked as the man abruptly stood up, grabbing your wrist.
"D-don't leave..." Zhongli croaked, feeling... things again.
There was a desparation in his eyes you couldn't ignore. Your heart was beating loudly in panic. Don't leave? Why? Observing the man again, you decided that your worries were not of your priority. Zhongli began to sweat profusely, his grip tightening, his breathing labored, his body shivering, his eyes clouding.
"Shit, calm down, Zhongli. I'm not leaving. I'm not leaving..." you said with a reassuring tone as you sat the two of you on the bench. His grip was still on your wrist but you didn't mind. "Come on work with me, Zhongli. Breathe with me. There, inhale... exhale... inhale... exhale..."
Inhale...
Exhale...
Inhale...
Exhale...
You're not leaving. You're there. You're alive. You're alive. You're alive. You're aliveYou're aliveYou're aliveYou're aliveYou're aliveYou're aliveYou're aliveYou're aliveYou're aliveYou're aliveYou're aliveYou're aliveYou're aliveYou're aliveYou're alive
"You okay?" Your voice brought him back to life again. Trying to reassociate himself, Zhongli took note of his surroundings. Then, he took note of how your hands held his.
"What's this?" The question piqued his curiosity. You knelt down the floor and lifted something, but he could not see. He took another note again, his heart felt emptier. Emptier...
The Memory of Dust!
When you were back at his side again, his panic rose when he saw you holding the memento. His instonct told him to take it back, but the way you held it seemed... right.
"This... How did you get this? I had this when I was five then it suddenly went missing when I was sixteen. How did you get this?"
Zhongli steeled himself. It was now or never. "D-Don't you remember me...? Guizhong?"
And just like that, your name from long before along with the artifact unlocked the memories which presented themselves as dreams haunting you for so long.
You saw everything. A great golden dragon by your side. A man and a crane on a high mountain peak. Battles and deaths. Ballistas. The floating chamber. The death of the dragon. And most of all, the man by your side with you in a field of lovely glaze lillies.
With tears streaking your cheeks, you gingerly held the now glowing artifact. "Are you not going to open this yet?" You asked the man with a teasing grin and an equally teasing tone towards him.
Zhongli, still processing, could only blink at your question. "W-what?"
You chuckled at his state. "Has your brain finally eroded, Morax? I asked when are you going to open the Memory?"
Morax?
Zhongli swiftly pulled you into a hug as he buried his face on your shouldef. He was holding onto you for dear life as you reciprocated the gesture as well.
"It's really you..." Zhongli murmmured, voice muffled, when you took notice of the interval shivers of his body.
"Come on, please tell me those are happy tears?" You asked curiously, still caressing the long hair of his. Zhongli could only nod and you laughed once more.
The moment the man nodded, the Memory of Dust crumbled away and Zhongli understood.
A/n: brain dead thoughts empty but i need more guizhong lore but happiness is the way to go lol
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starbuckie · 3 years
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𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬
challenge: winter warmers writing challenge by @spaceodditybarnes
prompt: “it’s beginning to look a lot like christmas” by michael buble
pairing: bucky barnes x reader
words: 2k without lyrics, 2.1k with lyrics
warnings: i genuinely don’t think i can say anything besides FLUFF, oh wait theres some mentions of the shmexy sex (i promise im a functioning person)
summary: in which they take a little holiday stroll and talk about what they are.
a/n: THIS MADE ME VERY HAPPY THANK YOU FOR HOSTING THIS CHALLENGE JADE!!! i kinda veered off the idea of christmas with this one, but my mind created another idea and i kinda just went with the flow. anyways, i really enjoyed writing this one, and i hope you all had a lovely holiday season <3 LOTS OF LOVE Y’ALL
main masterlist || sebastian stan characters masterlist
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It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Everywhere you go
Take a look at the five and ten, it’s glistening once again
With candy cane and silver lanes that glow
Snow sprinkled to the buildings and sidewalks of Midtown Manhattan, making the traffic clog up to the oh so lovely sounds of taxis and cars honking. It was far from what people pictured it, really, New York was absolute hell during the holiday season. Sloshing boots and teens smoking pot outside the scantily decorated discount store that held very little, sad-looking Christmas lights.
It didn’t bother Bucky. No, he had never been a big fan of the holiday season. Even back in the forties, with his ma and little sisters, they had never been huge on celebrating Christmas, instead choosing to work those shifts during the holiday so they could make a buck or two more to hold them over. Now in the twenty-first century, the holiday just reminded him how truly lonely he was, everyone and everything he used to know long gone.
But then he found Y/N. Granted, it had not been a formal introduction. The poor girl had nearly damn run him over with her motorcycle for Christ’s sake, but nonetheless she crawled into his heart that cold December morning two years ago, and had not left ever since. 
Now she walked by his side at Rockefeller Center, her cold fingers intertwined with his warm ones, admiring the tree while he admired her. He already had every part of her memorized, from late night escapades in the sheets to studying the slope of her nose at team breakfasts. Even when he wasn’t with her, he was always looking at her, unable to pull his eyes away from Y/N’s radiance. 
This little… dalliance of theirs had only started a year back, and they had still yet to put a label on it. Sam had called it friends with benefits, Sharon called it being a couple without the name. Bucky had shut both of those ideas down, claiming that they were taking it slow and weren’t looking to call it anything yet they still had not really talked about it. Was it really worth ruining the bond he had with the girl he fell madly in love with? Whatever it was, they had never taken time out of their day to actually discuss what they meant to each other, but, God, he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t want to know.
“Bucky?” Her sweet voice brought him out of his thoughts, the glittering red and white lights of the Christmas tree reflecting in her eyes. “You seem kind of distracted right now, sweetheart, are you bored? We can head back to the compound if you like.”
He smiled at her worried tone, delicately kissing the tip of her nose. “‘M just thinking, doll, wanna stay as long as I can out here with you.”
The grin he received in return was breathtaking, her red-painted lips turned upwards and a little twinkle (literally and metaphorically) in her eyes. “Good.”
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Toys in every store
But the prettiest sight to see, is the holly that will be
On your own front door
“Oh, look at that helicopter, Buck! That’s so cool!” Y/N pointed at a little boy in the store controlling the airborne toy with a small remote. “They didn't have those when I was a kid, I just had my Tamagotchi.”
He scrunched his nose, staring at her with an emotion that could be described as nothing other than distaste. “What the hell is a Tamagotchi?”
“A Tamagotchi was like this little digital pet thing that you could take care of, mainly used for kids who were trying to prove to their parents that they could take care of a real pet. That’s why I had one at least, but I never did get a tabby cat like I wanted.” Y/N continued to ramble about her weird pet thing as they walked through the toy store, though Bucky didn’t really care. But he’d never stop her either. The way her eyes lit up in childlike wonder and her fascination with the toys on the shelves was too precious to destroy. This was the girl who he had seen slit throats and blow aliens’ brains out, and in the moment she was ogling an American Girl Doll like it was the last pancake at the breakfast table. 
Y/N finally convinced herself that she was done looking at the toys, claiming that she was too mature for such things (she really wasn’t), but he let her lead him out the door, before she halted right in the doorway. “What is it, honey?”
“Mistletoe.” He glanced up at the little sprig of green and red berries above their heads, hanging by a small strand of twine. A small group of kids with families stood around, watching them with both happy and annoyed faces. How could they not notice Y/N L/N and Bucky Barnes? Bucky’s vibranium arm may have been recognizable, but Y/N’s cheery, a little-louder-than-normal humming had caused a little group to watch them throughout the store. “I think they’re waiting for us to kiss, Buck.”
She leaned into him, placing her lips on his and placing her freezing hands on his cheekbones. Though Bucky had never been big on PDA, the rest of the world seemed to slip away when he was with her. He grinned into her lips, hugging her tightly around the waist so she squealed. When he forced herself away from her intoxicating mouth, she was sporting a bright smile and smudged lipstick that had rubbed off onto his. 
Giggling, she took her thumb and swiped off some of the red residue she had left. “You had a little something there, sweetheart.” 
A pair of hopalong boots and a pistol that shoots
Is the wish of Barney and Ben
Dolls that’ll talk and will go for a walk
Is the hope of Janice and Jen
Bucky watched Y/N point out all the different street cart vendors as they walked to Radio City Music Hall. She’d insisted that they go look at the window displays there as well, and who was he to argue? Strangely enough, they hadn’t talked much, other than the occasional “are you cold” from Bucky, to which Y/N assured him she was not. Her quiet voice sang the lyrics to Last Christmas when a little girl stopped in front of them, two auburn braids and green eyes boring straight into hers. 
The small child pulled on Y/N’s skirt, a silent plea to go down to her height. “Hi there, are you lost, sweetie?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” she looked back to an older woman, who gave her a thumbs up and a smile, “because you are my favorite superhero and I hope you have a very good Christmas.”
Y/N nearly melted at the toothless smile the girl, who she assumed was named Sadie by the necklace she wore. “Thank you so much, sweetheart. I hope you have a good Christmas too, and do you know this guy?” She dragged Bucky down next to her, the large, buff man hulking over the small girl. “This is my friend Bucky, do you know him?”
He eyed her warily, as if he were absolutely terrified of the tiny human. “You’re the Winter Soldier!”
Uh oh. The name was one that struck a chord of fear through everyone, still in shock of the events that had taken place in D.C. in 2014. While he and Sam had tried to label a new brand for the Avengers, people didn’t forget all the horrors of HYDRA and their prized assassin. Of course it hadn’t been him, even he knew that, but trying to convince people otherwise still made him feel guilty.
“You’re my second favorite Avenger, after Y/N, of course.” Sadie brought her hand to hover over Bucky’s vibranium one, her eyes wide with excitement. “Mr. Bucky, can I touch your metal arm?”
The man in question could barely utter out a word, muttering some sort of agreement before nodding with a timid smile. Giddily, she touched his arm, feeling all the cool ridges of gold-plated vibranium against the gun-grey metal. Sadie continued to pelt questions at him, about Sam and Redwing to his “adventures” with Y/N on the team.
Bucky, though shy at first, got more and more relaxed as they continued their conversation, his grin growing wider. Y/N loved her fans, she loved them so, so dearly, but seeing them interact with the man she loved was something different. Not a bad different, but a word that could only be described as pure joy. 
“Darling, I think we better leave Ms. L/N and Mr. Barnes alone. Say thank you and happy holidays.” The little girl looked sad, turning to look at her mom with a little pout, but she reluctantly obliged and soon the duo were off, into the crowded streets once again. 
“Y’know once upon a time I had dreamed about having kids,” Bucky commented. They walked along the sidewalks in a comfortable quiet after the encounter with Sadie, but Bucky’s mind had not stopped reeling from the happiness his conversation brought him. “Was gonna come home from the war, settle down with a gal, and live to be at least seventy years old.”
“Well, I can tell you you’re good on the last bit of that, Buck.” He snorted at her jab at his age, something that has become a norm for their little makeshift family of four. “What do you want now?”
He stopped in his tracks and looked over at her with a fond tilt of his lips. “Oh, just something real special.”
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Toys in every store
But the prettiest sight to see, is the holly that will be
On your own front door
“Y/N, what are we?” She glanced over at him from where they sat on the Met stairs, giving their feet a break from walking for hours. 
“What do you mean, Buck?”
He grabbed her hands and held them to his chest, trying to make her understand the amount of confusion and impatience he had with this one burdening question. “We’ve been sleeping together for a year, Y/N. We make each other breakfast, we go out together, I literally have half of my closet dedicated to your stuff, but even after all that we haven’t given us a name yet.”
Y/N sat in stunned silence, staring at the outburst from the man in front of her. To be completely honest she had never really thought about the question, choosing to enjoy each second she got to spend with the wonderful man with her. What she had noticed however, was how whenever they parted ways or were in the most intimate of moments, three little words nearly slipped off of her tongue. Every. Single. Time.
“Well, what do you want to be, Bucky?”
“I want to be the man you love. I want to be the man who loves you with his entire heart, though I like to think I already am. I want you to be my best gal more than anything in the world, and that I want to be the man who gets to hold and love you every night.” Slowly they drifted to each other, a magnetic pull bringing them to each other. “What do you think, doll?”
“I think,” her lips split into a grin, hovering over his own with the exact same expression, “that I want to be your best girl and the one who gets to make you pancakes in the morning and I want to be the one you get a cat with, who we’ll name Alpine because if I know you, names are the most important part of having a pet. I want to be held and loved by you every night, Bucky Barnes, and I am the girl who loves you more than anything in this entire damn world.”
Not another second to spare, Bucky pulled Y/N in close, letting himself get lost in one of her sweet, loving kisses, finally knowing that he was hers and she was his. At long last.
Sure, it’s Christmas once more
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klixxy · 3 years
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weekly fic recs
(ft. my bookmark comments - mostly mha and voltron)
boku no hero academia:
what is right and what is easy - theroyalsavage
(bnha; tododeku; fluff + angst; 2k words; oneshot)
Midoriya Izuku is not chosen to represent Hogwarts in the Triwizard Tournament. He does not slay a dragon, or rescue innocents, or brave a maze of dark magic. He does not win accolades, or fame, or glory.
Instead, Izuku meets the son of the greatest dark wizard of the age, a Durmstrang student with hair like a sunrise and eyes like a war. And maybe, he just might win something else.
If I'm Being Honest.... by I_dont_know_man 
(bnha; tododeku; fluff + crack/humor; 26k words; oneshot; truth quirk)
Midoriya scrunched up his nose in confusion. “Uh, Shouto, why are you glaring at me like that?”
“I-” Todoroki began to lie, until nausea slammed him like a door to any room that Bakugou entered. “I--” Todoroki grit his teeth, and glared daggers into the wall behind Midoriya. Goodbye, friendship. It had been absolutely divine while it lasted. “Because you’re very attractive.”
They say honesty is the best policy, but it sure as hell had a knack for Todoroki making a complete and utter fool of himself.
Or: In which Todoroki is placed under a mysterious truth-telling quirk and suffers, Uraraka laughs at him, Midoriya is confused but smitten nonetheless, and Twitter is the thirstiest site on the planet.
paint on our lips (paint on those fingertips) by spicanao
(bnha; tododeku; angst + magical realism; 11k words; oneshot; gallery au)
Galleries are wonderful places. The works seem so vibrant, so beautiful, so alive.
Until they're actually alive.
(Ib AU)
[my bookmarks: holy shit this is beautiful in an odd, poignant, dream-like way]
Todoroki Shouto’s Amateur Guide to Not Fucking Up The Timeline by Anubis_2701
(bnha; tododeku; crack/humor; 13k words; oneshot; time travel; future fic)
All that Todoroki had wanted was milk. Nothing drastic, nothing dramatic, just milk.
Unfortunately, in his quest to get milk, he ended up running into one of the saltiest, most impulsive people this side of the globe. Who also just so happened to have a volatile time-travel quirk.
So yeah, he was fucked. Just slightly. Being punted randomly through time wasn't exactly how he'd wanted to spend his Saturday morning. At least the younger versions of his friends are cute.
awake and (un)afraid, asleep or- by driedupwishes
(bnha; tododeku; fluff + angst + The Feels; 54k words; oneshot; social media/future fic)
“You,” Shoto says, picking his head up from where his screen is filled with The Worst Photograph Ever, curtesy of Shinsou, Jiro, Kaminari, his brother, and nearly everyone they know. “You are so dead to me.”
Kirishima blinks, mouth half open while Izuku mutters oh god, it’s too late, isn’t it on the other end of the phone, before Kirishima is leaning into his space to see his screen.
“Oh,” he says, in response to the photo someone in the crowd of civilians watching the fight had taken of them. “Oh, that’s-” he cuts himself off for a minute, leaning back to eye Shoto’s face while on the other side of the phone Izuku smothers what is probably a laugh, and then changes tracks.
“It’s super manly to love and support your friends,” Kirishima tells Shoto haughtily, as if this whole thing isn't his fault in the first place.
