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bunny-wk-fanfic · 3 years

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This Is Brought To You By

The door opened to a rustic cabin, the natural wood glowing amber thanks to a roaring fire. Worn dark leather seating seemed hazy thanks to said fire light, each piled with plush pillows and draped with cozy throws or blankets. A low table had been laid out with candles, a bottle of wine was being kept chilled in a classy and slightly modern ice bucket with two glasses just off to the side. The only splash of color amongst the glow of the fire, the natural wood and stone textures were a small handful of red roses, loose petals just lightly scattered about. With the help of the slow jazz playing softly in the background, it made for a very romantic atmosphere.

"Well, hello there." the male voice was a slightly low purring drawl, drawing attention to the male figure sprawled across an almost stereotypical bear rug. "Deadpool here. Hopefully, while reading this, you're hearing the voice of a certain sexy male Canadian. I'm sure you know the one. And I don't mean the short, hairy one with anger issues and kitty claws and a fondness for cigars. Unless of course said angry man is being represented by a beautiful, beautiful wild Australian man. Because if then, well, lather me in hot sauce and spank my Chimichanga. But I'm getting off track here."

Fingers drummed against a knee, drawing the attention to the missing and familiar red and black outfit, and more importantly, to the lack of proper attire.

"Yes, my current outfit has to do with the reason we are here today. It's come to my attention, that it's been some time since we last met, or that our beloved writer has written anything involving our favorite woman. And more importantly, our favorite woman when involved with me." a single white rose was plucked from behind, waved about as if a magic wand, and dragged across a scarcely clad male thigh that was pocked with fresh wounds that were instantly scaring. "As such, I decided to… encourage our beloved writer into bringing us all together once again."

With a dramatic wave of limbs, he moved from reclining on his side, that screamed 'Paint my like your French women', to leaning back on his elbows. The pale pink satin nighty, the atmosphere, and the pose would have been more than alluring were the one in said pose a woman. With the male, the nighty was rather comically stretched across his frame, though covering everything important, the sheer robe with fluffy cuffs only adding to the oddity of the entire situation. It clashed with the fact that he still wore his iconic red and black full head cowl.

"Now, our lovely writer might say otherwise about my encouragement, calling it nagging, whining or say I simply began to annoy her until she finally relented. Ignore those words and continue to read mine with the amazing drawl of a voice provided by the Canadian sex symbol; my pal, my bosom buddy, Ryan Reynolds." the white rose bobbed to the beat of the low music, tapping against a hip every so often.

"Now, back unto the reason why we're here. Honestly? I was lonely and wanted some cuddles with my lovely, lovely Kagome." noticing that it was just the male lounging in the open living space, he was quick to wave a hand. "Don't worry, don't worry! My girl is currently enjoying a much-needed hot bubble bath. One, I wish I was taking part of, but felt this little conversation was, at the time, more prudent. How could I feel that? Simple. I had the desire that everyone read this in Reynolds voice, nothing more and nothing less. Though if we are asking for more, and I know what you all want, I on the other hand, wouldn't mind lathering my girl in rich and real Canadian maple syrup and eating my midnight pancake snacks off of her, but maybe later. So while Kagome is taking this time to prepare for a very adventurous night right here on this vegan friendly-faux-bear fur rug, I'll fill that time with hanging out with you lovely little readers. Because without you, though more so my unannounced arrival and delayed departure, we wouldn't be here right now."

Happy humming could now be heard from behind a closed door just off to the side, the male giving a little jiggle in his spot in excitement. The rose momentarily used to fan himself, though just how useful it was as such, needed to be questioned at a later time.

"Now I'm sure there are a few things you all wish to talk about; my last movie with the fridge trope, which I myself can only say thanks to the writers for that one. Thanks guys, I've always wanted more trauma and torture to sprinkled in my life." a finger was wagged, tongue tisking against his teeth, though the sound was slightly muffled due to his mask.

"Or when my next film will come out, and if so, will it be part of the Marvel Universe. This is where you show your true love and devotion. I ask you, lovely readers, to go out and use the internet, haul out the trolls if need be, and ask, beg, and cry for me to be part of Marvel. Not that I want to, not really, it's just principle. What with their large budgets, CGI teams, writers, directors and a full cast. Honestly, a whole school of mutants gone save for three at a single extended time? For what purpose, 'cause I doubt they all went on some sort of field trip or vacation, but what do I know, I failed out of 5th grade. But, not really." his head tipped to the side, possibly staring in the direction of where the bathroom was, it was hard to tell with his face actually covered to know for sure.

"I mean, who wants to be part of that depressing team? All that self-sacrificing for the greater good?" he gave a few bobs of the rose in his hand as his head tipped back, almost as if in contemplation. "Though let's be honest, we all know I would survive an alien with a California Raisin on steroids for a chin, snapping their fingers. And then I'd introduce said alien to my Desert Eagles Mark XIX while recruiting Ant-Man to tickle where the sun never shines before becoming… Anti-Ant-Man? I honestly don't know what to call him in his Ultraman form, wait, does that make him a magical-boy or a science-boy? Right, Ant-Man shrinking to tickle where sun don't shine for hurting my favorite Web-Head super bro." the rose now tapped where his mouth was, though again, it was hidden by his mask. "And it would be super hot to watch Kagome kick his ass. I wonder what she would wear… Something skin tight? Revealing? Her old school uniform?"

A door opening, even though quiet, drowned out his muttering, the candles flickered as steam billowed out of the bathroom before quickly dissipating the further it billowed into the open space. "Are you talking to White and Yellow again?" a female figure left the dark bathroom, her form covered with a short semi sheer dark pink bathrobe of her own. Her hands were raised just enough to free her hair from beneath the robe, though she paused when she really took a look at the sprawled out male. "...I thought that was supposed to be a gift for me?"

Snickering, he trailed the rose down from his mouth, his neck, down his chest stopping just above his stomach. "Don't you think I look sexy in this?" it was always so amusing to tease and rile her when he wore risqué outfits, namely hers.

Finishing in freeing her hair, she eyed his form. Yes, his skin was pocked and disfigured from him constantly getting open sores and his abilities nearly immediately healing them. But beyond that, his form was all carved muscle, no doubt from years of being a mercenary. While yes, he was larger with the shoulders strong, he had a slight swimmer's build. It didn't lack-

"Ah, sorry for the intermission. Our writer took a few days to… deal with life I guess. How boring." shoulders shrugged, waving off the confused expression from his fairer companion. "Of course, it would happen when describing my awesome and amazingly sexy self." an actual pout could be seen through his mask.

"I will admit, you are sexy." the purring drawl from Kagome drew his attention again, her words and tone revealing she either decided she was going to ignore him going off tangent or just that she was used to it at this point, body freezing when her hands began with removing the sash that kept her own coverings secure. "I'm just not sure that shade of pink is quite your color. Maybe you should stick to your usual colors?"

The moment, the robe dropped and pooled around her feet, revealed a feminine figure dripping in curves with subtle musculature that showed she kept up with her own training, he froze. She wore a set of red and black satin and lace that covered pale skin. It covered a little more than what most would normally deem sexy lingerie, with slightly wider straps, but they accentuated her curves, drawing attention to them. And the thin ribbons that accompanied and mimicked, as well as help the lace that helped cover stiffening peeks, made her look more like a present just waiting to be unwrapped.

"Well, what do you think of my gift to you?" legs crossed slightly as hands once again rose to lift her hair to both reveal her neck and shoulders as well as lift her chest, she stood posed before him, basking in the golden glow of the fireplace behind him.

The white rose that had been resting near his hip instantly perked up, a white petal flying off at the somewhat harsh and sudden movement. Despite it being a mask, the white 'eyes' widened as the mask shifted to show that his jaw dropped.

"I'll take your silence as a, 'I likey'?" she giggled as she dropped her hands, they followed the curves of her body, no doubt drawing his gaze from behind the mask to follow with. Slowly, with a slight predator grace, she lowered to her knees and began to crawl up his form, leaving a trail of kisses behind her that glittered from both the fire light as well as her own abilities to help heal him.

Tossing the rose without a care, he reached forward to trace her curves for himself, not stopping as her own hands reached forward to lift and remove his mask. Lips curved up when she reached forward to kiss him. It was sweet, a simple press of her lips against his own. His smile grew when he quickly ended the sweetness by reaching for that delightful curve of her ass that shook playfully in his grasp.

The gasp that was let out was easily and eagerly swallowed, tongue dipping between lush lips to tangle with her own. With where his grip was, he pulled her closer to settle in his lap. Trailing lips away from her own to nip down her jaw and neck, he smirked against her warm skin.

Pausing, brown eyes narrowed as he turned away from the purring woman in his lap. "Oi, what are you still doing here? This ain't no peep-show! Go away. Read a book, play a game, watch a movie. I hear that new one about a guy named Guy wanting to be free or something, is worth the watch. And if my pal Ryan is in it, ya know it's good. Now," a hand reluctantly left the span of leg it had been caressing with a waving motion. "Shoo."

