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orangetintedglasses · 8 months

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( Anyway in honor of the dawn of spooky month approaching, have some info about Vampire!Vash and the rules of how vampires work in my brain. Unrelated to the Astarianon stuff but it's something I've had kicking around in the back of my mind for a while. I'm not claiming any of these as particularly original takes in the slightest, either; this is just how vampires worked in the lore I'm recycling because we worked on it too long to let it go to waste. )

General:

Everyone has a gene that essentially acts as a switch if they're turned into a vampire-- literally all humans have this line of code in the genetics. It's what gives them their powers, and no one really knows what they'll end up with until it happens (unless like, your family has a history with it and obviously has a lot of the same power, you're likely to inherit it)

You have to be dying to be turned. No exceptions.

There are a lot of classifications of vampires, here are the ones I remember off the top of my head-- - Trackers (able to drink from someone and sense them up to a certain distance) - Tanks (beef. stronk. big appetite) - Dawnwalkers (don't burn in sunlight but get little other boons, seen as lesser by other vampires) - 'Red' (a genetic mutation thought to be completely culled due to an insatiable appetite, insane strength and aggressive tendencies. it was not culled.)

Certain lines of genetics were culled because of how dangerous they were-- think things like control over elements and anything that could do serious damage over time. This doesn't mean they're gone, but modern day vampires know better than to speak up if they get an ability like this

'Makers' have an innate control over anyone they sire, obviously. It's a tactic to ensure the newbie vampires don't all just go rabid and kill people to feed their new hunger-- this hasn't stopped makers from abandoning sired, though, so it ain't perfect

All vampires have the ability to glamour their prey. It helps make it hurt less (peaceful) or helps make them malleable (bad). Dawnwalkers are suspectible to another vampire's glamour

There's a council, you have to register new vampires and their powers, etc, I don't wanna go into vampire politics

Modern day has a lot of vampire-friendly spaces. Bars, clubs, a lot of restaurants and other faculties will stay open a lot later to accommodate, there are even specific vampire dentists and doctors that don't see humans at all... people even donate their blood to banks specifically for feeding vampires. Some bars even have feeding zones with willing human participants-- though the rules are strict in these places.

Vash specifically:

Vash, Nai and Tesla specifically are part of a line of progenitor vampires. Their genetic 'switch' can be found in a vast amount of the population thanks to some breeding quirks and passing stuff down

They're also more powerful than any vampire that came after them with some exceptions. They have a modicum of control over all vampires, as well, exerting the same sort of 'maker's command' that a sire has over their sired, though powerful-enough vampires can resist it with some effort

Tesla was staked after about 500 years, living in 'harmony' with the humans for only about 200 before it happened. Vash and Nai went into hiding after. Vash eventually decides to try and live among the humans again

His eyes are a very unnatural bright blue, so he wears special glasses to dull the color (obviously)

Vash's skin has a tan look to it compared to Nai's porcelain skin due to how many times he's been discovered and shoved out into the sunlight to try and burn him alive. Also many scars, because healing factor - proper blood amount to burn through it = improper healing and gnarly-ass scars

Obviously the boy prefers to feed off of animals, if at all. In more modern times, he'll drink from purchased blood bags if he needs to. He hates feeding off of live folks now

I like to think the Dawnwalker genetic trait comes specifically from Vash

#manual's in a totally different language;; ( au headcanon )#creature of the night? horrible and haunting;; // vampire!vash #( WHEW that got long-winded when I realized I kind of needed to explain some shit )#( I'm sure this pings from all sorts of vampire media idk idc )#( this is just what me and narc. ex established and i still like it )#curtains down ✧〗( ooc )

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cozy-the-overlord · 3 years

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Christmas Across the Stars

Summary: A backlogged mission on Jotunheim means Piper's going to miss Christmas with her family this year. At least she's not completely alone.

Written for @the-emo-asgardian's 'Tis The Season Writing Challenge on the prompt "snowed in and unable to get to family"

Word Count: 2,938

Pairing: Loki x OFC

A/N: *wipes sweat off brow* whew! For a while I wasn't sure if I was going to get this done in time for Christmas. But here it is! I've been writing a lot of angst lately, so it was really nice to write something sweet and fluffy for a change. I did try to keep Piper somewhat vague as a character, but there's a lot of me/my family traditions in this story, so for that reason I decided to make it an OFC rather than a reader-insert. Hope you don't mind.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you and your families, and I hope you all have a healthy and fulfilling New Year! Thanks for reading! :)

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae

Read it on Ao3!