-
or: Kirishima and Shoto accidentally start trending on Twitter and in retaliation Shoto decides to make an Instagram to showcase all his Hero Deku merchandise, so that everyone knows how much he loves his boyfriend Izuku, and no one expects how quickly it will all spiral out from there
[my bookmarks: broke my heart. i teared up multiple times and even now I'm barely holding back tears.
pure beauty. pulls an incredible amount of emotion from the descriptive language and conveys the love and loneliness and that pulsing ache so well that i thought that my chest would cave in from the force of all the fucking feelings in it. this entire fic was a perfect, awe-inspiring package of fluff, beautiful shoto and class 1a interaction, heartfelt long distance tododeku feels, and almost every single paragraph had my heart fucking squeezing so hard in my chest that i could barely breathe.
i am in awe.]
Hooliganisms by aphrodaisyacs
(bnha; gen/todofam; crack/humor; 17k words; series; social media)
In which an anonymous artist’s street art of Bald Endeavor goes viral, causing a chain of coincidental events and ironic situations to ripple through the lives of everyone- heroes, villains and civilians alike.
[my bookmarks: i'm crying so much from laughter]
Part 1: Where it all begins- the origins of the street artist known as the "Bald Hooligan" and their rise to infamy
Part 2: The spin-off focusing on the unlikely trio whose friendship was borne from the events of Part 1
Daydreaming by AnonymousTwit
(bnha; gen/todobakudeku; angst; 7k words; oneshot; todoroki-centric)
If he'd been more careful, then they'd be fine. If he'd been paying attention, then he wouldn't be alone right now.
But he wasn't and he hadn't, so it's just him, now. It's him, his thoughts, and the unconscious bodies of two of his closest friends as he waits for someone to reach them.
Whether they be friendly or not.
Or
Author has writer's block and coughed up some Todoroki angst in retaliation.
A Study in Firsts by Oceanbreeze7
(bnha; gen; angst + fluff + humor; 76k words; ongoing; class 1a-centric)
There’s a first time for everything.
The first time everyone crammed in Momo’s room to study, a mess of limbs and books on her bed.
The first time Mina burned crepes so badly the smoke alarm went off.
The first time a jumpscare got Sero so badly, he flipped off the back of the couch.
The first time Uraraka fell asleep at the table and accidentally sent it floating.
The first time someone realized Todoroki walked far too quietly, and far too cautiously around the dorms to be normal.
The first time Midoriya broke his toe on a door frame and kept walking through it.
The first time Kirishima woke up screaming through the walls.
The first time Tsuyu blanched at the sight of a needle.
The first time Bakugo dropped, clutching the back of his neck with eyes scarily vacant and detonating everything around him until Aizawa had to intervene.
It wasn’t always pretty, but the dorms were filled with firsts.
Responsibility by deafmic
(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 94k words; series (complete); todoroki-centric; dadzawa + papamic)
“I told you outside,” Aizawa chooses his words carefully, reiterating the same point he’s made before. “My responsibility for you doesn’t end at the classroom. Every part of your life is partially my responsibility. Your father doesn’t scare or intimidate me. If you need help, I can get it for you, but you and I both know that you need to ask for it first.”
Aizawa organizes a way for the students to go home for the holidays. Todoroki Shouto, however, gets left behind by his father. Aizawa, annoyed at Endeavor, takes Shouto under his care for the night, and is joined by a certain Yamada Hizashi.
[my bookmarks: *unholy screaming sobbing noises*
an incredible and emotional journey from start to finish.]
the drip of melting ice by walking_through_autumn
(bnha; gen/platonic shintodo; angst + fluff; 19k words; oneshot; todoroki/shinsou-centric ft. dadzawa)
Aizawa found out within a day. It was quite likely due to the dish Todoroki had washed and left to dry in the shared kitchen after the kitten had been fed off it. Hitoshi was forced to reflect that it wasn’t any good hiding the litter and cat food in their wardrobes if Todoroki was going to make a fundamental mistake like that.
Aizawa stood in his door frame and raised an eyebrow. “Well? Where is the cat?”
Hitoshi gave his most disarming smile. “What cat?”
Todoroki chose that moment to exit his room, eyes on his phone, other hand holding a cat toy. He bumped into Aizawa and looked up slowly, like in a horror movie.
“...oh,” Todoroki said. Aizawa raised the other eyebrow. Hitoshi rubbed a hand down his face.
Herbal tea, weekly floor gatherings, spoiled surprises, movie marathons, shared custody over a cat, rain and ice and blankets and plushies, and the journey of falling into a friendship.
(Or: Hitoshi moves into the 2A dormitory at the beginning of his second year, learns who his neighbour is, and makes the friends he had declared he isn't there to have within the space of a semester.)
Hand in Hand in Hand by kngsbrg (Citlalcoatl)
(bnha; todobakudeku; fluff + strangers to lovers; 10k words; oneshot; tea au)
Boiling the water, choosing the right temperature for the right kind of tea, using quality leaves, scooping the precise amount, and letting it steep for just the perfect time...
All that and more is needed to make a delicious cup of tea.
A business that Shouto was quite knowledgeable about.
*
Spring begins and brings with it the hint of new fresh air, buds waiting to blossom, and just a bit of change.
[my bookmarks: featuring: oblivious teamaker shoto and pining firemen baku and izu]
even if i die (it's you) by monomoon
(bnha; todobaku; fluff + angst + strangers to lovers; 75k words; complete; paramedic au)
Or; where Todoroki never went to UA and, in rejection of his father's ambitions, became a paramedic; and where pro hero Bakugou Katsuki is just a little bit too intrigued with the heterochromatic man who always glares daggers at him whenever he sees him.
When Bakugou was suddenly and abruptly met with two cold, heterochromatic eyes glaring daggers right back at him, he had two immediate thoughts:
"Why does he look like he's plotting my assassination?"
and
"Why the fuck are his eyes so pretty?"
[my bookmarks: UGH THIS IS JUST FUCKING PHENOMENAL- GORGEOUS LOVELY INCREDIBLE HEARTSTOPPING HEARTBREAKING BEAUTIFUL RIDICULOUSLY GOOD POIGNANT I AM RUNNING OUT OF ADJECTIVES BUT IT'S GREAT TRUST ME AKDHJSFNW]
This Is Now by colormesherlocked
(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort + fluff; 193k words; series (ongoing); todoroki-centric)
Todoroki Shoto will be a hero.
...But not just yet. Right now, Todoroki Shoto is a bitter, pessimistic, hurt teenager who doesn't want help, friends or hinderances of any kind getting in the way of his misguided goals.
Thankfully, there will soon be people in his life who will be more than happy to drag him into a place of happiness, safety, and acceptance - kicking and screaming the whole way, if they have to. All he has to do is survive his first meeting with them and all the incredible changes that will come after.
This is Todoroki Shoto's Hero Academia.
(Semi-canon compliant up to a point and told from Todoroki Shoto's POV.)
the league of anti-villains by aizawa_wears_crocs (avenris), avenris
(bnha; gen; angst + fluff + humor; 35k words; ongoing; todobakushinmono-centric)
When he's secretly tasked to find the UA traitor, Todoroki isn't expecting help. He's especially not expecting it from the three other first year students perceived as villainous in their own ways. Unfortunately for him, Shinsou, Monoma and Bakugou have all got something to prove, and his solo mission turns into a team effort that rapidly spirals far beyond what they were expecting to find - but hey, they're in too deep now.
Or: in which the gang solves the mystery of the traitor feat. todoroki family shenanigans, copious amounts of dadzawa, backstory for my favorite 1-B gremlin, and good old-fashioned illegal vigilantism.
such eloquent graffiti by firelilyblooms
(bnha; todobaku; angst + hurt/comfort; 9k words; oneshot; todoroki-centric; future fic)
Todoroki Shouto is sitting cross-legged at his coffee table, hunched over a bowl of instant ramen, when he finds out along with the rest of the world that the Flame Hero, Endeavor, is dead.
Or, Shouto's guide to dealing with death.
[my bookmarks: i am in ✨pain✨:)]
Tell-All by HopeNight
(bnha; todofam; angst; 4k words; oneshot; todofam/natsuo-centric)
When Natsuo is twenty-years-old, he publishes a tell-all book on his father and growing up in his house. This starts a domino effect, of course. With the book comes an investigation and sets the groundwork for the Hawks scandal in several years’ time that will see the disbandment of the Heroic Public Safety Commission and the ascension of pro hero Deku to the Number One slot. This will also lead to a decades long chain of change and progress with Deku wielding his influence and charisma like a sword and shield to make society and the world a little better than when he found it.
In essence, you can say, that Todoroki Natsuo is the true hero of this story with his fake quirk and an anger burning in his gut. Just one small book and suddenly…everything changes. The future is brighter for its existence. The curtains are thrown back and the light begins its work to disinfect and cleanse.
When Todoroki Shouto is in his second year of UA, his brother, Natsuo, publishes a tell-all book of essays about growing up in Endeavor's house.
This is Natsuo's story about how he really changed the path of things.
like an open wound by filzmonster
(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 5k words; oneshot; todoroki-centric; manga spoilers)
It's a Sunday and Shouto is making gyoza in the dorm kitchen - or: It's a Sunday and Todoroki has an existential crisis over food.
[my bookmarks: oh my GODDDDDDDDD
*screeches while crying**is a blubbering mess*]
Shouto Todoroki and His Stuffed Eeyore (And Also Childhood Trauma) by ThatSpicySeaFlapFlap
(bnha; gen; angst + MORE ANGST; 42k words; complete; todoroki-centric)
Aizawa looked him in the eye, placed a gentle hand around his bicep (not like Endeavor, his father had only ever touched him with the intention to burn) and asked, “Are you okay?”
People don’t usually ask him things. They like to tell him things, like where to sit or what to wear or how to talk or how to be a hero or how to be himself.
‘Am I okay?’ He thought. He realized he doesn’t ask himself things, either.
Shouto didn’t have an answer to Aizawa’s question, so instead he said:
“A very long time ago, my mother did something....highly upsetting.” The boy was tracing the outline of his scar, his calloused finger stopping and jumping around the bumps and ridges of the burnt skin. “Something today reminded me of that.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” His teacher asked.
“No.”
“Okay. I’m here when you do. I’m always here, kid.” Shouto only responded with a sob. He felt as if he’d earned that right after all the emotional labor he had been put through tonight.
days by chibistarlyte
(bnha; todobaku; angst + hurt/comfort; 19k words; series (complete); todoroki-centric)
Most days, Shouto is fine.
But some days...
Some days, Shouto falls apart.
Location Sent by sunflowerstorm
(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 15k words; oneshot; todoroki-centric; third year 1a)
In their first year at UA Midoriya sent his location to the class 1-A group chat during the Hosu incident because he didn't have time to do anything else before rushing to Iida's aid.
Now in their second year, Todoroki sends his location to the group chat at 6:30am on a Saturday morning after going home for the weekend. Midoriya knows immediately that something is very wrong and takes off, Bakugo hot on his heels.
-----
"They’d known each other long enough to be able to communicate practically wordlessly. The quiet rage on Midoriya's face was extremely telling, this was bad. Bakugo braced himself as Midoriya shuffled to the side to show where his hands were hovering over what was most certainly a burn and a serious one at that. Todoroki’s own fire didn’t burn him but they all knew that didn’t make him fire proof. Bakugo could do the math."
Faith by phinnium
(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 7k words; oneshot; todoroki-centric; manga spoilers)
"You wanted to open a case?"
Aizawa frowned, "uh, yeah. Someone showed you Dabi's video, didn't they? And I don't doubt Todoroki himself has told you bits and pieces."
Izuku did not expect this to be how the conversation went.
"Yeah. But Todoroki isn't being hurt now. He's fine. Endeavour's changed."
Or: Midoriya trusts the Hero Commission far more than he should, especially given the situation at hand. Todoroki isn't available to explain what's what, so Aizawa and Bakugou do it instead.
(Written after the release of issue 293 of the manga, and in the aftermath of the current arc. Spoilers ahead.)
Incendiary by macrauchenia
(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 17k words; ongoing (hiatus?); todoroki-centric)
"You're going to die, little Todoroki. And if you don't, your classmates will instead."
A training exercise backfires when Izuku and Todoroki become tangled in an escaped villain's vendetta against Endeavor. Alone in a perilous situation due to the villain's barrier quirk, Todoroki must take desperate and creative measures to save his classmates.
[Class 1-A Teamwork/Bonding]
Parallax by petrichor (findingkairos)
(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort + fluff; 64k words; ongoing; todoroki-centric)
Todoroki Shouto has memories that he didn't make on his own, motor skills that his brain doesn't know how to parse, and a love of science and mathematics and physics that means he broke down his Quirk into its most intricate, universe-bending components at the age of seven.
In one universe, he wants to become a hero. In this one, even though he doesn't want to, he might have to.
(Featuring: a rapidly developing Shoutosquad, Quirk science, headcanons of all flavors, healthy and supportive sibling and sibling-like relationships, and Dadzawa.)
[notes: one of my current favorite fics that i’m eagerly following for the next update. :D]
Caturdays by staqua (aka my fav todobaku author)
(bnha; todobaku; fluff + angst + enemies to lovers; 10k words; oneshot)
"Hmm... It's lunchtime now isn't it? You should have lunch with him."
"With Bakugou?" He blanched. "I think he would refuse and then murder me."
Rei chuckled softly as if death was a joke and held his hand tenderly. "If he's in the hospital, someone he cares about must not be well. I think anyone going through that should have a nice meal with good company."
"You overestimate me," Shouto pointed out and she gave another laugh.
OR: Shouto's usual Saturdays included visits to his mother and the cat cafe; he wasn't expecting Bakugou to get thrown in the mix.
voltron: legendary defender:
*hacks twitter in space* by Zakyuu 
(vld x marvel; gen/klance; crack/humor + fluff; 17k words; social media au; ongoing)
the voltron paladins arent as popular as the avengers, obviously — in fact, no one even knows they exist. but they still radiate the same kind of dumb gay energy like the rest of the world.
or: pidge somehow manages to connect voltron's communicators onto earth and virtually nothing is the same. voltron also collectively makes everyone lose their marbles while they play hot potato with the fact that theyre in a ten thousand year war with the galra.
the fear of falling by amillionsmiles
(vld; gen; angst + fluff; character study; 3k words; oneshot; keith-centric)
Keith can pull off a downward spiral. It's the kind of maneuver he does in his sleep.
[my bookmarks: stunning. beautiful. breathtaking. poignant.]
Recoil/Release by Cheshyr
(vld; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 22k words; oneshot; keith-centric)
When Keith is bitten by an alien creature with venom that causes your dominant emotions to be amplified, the team is ready for a day of dealing with an incredibly angry paladin.
Which means they're not ready at all for what actually happens.
hound by story_monger
(vld; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 47k words; oneshot; keith-centric)
Keith has a lot of practice being alone; you might almost say he's good at it. When he finds himself seriously injured and stranded on an unknown planet, he knows he's not alone there. And here's the worst part: even after rescue and after things return to normal, Keith gets the distinct sense that whatever was on that planet has followed him. He doesn't have proof. But he knows it's there. He knows it's not going to stop until it gets what it wants.
Keith's 'Physical Contact' Initiation Program by alisayamin (sh_04e)
(vld; gen; fluff+ angst + hurt/comfort; 26k words; oneshot; keith-centric)
Keith didn’t move and neither did Pidge. It was a little awkward until Keith finally said, “Maybe we could officially officiate this..?”
“What do you mean?”
“Fist me.”
Pidge recoiled and sputtered, “Keith, what the f-” She was cut off by Shiro’s bellowing laughter from the observatory deck.
With his straight face unchanged, Keith lowered his left hand with the stopwatch and lifted his right hand, fisted.