Turning away, leaving behind the couple and the sounds of giggles and kissing echoed loudly over the crackles and pops from the fireplace. A quick squeal that turned into laughter that was followed by a masculine whine at the sound of fabric tearing just set the pace of what was to come. And who was in charge of this nights shenanigans. A door closing muffled the sounds as the cool evening draped across the forest, leaving only the crickets in the distance and even further off cries of wolves the only sounds to echo.

Message delivered, though the exacts of what the message actually was seemed to have been lost. But it had been shared, and that seemed to be all that had been important. It did leave questions of what the future held, and if there would be any further important messages that would need to be shared. Who knows. Guess the game of 'wait and see' was going to have to be played.

AN: Don't ask. Please don't. I will say this, I was at work when I literally/figuratively heard Deadpool/Ryan Reynold's voice pop out from no where and bug me until I started writing this down. And when I lost the flow for a few days, it came back until I managed to finish it. So now I'm posting it here and cleaning my hands of it. I hope you can find some enjoyment in, I know I'm going to enjoy the peace and quiet.

As always; read, enjoy, and please review! - BunnyWK

#fanfiction #crossover #Inuyasha: A Feudal Fairytale #Deadpool #Wade Wilson #Kagome Higurashi #anime #marvel #comics #movies

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villainousshakespeare · 4 years

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Offerings

Loki/OFC one shot

Rated M: Angst, tooth rotting fluff, love, some light smut,

Summary: Laek is a healer from Alfheim sent to Asgard to train under Eir. She is lonely on so alien a world, with no one to talk to and all her dreams of adventure on hold. When she begins to receive gifts from a secret source, she cannot begin to imagine who has left them, or why.

**Set before the events of Thor I, when Loki was still a sweet (if mischievous) untraumatized soul.

I have been feeling a bit blue this weekend, and wanted to write something angsty and tooth-achingly sweet. This was the result. I hope you like it!!!

@arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @ciaodarknessmyheart @devilish--doll @hiddlesholic @hopelessromanticspoonie @izhunny @just-the-hiddles @kellatron55 @myoxisbroken @nonsensicalobsessions @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @yespolkadotkitty

*If I ever tag you and you want off a tag list, please let me know!

OFFERINGS

She did not belong here. The thought echoed like a silent scream through Laek's mind, try as she might to suppress it. Looking around her, at this strange world she'd been thrust into, it was all she could do not to weep. Laek knew she was being self indulgent and melodramatic, but she could not seem to help herself. What, after all, was a young woman like herself, born and raised to heal the injuries of men and gods, doing in a realm that celebrated war?

All around her, men and women dressed in armor, encased in and carrying the steel that was designed to do harm to one another. The air filled with the clang of weapons on a constant basis, accompanied by cries as blade edges found their homes in flesh. Even wielded as they were here in practice, mistakes were bound to be made, injuries acquired. They celebrated scars here, badges of honor for the noble race that elevated all that she had been raised to strive against.

It was not that she was a pacifist. Laek knew that there were things worth fighting for, causes that she would die to defend. It was just that the level of worship here accorded brute strength, the ability to maim and kill, was out of all proportion to her mind. Surely, surely, she thought, there were other skills of equal value.

She had been brought here to train in her arts, for it was on Asgard that the Goddess Eir, worshiped above all by healers such as herself, resided. It made sense, in its way. Where else would she be more needed than on this barbaric world. And Laek was learning much and more from the blessed Goddess. Her own powers and knowledge were still green, if great in latent strength. Laek was the strongest natural healer to be born to her people in generations, but at just 700 years old she had much still to learn. It was thought that 100 years under the watchful eye of Eir would be exactly what was needed to nurture her gift. 100 years. She had been here for one month, and already she wanted to throw herself off the much vaunted rainbow bridge to escape.

It would be easier, she often thought, if she didn't look so different on top of all else. She was smaller than most of these Asgardians, both in height and body mass, and her clothing was soft and flowing rather than hard and protective. Her pale gold hair she kept long, after the fashion of her Alfar people, braided across her temples and tied with ribbon woven through. Under a high brow, her wide, tilted eyes shaded different colors, from gold to green to crystal, depending on her mood, an embarrassment to her now that she found them so often a cloudy grey that gave away her discontent.

Laek was not mistreated, of course. Eir and her acolytes were kind to her, in their fashion. But the Goddess was old, dry, and set in her ways. The All Mother, Frigga, had pulled her aside upon her arrival in a most kindly manner, telling Laek that her door was always open, should the young healer need to talk. Occasionally she had thought of taking her up on that offer, but in truth she was more than a little intimidated by the regal Goddess that ruled Asgard at her husband's side, and her courage had failed her every time. Odin himself flat out terrified her, as did their two sons, the golden Thor and the sleek, dark but pale Loki. She watched them, but never dared approach.

And so Laek spent her time in a somber routine. In the mornings she would rise, bathe, dress, and report to the infirmary. Once there, she would spend the early half of the day tending to the sick and injured, attending on Eir and absorbing as much knowledge as she could at the healer's side. In the afternoon, she would head to the library, where all of the written knowledge of all 9 realms was stored in the pages of books and scrolls, a collection that had no rival in any universe. She would loose herself there for hours in reading, studying healing or simply learning about the customs and practices of other places, places she longed in her secret, adventurer's heart to see for herself one day.

She ate her meals at the end of a table in the great feast hall, alone amidst a sea of strangers. At night, she retired to her chambers to an early rest, often walking in the moonlit garden beneath her rooms, where she could pretend for a moment that she were home and at peace.

It was in the library one afternoon, in the beginning of her second month, that the first token appeared. She had found her eyes glazing over as she studied a text on blood transfusions, and in an attempt to rouse her mind had gotten up and wandered to the section that contained dwarfish riddles, pulling a book at random to bring back to her seat.

When she returned to her bench, her breath caught in her chest. There, lying atop the open tome that had so sedated her, was a pale blue crystal. The stone, smooth to the touch and oval in shape, had a pure clarity that made the sparkling fire at its depth shine so brightly it looked like the evening star. Laek had seen many such stones in her time, for they came from her home, from Alfheim, but never one so perfect, so incandescent.

Dropping the riddle book, she had picked it up with trembling hands, and then, unable to do anything else, had run to her rooms, thrown herself on her bed and wept, clutching it to her breast. It was home, a talisman of all that she missed in this strange land.

She had asked the next day, in a shy, anxious voice, if the librarian on duty had seen where it had come from, who had left it. In response, she had gotten a terse "no" and a lecture on leaving her books unshelved when she was finished with them.

Eight days later, she had been walking in the garden as the first stars rose, blue stone secreted into her pocket so she could feel it cool against her hand. When she reached her favorite bench where she always stopped to gaze up at an unobstructed view of the heavens through a circle of elder trees, she found a flower. Placed carefully in the exact center of the bench, it was a perfect red rose, a flower that she had only read of until then. It grew on neither Asgard nor Alfheim, but was prized on Midgard for its beauty. She raised it to her nose and inhaled the lovely aroma, a soft smile coming to her lips.

After the rose, it had been a snowflake, perfectly preserved between two pieces of glass found in her cubby in the healer's quarters. Larger than any she had ever seen, she knew it could only come from Jotunheim, home of the fearsome Frost Giant. How anyone could have gotten it, let alone why they would have left it for her was a mystery she couldn't begin to explain. Still, the gesture touched her deeply. Someone had noticed her, other than to sneer or pity. Someone was being kind. She only wished she knew who it was.

Laek began to hope for the small tokens, to take greater note of her surroundings in case some small item were to be slipped in. It was a good thing, too, as she could easily have injured herself had she accidentally sat on the twisted puzzle box made of small metal daggers that had obviously come from Nidavellir. She spent all that night unlocking it, to find a bright green gem set on a silver chain within.

The tokens made Laek's life exciting again. Oh, she knew how pathetic that sounded, but she didn't care. She had a friend, even if they didn't make themselves known to her. Every time she searched the area where a gift was deposited, there was the same result. No one had seen anything. No trace was to be found of the person who had left them.

When they stopped, she was devastated. Three weeks went by, and there was nothing. Not in any of the places she frequented. As time went on and no further offerings of friendship appeared, Laek grew despondent. Perhaps whoever it was had found a new game, a new way to pass the time that did not involve the strange Liosalfar who was all alone on Asgard. On the day that marked a month passing with no new token, Laek begged off early from the infirmary, pleading fatigue of her own, and returned to her quarters. She knew it was silly to feel so bereft, but she could not help it.

She was aware something was wrong the moment she opened the door to her outer chamber and her eyes shifted to amber. She had magic deep within her, at her very core. A warding over her rooms, her sanctuary, was a automatic outcrop of that magic. She could tell beyond a shadow of doubt when someone had breached that warding, no matter how subtle the magic the intruder had used. Tiptoeing silently, she made her way towards her bedroom, where a quiet rustling could be heard. Opening the door, her eyes went to a figure standing over her bed.