She had been staring at the stone ceiling for nearly three hours when Piper decided enough was enough. Abandoning the thick, itchy blankets and the naïve dream of getting some sleep tonight, she reached for her boots.

One of the annoying things about life on Jotunheim (and there were many) was the inability to do a damn thing without first putting on fifty layers. Her nylon jacket rustled as she pulled it over her arms, zipping up with an obnoxious squeak. Across the room, Olsen popped up in her bunk.

“Wuzgoinon?” she muttered, opening a bleary eye.

“Nothing,” Piper said quickly. “I’m just going for a walk. Go back to sleep.”

Olsen hummed, head dropping back to the pillow. Her other two companions didn’t stir. Piper sighed and grabbed her scarf and hat.

Her footsteps echoed against the rocky walls as she made her way to the bunker entrance. They weren’t supposed to go outside alone, what with being stationed on an unpredictable alien planet and all, but the blizzard that had been raging on for the past two weeks had finally seemed to pass and Piper could use a breath of fresh air.

The frozen hellscape greeted her with it’s usual chilly slap to the face. She coughed, bringing her scarf above her nose. When they had first arrived, the cragged mountain cliffs had hypnotized Piper. They stretched far above the horizon, their jagged silhouettes cutting through the paint-splattered sky like a crooked dagger. It was a severe kind of beauty, unlike anything Piper had ever seen before.

Now, it felt like the serrated ridges were laughing at her.

Piper sat down against the bunker door with a grunt, rubbing her hands through her mittens. What was she even doing out here? What had she expected to find? Despite her day-long daydreams, the bitter wishes she stored deep in her heart, her reality had not changed: she was a tiny ant of a person, trapped on this icy rock of a planet, sleepwalking her way through this drawn-out farce of a mission.

What a way to spend Christmas Eve.

When she had signed up for this job, it had been an adventure. Traveling across the stars to a world that until recently had only existed in myth, to test out technology that would allow for interplanetary travel? Move over, Captain Kirk. Piper Bassow was boldly going where no (human) man had gone before.

The mission had supposed to last for six months. They left at the beginning of February, wide-eyed and excited for the enterprise. They had planned to be home in August. Then something came up, some snag with the tech back on Earth, easily fixed but it disrupted the schedule. Their return date was moved to October. No problem, Piper thought. We’ll still be back for the holidays.

Then, a blizzard knocked out their antenna. Again, easily fixed, but they had to wait for the wind to die down before they could risk going out to fix it. Disrupted the schedule. Now their return date was end of November.

We’re still fine, she told herself. Thanksgiving is a shit holiday anyways. Who cares if you miss it?

The final communication from SHIELD was what did her in. The last three months of data had gotten corrupted. They needed to stay until February. Piper had been on radio duty when she got the message. Instead of replying, she dashed the receiver against the wall.

It was immature. She had signed up for this mission knowing full well that there was a high chance that things wouldn’t go as planned. In fact, she should’ve been thankful—out of all the things that could have gone wrong, this was pretty innocuous. Everyone was safe, everyone was healthy, they had enough rations to last over a year. There was no reason to be this upset.

But … the reality that she was going to miss Christmas with her family this year was tough to grapple with. Christmas was a big deal. Her siblings and her had all long since moved out, but they still all flocked back by December the 24th, where they’d stay up all night stuffing their faces with their mother’s butter cookies and arguing over which movie to watch as the piney scent of the Christmas tree wafted through the room. No matter where they were in the world, they found a way home.

But Piper supposed she wasn’t anywhere in that world anymore.

She huffed, pulling her hands closer against her chest as the wind whistled on. Christmas had been the one thing she had been working towards all year. Feeling homesick? You’ll be home with everybody for Christmas. Getting frustrated with one of her teammates? By Christmas you’ll have forgotten they exist. Blizzard outside wrecking her day? Just think of all the stories you’ll have to tell everyone over Christmas dinner.

And yet, here she was, Christmas Eve, freezing her ass outside on this godforsaken ice cube.

“What are you doing out here?”

Piper nearly jumped out of her skin. She whipped around to find their Jotun guide looming over her with a frown. Nearly a year of companionship with him had proved that Loki Laufeyson was hardly the malevolent villain the rest of her world believed him to be (SHIELD wouldn’t have put this mission in his hands if he was), but something about his presence still unsettled her. He said very little, choosing to skulk in the shadows and reappearing only when he deemed it absolutely necessary. It never failed to amaze her that a living creature could move so quietly—you never realized he was besides you until you turned around and he was there.