Pidge actually sighed with so much relief, “OH. You mean fistbump! Right.” She slapped her forehead to remove the very very wrong image her imagination drew for her, “Holy shit, Keith, we need to work on that but yeah sure, I’d be honoured to officiate your physical contact program whatever.”
Or
That one time Coran realized Keith was too distant and decided to make him undergo the 'Physical Contact' Initiation Program which then led to --> 5 times the paladins realized Keith was an actual cat.
The Red String by Le_Tournesol
(vld; gen/klance; angst + fluff; 19k words; series (ongoing); keith-centric; pre-voltron au)
Lance and Keith keep coming across one another at different points in their lives.
[my bookmarks: this is so sad and sweet and lovely]
All that is gold does not glitter by Rangergirl3
(vld; gen; angst + fluff + hurt/comfort; 28k words; complete; keith-centric)
Keith isn't what most would call a 'people' person, but that doesn't stop him from caring about his team.
aka
Five Times the other Paladins learned something about Keith, and the One Time he learned something about them.
[my bookmarks: fuck. just- fuck.]
Miscommunication Celebration by SleepySsnail
(vld; gen; fluff + hurt/comfort; 4k words; oneshot; keith-centric; birthday fic)
Keith was never too focused on his birthday, but when it rolls around he hopes his team remembers it. When Keith's birthday is full of quality time and fun, he doesn't even question why his friends haven't said "happy birthday" to him.
Or: Where Keith thinks everyone is celebrating his birthday when they really forgot about it.
Keithtober 2019 Day 23: Birthday
avatar: the last airbender:
Change of Address by hearmerory
(atla; gen/zukka; ANGST + fluff + hurt/comfort; 89k words; series (ongoing); zuko-centric; modern au)
A collection of instances in a modern AU of Zuko's shitty childhood, featuring Ozai's dislike of his son's autism and sexuality.
[my bookmarks: FUCK F U C K WHAT THE ACTUAL F U C K.
I CAN'T WITH THIS ANYMORE.]
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cruelfeline · 4 years
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The Hordak Bleatings Masterpost
The new and improved Masterpost! All of my ridiculous bleating in one place! Now with categories to allow you, dear friends and neighbors, to better marvel at the utter nonsense I get up to in my spare time. It shall be updated every so often/when I remember. 
some of these categories may overlap or perhaps not be perfect; I tried; there was... a lot
Enjoy!
Biological/Medical Musings
A Fairly Comprehensive List of Hordak’s Clinical Signs
I Wrote Too Much About Hordak’s Arms
And Then Someone Asked About His Elbows So Voila
Someone Else Asked About His Eyes
Yes; I Did Measure Hordak’s Ears via Fuzzy Math; You’re Welcome
A Brief Word About Dentition
Some Sad Thoughts About Clone Lifespan
I Like to Headcanon that Clones Have Naturally Different Eye Colors
Counting Hordak’s Ports
Thinking About Terrible Ways Prime Could Institute Biological Control
Doing Very Fuzzy Math And Wondering Just How Young Hordak Could Be
Spending Way Too Much Time Figuring Out Whether Hordak is Left or Right Handed
Why Tiny Food is Probably Ideal for Hordak (a joke ask I essentially took Seriously)
Discussing Hordak’s Temper
Considering Whether Hordak Needs Oxygen
Discussing Whether Prime and his Clones are Genetically Identical
Hordak in Relation to Other Characters
Entrapdak
Hordak Can Get Close to Entrapta Because He Needn’t Fear Her
Discussing Entrapdak Age Discourse
Bit More Regarding Hordak’s Maturity vs. Entrapta’s
Hordak Didn’t Manipulate Entrapta… But Catra Did
Assessing that Unfortunate Moment When Hordak Snapped at Entrapta
Further Assessing Hordak Snapping at Entrapta by Noting When He Doesn’t
On Hordak’s Wardrobe Change
Entrapta Shushing Hordak is One of My Favorite Interactions
The Entrapdak Scene Was Also One of Self-Love
I Really Like How Entrapta Talks to Hordak About Failure
Hordak Tells an Actual Lie and Succeeds
Entrapta’s and Hordak’s Social Differences Help Them Connect to One Another
I Would Have Appreciated A Scene Where Entrapta Learns About What Happened To Hordak
Hordak Takes Strength From Realizing That Entrapta Came For Him
Hordak and Entrapta Just Like One Another, and I Enjoy That
There is a Huge Difference in How The Alliance and Hordak React to Entrapta Being on Beast Island, and it’s Jarring
This is Mostly About Catradora But Kind of in the Sense of Why Entrapdak is Better, so Here it Goes
Entrapta Didn’t Teach Hordak How to Love; She Taught Him How to Be Loved
The Soup Scene is a Condensed View of Why Entrapdak Works in Light of the Rest of Hordak’s Arc
Hordak and Entrapta Search for One Another Alone, and it Makes Me Sad
I Love How Hordak Scooches Over for Entrapta to Join Him on his Throne
Catra
The How-Catra-Manipulated-Hordak Masterpost
Watching Catra and Hordak Switch Roles in Season Three is Fascinating
Hordak and Catra’s Low Points Indicate Their Core Problems
Did Hordak Abuse Catra? Did She Abuse Him? The World May Never Know
Comparing Hordak and Catra in Terms of Consequences and Agency
Hordak and Catra’s Apparent Ages Likely Affect How People Judge Them
Why Doesn’t Hordak Subdue Catra?
Losing and Regaining the Will to Fight is Another Hordak/Catra Parallel
Sometimes I Wish The Show Would Focus Less on Catra and More on Hordak
Why Catra Besting Hordak Isn’t As Satisfying As Catra Besting Shadow Weaver
Hordak Exhibits Some Level of Trust in Catra Even in Season 2... and She Betrays It
The Difference in How Hordak and Catra Handle Relationships followed by Why They Are Like This 
Some Brief Words on the Differences Between How Hordak and Catra End Up Driven to Destruction in Season Four
Musing About What I Actually Would Accept as “Hordak Abusing Catra”
I Think It’s Kind of Funny that Some Expect Catra to be Suspicious of Hordak Post-Canon
Two Scenes That Look Distressing Side-by-Side
Discussing How Catra and Hordak Start Off as Parallels but Later Deviate Due to Character Differences
Adora
How Adora and Hordak End Season Four Differently
Hordak and Adora Parallels
I Wonder if Adora Recognizes Some of Herself in Hordak
Other
This is Actually About Shadow Weaver, but Compared to Hordak, So…
Hordak Doesn’t Seem to have a “Rule the World!” Moment (compared to Shadow Weaver)
On Hordak’s Weird Interactions with DT
Watching DT Circle Hordak is Interesting
Let’s Compare the Circling Scenes, Shall We?
What Wrong Hordak’s Arc Teaches Us About Clones and Hordak
Wondering if Hordak Actually has Control Over the Etherian Horde (could he have stopped the war?)
Prime
There Is A Huge Difference In The Standards Prime And Hordak Hold Others Two Versus Themselves
Hordak and Horde Prime Handle Their Own Vulnerabilities Quite Differently
The Difference Between How Prime and Hordak Use Anger
The Moment Prime Touched Hordak’s Face is the Moment I Truly Knew That Something About Hordak’s Backstory was Very Wrong
Clone/Origin/Prime-Related Sadness
The Clone Thing
More Distressed Bleating about The Clone Thing
Hordak’s DMV Photo Disturbs Me
Hordak Isn’t Actually an Idiot About Disease Transmission
On Hordak’s Bodily Autonomy, or Lack Thereof
How Much of Hordak is “Hordak?”
I’m 99% Certain That Hordak Sucks at Lying Because he Literally Couldn’t
You’d Think Hordak would Think Things Through, But…
Hordak isn’t Really Proud of “Hordak” (with a bonus Adora mention)
Hordak Provides Excellent Fridge Horror
Hordak’s Behavioral Pathology Isn’t Actually Pathology
So! That Purification Ritual was Really Something
Despite Erasure, Hordak Remains Himself
The Clones Are Essentially Trapped By Prime And It Upsets Me
I Get Annoyed That The Clones Aren’t Discussed More By Our Heroes
Again, I Wish The Show Acknowledged The Clones A Bit More, Wrongie Edition
Wouldn’t It Be Swell If Prime Really Did Manage The Clones Like Livestock? 
It’s More Emotionally Poignant That The Clones Are Individuals Rather Than Drones
Prime’s Doctrine Ensures Hordak Blames Himself, and it’s an Awful Control Measure
Hordak Probably Isn’t Dumb for Using Uninsulated Cables; Rather, Clone Sadness is in Play
Why I Can’t See Hordak and the Other Clones As Colonizers (unlike Prime) (also a whole convo thread)
Thinking About Clones and Self-Care
Each Clone Will Have to Realize That They Were Victimized
Wondering if Horde Clones Might Feel Anxious Sleeping Alone
Why Prime Might Encourage Some Autonomy in His Clones (spoilers: for cruelty)
Completely Arbitrary Classification of Clones Post-Prime!
Prime is an Actual God to the Clones and it is Terrifying
Canon Plausibility of Blanket Burritoing Horde Clones!
I Appreciate That, Despite Their Devotion, the Clones are Portrayed as Legitimately Suffering due to Prime
Catra and Adora have Happy Memories; do the Clones?; does Hordak?
Morality/Punishment/Redemption Related
Morality is (sadly) not a Universal Thing
Don’t Talk to me About the Reset as “Proper Punishment”
Why Hordak Doesn’t Just Become a Good Citizen
I Think About Hordak’s Choices a Lot
Hordak as an Abuse Mimic Rather Than Pure Evil
Looking at the Horde Child Soldier Thing From a Certain POV
Emotional Support is a Necessary Part of Healing
Hordak Was Forgiven Without Redemption, And I’m OK With That
Hordak’s Arc Speaks Directly to People who were “Raised Wrong”
I Wonder if Hordak Would See anti-Princess Propaganda as Propaganda
Semi-Intelligent Plot/Story Observations
Hordak’s Portrayal is a Function of Character Lens
Hordak Gets Very Legit Development in Season Four
She-Ra Isn’t a War Drama and Here’s Why
Hordak Suffers From a Distressing Lack of Agency
Hordak is a Weirdly Unenthusiastic Lord
The Season 4 Finale Reframes Hordak’s Vulnerability 
Untangling Hordak’s Backstory in Light of What We Now Know
Why Hordak Getting Possessed is Narratively Good
Hordak’s Rebellion and Subsequent Possession Essentially Summarize His Story
There Are Big Differences Between Hordak and Prime’s Etherian Wars
It Is Pretty Unlikely That Hordak Would Have Pulled The Portal Lever
It Occurred To Me That Hordak May Initially Ignore FO’s Tech Because It’s Just Really Old
An Assessment Of The Villain Intro Cards, Focusing On Hordak
I Think It’s Silly To Blame Hordak For Everything - Especially When Considering Prime
Literally Just a Thread Explaining Why Hordak is Sympathetic
Some Words On Exactly How Terrible DT’s Reveal Was For Hordak
The Escalation of Hordak’s Situation is Really Something
An Anon Asks a Normal Question and I go on a Tangent About Hordak Compensating for his Inability to Innovate via Entrapta and Catra
There are Monumental Differences Between the Galactic and Etherian Hordes in Terms of Brainwashing and Agency
Thinking About Why Chipped Etherians May Not be That Sympathetic To Clones After All
Random Bit of Logicking About Why Hordak Calls the Princesses a Rebellion
Figuring Out Why I Find Hordak So Much More Sympathetic Than The Princesses
Brief Musing on How Hordak Might Face Antagonism From Both Sides Post-Canon
Hordak’s Story Touches on the Concept of the Imperfection of Authority
Someone Asked Me if I Found Hordak’s S5 Arc Satisfying
Discussing Whether Or Not Hordak Planned on Leading Anything After Conquering Etheria
Taking Apart an Abysmal Twitter Take Because It’s Fun
Talking About Prime’s Clone Troops v. Robot Troops
Talking About Hordak’s Emotional Age
Hordak’s S3 Backtory Being Part-Delusion Helps Emphasize the Inequality in Attachment Between the Clones and Prime
A Few Not-So-Nice Acts Hordak Commits That I Find Justifiable
Random Headcanons of All Sorts
Stupidly Cute, Pointless Headcanon #3825 (ears covered)
Stupid Pointlessly Cute Headcanon #4853 (yawning, with appropriate artwork)
Stupid Pointlessly Cute Headcanon #2938 (snoring)
Stupid Pointlessly Cute Headcanon #1423 (REM sleep)
Stupidly Cute, Pointless Headcanon #7845 (blushing)
Random Hordak-Related Thought #2935 (forearms)
I Like to Think That Hordak Does Cute Things in his Sleep
I Like to Think That Hordak’s Eyes Dim While He Sleeps
Literally Me Just Having Emotions
Thinking About the Stress of Maintaining His Image in the Horde
Why Hordak’s Trauma is Particularly Disturbing To Me (compared to Catra/Adora)
Catra Overcomes her Fear of her Abuser; Hordak Does Not
All of my Emotions over the S4 Finale
Hordak’s Goddamned Smirk Lied to Me
I Have Feelings about Hordak’s Enforced Self-Care
I Need Hordak to Know that He is Loved
Hordak Goes Pew Pew and It’s Cute
Watching Hordak Lift Things Makes Me Smile
Hordak’s Unreasonable Expectations Make Me Sad
Please Just Let Hordak Rest
A Sassy Post About People Complaining the Hordak and Catra are Forgiven
All My Words About That Hordak/Adora Scene
Hordak Taps the Asphyxiation Lever With Two Fingers And It Makes Me Happy
I Wonder If Individuality Felt Blasphemous To Hordak
Please Don’t Stab Clones In Their Ports, Thank You
Hordak Clasps His Hands And It Makes Me Anxious
Hordak Shaming Catra Mimics the Purification Room And It’s Disturbing
Watching Hordak Give Up Is Heartbreaking
I Worry About Hordak Handling Anxiety
People Being Considerate of Hordak Makes My Heart Smile
I Wonder If Magic Was Frightening to Hordak at First
Thinking About Hordak Progressing in Terms of Self-Care
Prime Never Calls Hordak by Name, not Even Once
Just Being Sad While Realizing the Sort of Life Hordak had to Look Forward To
Strange Fic-Like Things No One Should Read
Please Consider: A Concept Masterpost
Hordak Practices Eyerolling
Imp Hacks Up The Worst Color of Hairball
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littlesparklight · 3 years
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Do you want Paris flirting with Menelaos in public? Of course you do. This contains misuse of the Epic of Gilgamesh~ *
Troy
The hall was lush and warmly lit, the earlier dishes of food now replaced by sweet fruit and richer wine. Music was drifting up towards the ceiling tiles and rafters, accompanied by the liquid silver of the lyrist's voice. It was much easier now to appreciate it all when Menelaos was waiting for word of hopeful success to his propitiatory sacrifices, though there was still tension lingering. Worries. He had done as bid, but was it enough? He wouldn't even be able to tell when it came to the second half of the affliction that had led to the need for these sacrifices, but that made a positive message of resolution for the epidemic all the more important as a sign that the sacrifices had been received and made correctly.
Reaching for one of a small pile of strawberry tree fruits, Menelaos shifted in place. His scalp prickled with the weight of a stare on him, but the worst was the voice, dropping slightly in tone, earnest emotion all too clear, near wailing, as Gilgamesh mourned Enkidu. Out on the floor, in full view from where Menelaos sat, Alexander was on his own chair, legs loosely stretched out in front of him, hooked at the ankles, his fingers practically caressing the lyre's strings.
He wasn't going to look.
He looked up anyway, straight into bright, blue-green eyes which he'd known would be fastened on him.
Menelaos looked away, taking another sweet, refreshing fruit, and almost choked on it in his hurry to bite down on it. Alexander had been doing this for the past three days, while he ran through the songs attached to this personage, translated for his guest's benefit. At first, he hadn't thought much of it, merely appreciating the skillfull singing and the story being spun out by dancing fingers and lilting voice. Had thought it nothing more than chance when Alexander had met his eyes during the first song, a little smile lurking in the corners of his mouth as Gilgamesh went to his mother to ask for interpretation of his dream.