"Frjosa!" she said, arm twisting out towards the intruder, who instantly froze in place.

With a pounding heart, Laek pushed door the rest of the way open and gaped in stunned disbelief. There, next to her bed, was the frozen form of Loki, Prince of Asgard, Odinson. She had caught him just raising his head, his green eyes wide with surprise as the spell hit him. His hair, dark and straight, brushed against the collar of his green tunic ornamented with gold. One elegant, long fingered hand was extended towards her pillow, and in it was grasped a rolled up piece of parchment tied with a green ribbon.

"What in all the Nine?" Laek said allowed, staring at the frozen prince.

Why would he be in her room? It made sense in one way, only a strong sorcerer would have been able to break her wards and enter. She knew he was known for his mischief, had he had some prank in mind to play on the unsuspecting foreigner thrust into their midst? With his mastery of magic, he could pull any number of tricks on her.

Shaking her head in confusion, Laek made a small motion with her fingers, and unfroze his body, still, however, containing him within a parameter of limited space.

"My Lady," he gasped, a flush of red suffusing his cheeks. "I pray, forgive me my intrusion."

"You," she said, stupidly.

"I am Loki," he told her, sketching a courtly bow.

"Yes, I know," she replied with a little laugh, feeling her eyes shade to blue as she blushed. He was royalty and handsome as sin, she could hardly not know who he was. "I am Laek of Alfheim. But I suppose you know that, since you are in my room."

"I do," he admitted with a small nod of his head. "Again, a thousand apologies for my trespass."

"But why are you trespassing?" she asked, tilting her head as she stared at his handsome frame. She could feel his magic pulsing from him, attempting to find a chink in the stasis field she had him trapped in. Only in her own chambers would she be able to confine one as strong as he she knew.

"I don't suppose you would believe this is a shortcut to the armory?" he asked with a devastating smile.

"Through my bedroom? I think not."

"Ah, well then."

"What is that you have in your hand?" she demanded, noticing how he was attempting to hide it behind his back.

"Nothing," he said shortly, blushing again.

"It is not nothing!" she approached him warily, as one would a cornered animal. She knew he could do no magic, not bound as she had him, but that did not mean he could not use physical strength should she come too close. Against that, she had no defense unless she chose to freeze him again, and such a course would not yield the answers she sought.

"Your magic work is commendable," he praised her, sending a spark of something warm shooting through her. "Normally I could break a spell such as this in a matter of seconds, but your construction is seamless."

"You are in my nest," she shrugged, inching closer. "It is the way of our kind to protect our homes."

"Perhaps you could teach me," he smiled again, unleashing a lethal charm for one so young. She felt her own lips begin to tilt up, struggled to get them under control.

"Perhaps," she said non-committaly. "Once I know your intentions."

With speed that she knew surprised others not of her race, Laek's hand shot out and snatched the scroll from his hand. He made an unconscious noise of protest, but she had it out of his reach before he could grab it back. Was it a spell, she wondered? Some joke he sought to play on her? Biting her lower lip, she untied the ribbon and unscrolled the crackly parchment.

Her eyes widened with shock as she read the words written in an ornate, ancient hand. It was Vanir in origin and dialect, but the words were not a sorcerous incantation, but rather a poem; a rather romantic, lyrical poem set in a forest by night.

"I meant to be gone before you found that," he stammered. "I had no wish to embarrass you."

"You!" she breathed, realization hitting her. "You are the one who left all the tokens for me!"

Her left hand dipped into her pocket to grasp the blue stone, while her right flew to the green gem around her neck. Her eyes flicked to her bedside table, where the rose stood in a crystal bud vase next to the pressed snow.

"I did," he admitted, not meeting her eyes. "I ran out of locations to leave them for you. You go so few places. It took me weeks to breach your warding and make my way in here. I never expected you to return so soon. It is not your normal habbit."

He was babbling, she realized. As though he were the nervous one.

"Why?" she asked, at last. "Why leave them for me?"

"You seemed so lonely," he said, arms coming across his chest and head ducking down defensively. "Always by yourself, not really fitting in here. It caught my attention."

"It did?"

"Yes," he said softly. "I know a bit what that is like. Let us say, it piqued my curiosity. An easy thing to do, in truth. I watched you often in the library. I spend a portion of most days there. Tracked what you read. It seemed you had a desire to see the worlds."

"I do," she admitted. "I always have."

"I know a bit about that too. I know of course that you are here for study, and what a demanding teacher Eir can be. I trained under her for a century or so myself you see. I thought, if you could not go to the world, perhaps the world, or a small representation of it, could come to you."

"A stone from Alfheim, a snowflake from Jotunheim, a puzzle and gem from Nidavellir, a rose from Midgard, and a poem from Vaniheim. You went to all of those places? Found these things?"

"I did," he said, as though it were nothing. "It is easy enough if you know how. I admit, I was stumped as to what I would do when I reached Helheim on my list. Even I might have difficulty breaking in and out of there."

"Again, why?" she asked, staring at him with wonder. "It must have been so difficult. Why go to all that trouble? You might have just talked to me."

"I like a challenge," he said proudly, lifting his chin. After a moment though, his eyes dropped. "And I did not know if such an overture would be accepted. I am not... well liked or understood on Asgard."

"That makes two of us," she laughed, a bit breathlessly.

"I suppose it does," he replied, chuckling himself. "My dear Laek, do you think you might undo the stasis barrier? While it is causing me no physical distress, the wound to my pride is nigh on unbearable."

"Of course!" she said at once, moving her hand in a lateral swipe that dissolved magic.

"Thank you," he said with a deep breath of relief.

"I liked the gifts," she told him quietly, suddenly feeling shy now that he was free.

"Did you?" he asked, stepping towards her.

"They are all that has made these past months bearable on this planet."

"You are all that has made the past months bearable," he said, gazing into her eyes in a way that made her breath catch. "Before you arrived, I was miserable. Nothing changed, everyone was the same. Then you appeared, and I couldn't breath. I wanted... needed to know you."

"Me?" she she breathed in awe.

"You. Have you no idea how beautiful you are? And then to discover you were smart as well, gifted in magic, and curious to boot? For the first time in centuries there was someone in this accursed realm besides my mother who I thought I might understand. Who I wanted to know. To know in so many ways."

"You could have said hello," she said, feeling far out of her depth as he stood so near to her, took her hand in his.

"I could have," he said. "I chose not to. Can you forgive me?"

"Yes," she said simply, willing in that moment to forgive him any sin.

"Will you let me kiss you?" it was the uncertainty in his voice that touched her the most. He honestly didn't know if she would allow it.

"Yes," she said again, transfixed.

He was slow, gentle. His lips touched hers softly at first, brushing against her like silk. When she tilted her head towards him, he sighed into the kiss and gently lapped against her lips with his tongue. Laek opened her mouth willingly to him, inviting him to explore, to taste her. His arm came around her waist and pulled her flush against him as her fingers fanned out over his chest. He at last pulled away from her, leaving little nipping kisses on her lower lip as he did.

"Minn svass," he murmured as he gazed at her. "Your eyes are crystal."

Laek blushed crimson. She could tell from his smug voice that he knew what crystal meant. Her truest color. She wanted him. Wanted him desperately.

"Do not be embarrassed, sweetheart," he smiled. "Mine would be too."

As he took a step away from her, her eyes drifted downward and she saw the proof of his words, tenting his trousers.

"I would not disrespect you," he told her in a rough voice. "Would court you as your station deserves."

Laek bit her lower lip, struggling for words, always a problem for her when her emotions ran high.

"Could you not disrespect me just for one day?" she asked at last, flashing him a nervous smile.

A slow, wide grin spread over Loki's face as he stepped back towards her, pulled her into his embrace.

"I can do that," he practically growled at her.

He was kissing her then with a newfound ferocity, claiming her mouth, her neck, anywhere he could find flesh. Her hands fumbled at the hem of his tunic, and he raised his arms to help her pull it off. Her dress quickly followed, and he tumbled her down onto the obliging mattress just inches away.

"So beautiful," he groaned, eyes wandering her body where she lay naked before him. "Delicate as a flower and all for me."

"Loki," she panted as he devested himself of his trousers and stood before her in all his glorious nakedness.

She guided him into her, sweet and wet and open to his invasion. Her slim legs rose to wrap themselves around his hips as he buried himself within her walls. He had wanted her for so long, the beautiful, alien woman who had captured his interest from first glance. The reality was even more perfect than he had imagined. She was soft yet supple, molding around him as he thrust within her. He could feel the magic that was part of her very being, and it mingled with his own in a way that made their coupling more intimate than he had ever known it could be. When he felt her walls clamp down around him, felt his own release pump warm and strong inside her, filling her, it was with an intensity he had never experienced before. He cried out her name, almost as though in prayer, heard his own name called back with equal urgency and bliss.