Piper tried to pull herself to her feet, but with all her extra padding she just rocked around on the ground. Her face burned.

Loki raised an eyebrow. “Do you need help?”

“I’m fine,” she huffed, crossing her arms and scowling up at him. I guess I’m staying here for a bit. Where had he even come from? She was leaning against the bunker door—it hadn’t opened since she’d been here. “What are you doing out here?” she asked accusingly.

Loki motioned his head towards the boulder pile behind the bunker. “We were getting some odd readings from the east. I thought I should check up on it.”

“Oh.” Piper peered through the ice, but she couldn’t make out the sensor that was supposed to track the movements of Jotunheim’s celestial satellites. “Is everything okay?”

He nodded, gaze unflinching. “I believe an animal disrupted the apparatus. I righted it.” Cocking his head, he frowned. “So is there a reason you’re sitting outside in the middle of the night in the dead of Jotun winter, or have you just finally gone mad?”

Piper let out a breathy laugh despite herself. She leaned her head against the stone door. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.” He sounded neutral enough, but Piper was fairly certain he was judging her.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” she added quickly. Glancing at her watch, she added, “Or Christmas Day. I’m not sure.” There was another annoyance about Jotunheim—the time difference was catastrophic.

“Oh,” Loki nodded again. He didn’t move. She frowned. What was he waiting for? Perhaps he didn’t know what she was talking about.

“It’s a holiday,” she explained. “On Earth. It’s kind of a big deal.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” For a moment, the two of them were silent, Piper staring out into the snow, Loki staring down at Piper. She waited for him to walk away, but he didn’t budge.

She sighed. “Do you need something?”

“You are upset.” He said it so matter-of-factly, as if it were plain as day. Piper’s embarrassment came flooding back.

“No. It’s not—” she inhaled. He was right. She was far too upset. “I just—I thought I’d be home for it.” Her eyes were burning. Piper leaned her head back against the door in frustration. Was she seriously crying over this?

“Oh.” Surely he’d leave now, now that he knew that nothing was actually wrong. She shifted to move her weight from against the door so he would be able to return inside. But to Piper’s surprise, he didn’t leave. After a moment’s hesitation, Loki sat down next to her with a grunt.

“I’m afraid my knowledge of Midgardian tradition is rather lacking,” he said as he made himself comfortable against the door. “Christmas is a religious holiday, yes?”

Piper stared. It took her a moment for her to find her voice. “Oh, um, yeah—” she stuttered. “Technically. But not everyone who celebrates it is super religious. Like, I don’t think anyone in my family has gone to church in their life.”

“What is it you celebrate then?” He leaned forward, seeming genuinely interested

“I don’t know. Family. Giving. That’s what they call it, the season of giving.” Geez, she sounded like the star in a Hallmark movie. “My family always had a big get-together every year. Or, has—I guess they still are this year, I’m just… not there.” Her voice trailed off pitifully. Piper forced a smile, desperate to show him that she wasn’t completely pathetic. “But it’s fun. We have cookies and chocolates and everything and we decorate the tree and give each other presents—”

“Pardon me,” Loki interrupted, perking up. “What do you mean ‘decorate the tree’?”

“Oh, yeah.” Of course he wouldn’t know what she was talking about. “It’s a Christmas thing. You get a pine tree—some people have fake ones, my family always goes to a farm to get one—and you put it in your house, and you decorate it with lights and ornaments and stuff, and then you put the presents for everyone under the tree.”

That was another thing she missed this year. Usually, whoever was in town with her parents for Thanksgiving would drive out with them to the Christmas tree farm the next day to help pick out a tree. That was always an adventure—her mom would be scurrying between the lines of trees as the rest of them rushed to follow her, pine needles attacking them mercilessly from both sides. Piper’s mother was a perfectionist in every aspect of life and picking out a tree was no different. They’d spend hours circling the farm, listening to her as she found a flaw in each one they came across.

“The shape of this one is just too wide. Far too dry. Oh look, there’s a hole right in the middle! That one’s beautiful, but it’s so tall, I don’t think it would fit in our house—”

Eventually, she would find a tree that came close enough to her standards (“well, this one has a bare side, but we’ll put it up against the wall so no one will see it”) and Piper would crawl under the thing with the shitty saw they got at the front and go to work, her two sisters bouncing around like cheerleaders at a football game when the tree finally came crashing down.