It could well have been an accident, for Alexander let his gaze wander around the hall as he sang; smiling at younger siblings; raising his eyes up to the rafters; down to the floor and then around the great hall once more, or staring with distracted focus at the gilded animal heads of the lyre. The last Menelaos was fond of, for in that distraction was revealed Alexander's perfect skill and control, the lovely stretch of his graceful neck.
Menelaos pushed that last thought away, but he could still feel Alexander's eyes on him as he intently sang with such breathless emotion, and he shifted in his seat again, plush with thick, good cushions.
Alexander only looked straight at him whenever Gilgamesh and Enkidu talked, or someone talked to one of them about the other. It shouldn't be alluring in the least, it shouldn't mean anything, except he had kissed that remorseless mouth in the privacy of Alexander's bedroom, and Alexander didn't need to be singing about love for every word so lovingly uttered, about such a bond as he was singing of, to make his point clear. It was ridiculous that it should affect him beyond a fondness and exasperation for Alexander's daring, but the way his voice dipped down just slightly, enrichening the silver of his soaring singing voice, the way those eyes lingered so heavily on him...
Menelaos was embarrassingly, frustratingly, hard.
And he could do nothing about that, for if he should stand up, it'd be all too obvious, and he couldn't drag the cruel young man off in full sight of all and sundry anyway. So he was left to suffer until Alexander would put the lyre aside, until the bronzed sound of his laughter stopped heating his blood, at least for long enough so he might be allowed to regain control of himself. If he said anything to hopefully make him to stop, that would only reveal how deeply he was getting to him, but letting Alexander getting away with this would only encourage him.
He was far too full of both energy and dangerous ideas, as well as the skills to enact them. It had been a bit of a shock to realize that while he was the elder between them, the wide-eyed puppy eagerly and earnestly wishing for his attention was also a wolf, skilled in hunting. Menelaos' only recourse was to attempt to correct his wayward prince in the sweet-smelling privacy of Alexander's rooms.
Which was certainly something he was looking forward to, if, at the moment, with an edge of furious embarrassment to the need. He would still have to wait, for now.
*** Sparta
The sun was inching towards the horizon when they turned back towards Sparta, Mount Taygetos towering up behind them. Three deer had been the final tally for the hunt, and Paris was still full of the energy of the day as well as the success of the hunt itself, having downed one of the deer himself, at a distance only made possible by the bow.
Looking around the train spread out behind his and Menelaos' horses, Paris smiled, pleased once again by the sight of the dead deer. A fine hunt, all in all. Even finer by the break they'd taken in the hot early afternoon, to ride out those hours with a meal under the shadows of sheltering trees. More than that, the pool Menelaos had found for them. Smile widening into a full-body warmth at the reminder, Paris glanced sideways, to where Menelaos sat on the back of his own horse. Tall and broad-shouldered, the sinking sun threw Menelaos' shadow over the horse's neck and head, caught gold and and glowing coal-red in his hair. It brought to mind the gilded shimmer about temple statue, ephemeral flames. Paris had missed that. Not that he hadn't seen others with blond hair - there were some in Troy itself, as few as they were, but none of them had Menelaos' particularly reddish shade, which had made Paris want to touch it from the very first moment he'd laid eyes on him as he stepped into Troy's megaron.
The absolute best part of Menelaos, aside from his amber-brown eyes, summer-warm and soft even when he wasn't smiling, was his thighs, however. Gaze drifting down, Paris bit his lip. They were very nice indeed, and the victorious curl of bright energy settled lower.
He pulled his horse that half step back he'd had on Menelaos and slipped in so close their knees pressed together.
"Menelaos," Paris said, couldn't help the deepening warmth of his voice, the brightening heat of his smile, and burst out laughing as Menelaos looked to him, incredulity plain on his face.
"A full day as this, and you still have energy? Please, leave it for the feast when we come back to Sparta."
"Oh, I'm not going to be using any energy," he promised as he leaned in towards Menelaos with only a bare glance thrown over his shoulder to note the distance between them and the next closest horses of their hunting party. Good enough. "Looking at you gives me energy, no matter what I might have spent in all the hours of the day up until now. The way the light catches in your eyes, already reminding me of sunlight through amb---"
"Alexander." Menelaos was frowning, so fierce one could think him nothing but displeased, but there was a reddening glow stealing over his cheeks to match the shadows in his hair, and he had shivered at the first brush of lips so very close to the shell of his ear, but more importantly; he hadn't pulled away.
"I'm serious, Menelaos," Paris murmured, shifting his weight and tightening his knees about his horse to compensate, stroking its neck while he watched shifting tension in Menelaos' jaw. "I thought I was going to die the first time I laid eyes on you, and the few extra years between then and now hasn't changed that at all. I have seen the finest of prize bulls with less impressive thighs than you, and if I could have but one single more chance to touch them, I would count myself the most blessed man currently alive. To say nothing of your smile, when I can draw it out of you; spring couldn't be sweeter for the gentle warmth of it."
Pure delight was by now buoying Paris, for Menelaos had neither rebuked him nor sped up his horse, both of them easy ways to make this stop. Of course, Paris was very well aware of Menelaos' terribly strict adherence to the proper way to be a host, and that was fine - and he might be using it just a little right then to trap him where he was - but it didn't mean Menelaos didn't have recourse. He could urge his horse just a step or two in front of Paris, and that wouldn't look strange or be an insult in the lead, and they both should know that. Heat warmed his belly, his voice, just barely the tips of his ears, but Menelaos was by now sweetly rose under his tan, and Paris wouldn't give him a chance to rally.
Shifting his knee against Menelaos', as much for the feel of soft skin over hard bone as the pulse that jumped in Menelaos' jaw, Paris pressed it in against Menelaos, right behind the kneecap, and smiled. There were strands of blond hair, gold like the finest, thinnest chains of necklaces that adorned girls' throats, brushing his lips, and Paris refused to pull away for the tickle. It was only adding to the warmth spreading down his thighs.
"I know I already noted you grew your beard out," Paris continued, laughing softly when Menelaos huffed, his blush now reaching his ears. There was a different tension making its way between his brows, and Paris didn't like that, and so shook his head. "I didn't get the chance to say I like it, and I want it all over my body."
Menelaos choked, swallowing nothing but air, and Paris smiled with breezy sunniness. Menelaos hadn't even grown in out much; two years ago it'd been a fine five o'clock shadow, just barely there to scrape his fingertips; it was now a heavy stubble, enough to soften the cut of Menelaos' jaw with its bristle, but still close-cropped.
"I want to kiss your thighs and dig my fingers into your shoulders, and I think the war god himself would be pleased at the width of th---"
"Alexander," Menelaos snapped, truly red in the face now and a hand locked around one of Paris' wrists. His nails dug into the soft inner skin of the wrist, but the thumb, burning hot it felt like, was almost caressing in its tiny movement. "Let a man catch his breath - we're not all young any longer. Have you not already had enough success hunting today?"
"One success leads to the desire for more," Paris said brightly, completely shameless, but he did pull himself straight, though mourning the lack of Menelaos' body heat, mingling with his as it'd been, trapped between them.
Menelaos sighed, a deep heave of a breath. Squeezed his wrist and let go, but he didn't pull his horse forward again, and Paris, buzzing with flushed success, behaved for the rest of the ride back to Sparta.
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plus-size-reader · 4 years
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Theon Greyjoy x Plus size!reader
Word Count: 1860 words
Warnings: just angsty...don’t really expect a happy ending from this one. 
Summary: Theon's bride in Winterfell writes to him every day he's on the iron islands, but what happens when he never replies? 
Part 2
———————————————————————————————————
You knew that you should hate him for everything he'd done. He'd tried to take over your father's castle, he tried to take Winterfell, he slaughtered those young boys and so many other northerners. 
He had done so much bad, and caused so much pain for the people you cared about most, but that didn't change the fact that you were his wife and that you loved him. 
Even though you wished that you didn't. 
Theon was a coward and a fool, but more than anything, he was lost. 
He had no direction, he had no one in his corner other than you and yet when you begged him to take you with him to the iron islands, he refused. 
It was too dangerous, he claimed. He told you that you would likely be killed if you went anywhere near his father's lands but you didn't believe it. 
There was no way old Greyjoy would dare kill you, knowing what he knew about your family. 
If your father caught wind of your murder, it would start a war that the iron islands just couldn't afford. At this point, you were basically untouchable, a beauty in a foreign land. 
Still, you didn't argue when he suggested that you stay. 
If Theon didn't want to take you, it would likely remain that way even with you by his side. He had something to prove to his father, and his people, something he didn't need you to be there for. 
It was a bit of a slap in the face on your end, but who were you to argue? You had to help clean up the mess he'd made after all. 
Winterfell was without a leader, with Robb gone away to war and the girls presumably dead. Every Stark, aside from Bran were no longer in the north, and he would need guidance to help him rule. 
After all, his blood was of the wolf but it would still take some work to get the brutish men of the north to follow a crippled boy. 
He was just going to have to prove himself to them, and while it wouldn't be easy, you had faith that he could do it. 
You sat at your desk, a quill perched between your fingers as you stared at the parchment. 
Since Theon left, you took to writing him to keep him updated in what was happening in the north, and to check up on him. While you'd yet to get a response, you kept sending them. 
Eventually, the man you loved would answer your inquires, or so you hoped. 
You feared the worst in the beginning. 
You feared that he'd been killed, or was being held captive by his vile, torturous father. You prayed each night to the old gods and the new for his safety, but never heard a word from him in conformation. 
And even still, you sat admiring the paper as it mocked you. 
You knew that this letter would be no different than the last, and that it would go unanswered as well, but you didn't care. 
This ritual of writing to him was the only thing keeping you sane as you grasped onto the life you'd lived before. 
You longed for those mornings when you woke up by his side, bathing in the warmth of the furs that surrounded you. You wanted nothing more than to hear him talk about his homeland one more time, as if he'd never see it again. 
You wanted Theon to love you again, but you had this creeping feeling in the pit of your stomach that day would never come. 
Now that he had the kingdom he'd been searching for all that time, he didn't need you to occupy his attention any longer. 
Each word you wrote took a piece of your soul with it, and at the time that you addressed it with his name, you felt empty once more. You sent all the grief and resentment and anger you had been feeling away with it, and didn't look back. 
You were in the clear once again, until of course, you would write him again in a few days. 
The letter arrived a few weeks from the day you'd sent it, and was immediately brought to Theon's hands. 
However, as soon as it touched his flesh, it burned with the emotion and pain you sent within the pages. 
He knew that whatever was held within the confines of the ink, would likely break his heart once again, though he couldn't bring himself to actually reply to you. 
In truth, it was more guilt than anything. 
Theon knew that he could have very easily brought you alongside him to the iron islands, but didn't want to for purely selfish reasons. 
You represented everything he'd done wrong in his life, you represented everything he was ashamed of his past and he wanted to just forget it all. 
He wanted to move on, and be the Lord he had always meant to be. 
And bringing you along felt like a step in the wrong direction, though he knew it was wrong to just leave you behind. 
It was wrong to throw you away like a toy he'd finished playing with. 
But he couldn't help it. 
He had to take back what was rightfully his. He had to become the lord of the iron islands, and he couldn’t do that with a girl from the north on his arm. 
The northerners were seen as traitors in these parts as of late and not only was it dangerous to bring you there to meet his father, but it was also stupid. It would ruin his image and might even get you killed. 
It just wasn’t going to work. 
Even understanding that though, it broke his heart to hold your letter in his hands, to feel the paper beneath his fingers in the same place you’d touched. 
It felt wrong of him to do so, but he couldn’t help himself as he tossed the paper to the side. 
Reading it would only make the distance worse for him. 
“I am sorry my love, I truly am” he whispered to himself, retrieving it, only to hold it over the burning candle flame. 
The edge caught fire and the rest of the sheet followed close behind until there was nothing left but ash. 
Shockingly, that was the last letter from you that Theon received. He thought maybe you had gotten busy with something, or perhaps you just didn’t feel like being ignored any longer. 
Both were good assumptions, however, both assumptions your husband made, were wrong. 
You had been busy, though not with anything he would have assumed, and while you were tired of being ignored, you were in the process of making sure it wouldn’t happen again. 
Weeks after sending out your letter and again receiving nothing back from Theon, you decided that enough was enough. You decided that if you were ever going to see him again, you were going to have to do something absolutely crazy. 
And something crazy you did.
You set off on a voyage to the iron islands, knowing that if you were face to face with your darling husband, he couldn’t ignore you.
You just had to know what it was the had driven him so far away from you. Perhaps if you got your answers, it wouldn’t hurt so bad ever time you caught a glimpse of the band on your finger. 
Your wedding had been the happiest day of your entire life, the day when you could finally call yourself Mrs.Greyjoy. You thought that Theon was happy too, though you found yourself questioning that more and more as the days passed. 
If you truly were his one and only, if you truly were the woman that he loved, why was he acting this way? Why was he avoiding you like some horrible plague?
You had never done anything but be kind to him, and treat him well. You made sure that he was fed and happy, so why was it that he wouldn’t even return a stupid written letter? 
The answer should have been obvious, but it wasn’t. 
It wasn't…until you found yourself on the cold shore of the iron islands. 
Instantly, you were met by a caravan of guards, all riding horses and brandishing impressive swords. 
They threatened you, saying they would do horrible things and poking and prodding at you like a piece of meat, however, that all stopped when you told them who you were. 
The words ‘Theon Greyjoy’s wife’ were uttered, and honestly, that was the last thing of note that happened with them. 
The next thing you knew, you were standing in front of him, shame and sadness shining in your eyes as he yelled. 
“What do you think you’re doing? Do you know what could have happened? Why do you think I wasn’t responding to your letters? I was trying to keep you alive and then you went and pulled this? Are you trying to make a joke out of me?” 
He went on and on for what seemed like hours but at some point you checked out. You weren’t going to let him treat you that way, not after everything you’d been through just so the two of you could be together. 
You had just been on a smugglers ship for days, and he had the nerve to yell at you as if you’d done something wrong. 
“Maybe if you had answered just one of my letters, I wouldn’t have had to come” You barked back, shocked that he was actually upset with you. 
What kind of husband would react this way when his wife arrived to surprise him?
“Am I not your wife Theon? Did you not pledge to love me until the end of your days? Why are you being so cold to me?” you wondered, your voice much quieter now. 
You were clearly much more broken than he originally realized. All you wanted was for him to love you, and he’d been neglecting you. 
You were so tired of being ignored by the man you loved so much. You had always done anything you could for him, and had no limits to the lengths you were willing to go. 
It simply wasn’t okay. 
All he could do was huff as he tried to think through all the words and feelings that were swirling around in his head. He had no idea what to say that would make it all better. 
There really wasn’t something to say. 
“I am, but this is something different entirely. I am to be Lord of the iron islands, and I can’t do that with a northerner on my arm” he groaned, pretty obviously wrapped up in what he wanted. 
You hated him more than anything in this moment, for making a fool of you, for lying to you, for treating you this way. 
Perhaps if his title was so important to him, you should leave him to pursue it on his own...after all, that was why he wanted, wasn’t it? 
You wouldn’t be ignored any longer. 
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loverofmalec · 4 years
Text
Heart to Heart (FAIRGAME)
Another fun smutty FAIR GAME with a little bit of angst thrown in for good measure! This one is for the beautiful @atlasguard, thank you so much love this was yet another fun prompt to write!! If anyone has requests for this ship please do not hesitate to ask!! I would be more than happy to write them for you!
PROMPT: Them on a trip to give Amity a check-up or a supply run only to be stuck there due to a blizzard. No outside communication either. Gets chilly so they hunker down in a resting room that Amity arena has for some reason lol. (Yea, you know where this is going)They keep each other warm. After some heart to heart convo about the whole remnant situation and about them. Then it leads to smutty things. Surprise me with the level of smut 1-10 on the smut scale. Thank you.