When at last they could breath again without panting, Laek lay cradled in Loki's arms, head resting on his slim, muscular chest. One of his hands toyed lightly with the stone around her neck, and she smiled at the thought of him finding it for her.

"Promise me," he said to her, "that you will wear this always."

"I promise," she told him without hesitation.

"Tomorrow I begin to court you officially," he reminded her.

"I look forward to it," she smiled at him with a dreamy smile. The smile faded after a moment as her crystal eyes sought his green. "Loki, I have been so lonely."

"Think not on that, love," he told her, covering her with his body. "I am with you now, and you will never have to be alone again."

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updatingthedragon · 3 years

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Solo Dungeon Adventures/Unique Traps

Solo Dungeons and Dragons gets a shout out in the first edition of The Strategic Review, in a unique manner. Gary Gygax himself wrote this article, with a bit of help from others, in which he outlines a system whereby you, yes you, can play Dungeons and Dragons without… a referee. Yeesh, that just sounds weird. I much prefer Dungeon Master. It’s a much more evocative term than referee. Plus, everyone argues with a referee, but who would dare argue with THE DUNGEON MASTER?!

Well, a lot of people, but I digress. Gygax gives us tables by which we can endlessly generate our own dungeon, if we don’t have any friends to do it for us. It is a… bit clunky, like most things in early Dungeons and Dragons. There are a lot of sub-tables to refer too, monster behavior to keep track of, loot, magic pools of water…

Honestly, there are much better ways to play Dungeons and Dragons these days, with Roll20 and other sites making it possible for even lonely nerds to find a group, and purpose-written solo adventures that avoid the complexity of Gygax’s system. Even if we want a random dungeon, we can simply Google “random dungeon generator” and get computer programs that will do all of this for us. It’s a lot easier, but it does lack some of that charm.

I can almost picture myself, if I had been a teen in those days, huddled under a blanket, flash light in hand, rolling dice and painstakingly tracing out the Caverns of Zurkrasheim (made it up as I wrote this, and I love it already), wondering with bated breath what I will encounter next. It’s raining outside, with that warm, pleasant smell of long-dry dirt finally getting a drink. A train horn sounds in the distance…

Sorry, got a bit carried away there. Anyway, there is quite a bit of stuff we can steal for 5e. While the game seems to have moved away from dungeon crawls, there are several traps worth a look at. I like the idea of hidden doors that are difficult to find (humans, unaided, had a 1 in 6 chance according to the chart), with some great reward behind them. But secret doors are easy. No, the trap I love the best is the gas trap. You step on a pressure plate, and gas fills the hallway! A great dramatic beat. Not only that, but the gas sub-table illustrates different kinds of gas your players could encounter. One literally made your Fighters stronger, while another would just straight up kill you if you failed a saving throw. With that in mind, here are my handy, uh, “gas traps?” That just sounds wrong…

Gas Trap: DC 16 to detect the pressure plate. If the players step on the trap, there is a hiss as a mysterious gas fills the corridor around them.

Types of Gas: 1. Smoke Screen. The gas is ashen gray and thick. The area covered by the gas is heavily obscured, blocking vision entirely. 2. Poison Gas. The gas is a sickly yellow and carried a vague scent of sulfur. Whenever a creature enters or starts their turn within the cloud, a DC 14 Constitution saving throw. On a failure, take 3d6 poison damage. On a success, take half as much damage. 3. Blinding Gas. This light green gas has a strange texture, as if it is made of shards of finely woven glass. Roll a DC 14 Constitution saving throw whenever a creature enters the cloud or starts their turn within it. On a failure, the creature is blinded for 1d8 turns. On a success, the creature is able to resist the gas, but will have to roll again next turn if they are still within the cloud. 4. Fear Gas. The gas is darkly colored, with strange flashes reminiscent of lightning rippling throughout. Roll a DC 14 Constitution(or Wisdom, depending on DM choice) saving throw whenever a creature enters the cloud or starts their turn within it. On a failure, the creature is frightened for 1d8 turns and cannot press further into the gas. On a success, the creature is able to resist the gas, but will have to roll again next turn if they are still within the cloud. 5. Sleeping Gas. This blue gas carries with it a sense of calm and the smell of cinnamon. Roll a DC 14 Constitution saving throw whenever a creature enters the cloud or starts their turn within it. On a failure, the creature falls asleep for 1d6 turns. On a success, the creature is able to resist the gas, but will have to roll again next turn if they are still within the cloud. This is also not “magical sleep”, so elves and half-elves beware! 6. Vapor of Valor. The gas is the shade of a summer rose and smells vaguely of rain. Your characters are suddenly reinvigorated, receiving almost all of the effects of a long rest; prepared spells, however, are unable to be changed.

Why would you want a “Vapor of Valor” in your otherwise dank and dangerous dungeon? I can actually think of two scenarios. The first, “meta-scenario,” is that your players are slogging through a dungeon full of monsters slowly picking away at their health, and they’re unclear if they’re lost or going the right way. Triggering something like this might serve as a signal that, yes, you’re doing it right and reignite their adventuring spirit.

The other, “game-scenario,” is that back when the Caverns of Zurkrasheim (or whatever dungeon) was a Dwarven stronghold (or whatever ancient group ruled there), this corridor led to the arena. Gladiators would walk down this hallway in between fights, and the Vapor would replenish their health and make them ready for another brutal fight. And, thusly, your players walk through the Vapor of Valor, feel good about themselves, and then there’s a click, the floor they are on suddenly raises, and they find themselves in a long abandoned arena facing down a Purple Worm. Much like the stereotypical “ammo and health packs at the boss door,” this ensures your players won’t get absolutely bodied, adds a feeling of expectation, and also gives your world a reason to have the Vapor.

Another thing I think we should pull from Gary’s auto-dungeon tables are magic pools. We must, of course, differentiate these from magic lakes which act as portals to another dimension. Magic pools, on the other hand, have a variety of options on the table. Some pools add to your stats, others subtract. Some pools talk and grant wishes! But since Wish is, ah, dangerous, we should stay away from that…

Magic Pools: A still pool, surrounded by stones. DC 14 Arcana check will identify this pool as magical. Rolling an 18 or above on that check will also identify what kind of pool it is.

1. Pool of Polymorph: This pool seems to be surrounded with a strange array of feathers and tufts of fur. Any creature that enters the pool must make a DC 16 Wisdom save or be polymorphed into a random creature (1d8. 1, rat; 2, eagle; 3, giant crab; 4, wolf; 5, brown bear; 6, giant bat; 7, giant spider; 8, giant hyena). The effect lasts for one hour, when it wears off and restores the creature to their original form. 2. Pool of Teleportation. A strange blue-green gem gives off a faint glow from the base of this 12-foot deep pool. Any creature that submerges in the pool will appear in a different Pool of Teleportation when they surface. This effect can be disabled by making a DC 14 Arcana check to deactivate the gem at the bottom of the pool. It can be reactivated with an additional DC 14 Arcana check. 3. Pool of Midas Touch. A few gold statues of goblins (or other creatures, depending on what’s in your dungeon) stand by the pool, which appears to be full of gold. Any creature that touches the pool must immediately make a DC 14 Wisdom save. On a failure, that creature begins to turn to gold and is Restrained. The Restrained creature must repeat the saving throw at the end of its next turn, becoming Petrified as a golden statue. The Petrification lasts until the creature is freed by the Greater Restoration spell or other magic. 4. Pool of Souls. The water in this pool is nearly black, with strange runes carved into the stones surrounding it. Any creature that touches this pool will be able to communicate with the souls of ancient sacrificial victims who were slain here. They will answer questions truthfully and to the best of their ability. It is at the DM’s discretion how much they know. Optionally, roll a DC 10 Wisdom save after the first question, increasing the DC by two with each subsequent inquiry. On a failed save, the creature is affected by short-term madness for 1d8 hours. Communing with tortured souls may have consequences, after all. 5. Pool of Strength. The water in this pool is light green and seems almost gelatinous. Any creature that submerges in this pool will receive the effects of a Potion of Hill Giant Strength (Strength Score of 21 for an hour). 6. Djinn’s Pool. This pool radiates a sky blue light. Touching the water summons a extremely self-centered Marid, who congratulates the party on entering his presence and asks for fitting tribute. It is up to the DM’s discretion on what the Marid will consider fitting tribute. If they comply, the Marid will give them a magical item of the DM’s choice. If they fail to present fitting tribute, the Marid will become bored, summon a water elemental to chase them off, and “close the door” by shutting off the connection between the Pool and the Elemental Plane of Water. If players bring up Wish, the Marid will calmly explain he was once “indisposed” and forced to grant Wishes, so he’d rather not. If players bring up Wish again, the Marid will become enraged and fight the party himself.

I think that’s enough to draw out from this assortment of auto-dungeon tables. Six different gases for your gas trap, six different kinds of magic pools for players to encounter. Pretty neat, if I do say so myself.

#dungeons and dragons #solo adventures #encounters #dungeoneering

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inquisitorradcliffe · 7 years

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Burn the Witch

First Place reward for @jdlegacy from the Recruitment Drive contest

Radcliffe’s revolver banged in his hand as another body dropped. He spun, arms swinging around to bring another target into his crosshairs and fire again. His revolver clicked dry. Radcliffe swore and danced back into the cover of a stone plinth. Lasrounds peppered the plinth, sending plumes of masonry dust into the air with each strike. The Lord Inquisitor opened his weapon’s cylinder with a flick of his wrist. Spent shells fell out, cascading down to jangle as they struck the tile floor. With practiced ease, Radcliffe reloaded and flicked the cylinder back into position before swinging out into a kneeling position and firing again.

“Leave some for the rest of us, Lord Inquisitor.” Radcliffe frowned as his vox bead crackled and Inquisitor Dolman’s smug voice came over the link. Dolman was a member of the Ordo Hereticus, and offensively stereotypical of its agents. He wore a tall, wide-brimmed hat at all times with a brown leather greatcoat that had the collar turned up. He carried a Condemnor patter bolt gun and enough anti-psyker trinkets to put a Culexus assassin to shame. The only redeeming quality about the man was his service record and the few choice souls that made up his retinue, all of whom seemed to find the man as irritating an insufferable as Radcliffe did.

“If you hurried and caught up, you might not be so reliant on my generosity,” Radcliffe shot back. He had no intention of saving any glory for Dolman. That wasn’t the game he played. If the Hereticus inquisitor wanted a share of the victory he would have to fight harder for it.

“Heads up, boss.” Remus’ voice came through a moment before a rocket screamed into the air. It spiraled towards Radcliffe on a tail of grey smoke. Radcliffe raised his arm to shield his face and the rocket detonated on a telekinetic barrier. Smoke and fire rolled around the Lord Inquisitor, but apart from a hot wind ruffling his coat, he was unharmed.

“Can someone get that fekker?” Radcliffe snapped. He was beginning to grow tired of this. The deeper they made it into the basilica, the more opposition they came across. Radcliffe launched himself forward, leaving the stone plinth for the safety of a marble support column. He peered out for a moment, taking stock of what lay ahead.

The corridor widened out ahead at a cross junction. Service platforms ran overhead, almost invisible against the high, domed ceiling. A number of cultists, their eyes dark and empty, had their guns trained down at the strike team, red beams of las stitching the air. Radcliffe, for the briefest moment, caught sight of the rocket launcher as the man toting it hefted it up onto his shoulder again.

“Incoming!” someone cried just before the launcher belched its payload at them. More tile and masonry flew into the air as the rocket blew a crater in the center of the corridor.

“I said can someone-”

“Patience, Lord Inquisitor,” Dolman chided. Radcliffe would strangle the man if they survived this. “We have it.”

“Damn well you better,” Radcliffe muttered. A moment later and fire boiled across the upper catwalks and Radcliffe heard the three distinctive percussive blasts as grenades went off. Cultists were thrown from their perch, falling to their deaths with unnerving silence.

“Target neutralized, Lord Inquisitor.”

“Much appreciated, Mister Danforth,” Radcliffe replied. He turned on his heel and whistled sharply. On cue, the rest of his team broke cover and sprinted the remainder of the corridor until they were all backed up against a set of ornate double doors. Thatch stepped forward, holstering his inferno pistol so he could plug into the door’s security pad. The techsorcist had the lock undone in a matter of seconds. Radcliffe pressed he vox bead in his ear. “We’re in position, Dolman.”

“Understood, Lord Inquisitor. We are-” Static burst across the link, causing Radcliffe to flinch.

“Say again, Dolman. You’re breaking up.”

More static. It hissed it waves that receded periodically to allow the sound of gunfire through. Gunfire and screaming. Radcliffe nodded to Thatch. “Open it.”

The doors squealed as gears engaged and massive hydraulic rams recessed into the floor pushed them inwards. The sound of gunfire and the horrid screaming, before only audible over the vox, now flooded out and engulfed them. Radcliffe ducked inside, mind already roving forward to assess the situation before the rest of his team followed him in.

He was met by a mental barrier of immense force. It was blunt and unwieldy, the result of a combination of untrained minds accumulated into one gestalt force of will. They were the source of the screaming and their wailing was a symptom of Dolman’s work upon their physical form.

There were hundreds of them, all chained together via metal collars around their necks. Their eyes had been removed, scorched out to leave nothing but blackened sockets. Whether this was intentional or the result of some warp power was uncertain. They were on their knees, pale, shriveled bodies trembling as they sobbed and wailed. They were wretched, and Dolman sought to end each of their wretched lives.

He killed without mercy as he marched down the line, executing each psyker in turn. They died effortlessly, their heads evaporating into red mist and grey matter. Each passing resounded i the warp as a violent shriek. “Dolman what are you doing?” Radcliffe shouted. “Stop!”

“The Emperor’s work, Lord Inquisitor!” Dolman replied. “You may join me at any time.”

“Stay your hand you ignorant man!” Radcliffe shouted. The air was growing unnaturally cold and each death only pushed the temperature down further. Radcliffe could feel a growing pressure. The veil between the warp and reality was failing. “Dolman!”

It was too late. There came the sound of shattered glass and for a moment everything froze. Tendrils of glowing haze bled into reality from a point just above Dolman’s head. They shone with impossible colors and seemed to coalesce into something greater. Then it all exploded. Dolman was tossed backwards like a rag doll, sailing through the air until he struck a stone pillar. The sickening crunch his body made indicated to Radcliffe the man would not be getting up again. The psykers, those that Dolman had not yet killed, simply ceased to exist, evaporating into a cloud of bloody mist that swirled on the sudden wind. It rose up and condensed until the blood was a shimmering, floating pool recessed high into the vaulted ceiling.

“Boss?” Orval’s voice over the vox link betrayed the slightest hint of panic.

“Kill anything that comes near me,” Radcliffe instructed. Thunder peeled overhead and lightning flashed inside the blood. Then it began to rain, warm and sticky.

“Lord Inquisitor, what do you need of me?”

“Danforth?”

“Aye, Lord.”

“My orders stand for you as well, Mister Danforth. For the Emperor.”

“For the Emperor, Lord.”

Radcliffe looked up at the blood cloud as it spit down on him. The warm fluid ran down his cheeks and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. The cloud seemed to sense his defiance, and the light sprinkle turned into an absolute deluge. Something moved within it, something large and with wings. A giant claw, the fingers gnarled and grotesque, pushed through. The blood strained at first, as if it were a membrane. Then it broke, popping like a bubble. It fell from the ceiling to swamp the floor.

And the bloodthirster fell with it.

The daemon landed with a heavy thud, tiles shattering under its hooves. The force of the impact caused a shock wave to ripple across the blood pools. Wings, leathery and scaled like a dragon’s, unfurled from its back as the bloodthirster stood to its full height. The whip in its left hand wreathed and snapped with a mind of its own. The axe in its other hand pulsed with arcane power. Radcliffe drew his force sword, already acutely aware the wraithbone’s abilities would be of little use against this foe. The bloodthirster roared, shaking the building with its primal bellow. It stared Radcliffe down with eyes that glowed like hot coals. The challenge was unmistakable.

Radcliffe’s grip on his sword tightened. “Let’s see what you’ve got then.”

The first blow nearly drove his sword from his hands. The whip only made things more difficult, snaking about to try and snare and disarm. Radcliffe counted himself blessed to have sparred with so many Mechanicus armed with dendrites. He stomped down hard on the whip, wincing internally as he registered the fleshy feel to it. A downstroke severed the whip in two.

The bloodthirster roared. “Ĭ̡ͯ ẅ̢̝́į̄ͮl͓ͪ͟l̥̠͝ c̳᷈̎l̫͂̏a̍ͬ᷅i̼̺ͫm̲̏ͅ ŷ᷇̌o͚̜͕u̺᷊͆r͐᷆͠ s᷁̆͝k̥͊ͬu̓̅᷇l̿̋͘l̶̝̥ f̶ͤ͡o̶̳̙r̼̐̏ Ḵ̙͂h̙᷉͒o᷈̆̃r᷁͏᷈n͂̿͗ȅ͊᷃.ͥͣͯ“ The thing was clearly not used to Low Gothic, and it showed in the way it spoke. It raised its axe. The other hand, now free with the loss of its whip, reached forth to grab the Lord Inquisitor. Radcliffe threw himself to the side just in time to avoid being grabbed.

Something exploded on the beast’s back, prompting the bloodthirster to shriek in pain. It stumbled backwards, turning as it looked for the new threat. “I’ll keep it distracted, my Lord.”

“Danforth?”

“Don’t take too long. I’ve only got three charges left.” Radcliffe spied the man ducking between support columns. He paused once, exposed halfway between points of cover, to release another charge. It was square, the size of a small briefcase. It spun through the air, arcing up and over with Danforth’s expert throw until detonated in the daemon’s face.