“Any signal?” Clover asked for the last time.
Qrow sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Nada, we’re stuck here until this blizzard eases up.”
Both men looked around the dark Amity arena, the cold settled in a lot quicker than they had thought.
“Let’s check out the infirmary and see if they have blankets.” Clover turned around and began to walk back into the halls of the arena. He heard Qrow’s footsteps falling close behind. 
They reached the infirmary to find the room covered in dust and cobwebs. 
Clover turned around and smiled at Crow. “Hope you’re not allergic to dust,” 
The older man rolled his eyes, “Just to over-optimism,” he didn’t try to hide his smile.
Qrow moved around Clover and started to strip the beds of their covers. 
“Help me with shaking them out,” He asked Clover. 
Soon enough they both carried bundles of covers and blankets to take with them. They walked through the hallways of the Amity arena until they found the private announcers booth. 
“Looks like this will have to do,” Clover said. He walked further in and with his feet pushed the chairs to the other side of the room. “I have my cards if you want to play.” He started to lay out a sheet on the ground. The rest were placed on the table where they covered one of the microphones. 
Qrow followed his example and used another sheet to stuff underneath the door. The entire arena was slowly getting colder. The blizzard had finally hit them full force. 
“I think I’m done losing for the night,” He said as he walked to Clover’s side. He watched as his breath made small clouds and went to sit down on the floor. Qrow threw a sheet over his shoulder and as he got comfortable he opened his arms in invitation. “Alright, get over here Luck Charms. I’m not planning on dying from the cold.”
Clover ignored the flip his heart made and prayed that it was too dark for Qrow to see the blush on his cheeks. “I’m pretty sure it’s going to take a lot more to kill you,” His laugh came out weak, his voice pitched low from the nerves that lit his body. He made it to Qrow’s side and was wrapped in strong arms. Clover gasped when those same arms moved to press him against Qrow’s chest even tighter. 
“Is this okay?” Qrow asked in a small voice, his breath tickling Clover’s ear.
“Yeah, this is uh… good. Totally okay,” Clover stumbled over his words for a second before he was able to regain some control over his racing heart. “This is nice,” He dared to admit.
Qrow smiled into Clover’s hair, “Good, cause I wouldn’t want this to be one-sided.”
Those words set a fire in Clover’s belly, the weight behind them almost too much. The hope that he could hear in Qrow’s voice was beautiful because it wasn’t one-side. Clover wanted Qrow just as much as Qrow wanted him. They were both grown men, they knew what they were doing and the tension between them had been bound to snap. Clover had just wished it happened a little differently. 
“We’re idiots for doing this,” Qrow whispered. 
Clover knew exactly what he meant and he was right, “We might be idiots, but won’t stop me from trying to protect you.”
That made Qrow huff out a breath in annoyance. He reached out and took Clover’s chin between his fingers and forced the man to look at him. They were so close that their noses brushed against each other. 
“No, you’re not. You’re going to make sure that you keep an eye on your own back,” He snapped.
“I’m not going to lose you,” Clover argued, his brows pinched together and he shifted to get a better look at Qrow. “People need you, if something happened to you we wouldn’t be able to come back from it.”
Qrow shook his head and moved his hand to cup Clover’s cheek. “I can handle myself well enough, and if I go out during this war I’m going to be doing it for the people I love.”
When Qrow had said ‘love’ his tone was pointed and expression honest. “This is war Clover, we can’t be picking favorites. As soon as Salem finds any connection between us or anyone else she’ll do anything in her power to destroy it.” Qrow sounded desperate at this point, “I can’t be the reason you get hurt.”
Clover tried to find holes in Qrow’s logic. Desperate to try and convince the man of his importance to not only Clover but to so many others. “But-”
Qrow with the pad of his thumb pressed against Clover’s lips stopping him midsentence. “We’re soldiers Clover and we have a duty to the people of Remnant.” He sounded like he didn’t quite believe himself and Clover took that as his chance. 
“Then what about my duty as your partner? You would really do this to me. Make me chose between you and the world.” Clover pulled Qrow’s hand away from his face and held it over his pin. “Then you’re going to be disappointed to find out that I’ll choose you every time.”
Seconds passed where Qrow only stared at Clover, his sapphire eyes shining in the dark light. “Sometimes I forget what it’s like to have a partner again, then I’m with you and it hits all of sudden.” He whispered between them.
Clover looked down at their joined hands, “We’re a team now. You’ll just have to get used to it,” He tried to smile but he couldn’t make it reach his eyes. “Just promise me that you won’t actively get yourself in danger.”
“The last time I made that promise was before Rose left on her last mission,” The words made Qrow’s eyes burn and his chest ache. He broke that promise a long time ago, but now he wanted to keep it with every fiber in his being. “Clover when this is all over…” Qrow’s voice died at the end. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what he wanted either. He didn’t want to force Clover into something he didn’t want. 
“I want us to try…” Clover finished the sentence for him.
Silence fell over them and the tension between them was impossible to ignore. Qrow was lost in Clover’s eyes, a beautiful emerald green that he had never seen before. He turned the hand that Clover was holding over and tangled their fingers together. His throat worked around the words that he couldn’t say, confessions to great to utter just yet. So the only thing Qrow could do was close the distance between them and feel the little puff of air on his lips from the gasp Clover made.
He slotted their lips perfectly together. His eyes fell shut and he felt fingers coming to clutch at his shirt. 
They kissed softly, gently and with as much emotion as they dared to share. Their lips moved against one another and caused warmth to spread from the tops of their heads to the bottoms of their feet. 
Qrow shyly licked at the seams of Clover’s mouth and was rewards with a soft moan of welcome. He licked into Clover’s mouth and was drunk on his taste alone. 
Clover moved to straddle Qrow’s legs and brought his hands to rest on top strong shoulders. He left little space between them and relished in the heat of Qrow’s body against him. His heart soared to new heights. His entire being singing with joy at finally being able to be with Qrow. Something hard pressed against his inner thigh and he was quickly overwhelmed with the possibilities. Without knowing he was rocking back down on Qrow’s erection. The pressure sending Clover into a state of lustful bliss. 
Qrow gripped Clover’s hips and felt Clover rock against him over and over again. The noises he was making getting Qrow even harder. Images of Clover doing the same thing but with far less clothing had Qrow break away from their heated kiss and moan into the man’s neck. His teeth scraped the sensitive skin of Clover’s jaw and was rewarded with a hard grind on his aching cock.  
“Fuck, beautiful if you keep doing that this won’t last long,” Qrow growled against Clover’s panting mouth.
Clover blinked a few times to try and clear the lust from his eyes, “Did you just call me beautiful?” He muttered, his voice low with want.
Qrow puffed out a laughed, “I did, gorgeous. Should I stop?”
The endearments sent a sock of pure desire through Clover’s system and he couldn’t stop himself from searching for Qrow’s lips again. “Don’t ever stop,” He said before diving back into kissing him. 
Their second kiss was filled with desire. Clover kept a steady rhythm with his hips and greedily took every little sound Qrow made. His entire body was on fire, the cold no longer an issue between them. 
Qrow’s hands moved down the center of Clover’s chest until they reached the top of his pants. 
“Can I?” He asked between kisses.
Clover couldn’t find the power to speak so he just nodded in enthusiastic consent.
In a matter of second Qrow had his hand down Clover’s pants and wrapping his long fingers against his throbbing cock.
“God, Clover if you’re like this now I can’t wait until I have you ridding me,” Qrow pulled away and whisper directly into his ear. “Just look at you desperate and so fucking pretty. Just wait until we get back because I am going to have you every way I can think of.”
Clover cried out at the feel of Qrow’s hand. A whimper was ripped out of him when he had those words spoken with such filthy promise into his ear. Qrow pulled his cock free and began to stroke Clover in earnest 
“Oh god, fuck. Qrow don’t stop. Yes, just like that,” Clover was a babbling mess of lust and tension. With every stroke, he found himself closer and closer to the edge of pure bliss. 
Qrow licked and kissed at his neck. Then he sunk his teeth into Clover’s pulse point and he was gone. He came with Qrow’s name on his lips and his hands tangling in Qrow’s hair. 
RING RING RING
It was Qrow’s scroll.
“What the hell, I thought we didn’t have signal,” Qrow quickly wiped them clean with the corner of the nearest sheet. When he was done he fished his scroll from his pocket.
INCOMING CALL FROM WINTER
Clover was still in a post-orgasm haze and made to get up only to have Qrow tighten his hold on him to keep him in place.
“What’s up Ice Queen?” Qrow answered, his voice rough. 
They’ll be an extraction team for you and Clover in the next hour. The worst of the blizzard has passed. She didn’t wait for a response before she hung up. 
Both men stayed still until Qrow’s scroll went black. 
“Qrow?” Clover began to ask, his body still a bit weak. 
“Oh no, I’m not done with you yet Lucky Charms. You heard her, we still have an hour.” Qrow threw his scroll to the side and went back to kissing Clover.
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Text
Infinity War (6)
CHAPTER 6: TRUST
Loki & The Avengers
Summary: A work inspired by @queencfthestarsdrfoster ‘s post of the universe where Loki is alive and Thor is avenged.
Series: Will contain all- and more- that we saw in Infinity War. Will not contain smut and fluff for obvious reasons. Might contain weird humor though.
Chapter content: story time. emotions time. new science bros time?
Warnings: talk about the past
Word count: So my cousin wanted to make sure I knew how to smoke before I wasted his precious joint. I wasted good five drags of his cigarette because I kept ‘mouth-fagging’ (heard that for the first time) but when it came to the joint, I kinda (in my sister-in-law’s words) aced it. Now, this in no way means any of you little ones reading this are encouraged to do this. I am a twenty-five year old idiot who does not know how to breathe right. You guys are better than me. And I kinda impressed my cousin by showing them Tari’s little pet. Hehe.
MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love
“We’ll be landing in ten minutes. You better have something up your sleeve for these people.”
Loki smirks at Rhodey. “Is our beloved Captain going to be there?” The curiosity is laced with pure mischief. So much that even Tony can smell it from the cockpit.
Rhodey crosses his arms across his chest and tilts his head at the God. “What is it with you and Steve? You have a crush on him or something?”
Loki shrugs and leaves the silence to be taken as whatever answer they please. Giving up, Rhodey walks and seats himself down in the cockpit next to Tony, who does not seem as welcoming to the company. “What are you doing here? Go in sit the back with the Grinch.”
“Relax, he’ll be fine,” Rhodey reassures, lying back into the seat.
“I didn’t mean-”
“I know who you mean. The wizard is back there too.”
“That guy is on some meditative high floating about like-”
“Relax!”
Loki looks in the direction before easing himself into his seat. The soft streak of light coming in from ahead falls on his dehydrated and wounded skin. For a simple moment, the warmth on his face feels beautiful. It feels free. This star always had a different effect on him; to the point that Loki closes his eyes for a brief moment and soaks up as much of that warmth as it can. His Jotun form feels a different comfort for those minute specs of time and all the memories of the day he has had, float in the space of his mind. No noise. Just the inaudible pictures running at a slow pace, every grain of colour remembered just as it was. Every fire, every explosion, every tear down the eyes, every tear in the enemy’s skin, every drop of blood lost, every drop of blood avenged. The space shows it all till it brings him back on earth, in this jet, under the sun rays falling on him till he starts to feel a chill on his neck.
Loki opens his eyes and sighs, tired as he is. He knows what is the cause of his discomfort- nothing harmless. It’s just that he is still not used to the little human looking at him with the curiosity of a child with those huge dark eyes and surprisingly not scared of him or judging him unlike his father. Scratch that; from his mentor.
“I know you are curious,” Loki utters, his head still resting on the headrest of the seat, tired of life in general, “just ask what you want.”
Peter’s eyes light up, his body adjusting itself in the seat next to Loki on its own. “Oh, okay,” he begins, making Loki wonder in slight surprise how long has this kid been holding himself back, “why did Thanos use you in Battle of New York? How did he get to you? Like did he leave you a text or something or was a like a proper meeting where he called you in his dungeon? Or did he booby trap you to get there? And once you said no, did he like put some spell on you? And why didn’t you tell your brother about it? Thor would’ve helped you, right? And I heard he’d taken you back to Asgard once the battle ended. So, like, you guys must have talked then. Thor must know about Thanos too. Did you make a plan on how to take him down? Are there more necklaces out there like Doctor Strange has? What do they do? Are they here? On earth? Will Thanos be coming to earth to get them? Do we make up a battle plan to stop him? Will we be able to stop him? If we don’t stop him what’s gonna happen?”
Peter finally breathes, something Loki is surprised to witness. Such concern weighing down those young bright eyes. And to think he once had the same fervour. Once. The pocket dimension is accessed to bring out a green packet. Peter eyes it as pale fingers tear it apart from one side to reveal little violet spheres inside, their smell reaching those inquisitive little nostrils.
“Here,” Loki offers them to him.
“Kids don’t take things from strangers here,” Tony announces from the cockpit. Rhodey looks back while Strange opens one eye to observe whatever it is Loki holds.
“It’s chocolate, Stark. Calm down and fly your toy. Take one while you’re at it. It will help get rid of your anxiety for a while,” the God declares.
 “It’s fine, Stark,” Strange adds, going back into his meditative pose, “it’s harmless.”
Peter has already popped one in his mouth, the expression on his face reflecting- without any filters- how good it must be. “It’s better than any I’ve ever tasted before!”
Loki smiles at him, feeling one softly crunch under his teeth. With a content sigh, he begins.
“Before the battle of New York, the last time I saw my family was when I tried to take over Asgard. I had a falling out with my...with the Allfather. And Thor. He was to be announced the king by Odin but I felt it was not the right thing to do because he was not ready to take over that role yet. So, I did what I thought the best. I conspired with the Jotuns. They are...were at one time a species bent on dominating the world, monsters in the eyes of all. I did so to delay Thor’s kingship and destroy the Jotuns once and for all. What I did not know at that time was that I...was one of them.”
“The Jotuns?”
“Yes. I was a Jotun who, when an infant, had been taken away by Odin to be raised as his own. I had been abandoned by my father because unlike those frost giants, I was weak and small and hence a disgrace to the king to whom I was born as a son. So, I was left at the alters of forgotten temples where Odin decided my fate after he won the battle against the Jotuns. I was raised just like my brother to look at the frost giants as monsters; the greatest evil of the world. Once I realised what I was, and tried to do right by...Odin, I killed my father, the Jotuns and when that did not suffice...I killed myself.”
Loki can see the emotions brewing in Peter’s eyes. He notices the silence going further than just these puppy eyes, at the foreign ears pretending to be in a world of their own but paying full attention to whatever history is unfurling around them.
“Then?” Peter is almost too afraid to ask.
“Then the universe decided to intervene,” he continues, “I was supposed to die once sucked into a wormhole. But somehow I survived. I figured it was the accelerated healing due to the Jotun blood that flows through me. Or maybe it was a magic that had long protected me from the world. Either way, I found myself on a barren moon, half alive, waiting to die till it felt much arduous than living itself. I gathered whatever strength I had to walk. And walk I did till I found the lowest of life living in the dark corners. I mixed within, to survive before I found resources to move to other planets and lay low. It was an easy task once I regained my strength. I was able to shapeshift into what people wanted to see. The underbelly of certain galaxies found my talents with magic quite useful, which got them objects nowhere within the reach of normal aliens and I got to live on the highest price paid for my efforts. They did not go unnoticed by the assassins who were looking for someone like me to do their bidding. The only downside was they belonged to Thanos and I was going to be paid in kind.”
“In kind?”
“In kind.”
“I don’t ge-oh...Oh...I’m so sorry.”