Radcliffe looked around. They were running out of time. The longer the bloodthirster was allowed to exist, the stronger its tie to reality became and the harder it would be to banish. Radcliffe reached out mentally, testing the waters as he probed the daemon’s defenses. As he expected, his mind was rebuked. Khorne’s servants always boasted a number of safeguards against psykers.

But flying chunks of masonry were a different story. Another bomb went off, drawing another frustrated scream from the daemon. Radcliffe focused on a long piece of marble, jagged and dangerously spear-like. It was longer than he was tall, and judging by the difficulty he had lifting it even with his prodigious mind, weighed in the neighborhood of several tons. The third and final bomb went off.

“My Lord,” Danforth said, urgency in his tone. “Any time now.”

Radcliffe flung his improvised missile with all his might. The bloodthirster seemed to sense what was happening and turned to face the Inquisitor, but too late. The marble spike impaled the beast through its tainted heart. Blood, black and steaming, fountained forth as if released from a great pressure. The daemon began to thrash about in its death throes. More pillars collapsed under its wild charge until it fell to its knees and toppled over, dead.

Silence fell.

“Are we done?”

Radcliffe coughed powdered marble from his lungs as he turned to look for his erstwhile assassin. He found him secreted up in the rafters. “Yes, we are done. Mister Danforth, are you okay?”

“Aye, but....”

“But, Mister Danforth?”

“But Inquisitor Dolman is...”

“Dead,” Radcliffe said. He felt that nothing of great value had been lost with the man. Dolman, and the rest of his bloody Ordo, could rot in hell for all he cared.

“Yeah.”

“His body will be collected during cleanup, as will the rest.”

Danforth nodded his understanding. “So what does that mean for me?”

“For you, Mister Danforth?”

“Only one left. Inquisitor’s dead. Teammates’re dead. I’m the only one left.”

Radcliffe paused, looking towards the man standing solemnly over his former employer’s corpse. “It means only one thing, Mister Danforth.”

“And what’s that?”

“You work for me now.”

#drabble #400 Follower Recruitment Drive #Taggert Danforth #jdlegacy

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your-highnessmarvel · 7 years

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Burn - chapter 7

This chapter is again a long one but full of action. Enjoy.

Chapter seven: Chatoyant

She stood inside the mouth of the open jet, her ripped jeans making the cool wind lap at her knees and thighs. Her dark green hoodie was pulled over her dark locks, her honey-colored eyes staring at the purple early morning sky. There was a handgun strapped to her right thigh and an array of knives around her hips. The wind was throwing some lose strands of dark hair into her eyes, but when the jet started, her hoodie was flung back and her hair flew behind her head. The low hum of the jet made the electricity in her veins sing as the door slowly pulled up and closed completely. The night sky disappeared behind a metal door, the girl's melancholic eyes still staring.

The plane lifted slightly, the electricity in the air sparking. She turned to face the rest of the crew as they were strapping in and going over the routine plans. Steve was wearing his dark black and blue suit with the enigmatic grey star on his chest. Clint was dressed in his usual leather fight suit and Wanda had a dark red leather jacket and black jeans. Her boots were laced up to her knees and her hair was tied in a tight braid that went along the curve of her skull. Sam and Scott had dark jackets and matching light jeans that made them look more like friends than two allies going on a mission. Sam had his hand on the Falcon suit while Scott adorned his forearm gear.

As for Bucky, sitting somewhat far away from everybody else, was wearing black cargo pants and a dark leather body suit. His hair was tangled before his eyes, his mouth in a tight scowl as he was bent over papers and notebooks filled with Steve and Clint's writing.

Addie sat beside Wanda and strapped in. The latter was fixing the knots in her boot laces when she met the burning dark gaze of Addison, mouth parted and slightly breathless. The plane rose higher as Wanda leaned sideways. "We got your back, girl," she whispered, a sly smirk on her lips. Addie sighed heavily, her nervousness stagnant in the air.

Her fingers trembled as she readjusted her belt. "What if..." she trailed off, her voice barely above a murmur.

Wanda put her slender hand over Addie's, her eyes taking a sorrowful turn. "Just stay behind us," she said, her voice dramatically sweet and inviting. "You got this."

"What if I put you guys in danger?" Addie whispered back, Bucky's words from yesterday still playing vividly in her mind.

Someone is going to be threatening you or one of us, and you won't be able to protect us because you're scared.

"You won't," Wanda answered. She settled back in her seat, her eyes glazing over as she sighed. "You're not a bad person, Addison," she mumbled. Not like them all, that's what she meant. Addie nodded, images playing in her mind of all the information she had on the Avengers. Clint, who had killed for the sake of being a spy and Scott, who had to lay down his family duties for the greater good. Sam could have saved his friend that one day in the sky and still blames himself for it. Steve had the deaths in Sokovia on his consciousness. Bucky had been used like a puppet to kill and slaughter and was built to destroy anything and anyone, which haunts him everyday. And Wanda had set off a bomb wanting to prove to the world she was an Avenger.

Addie wondered if she too would kill someone whilst trying to prove she was an Avenger.

The five hour flight was dangerously silent as everyone was mentally preparing for what they had to do. Steve was no where to be found, but everyone else was silently planning the strategies that were discussed before embarking on the plane.

She stood when JARVIS announced there was about half an hour left of flight time. She looked back at Wanda, who had headphones over her ears and was slowly dozing off. Addie took off to explore the plane, no specific destination in mind, her hand skimming lightly against the plane walls. Her ability was calling to all the humming and the buzzing from the aircraft, her cells burning with sparks and boiling with bolts. She closed her eyes, trying to picture her ability as being apart of her rather than being a part of her. She felt her fingertips twitching with the need to release what was inside her; all that bottled up power.

I'll protect her.

She kept replaying his voice inside her head, trying to picture what he may have looked like at that moment; twisted with sadness or boiling with anger? She imagined him torn between strength and weakness, just like she had been since her electricity came to her.

She ended up in a little room, with a bed and a desk. The room was probably for long flights, and over the bed, a little window opened up to a sunlit sky, puffy clouds like an ice rink. Her fingers found the glass on the window before she could register what she was doing.

"I think we know each other."

She jumped, her fingers leaving the window as she turned to face a rather stricken Bucky. Her heart beat ferociously against her chest, her lips parting. "James," she said, her voice trembling ever so slightly. Her mind was still a buzz from seeing him standing there, his hands by his sides, eyes carefully avoiding hers. "I know we know each other," she added after a while of silence, her brows furrowing.

"I mean," he started, going from one foot to the other, "I think we knew each other before all this."

"Why do you say that?"

He looked around until his eyes found her hand print against the window over her head. "I have a feeling," he answered.

You're pathetic.

She glazed her eyes, her throat raw, as she recalled how brutal Bucky had been yesterday morning. Even this morning, at around three, when he had trained her a bit more, he was not the more pleasant.

"I don't think we knew each other, James," she whispered, her eyes round as they met Bucky's. His metal hand flexed and she was glad she was out of reach because he had a knack for grabbing her.

"I'm still remembering things from my life before," he said slowly, his eyes torn with anguish and guilt. "I know when what I see or hear is something I've encountered before."

Her chest heaved, but not from his words. He took a tentative step towards her, his black boots quiet against the floor of the plane. "You're wrong," she said plainly. She had never encountered Bucky before his appearance with Steve in her bar.

"I've seen you before," he whispered, and suddenly, he wasn't Bucky anymore. The shell that seemed to encompass his whole being slipped away so gently that Addie wasn't sure who she was looking at anymore. His eyes adorned a tenderness she was surprised to see and when he reached out with his flesh hand, she couldn't resist a flinch. She watched his hand slowly lift to her cheek, where he brushed his knuckles until his fingertips reached her hairline.

"James, what-"

"Addison, how many times have I told you," he whined, his hard tone exchanged for something less threatening. "It's Bucky."

Her heart was throbbing painfully in her throat, her eyes searching his face for any trace of a joke, but all she saw was his sincere look. She knew she had never seen him before the bar, and so why was he so keen on looking at her as if searching for something deeper?

Her face was gently cradled in the palm of his hand, yet she remained stiff. "You're scaring me," she murmured, her cheeks red, her eyes round with dismay.

"You should be," he said, his voice a contrast to the way his fingers were slowly caressing her skin. She was trembling under his touch, his fingertips aching to grab her chin yet the pitiful look in her eyes was keeping him from doing so. "You should stay away from me, little bird," he whispered, his tongue laced with menace.

"But-"

"I'll teach you guns but do not get close to me," he interrupted, his jaw clenched, voice strained.

She didn't understand this man. He wanted, on his own, to teach her how to use weapons. He wanted her to learn and get better, by even bringing her to accept that she was filled with anger. He wanted to protect her and now he was growling like a lion in her face, his words stinging more than scorching hot water. He said he knew her, yet he was threatening her to stay away from him. Since the beginning, he was letting her come close, becoming accustomed, and then throwing her away at arms length. He kept giving her false hopes and then crushing her to crumbs. She knew he would destroy her.

"Fuck you, James," she spat, wrenching her chin free from his grasp and breezing by him, leaving him facing the harsh sunlight seeping in through the window.

Steve had set up two teams just in case they needed to separate. Addie was with Scott and Sam, while Steve stayed with Bucky, Wanda, and Clint. There was a device buried deep in her ear that permitted her to communicate with all of them, a little microphone sewed into her green hoodie. They waited until evening settled and the air got cooler, but nonetheless still hot. They got out of the jeep they had all squished into after the plane landed somewhere in an empty field.

Steve had ordered them to stay behind him and Clint, their feet quiet on the grass that surrounded the industrial plant. They marched slowly in the high grass, their fingers flexed, their eyes wary of any movement.

"Stay alert, guys," Clint whispered through the ear piece.

Addie was behind Sam, the very last one in line. Her eyes were round as she tried to take in as much as she could. Up ahead, tall buildings loomed against the dark grey clouds, stars starting to pepper the darkness. The outline of the industrial plant cut through the charcoal skies. Addie wasn't strong enough yet to reach that far out and palm for electricity, but she was nonetheless trying. Her head was starting to pound slowly as she fanned herself out, tendrils stretching out like fingers, reaching for anything that they could feel. Nothing.

She risked a peak to her left, where Wanda was walking slowly through the underbrush, slightly ahead of her. The brunette was cast in thought, probably reaching out with her own power as well.

"The dark is our cover," Steve's voice whispered in the ear piece. "Let's use it to our advantage."

"Wanda, anything?" Clint asked harshly. When Addie looked ahead, he had his bow titled slightly downwards, but ready to fire at any sudden movement.

"Nothing yet," Wanda answered, her voice brisking briefly in the ear piece.

"Addie?"

"Nothing yet too," Addie answered, feeling stupid to be leaning down so her mouth was closer to the microphone in her hoodie. She heard someone hiss.

"Don't talk too close to the mic, birdie," Sam said, making Addie chuckle.

They continued to walk slowly through the underbrush, advancing at turtle speed towards the abandoned plant. The closer they got, the more grim details became evident. The windows were cracked or none existent in some places, dirty and dusty, letting no light through. The walls were covered in coal, dripping black goo and dust, coated in all kinds of disgusting materials. The ground was cement, yet it was so cracked that it resembled a dirty battlefield, and all kinds of trash was scattered all over the place.

As they neared the first building, Addie reached out again.

"I got something, and it's not us," Wanda said softly.

"Tell us," Steve answered.

"I'm feeling things, people," she said, her voice deep in thought.

Addie finally started to feel, and once she did, it never stopped. Electricity came to her all at once, crashing down like a five thousand meter wave, filling her with impulses and bolts. Her veins hummed vehemently, white hot as her blood sped through her body. Her fingertips were burning the more she let the electricity consume her, eyes blurry and blue as she saw all the individual pulses of electricity. Under her flesh, blue rivers danced, florescent in the darkness.

"I got something too," she whispered. The more she concentrated, the more she could see where the most fervent electrical impulses were coming from. "There's way too much electricity for an abandoned place." Her voice was soft, her eyes round as she tried her best to keep all the electricity within the confounds of her skin.

"Wanda, use Addie's ability to help us define what's going on," Steve said. Addie's eyes found Wanda's as the latter began to pick and choose through Addie's brain, molding her ability to the electricity and what it could do. A halo the color of red wine was cast around Addie, something she was accustomed to due to training. Wanda and Addie's ability melded very well together.

"There's a building in the middle," Wanda said.

"The electricity is really strong there," Addie added.

"I can feel a lot of them there as well, but nothing feels wrong," Wanda whispered, her eyes still glued to Addie.

"They're not expecting us," Steve wondered.

"There's some electricity around the perimeter of the first building," Addie said clearly, her senses starting to get used to the condensed influx of electricity.

"Let's get closer," Steve whispered, his head gesturing up ahead. They followed in silence, their boots quiet as they went from grass to broken cement. They lingered by a small, burnt building, leaning against the wall as to appear as invisible as possible. Steve was first in line, his head rounding the corner as he peered for any enemies.

"What you see?" Clint asked. Steve went down in a crouch, everyone following suit.

Addie's heart pounded ferociously in her chest, her palms sweaty, breath rasping quietly through her parted lips.

"Split up," Steve said, "cover more ground. Sam, head across to that building over there." He gestured towards another similar building directly across from them all.

"Got it," Sam said curtly. Addie followed him and Scott until she was safely behind a wall, her back pressed flush against it. Her veins were throbbing painfully with power, her blood boiling with the excessive impulses.

From where she was standing, in the very dim light of falling night, she saw Steve gesture to his team. They quickly and quietly, like ghosts, ran alongside the building until they had reached the one in front of the previous one.

"There's people in this building," Wanda whispered through the ear piece.

"Sam, send Redwing," Steve ordered gently. Sam nodded, tapping on his forearm device until a little, dark and almost unnoticeable drone lifted from inside the Falcon suit and hovered over her head. Gently and without any sound, it flew towards the building where Steve and the others were waiting.

"Two hostiles," Sam said, his voice gruff in the ear piece.

"We're not here for blood," Steve reminded everyone. "We're here to get information. Let's stay as undetected as possible until we have to fight, got it?"

Everyone gave silent grunts of approval, and they were on the move.

Addie, with her cheeks red and veins boiling, followed Sam and Scott as they made their way deeper into the abandoned industrial plant. They passed more buildings with more and more hostiles, Addie's ability gaining more and more power the closer they got to the center. Her vision was clearer, yet all she could see was the electricity and she had to concentrate to hear Sam's little grunts over the murmurs of her ability.

"Addie, what can you tell us," Clint asked, startling her.

She gulped harshly before answering. "There's something really strong at the center," she breathed. "I can't yet tell you what it is, but it's like a magnet for me. It feels like that time there was an EMP near my house, but this... this is like ten times stronger." Her back was covered in sweat and despite having done barely any hard work, she felt like she had just finished training with Nat. Her muscles were jelly, her joints cracking under pressure. The closer they got, the more she needed to harvest that energy.

"Don't touch it just yet," Clint said, "it might still be a trap."

Addie breathed in desperately. "I don't know how long I can last until I harvest it," she admitted, her cheeks aflame with shame.

"I know you can do this Addie," Steve said, trying to be reassuring.

"Just do like we practiced, birdie," Wanda whispered, a smile evident in her voice. Addie breathed harder. She could do this.

They had reached the outskirts of the central building, the electricity by then being stronger than anything she had ever felt. They were leaned against the walls of opposite buildings. From where she stood, between Sam and Scott, she could see Wanda frowning, her ability reaching as far as it could. Steve was in a crouch beside Clint, their eyes searching the darkness. Bucky stood behind them all, his gun angled forwards. His metal arm was glinting slightly in the moonlight.

Wanda's voice suddenly exploded in the ear piece and everything became clear as day. Light pooled in drastically from overhead, screams and shouts in unknown languages surrounding the courtyard they found themselves in. Steve's voice broke through the chaos briefly to tell them all to run. Addie, being pushed by Scott, was about to tell them all the electricity was coming to a pinpoint before the first shot rang through the air.

Fear gripped her every fiber and before she could control it, her skin was electricity and the air around her became charged. Scott, who had been closest to her, hissed and sprang away from her as they ran from the sound of guns.

"Make it back to the plane!" Steve was yelling, and when she looked back, she could see him running behind her with everyone else, the light pooling from God knows where outlining their running figures. "Run!"

She sped ahead, little lights popping with the sound of gunshots. The ground was bustling with bullets as they grazed her feet. Her heart was throbbing in her throat as she felt something off, something really wrong.

Just as they were nearing the last row of buildings, dark figures stepped out from the shadows, silver guns glinting in the moonlight. They were nothing but dark shadows, no faces and no eyes. They were cloaked in darkness from head to toe, all twenty-some of them. The group skidded to a stop, Addie unwillingly the first one in line. Her mouth went agape, her hair a tangled dark mess around her pale face. She was breathless, heart beating with fear against her breastbone. Her fingertips were trembling with power, her veins white hot as they carried her boiling blood.

Sam and Scott came to stand slightly beside her, guns leveled to the targets up front. In a matter of seconds, everyone else was surrounding her. Wanda's shoulder was touching hers, the former's ability leaking through into Addie's own power.

"When they fire the first shot," Steve said, surprisingly calm compared to the pandemonium erupting in Addie's mind, "you run. Separate as much as possible. Eliminate as many targets as you can. We regroup before the entrance."

Addie's heart was pounding and boiling like a benzene fire. She had no idea how she could eliminate a target. All of a sudden, she was a suburban girl with no training again. Her mind went numb, her brain blank of all strategies.

Wanda's hand briefly brushed against Addie's in an attempt to calm the latter. "They won't hesitate," she whispered. "You have no choice if you want to live."