“Their kindness came with the price of my sanity. Not that I was a completely balanced being before. But Thanos made sure I was moulded into a weapon he could use to wage war on Earth to get him the stone he desired. The space stone. It was-”
“In the tesseract that SHIELD discovered with Captain Rogers,” Peter quips in enthusiastically before he absorbs the hint of amusement lining Loki’s face. “I uh...went through some of their files,” he whispers.
“Illegally?” Loki asks in a whisper himself, bending a little in the little one’s direction.
“...maybe,” Peter shrugs, making Loki chuckle. “Good boy.” The praise takes him by surprise, but it makes his eyes lighter nonetheless.
“Now, Thanos would have invaded earth ages ago if he wanted to. But he did not do it because the last time his henchmen tried to, someone had sent them running back with their tails between their legs. Some say it was a witch that glowed. Others said it was a demon. And the ones with brittle egos announced that the earth had sent a God in the shape of a woman to throw them off their guard. Of course, I thought they were making excuses until I saw it for myself.”
“How?”
“It’s a whole story for another day, child. But to be brief, Barton helped me understand a lot of this planet’s history when he was under the influence of the mind stone. And Nicholas Fury has been one busy man.”
“Son of a bitch,” curses come flying from the front of the jet, “I knew it.”
“So, I was a mere pawn in Thanos’ plan to invade earth. I was controlled and forced to bend to his wishes of procuring the stone in exchange for my life. He was inside my head the entire time I was here on earth. Except for all the moments the sceptre was separated from me. That was the only time I was able to keep a part of my conscience alive and sane enough to think of ways to survive while making sure the stones never got into Thanos’ hands again.”
The blue ocean gives way to African lands beneath them, deserts and grasslands stretching for miles. The sun directly above them makes the inside of the flying machine glow brighter, striking off every reflective surface it can find once it finds its way through the glass. And in that brightness, a thought washes away those long-forgotten anxious bugs sitting in some dark corners of Tony’s mind. The bugs that had sucked on his own rationality ever since the battle of New York. The questions he wanted to ask the God himself but never had the time or resources for it.
“It was you,” Tony declares as his dark honey eyes looked at some void in the distance outside, “you built the failsafe in the portal.”
“Of course, I built the failsafe in the portal. What am I, a monster?” Loki scoffs in Tony’s direction, clearly being bothered by the fact that it only dawned the genius now. “Doctor Selvig helped me with the restricted technology you people had and I made sure there was a way to stop the attack. And a way to stop me. And not to mention I could not have let the earth be destroyed or I would not have heard the end of it from Thor or his girlfriend.”
“Oh tone it down, Maleficent, you killed Phil,” Tony fumes.
“Oh relax, he is alive!” Loki sings back, annoyed.
The jet feels a turbulent jerk before finding its balance but throwing Strange off his. Turning on autopilot, Tony gets up and walks in the back to face Loki. “What did you just say?”
Loki can see all the shades slowly crawling over Tony’s face- anger, denial, resentment, shock, more denial, fury…
“Go ahead,” Loki challenges, “ask Fury.”
“...you killed eighty people.”
“Collateral damage. I’m not a saint either.”
Only the hum of the engine makes up for this deafening silence between these two that makes Rhodey, Peter and Strange uncomfortable. Soon enough, Tony sits down opposite Loki, taking all three of them by surprise.
“Ignoring that statement for now,” Tony narrowed his eyes at Loki, “after Thor took you back-”
“I was imprisoned, Thor’s girlfriend discovered the aether and my mother was killed, the dark elves were destroyed and Thor was given the freedom to go back to the love of his life.”
“That was you too, wasn’t it?” Tony added without a pause. “You sent Thor away. And if I’ve seen the pattern correctly, you sent the aether away and kept the Tesseract on Asgard.”
Loki lets the smirk play on his lips. He is impressed by Stark’s deductions and the same time is internally a little envious of not having met this man during a better time. The things we could have achieved together.
“Yeah,” Tony nods only slightly, giving that two-second smirk that vanishes as quickly as it had appeared, “smart move. Sending your family away. Keeping the stones apart. Thor told me his father made peace treaties when he left. So, adding to the previous list you increased Asgard’s defences in case Thanos ever came looking for you or the stones there.”
“Stop before you start sounding impressed, Stark,” Loki mentions with a gentle smile, “this colour does not suit you.”
“Rest it, daddy issues,” Tony chimes, “I’m only appreciating your strategies. Not really a fan of this persona. Never have been.”
Loki does not miss the tick in Tony’s beard as his fingers move in some calculative thought. “What has been bothering me is you had it all- every piece of information on that bastard and never once did you bother to warn anyone. Not even your brother. Do you have any idea how much lives could have been saved had you kept your fucking ego aside and tried to make amends for all the crap you put people through.”
It isn’t much but the reflection of the warm glow from the sun outside touches Loki’s eyes enough to reflect a veiled pain behind those few fast blinks and the movement of his fingers on his other palm. If hadn’t been for his own experience, Tony would have missed reading Loki’s shallow breaths, the urge to fight off the tears building in those tired edges, the sweat collecting on his neck.
“Tell me honestly, Anthony Stark,” Loki states, catching Tony off guard for a fraction of second, “Why, for the love of all things alive, did you not tell your family about the threat you saw coming earlier? And when you did, what exactly did they do?”
Tony opens his mouth just to shut it back up, a thing out of the usual for the people who know this man all too well. He stands up, turns around, only to turn back at Loki and point his finger at him, to try and speak again. And again, he fails. Hands on his hips, he clinches his jaw. “That doesn’t make us the same.”
“Oh, no, it does not,” Loki agrees, “it only shows our shortcomings. Battles on the field are much easier to run into than the battles in our minds.”
There is much disbelief internally but a part of him cannot help but look at Loki in a new light. And Tony curses this part again and again for no reason but the imminent truth that comes out of that Silvertongue.
“We’re here,” Rhodey announces from the cockpit, trying to get Tony to come back and breathe.
“Don’t listen to any advice he gives you,” Tony warns Peter, making the boy nod in uncertainty and the God chuckle in delight. Tony goes back but not before he has taken those exotic chocolates from Peter’s grasp. “First rule of stranges, kid!”
“Those are chocolates, Mr Stark,” Peter whines as he watches Tony walk to the cockpit and take a seat.
He pops one in his mouth, feeling the silken magic work in his mouth.
“You ready?” Rhodey asks his friend, “you’re going in a completely foreign country with a criminal, a magician and a whole lot of unresolved emotions with Cap.”
“Yeah yeah yeah, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Tony remarks, popping another one in his mouth.
“Dammit, why are they so good!” He whispers in surprise, making his best friend roll his eyes and pray for whatever was about to come.
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becuztaelien · 4 years
Text
4| The Beast
Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/Part 4/?
4.1k words, Warning: Language, 
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When Choi took Jaemin out, Yoongi had managed to advance far enough to reach Renjun and press a gun to his neck. What he had failed to anticipate was the gang member firing his gun before life left his body. In those last few moments when his miserable was flashing before his eyes, Renjun fired the gun pointed towards Jimin in a final pathetic attempt to take Yoongi down. He underestimated Zico, the man was dead, his men were dead, the operation had gloriously failed and yet… he had managed to put Yoongi in a difficult situation.
Despite his dire miscalculation, Yoongi was lucky Jimin hadn’t died.
“The bullet barely grazed his skull, if it was an inch to the right, Mr. Park would have died.” Your eyes were fixated on the bandages that hugged your best friends injured body. “He suffered quite a few serious injuries before the bullet wound as well,” the doctor motioned to the other bandaged areas on Jimin’s body as he continued explaining. “In terms of bones; his ribs and a small part of his skull are fractured, the skull injury is a result of hard impact with concrete and his chest is bruised in a very specific manner over the area where his ribs are fractured, this is a common indication of a hard shoe.” Your eyes had been watery for a while now but you could feel the tears threatening to escape as you imagined Jimin’s head being slammed against the hard floor of his beloved academy. You imagined how scared he must have been, how he must have struggled to breathe as the gang members kicked his chest and cracked his ribs. How helpless he was… “There are minor cuts around his mouth and…” the doctor paused, looking at his shoes for a moment, “also around his rectal area.” You nodded after a while and the man continued, “we have put him under anaesthesia so he won’t feel any pain for now; the head and bone injuries will take around six weeks so we can discharge him after however, I will recommend an extra two weeks of rest before he is allowed to go back to teaching. His other injuries should heal within a week or two, we have already tested for any infections or diseases; the results are all clear.” The doctor gave a sympathetic smile and you muttered a small ‘thank you’ before looking back at your best friend again. “I will give you both some space.” He muttered and left, giving your boyfriend -who had been standing by the door- a small nod. The doctor wasn’t a local Busan heart surgeon, that was just his cover, he was one of Yoongi’s men of course; highly trained in treating any and all injuries that could be attained when you worked in the mafia. The gang leader had his own personal doctors spread throughout the country in case an emergency of the sort ever occurred.
He stood there silently as you continued staring at your unconscious best friend.
“You lied.” The words left your lips after a while, gaze still fixated on Jimin’s weak body. Yoongi took a short breath before making his way over to the opposite side of the bed; the man he told you nothing would happen to, being the only thing between both of you.
“I…”
“Did you have fun?” you spoke over him. “Did you enjoy the adrenaline? Did it give you a good fucking kick Yoongi?” It was killing you to say it but it would also have killed you not to say it; you observed the man before you with glassy eyes, he was guilty.
“Y/n, I was trying to buy time.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me right now.” You couldn’t believe he had said what he did with a completely blank face, an emotionless lie. You really had allowed your love for him get in the way of recognising the bad in him and it had almost cost the life of the only family you had left. “I heard you back then… you never gave a shit about saving Jimin.”
“That’s not true.” His response was fast and his tone stern, making it all the more harder to decide what to believe. He walked around the hospital bed to stand by your side, “I did what I thought had the best chance of success in the time I had. There was nothing else I or anyone else could have done…”
“I can think of one thing.” You turned to face him after responding in an almost disrespectful manner, knowing full well the next statement to leave your lips would break both his and your own heart. “If I’d never met yo-”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” He stepped closer to you, glaring with what seemed to be a hint of desperation. In the short pause that came after, you knew you should have shut up and not let it go further but you did. Jimin’s dream was stripped from him because of… because I let it get this far… Emotions you had never felt crawled into your head and now threatened to leave from your mouth.
“I wish I never met you… Jimin would be fine if I hadn’t gotten involved with you.”
The sound of the door closing was what brought Yoongi back to reality. You were gone, you had uttered words that had left him disoriented and walked away. His empty eyes fell to the ground where he noticed the strange contrast between his black, blood stained boots and the surprisingly crisp white of the floor tile. That’s right, that was his world, his dark world, full of only war and blood; he had stepped beyond his bounds, into your pure, ‘normal’ world and pulled you out. Was this who he was? An intruder? An evil? Only alive to step on all good in the world. Did you think of him like that? Did you hate him? Did you resent him? Yoongi felt numb, your words echoed in his head until a new feeling entered his chest; a physical feeling, an ache. It was almost as though your words had manifested into an arrow and pierced through his heart, the aching grew; it spread through him like cancer and he felt his legs growing weak. Why did it hurt so much? Not long after, he found himself laying there, on the cold white tiles wondering where it had all gone wrong. Was this what Zico had intended? Was it his own fault? You were half right, he did enjoy it, he hadn’t lied to Zico’s men by saying the night excited him but it wasn’t the only thing he had felt. Sure it was exciting but he wanted it to end with his arms around your waist as you both celebrated saving Jimin on the roof of a hotel.
You stormed out of the building; tears flowing down your red cheeks, an overwhelming pounding in your chest and a burning sensation in your ears. You were angry at Yoongi, angry for telling you it would be okay. You were hurt; seeing your best friend on the brink of death had triggered an emotion you didn’t even know existed. Upon reaching the entrance, your panicked figure fell into the strong arms of none other than Jung Hoseok. You liked Hoseok, he was the only person in the entire gang who wasn’t shit scared of Yoongi, he also had an infectious smile and both of you had become good friends over the course of him looking after you countless times. Despite that, somehow he was the last person you wanted to see. He caught your shoulders, preventing you from falling but you pushed him off just as fast. You could tell from the look on his face that he knew everything that had happened, you also knew for a fact that he would try and succeed in making you return to Yoongi’s side, so you ran. There were probably around a hundred men and dozens of cars parked outside the hospital, if it hadn’t been for Hoseok’s signal not to intervene, you definitely would have been thrown into the back of an SUV but you ran right past them and out of the gate.
Busan Dance Academy, that’s where you found yourself after thirty minutes of walking. It was busy; flooded with people going in and coming out unlike the night before. Any prints, blood stains or dead bodies would have been cleaned up on Yoongi’s orders. You watched as the innocent students walked over the spot Jimin had been shot and two gang members, killed; ignorance truly was bliss. They had no idea their teacher almost died, they probably would have been told some lie about how Jimin had gotten into a car accident and wouldn’t be coming in to class for a while. This was what being involved with Yoongi meant; lies, deceit, pain… why were you tangled with it all? Because you loved him? There’s billions of people in the world, I could get over him and start a new life, I could leave him- the thoughts alone made your throat feel tight but you couldn’t stop them, I could leave and be with someone else, someone who… well god damnit at least someone who isn’t a murderer. You sighed, eyes fixated on the name of the academy and Jimin’s words from all those years ago entered your head yet again;
I want to become a pro and teach here someday.
You didn’t have any money. That’s what you realised when you stood at the information desk of Busan Station in your white t and plain black jeans. You had no way of getting back to Seoul, no wallet, no phone, nothing; you had left everything at the hospital which was a thirty minute bus ride from where you were. You had used up the spare change in your pocket to get to the station but just how the hell did you think you were getting back? You dreaded the thought of walking back to the hospital so instead found yourself sitting on a bench outside the station. Closing your eyes, you relaxed into the metal and wondered how many days you would have to beg in order to get enough money for a ticket back to Seoul. Even then, all of your belongings were with Yoongi; you had no job, no friends apart from the few within his gang and no life outside of the blood empire.
“I never took you for someone who enjoyed sleeping on such hard surfaces.” Your eyes shot open at the sight of Hoseok holding a water bottle and your purse in front of you. He had a soft smile adoring his sharp features and you sighed, knowing exactly where this was going.
“If I listen to you whatever you wanna say, can I have my purse?” Hoseok held out the water bottle -which you gratefully took- before sitting beside you and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
“Listen y/n, if you make up your mind about something, there’s no fighting it but I have a feeling you haven’t made your mind up, that’s why I’m here. You can have your purse whenever you want and walk away from him if you wish, I’ll get you a place and support you for however long you like.” He paused and turned his head to meet your eyes. “But, before you do that, you need to hear this from someone who isn’t him. He really did do everything he could. You know he’s different, his head works differently. A lot of people think he’s a heartless maniac and yea, sure, to some extent he is but not when it comes to you and your happiness. I can tell you, without bias, wholeheartedly, with every honest bone in my body; that man would die a million deaths if it meant you could be happy and I’ll bet my damn tech skills… him not being able to get Jimin out safely, hurt him a fuck load more than it hurt you.” Hoseok stood up and placed your purse beside you. “I’m only asking you to think from his perspective before you walk away.”
The car journey back to Seoul was silent, Hoseok was with Yoongi and you had opted to go with some of the gang members in a different car instead. Hoseok’s words played through your mind over and over; it was true. For the last three years, Yoongi loved and cared for you unconditionally, he listened to and understood you like no one else. He made all your good times so much better, stayed through your worst times and held you all those nights you couldn’t sleep. He helped your confidence grow and never judged the things you were ashamed of. He had loved you like that and you hurt him because he couldn’t keep his word once. It was unfair and you decided to apologise as soon as you saw him again.
What you didn’t anticipate though; him completely disappearing before you reached Seoul.
“Yes, he stopped by to get his McLaren but didn’t leave any orders or instructions.” You turned from the reception desk of HQ and looked out the big glass doors of the building.
Yoon… where did you go?