All this hesitation gets you dead.

Bucky's words replayed vividly in her mind as she found him, standing beside Steve, his gun leveled professionally. He looked terrifying; his brows pulled together, jaw clenched, eyes adorning a hatred unknown to man. He was breathing harshly, an aura of devilish hatred and acrimony radiating off of him. His metal arm was clenching the weapon, the plates readjusting and rewiring.

You're pathetic!

She bit her lip when his eyes made brief and almost non existent contact with hers. The blood in her veins exploded with electricity and she knew someone had fired a shot.

She was on her feet in a matter of seconds, bolting for the shadows that surrounded the buildings. Her feet were pounding harshly against the broken cement, her ankles aching the faster she propelled herself across the courtyard. The bright white light that had been illuminating the yard did not reach the dusty corners of the plant and she found an empty spot where she could lodge herself in.

Her hands were gripping a wooden, broken door as she heard a zillion bullets rip the night sky. Her heart tumbled in her chest as she heard cries and shouts, her eyes darting as shadows moved graciously through the yard. She moved towards the edge of the building, still hidden in the shadows. She reached for the gun at her thigh, feeling the cold metal as she wrapped her fingers around the handle. She held it out, arms outstretched, gun facing the ground.

If you don't have to shoot, you hold it like this. Always ready.

Bucky had taught her well, despite only two training sessions. She breathed in harshly, seeing a million things all at once. Her senses were raw with power, but she kept herself in check.

"Wanda, come on, move!" It was Steve, yelling through the ear piece. When she saw them both running forward, she propelled herself out of the shadows and ran across the yard until she was once again hidden by another building.

She realized for the first time that she was alone. She had ran in the opposite direction of everyone else.

Another series of bullets tore the night sky, illuminating the ground in a yellow light. Addie saw feet running in different directions, shadows melding together and separating like bubbles in a bath. She heard shouts and screams in unknown and known languages, and heard the soft murmurs of electricity in her blood.

She decided she was going to use what she was given to her advantage. Standing up straighter, she felt for the source of that awful, blinding light and shut it off. The yard was cast in darkness and sudden silence, the air still stagnant with electricity. Feet scattered here and there, bullets being shot seemingly far away, but she knew they were close by.

"Addie shut down the lights!" someone yelled through the coms.

She let her mind wander to everything that was electrical, pulsing with energy, and just simply flipped the switch. Her skin was burning blue by the time everything was turned off, except for that center of energy in the middle of the plant.

Crouching in the darkness, she let her eyes adjust to the very sudden darkness, pupils blown, seeing figures ghosting by here and there. She couldn't tell friend from foe until something sharp and blue spun through the air with a ring of metal as it hit a shadowy figure. Steve's shield.

She leaped onto her feet when she saw Steve and Clint rushing through the yard, Wanda not far behind. A red halo was cast around her body, pulses of her ability scattering around her like shield. She used her hands and her telekinesis to throw her enemies around while the shield protected her and shielded Cap and Barton as well.

Addie reached the small group in seconds and noticed how dirty and bloody they were. They had gotten most of the fight, cuts and bruises evident on their pale flesh. She fell in line beside them, her skin still blue and ready to release bolts. Her hands still gripped the handgun, but her fingers were burning with her ability, little sparks edging along the weapon. She could feel her flesh dancing with flickers of electricity, and all she saw was the pulses in her eyes.

She fired her first shot at a figure lounging a building. They were almost by the edge of the plant, the grass inches away from their feet, when something rolled by their feet. Cap screamed something incoherent into the ear piece and she found herself being flung by Wanda's ability. She soared through the air effortlessly, her eyes wide as an orange explosion ripped the night sky in half. The ground trembled, heat eviscerating her hands and feet, flinging her even more sharply against the wall of the building.

Bucky was with Sam and Scott, walking backwards to the grass field, guns held high and shooting, when he heard the explosion. He was trained to let no minor inconvenience undermine his work, so he did not pay much more attention as he continued to drop targets. They were coming in from everywhere, crawling like ants, running like wild animals. They were cloaked in darkness, shooting dangerously close to his ears. He had fought one before joining up with Sam and Scott and so his brow was split and his right cheekbone was throbbing with pain. Yet he continued to kill them, one by one, his face pulled into a tight and concentrated frown.

"Cap, come in!" Sam yelled. They waited a few seconds, guns still blazing bullets, bodies still running and hiding behind anything in the yard. Once they had reached a building near where the explosion had originated, they threw themselves against the back wall and waited until the enemy stopped shooting at them. "Steve, come in!" Sam insisted. There was a loud noise again, like an explosion had once again tore the sky, but no orange glow mushroomed up in flames.

"Damn it!" Sam yelled, concern and fear ringing in his voice. He deployed his wings, and before he could fly off into the darkness, he tapped Bucky on the shoulder. "Stay with Lang!"

"Let's head to them," Bucky growled, his voice steady like he had been trained to be. He grabbed Scott by the elbow and they were once again scurrying in the darkness, guns held up, hands gripping the weapons. Silence had fallen; no guns were being shot and only the sound of feet scurrying on the ground could be heard from a distance.

They crawled through the maze that was the abandoned plant, Bucky leading and Scott covering the back. Nothing popped out and attacked them, but the feeling that something bad was happening was growing under their skin like mold.

"Wanda, Clint, Addie, come in," Scott whispered.

Silence answered them.

Bucky calculated how far they still had to walk until they reached the explosion site. There was no way the coms weren't reaching. There was no excuse for why no one was coming in.

Then he understood. The low buzz that was always there in his ear was gone, the ear piece dead. No wonder the coms didn't work; they were shut down.

"It's Addie," he said in the darkness, his eyes never leaving the scope of his weapon. "She must have burned them."

He heard Scott give a low sound of agreement. "Let's hurry up then," he answered.

The closer they got to the site, the more action they could hear. Grunts and groans and shouts rose up to their ears, the air smelling of coal and smoke. Through the maze of buildings they could see red and orange flames licking the cement and crawling up wooden doors and walls. They crawled a little closer until Bucky was leaning against the corner of a building, his eyes peering around the edge. What he saw sent him rushing to his feet in an instant, bullets spilling from his gun.

Steve was engaged in a two man fight, his shield flying and rounding back to him as he punched and got kicked, stood up and got beaten down again. He had the upper hand, but not for long, since he was busy watching out for the others, as selfless as he is. Beside him, Clint was reaching behind his shoulder methodically, pulling out arrows and cutting down enemies as they ran towards him, his face serene in concentration. Wanda had her ability sprawled all over; shielding herself and Sam, throwing objects here and there, immobilizing enemies while Sam shot them down. Redwing was hovering over Sam's head, bullets ripping from the little aircraft. Bodies flew in the air, covered in red magic, their screams echoing in the darkness.

Bucky resisted the urge to get angry when Steve took a quite painful blow to the cheek. In his training, they had molded him to be careless and cold, calculated and cunning. He was methodical and precise, never letting emotions and sentiments rule his actions. The way he fought, the way he carried a gun, and the way he could slice someone's throat was drilled into him so far into his mind that he found himself recoiling to what he had been taught by HYDRA.

His gun was fast, finger quick on the trigger and he dropped more and more cloaked figures. He saw and heard all, the serum in his blood enhancing his senses until everything around him was accounted for. Every move Wanda made with her mind, he sensed it. Every arrow Clint shot was registered in the back of his mind, that bullet coming for Bucky's right leg logged and easily avoided. He was a machine, calibrating and rewiring as he killed as many dark and unimportant shadows. He could feel the gun propelling back against his shoulder, heard the bullet slide into place, the smoke rich on his tongue. He was a machine; a killing machine.

Somewhere, he could hear an unfamiliar voice squeaking in the darkness.

"Are you serious right now!?"

Blue rivers of electricity sparked through the black air, briefly illuminating his surroundings. He heard skin against skin, but he was a machine. He did not let unimportant noises around him diverge him from his mission.

There were less and less black figures coming at them, but he knew there were more coming and they needed to go, now. Their only window to escape was opening soon, and if they didn't run like hell, they would be caught in yet another wave of those mysterious cloaked people.

Just as Bucky fired his last shot, he spun on his heel to meet the rest of the group. He was met by Steve rushing to a point by the right, Wanda outstretching her hand and a yell caught in her throat. Everything seemed to slow as he turned his head to where Steve was running to.

Addie lay on her back, her face torn in fear and anger, her cheeks slick with tears of concentration. She was straining against a heavy cloaked figure, who was fighting against her arms and hands, thighs straddling her hips. A gun was painfully and dangerously aimed to the base of her neck, where her pulse strained against her flesh. Addie's face was covered in bruises and cuts, blood leaking down in ringlets until it splashed onto the cement. Her mouth was opened in silent screams, as if she was yelling in water.

Bucky had just the time to take the tiniest of steps forward, his heart lurching in his chest, as a shot rang clear through the star lit night.

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