Two weeks later…
“I said I wanted the area raided and the boy brought in. The merch was to be taken, I don’t give a shit about what you did to his men but I wanted the son, the SON, THE FUCKING HEIR, WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO WITH THIS OLD, DIABETES HAVING PISS ASS BITCH?” You were two seconds from knocking on the door to Yoongi’s office two weeks after the hospital incident when you heard the commotion. Hoseok’s hand had grabbed your wrist before it reached the door knob and pulled you to the side instead. Placing a finger on his lips, he indicated for you not to interfere and quite frankly, you were too afraid to oppose him. Your boyfriend had disappeared once you got back to Seoul and you hadn’t seen him since. Your days had been spent by Jimin’s side; he was transferred into Yoongi’s private medical facility in Seoul to be put under 24 hour watch on orders from Hoseok until his safety from Zico or any other gang could be verified. Although it was a pain to have two men constantly in the room when you visited, you were grateful to Hoseok. Jimin was still weak and hadn’t regained full consciousness, he would wake up for short moments but never spoke, only staring at walls until inevitably falling back to sleep. His minor injuries had healed and the doctors assured you his remaining recovery was going smoothly, you doubted it only slightly.
“B-but sir you sai-” You heard a gunshot followed by silence and that’s when Hoseok left your side and entered.
“Yooooonieee, heyyy let’s not kill the newbies eh? We kinda need them.” A second gunshot followed by what sounded like falling sand made you jump until your eyes fell on the large crack that had formed in the wall opposite to where Hoseok had walked in; a bullet was stuck in the middle of it. “Yahhhh don’t just shoot next to my head, you’re gonna kill me one of these days.” Yoongi was evidently pissed off; you guessed some newbie fucked up and caused an operation to go south but you hadn’t seen him for way too long and decided this was not going to stop you.
“Yoongi!” you yelled, entering the room and realising how out of place you must have seemed. Your long, wavy hair fell onto the soft stripped shirt you were wearing; it loosely hung from your small frame and tucked into your short denim skirt; accentuating the curve between your waist and hips. Thin tights adorned your slender legs and since you lived in the penthouse of the building, you had picked plain black pumps to complete the simple outfit, giving you an effortless yet beautiful look. In comparison, the dozen or so tall and muscular men in the room were geared up with bullet proof vests, guns hoisted around their belts and thick boots. A single man, probably in his early thirties and similarly dressed lay dead on the ground; blood from his head stained the black marble floor of Yoongi’s office, forming a strangely nice pattern. Beside the ever increasing amount of blood, a much older gentleman was rope tied to a chair; he definitely had a bad diet because the fat from his large body poured out of the openings under either arm rest and you became more concerned for the chair than him.
Amid the chaos, your eyes met those of the person you hadn’t seen in two weeks. Your heart shuddered, he was in all black as usual but this time was different; not only was he wearing a dress shirt -sleeve’s rolled up to his elbows- but his hair had gone from the typical jet black to ripped blonde. His eyes seemed bleak, soulless… and for a moment you understood all the frightening descriptions his enemies had given. Although you hadn’t seen him in a while, news always travelled fast. There had been talk of The Beast showing up to random mafia gatherings and torturing people before inevitably taking their lives; his motive was unclear and Seoul had been living in fear. Your body froze but you had to remind yourself of the Min Yoongi you knew; clearing your throat, you held your head up high and found the confidence to speak up. “I need to speak with you, now.” It was as if an extra layer of tension was added to the already tense air and you prayed he wouldn’t push you away.
“Well boys, you heard the woman, get your asses out.” It was Hoseok who had spoken and without question, four men lifted up the old fat man, carrying him out along with the chair his body had been compressing. Two other men grabbed their dead comrade’s body, shuffling out quickly while the remainder followed; probably grateful they didn’t have to be around Yoongi any longer. If the current incident had occurred three years ago, the blood and stench of death would have made you hurl but your tolerance to torture wildly increased the longer you stood by Yoongi’s side. Hoseok muttered something about repairing the wall before the door closed and your boyfriend turned his back towards you, looking instead, out at the city through his large office windows. You took a deep breath before parting your lips but he spoke first.
“What can I do for you?” his tone was indifferent as though you were just about any other person.
“I came to apologize…” you said softly, walking closer to his large oak desk and fiddling around with the hem of your skirt. “about what I said at the hospital, I didn’t mean it, I was just angry and hurt, Yoon I’m so sorry…” He chuckled at your words before finally turning around to look at you.
“You’re sorry huh? How convenient.” You gave him a look of confusion as he leaned forward, placing his fingertips on the deep brown desk. “I’m not going to accept that half assed apology because quite frankly, it’s bullshit. If you didn’t mean it, you wouldn’t have said it. So why don’t you do me a favour sweetheart? Get the fuck out of my office because if I remember correctly, you didn’t want to have anything to do with me anyway.”
“Now that’s bullshit.” You retorted; he was harsh but you knew him better than that. “You want me to get the fuck out? Fine, but then don’t ever come find me again.” If he was going to play games, you were more than happy to play them right back. Turning on your feel, you began making your way towards the office door when you felt a tight grip on your wrist. Your body was spun around harshly and slammed against the office door, wrist pinned above your head and the glaring eyes of Min Yoongi inches away from your face. “What’s the matter? Feeling forgiving all of a sudden?” you mocked him with the cockiest tone you could muster but he didn’t react.
“You hurt me, you fucking bitch.” He finally said, voice low with a hint of pain and you moved your free hand up his body, resting it on his shoulder.
“I know I did… and you’re right, I was full of shit earlier.”
“I fucking know you were.” He grabbed your hand and ripped it off his shoulder, bringing it over your head and pinning it along with the one already there. “Why don’t we go back to being honest, hm?” raising your head, you attempted to hold eye contact with his piercing eyes and emptied out the words you had been holding in for the last two weeks.
“I did wish I never met you, in that moment it’s all I wanted, I even thought about leaving and never coming back.” You paused and took a breath, simultaneously looking for a reaction but he always had a good poker face. “But you see, I remembered something troublesome, I remembered a certain asshole who treated me way too well and gave me the best three years of my life.” his gaze softened and you finally saw the eyes he used to look at you with, “you were always there for me Yoonie, I forgot  that… it was unfair of me to say the things I did and blame you when you did all you could have.” The next few seconds were quiet, but it was a peaceful silence, almost healing, as though his forgiveness travelled through the softness in his eyes.
Yoongi leaned in impossibly close, muttering a small ‘thank you’ before his lips met yours. His free hand went around your waist, pressing your body tightly against his own. Your lips instinctively parted, allowing his tongue to enter and roam your mouth; the kiss was deep, passionate and possessive, carrying an overwhelming sense of longing. When he finally pulled away for air, you eagerly leaned back in with red cheeks and glassy eyes but he pulled back, your bound arms restricting you from getting too close. Chuckling, your boyfriend looked at you up and down.
“Did she lose all her patience within a week?” he asked, clearly amused and you were quick to reply.
“She missed you, you ass! Where the heck did you disappear to for a whole two weeks?”
“You know where I went.” You were about to protest but he grinned and that’s when it hit you.
“You goddamn sadist…” He was fulfilling your wish, disappearing out of your life and showing you exactly what life without him would be like. You would only hear the things everyone else was hearing, the Beastly image portrayed of him by the outside world would soon replace the beautiful memories both of you had shared over the years.
“Guilty, as charged.” His voice changed in the second half of that statement; it was deeper, seductive and laced with hints of danger. “Why? Was this the only thing you missed about me?” Yoongi’s hand travelled from your waist to the hem of your skirt and slipped underneath until it rested on your inner thigh, slowly moving up.
“No way… why would I miss something so… vanilla?” His hand stopped immediately, the expression on his face changing radically. You returned it with an innocent smile but internally you knew exactly which button you had pushed. Somehow everything that happened over the last few weeks disappeared from your head and you were back in the wild life you shared with him before.
Your hands were released and Yoongi took a step back, a smirk growing on his face. “So she feels like playing huh?” he moved swiftly; his arms wrapped around your thighs and within moments he had thrown your body over his shoulder. “You’re lucky I haven’t got anyone to murder today.” He joked, smacking your ass on the way to his desk. “Permission to murder that pussy m’lady?” A wide grin grew on his face as he laid you down on the hard oak and met your eyes; this specific look was something you had definitely missed. Spreading your arms, you pushed various papers to the ground and let out a small giggle before fixating your eyes on your lover; lust dripping from your next words.
“Permission granted.”
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amuseoffyre · 4 years
Text
A What-If Scenario - Part 2
Because, of course, Crowley didn’t want Aziraphale to be the only one with a POV on this brief stint of emotional flail. Stupid lads. If this had happened, canon would have gone off the rails. Thank canon for making this a purely speculative theoretical scene.
1939 – Soho
Once, a long time ago, Crowley had witnessed a landslide up close. It was terrifying, a huge part of the world shifting sliding and moving with suffocating speed. He had seen animals too afraid to run, crouching, curling, frozen in terror, engulfed and smothered.
When the doors of the shop had opened in front of him and he saw Aziraphale, he saw those animals in his mind’s eye.
Now, they were in the back of the shop.
He’d carried Aziraphale there, limp-limbed and helpless. It was… wrong. It was frightening, seeing him like that. Still, grey with dust, barely more than stone. He looked the part too, so much so that for a horrifying moment, Crowley almost believed Aziraphale had been turned into some terrible statue of himself.
Only when he blinked, when tears cleared the grey from his eyes and cut flesh-coloured furrows down his cheeks, did Crowley understand.
He could have whisked the dust away with a snap of his fingers, but his hands were shaking too much and for some things, you needed contact. They needed contact. The reassurance and tangible reminder that they were both here.
“The water’s just heating,” he said as gently as he could, kneeling down in front of the chair. It was the one patch of colour he had spotted when he entered the room – the void where Aziraphale must have sat for God only knew how long. He’d set the demon back down there and Aziraphale hadn’t moved again.
Those brilliant turquoise eyes were spilling over again, the ashy grey of his cheeks smudged and dirty now.
“Hey, no,” Crowley said softly, kneeling up and gently capturing his face between his own hands. “None of that.” He groped for his handkerchief and wiped the tears from Aziraphale’s cheeks. “Don’t cry. It’s all right.”
“All right,” Aziraphale echoed, his voice like stone on stone. Oh Lord, how long had he been sitting, willing himself into stillness, unmoving, unbreathing, unspeaking.
Crowley made himself nod. He’d smiled through worse. He had. “We’ll get you cleaned up, all right? Make you feel more like yourself.” He set the handkerchief aside and reached for Aziraphale’s cravat. It was as stiff with dust as Aziraphale himself and Crowley couldn’t stop the sneeze that burst out of him. “Oh.” He sputtered. “Shit.” Another sneeze. “Oh Christ.” Another one. He pressed the back of his hand to his nose and – as awkward as it felt – said, “I always knew you were a dirty bugger, but this is ridiculous.”
There was a sound that might have been a whisper of a chuckle, a crease in the dust by Aziraphale’s mouth that might have been the shadow of a smile.
A spark of something. That… that was good. He ducked his face as he leaned closer, working on Aziraphale’s buttons of his waistcoat and then his shirt. The sneezes gave him the excuse for blinking the wetness from his eyes as well. Aziraphale didn’t even say anything when Crowley gently stripped him out of his clothing.
Teasing, he thought wildly. Teasing helped, didn’t it?
“Never thought it would be this way around, did you?” He propped his elbow on Aziraphale’s knee. “Bet you thought you’d be the one doing the stripping.”
Oh fuck! More tears, heavier ones now.
“Don’t!” He pulled Aziraphale back into his arms, the demon’s hot face burrowing into his neck. “Sweetheart, it’s all right. Honestly, it is.”
“No,” Aziraphale whispered hoarsely. “No.” His head shook slowly. “My fault. You said. The war. The war.”
Crowley pressed his eyes shut. He’d been yelling and screaming and angry and he had no idea Aziraphale was standing there, listening. “No,” he whispered, curling his hand over Aziraphale’s nape. “I don’t blame you. I don’t. You’re… not like this. You didn’t do anything.”
“The last…” A hot shuddering breath washed against his throat. “I told that silly fellow to go. The one who started it.”
Crowley frowned, fishing through his memories for the cause. An assassination. “Franz Ferdinand?”
The wetness of tears soaked his collar. “He loved her, you know,” Aziraphale whispered. “What harm, I thought. What harm, to show off the one you love? That it’s no matter if she’s… unsuitable. To show that you don’t care what they– that it isn’t– it can’t be wrong.”
Crowley’s heart twisted. Oh. Oh no. No, no, no, no. “Aziraphale…” he whispered, hugging him closer. “Oh, fuck… Aziraphale…”
“I thought…” Aziraphale’s voice broke. “Can it be wrong? Can it? To love? Like that? When it’s forbidden? I didn’t… it oughtn’t… it wasn’t meant to…” His arms were suddenly around Crowley and he was shuddering with muted sobs. “I didn’t mean for it to end like that.”
Crowley’s eyes were burning too, spilling over. A kindness, an act of compassion for someone who loved where they shouldn’t, and he had been forced to stand by and watch as it was the trigger point for a war worse than anything they’d ever seen. And blaming himself as the body count rose and the world burned.
“That wasn’t your fault,” he said fiercely. He drew back far enough to take Aziraphale’s face between his hands. “Aziraphale, you know that wasn’t you.” He smudged the mess on Aziraphale’s cheeks with his thumbs. “You knew what utter shitbags humans can be. You know that. Europe’s been a mess for centuries. Someone – something – like this was going to happen. We both know the signs.”
Aziraphale took a shivering breath. “But all those people–”
“No,” Crowley said sharply. “No! That wasn’t you. That was them. You know that. I know that. I don’t blame you for it. You were trying to be kind to the poor sod. You were trying to be kind.”
Those blue eyes – solid blue from one side to the other now – stared at him. The demon’s lips parched, cracked lips trembled. “Kind,” he echoed. He took a deeper, unsteadier breath. “Oh Crowley…”
Crowley smiled even though he could feel hot warmth spilling down his own cheeks. “Yeah, you stupid bastard. That’s my job.”
This time, the laugh was definitely there, hoarse and worn from disuse but there.
Relieved, Crowley gently pulled back from Aziraphale’s arms. “And since I’ve got you half-naked now, I’m going to get you cleaned up, d’you hear me? And then, I’m going to make you eat and drink something. Got it?”
Aziraphale looked up at him and when he smiled – small and brittle – Crowley almost wept all over again. “Perfectly, my dear.”
He had to turn away to hide the emotion he knew would be plastered all over his face and was halfway back to the stove when Aziraphale whispered his name again.
“Yeah?” He glanced back.
“I…” The tip of Aziraphale’s tongue was pale as it nervously skimmed his lower lip. “I missed you.”
Crowley braced a hand against the door frame. The weight in those words, the amount of unspoken meaning they carried, stole his breath away. And he smiled and nodded and said the layered words he had been wanting to say for years. “I missed you too.”
And Aziraphale smiled like the break of dawn.
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colorfullfalls · 4 years
Text
Force Knows Best
Summary: after infinity war, life is in shambles, but to make things even more complicated, the first order decides to visit. kylo ren is in search.. for you.
2. Hell no
“Wakeup, sunshine." Natasha's teasing voice stirred your dreams away into a cloud of dust. Bright sun pierced tired pupils and you winced, clenching your eyelids shut.
"Maybe not blind me?"
"Steve wants you up. We're headed home soon, but first we need to have a final meeting about our steps moving forward."
Dread filled your stomach. Wakanda was a retreat and going back to New York would finalize the damage. The city would no longer be booming. Streets half empty, less folks saying hi, decreased amount of traffic. Well, that was the only plus side. But still. Home would no longer really be home. No longer the same.
"All we do is have meetings. Im tired of them, Nat. Can't we take a few days to heal?"
Her skilled eyes pointed questioningly at you, "Y/n.."
"Look, I feel the despair just as much as everyone else, but having a constant reminder isn't helping us- it's hurting us. We need to let it sink in, heal for a second, regain our thoughts, and proceed."
Natasha leaned her weight on her left leg, contemplating if you were right or not. The bond between you two was tight and she did not want to lash out at you, but she was in pain and didn't want to admit that you were right.
"We owe it to our family to get them back."
Your legs jumped out of the bed and walked to face her, "Of course! I believe that too, with all of my heart. But we are a mess, and you have to see that too. We aren't ready for action quite yet. We don't have a plan because right now there isn't one."
Blue stoned eyes with grey specs flickered to meet yours. The look held pure pain and angst, such a feeling that reflected in your own soul. Crushing pressure hit your chest, swirling into your organs. Somehow you figured that was not due to the present conversation.
You blocked the pain out of your voice, "We will get them back. I promise. But not yet. And it won't be easy."
"Have I insinuated that it would be easy?"
Hands connected, two slim bodies pulled together to form one embrace. Her skin felt warm on yours and you only pulled her closer, grounding yourself compared to the pain, "No. Worth adding though..."
"One more meeting, think you can handle that?" Natasha's teasing voice recomposed and she quickly had you pinned on your back. You grinned in response, lower limbs twisted to tackle her midsection, pulling her down too.
A rapping at the door caught attention. Steve Rogers stood, arms crossed, "We have a situation."
Meticulously crafted space ships hovered above Wakanda, exactly where Thanos' machines of war had been placed days prior. Fear heightened in the people at the foreign presence. Fighting was evident, but it was unknown if anyone could handle another round so soon- wounds still open, hearts pulled out of the chest cavity.
A black ship soared to the ground with three other smaller ones surrounding it. You pushed past some of the female warriors, moving to position by the Mighty God of Thunder. His muscles rippled as he held the stormbreaker in grasp, clenching in utter rage.
Your heart was beating out of your chest at the sight of the ship doors lowering. Men in white plastic looking armored uniforms walked off, holding gun-type looking weapons. At least ten of them walked off of each smaller ship. But the black door craft's door open and the first to walk out was a tall being. Instead of being covered in white like the others, he was dressed a black tunic sort of outfit with a matching black cape on top. The mask was black with silver on the sides. Intimidating as eve, you thought, subconsciously leaning closer to Thor.
Familiar soft touches swirled around your hip, almost as if a warm hand grazed the skin, leaving you even more breathless and worried. Thor switched the hand he was holding the stormbreaker and latched onto yours in a protective manner. His touch was soothing but the swirling feeling dug into your hip, almost leaving bruises.
"Follow me." Steve ordered. You, Thor, Okoye, Nat, Bruce, and Rocket trailed behind him to meet the dangerous newcomers in the middle. Female warriors stood ready, glancing at any chance of attack. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you neared the black clothed being. His form was gigantic and demanded authority and respect. Clenching onto Thor's hand once, you gently pulled away. If all hell broke loose, your fire powers would be needed.
"A lot of nerve invading Earth again. Tell Thanos we will not go down so easily." Steve warned, shield in hands.
The black figure cocked it's head in confusion, a deep voice began to speak, "Thanos? I have no such relations with the Titan. We steer clear of eachother."
"State your business here." Thor spat, swinging around his stormbreaker for emphasis. The figure's modulated voice chuckled in a deep and dark condescending manner. Rather than replying, it walked closer. You sensed a piercing gaze from under the mask. The swirling touch danced up to touch your neck gently.
"Her." His black gloved hand pointed towards you, shocking gasps echoed from the Avengers. Thor pushed you behind him in a brotherly manner, as Steve looked back in panic.
"You will not touch a single hair on her head, or else I will end your life." Thor boomed out in anger. You maneuvered your body from around his in attempts to diffuse the potential hostility.
"She's mine. She will leave with me."
Fire dances along your palms in dark blue and violet flames. You were your own woman and no one would land on earth to claim you as a possession. Hydra tried many times to capture you for the fire powers and you would not allow yourself to be used. The team would protect you if you failed to protect yourself.
"Hell no." Natasha spoke, grabbing at her gun that was attached to her uniform.
"Nat, no. And language, remember?" You teased and stepped forward to stand next to Steve. He sent you a worried look that said now was not the time for jokes. Your face suddenly became hard as you faced the threat.
"Ah, my little love. Come to me." His voice lured you.
"I am going nowhere, so I suggest you retreat home and far away from here. Unless you want burned..." Your fire roared, lifting higher away from your body. Flames licked Thor's arms and he backed away to avoid getting hurt.
"I am not leaving here without you. Let's make that clear." His deep voice rumbled into your very cells. It wasn't a threat, but rather a sworn promise. A faint touch was pushing you closer but you dug your feet into the ground to avoid advancing. Skin felt sweaty at the exertion as the force became stronger. Frustration leaked into your veins, and you amped up the amount of flames, shoving your arms down. Suddenly the force was gone and the man let out a sound of annoyance.
"Feisty, aren't you?" His deep voice made your stomach do flips. A slither of your soul yearned to comply and walk into his area, but the reasonable part saw a threat. A danger to earth that you were bound to protect. Leaving would be a betrayal to yourself, the team, and all those currently lost.
"You will not experiment on her. We will protect her with our life." Steve's deep voice held lethal venom. Once again he stepped in front of you to shield your body. Their protective nature stemmed from pure love and devotion, not a lack of belief in your ability to defend yourself.
"I would never harm her. Hand her over."
Loud shots fired and you turned in time to see Natasha firing at the men in white. You yelled and melted some of the bullets as they passed you, and the strays zipped to hit three men, killing them instantly. The tall black clothed man growled in anger, pulling out a weapon. Red flickering energy radiated from the electric sword. You pulled your beloved sword out from the sheath strapped to your back. You twisted it in your hands, getting a feel of the weight.
"I didn't want to fight, but you give me no choice." His troops shot at Natasha, but you jumped in front of it, knocking you down. A grunt left your lips as you stood, fire raging in waves around you. Pain enveloped your mind, physical, mental, and emotional.
The troop that shot you was suddenly moving toward the black clothed man in the air, getting choked, "You hurt her. For that, you die." Within seconds the man was split in half by the blunt hit of the electric red sword weapon.
You gaged, hunching over and dry heaving. A man just died because of you. This man was insane and somehow extremely protective of you. Fire powers must have mattered a lot for his next task, you assumed. The light touch pushed your hair out of your face and stroked your cheek. You felt a pull to go closer to the black ship but resisted at the horror of what just occured.
Steve hauled you up to stand tall, his hand resting where the light force used to be. The man in charge seemed to let out a sound resembling a growl. You patted Steve's hand and moved away.
"I'm fi-fine."
"My demonstration proves my loyalty and protection. Please, join me now."
"You proved that you're insane!" Rocket yelled, waving his weapon around. Rocket's actions halted, knees bucking and body hitting the floor in withering pain. You ran to him, small hands caressing him in an attempt to comfort.
"Stop! Stop and you and I can talk!" You yelled.
Rocket went back to normal.
Thor shook his head no, "It's not safe, young one. Please. We can do this another way."
"Trust me." You whispered.
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sserpente · 5 years
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Mischief and Ice (Chapter 3)
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Synopsis: Thanos’ cruel attempt to wipe out half of the universe failed and the titan is dead; but his actions came with grave consequences. Tears and cracks in the universe, all across space and time formed wormholes within the nine realms and beyond, giving old enemies a vicious opportunity to strike again. When the Jötuns invade Earth and the Avengers assemble to defend the planet once again, it is the help of none other than the former war criminal Loki they are reliant upon to drive the icy warriors back to their own realm. But then the God of Mischief encounters a young woman abandoned in the cold—your body mangled and altered with Jötun blood, a lab rat to the Frost Giants. He decides to take you with him and nurse you back to health, unable to comprehend the confusing affection he begins to harbour for you.
Find all chapters on my masterlist!
A/N: I’m receiving your requests and I’m ready to write away! ;-) In the meantime, finally, enjoy this new chapter, my lovelies! ♥
Your human instincts kicked in the moment you heard someone entering the farm house, the urge to hide growing. What if they had come back now to kill you or even worse, torment you some more? There was no one close within miles. Who else could possibly know about this place? Was it another refugee, someone else who survived the invasion of the Frost Giants?
Hope mixed with pure terror, clawing at your guts aggressively. You were worn out, hungry and tired. There was no energy left in your body to feel such emotions.
Swallowing thickly, you wrapped your arms around your body and sneaked out of the frozen bedroom upstairs into the hallway where you carefully, quietly, peeked over the rail, holding on to the cold metal to prevent yourself from slipping.
There was a man standing there. Tall, with raven hair, a stern expression and icy blue eyes. He was handsome… beautiful even—but most importantly, he was not blue.
Almost fascinated, you watched him explore the ground floor, gaping into the frozen rooms and around the corners, always on high alert. He looked like someone who would be able to protect you. Someone who would take care of you and defend you with his life, you did not have to see him fight and kill for that.
Still, there was something about the stranger you could not quite put your finger on, your tortured gut screaming at you to run from him.
For some peculiar reason you seemed to have developed a radar—or perhaps it was the chilly Jötun blood pumping through your veins—Frost Giants were pure evil and you could usually sense when one of them approached to harm you. He did not look like a Frost Giant though. He looked… scarred.
Holding your breath with wide eyes, you took a step back. Maybe, if you were lucky, he would quickly notice the house was but empty, abandoned. A cold and dead reminder of the cruelty of the alien race that had invaded your country…
The wooden floorboard underneath your bare feet screeched when you stepped in a puddle of molten ice, freezing in the process. You flinched the moment the stranger’s cool, calculating and scrutinising blue eyes locked with yours.
Your heart skipped a beat. Gasping for air, you were forced back into the very role they Jötuns had pushed you into. You were prey again. You were prey and the stranger was your predator, ready to devour you. You didn’t know what it was that he wanted from you—whether the Frost Giants had sent him to kill you and get rid of their mistake or his own, wicked curiosity had brought him here. What he would do to you if he got you all to himself.
The first floor wasn’t at all spacious. There were only three rooms and a narrow hallway. Two bedrooms, one of which you had been hiding in, a storage room full of eerie old farming tools and a bathroom without any water supply.
Your chances of escape were ridiculously little. Unless you jumped out of a window and got yourself killed in the process, he would have you cornered soon.
Panicking, you burst into one of the bedrooms, eyes darting around frantically in search for a place to hide. Under the bed? He would be able to tell immediately. The wardrobe? He would most likely open it first.
You bit your lower lip so hard you could taste blood as you ran out of options, fearing that this was how your life would end now. But then, your gaze found the little balcony. The windows in the bedroom were partially broken, it would be easy to open them. Of course, it was no real balcony but the platform would be broad enough for you to press yourself against the wall until the stranger gave up and left. Unless… unless he decided to stay.
No. Your heart almost leaped out of your chest when you heard his calm and threatening footsteps behind you, almost as if he had taken all the time in the world to chase you. Quickly, you lunched forward and towards the window, right when he turned around the corner and spotted you.
You whined, turning around so fast you slipped on the ice, your elbow colliding with the window sill painfully before you sank to the ground, shaking so badly you feared your brain would shut down and let you die. Within the matter of a second, the raven haired stranger had you cornered.
Loki had jumped after you the moment he had realised your attempted flight. Whoever you were, you might know something about the Frost Giants and their next moves… He could tell you posed no threat to him. In the worst case scenario, he would have to kill you because they had brainwashed you to work for them—unless you had sworn your loyalty to them out of your own free will. Disgust washed over him.
Looming over you like an executor, hatred filled his body as he looked at the bluish veins standing out under your pale skin, and the slight hint of red in your eyes. You were cold to the touch when he grabbed your upper arm to heave you back on your feet, he could feel there was a lack of body heat clinging onto you like a thin, invisible layer of ice. Oh yes. Hatred for this race he had been raised to despise only to find out he was of their kind, abandoned as an infant.
And yet… when he looked into your eyes, your softness and innocence almost knocked him back. Frowning, he tilted his head and stepped closer, determined to examine your mind rather than your mangled Jötun body.
“Where are they?” He demanded to know, his smooth and dark voice sending shivers up and down your spine. He sounded intimidating, allowing no contradiction—and predicting that there would be pain if you refused to cooperate.
“T-they… l-left…” You were shaking, barely able to talk. There was no point in showing any hostility. You were done fighting your tormentors… not until you had regained your strength to do so.
“Left where? Why did they leave you behind?”
Because I am dying… Swallowing thickly, you attempted to shrug. You failed pathetically but the stranger did not let go, bombarding you with even more questions you were all unable to answer.
“What are you? You do not strike me as the typical kind of monster you would find in the cold of Jötunheim.”
What would you tell him, after all? Pressing yourself into the wall, you bit your lower lip again, suppressing a sob. “I don’t…. know, I… W-who… are you?” You managed to whisper, looking up at him as if pleading for mercy, not knowing if he would grant it to you. “A-are you h-here… to k-kill me?”
While you expected him to give you a deadly glare, he instead began to smirk. Two of his long fingers came up to lift your chin for him to look you in the eye, sending waves of electricity through your body. And finally, he let go of your arm again. His touch was numbing in the most delicious ways, ways your body reacted to and which you did not understand.
“I am Loki, of Asgard. And I am not here to kill you. I will—“
Your eyes widened, making him halt. Loki… Loki of Asgard… of Jötunheim. The lost prince… Loki was the rightful heir of the throne! The Frost Giants had told you about the infamous son stolen away from Laufey all those years ago, by none other than the Asgardian king, Odin Allfather. Before he could finish his sentence, you dropped to your knees, lowering your gaze.
Well, was it not easier to just give in to men and allow them to do with you as they pleased? It wasn’t right. But if you wanted to survive here, it was the only thing to do… for now.
“You… y-you are the r-rightful king. I-I’m s-sorry, I c-couldn’t h-have k-known…”
Loki narrowed his eyes at you, utter confusion prominent on his face. It should feel right. He should be happy. Finally, there was a mortal woman willingly kneeling before him to show him the respect, awe and admiration he deserved by birth right.
So why wasn’t he? Why did it feel so wrong to have this helpless, freezing and terrified girl cowering at his feet? For the first time in a long while, compassion spread in his cold chest, warming his tainted heart which he had locked away so well to heal. This woman—whatever they had done to you—was in need of his protection, not his superiority.
“Get up,” he snarled before he could change his mind. “I am not your king.”
“Y-you a-are. Y-you are t-the rightful k-king of J-Jötunheim!”
You were right, of course—what he preferred to learn instead, however, was how you, or the Frost Giants for that matter, had found out about his heritage in the first place. Back when he killed Laufey, not even he had known. That was certainly something he would have to look into. But for now, you were his priority.
“That I am…” He murmured absentmindedly, pulling you back on your feet. “What did they do to you?” Fascination hid in his smooth voice, combined with tragic condolescence. He did not need an answer from you, not quite. Pure terror was reflecting in your eyes when his gaze met yours once more, his long fingers coming up to lightly touch your reddened cheeks.
Loki was not cruel, he never had been. He knew to protect his pain, to hide his vulnerability when necessary and he did not hesitate to strike back like a wounded snake when needed. Mortals were beneath him but not for the same reasons Odin dismissed them as lowly creatures. They were merely… weak, naïve, petty. Their intelligence was visionary but limited, their own ignorance digging them their graves and their lives… so sweet and short. That was why he did not bother. That was why he refused to befriend them like Thor was in the habit of doing.
And yet, whatever it was he saw in your (Y/E/C) eyes, sparkling mysteriously as you looked up at him devotedly, with salty tears streaming down your face, he knew you would be different. He just might overthrow his own principles just this once. Loki nodded. A gesture he himself did barely notice, let alone his opposite. He would help you.
“I believe there is a lot more explaining you will have to do for me. But for now, my little dove, you are coming with me.”
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