Piper suddenly realized that she wasn’t going to get to see this year’s tree.

Besides her, Loki sounded lost in thought. “That sounds like Yule.”

She turned, frowning. “Yule?”

“An Asgardian holiday. We decorate pine trees as well.” He sighed, almost wistfully. Piper had never seen him this relaxed before. “It’s probably where the Midgardian custom comes from.”

“Oh, yeah.” She thought she had heard that once, that a lot of Christmas traditions had come from the Vikings, although she had never made the connection between that and Asgard. It made sense—wasn’t Loki straight out of Viking myth? “What do your tree decorations look like?”

Loki hummed. “We had special enchantments on the trees to create the illusion of glowing orbs of light within the branches. You couldn’t touch them—your hand would go right through.” He laughed. “It drove my brother mad when we were little. On more than one occasion he knocked down the whole damn tree trying to grab the light.”

Piper grinned. “That sounds like our cat! We have these little glass balls that are like, multicolored, and he’s always trying to bat them down. My mom wakes up to find ornaments all over the floor. One time he even managed to get the star” That cat’s a little shit and he knows it, she’d tell Piper on the phone. I can’t wait til you guys get home. He’s always on his best behavior for you.

Loki was staring at her quizzically. “The star?”

“Yeah. You put the star at the top of the tree, and it lights up. It’s like a topper ornament. I’m not sure where that comes from.” Piper sighed. “I hope they’re able to get it all set up this year. I’m usually the one who does the lights and the star and everything.”

“I’m sure they’ll manage.”

“Yeah.” Of course they would. The idea that they couldn’t manage without her was nothing but wishful thinking on Piper’s part, a tiny, selfish little part of her that wished they were as lonely and miserable as she was. “It’s just—” she inhaled. “I’ve never missed Christmas before.” Her fingers were going numb under her mittens. She rubbed them against each other.

She could feel Loki’s eyes on her, studying her as she blew into her hands. He didn’t say anything for the longest time, but the silence felt more analytical than judgmental.

“You should go inspide,” he finally said. “It’s far too cold out here for you to just be sitting still.”

He was right, but still Piper bristled. “I’m fine.”

“Please.” He stood in one fluid motion, holding his palm out to her. “If you freeze to death out here, SHIELD will find a way to blame me for it.”

“I—” Her pride screamed at her to keep protesting, but the biting wind was picking up, cutting under her coat and piercing her bones. She couldn’t help the shivers, even as Loki shot her a pointed look.

Piper sighed. “Alright.” She took his hand (how was he so warm?!) and allowed him to pull her to her feet and lead her inside.

…

“Bassow! Bassow, wake up!”

The shouts rattled her skull as she pulled herself from deep within the recesses of sleep. “Hng?”

She was face down in her bunk. When had she even gone back to bed last night? She had been talking to Loki …

It was Medoff who was yelling her name.

“Come on, you’ve got to see this!” her teammate shouted in her ear as she shook her arm.

Piper groaned, pulling herself from the warm cocoon of blankets she had wrapped around herself at some point in the night. Her head was pounding. What time is it?

“See what?” she muttered.

Medoff yanked her out of bed, seemingly trying to jerk her up. “You’ve just got to see it. You won’t believe it otherwise.”

It was too cold. Piper ripped her blanket from her mattress and followed Medoff through the bunker hallways with it wrapped around her shoulders like a cloak, head lost in a sleepy fog.

“Is this really that import—” she trailed off when they reached the common area. The table where they took their meals had been pushed into the corner, but that was hardly what rendered her speechless.

There was a tree. A great, big, beautiful evergreen tree, with needles of emerald green, more vibrant than any Piper had ever seen on Earth. Kaleidoscopic orbs floated amongst the branches, slowly shifting through the colors of the rainbow before her eyes, held to the tree by chains of silver light. And on the top … it was a star, but comparing it to the plastic things Piper would haphazardly wrestle to the top of her Midgardian Christmas trees felt like a crime. It was as if someone had plucked one of the celestial bodies from the night sky and just fixed it at the peak, sparkling so bright it was almost blinding.

For a moment, Piper just blinked. “What—how—”

“We don’t know!” Olsen laughed from the table, where she was sitting with Wynn, the final member of their team. “We just woke up a few minutes ago, and it was like this! Isn’t it insane?”

“I mean, it is Christmas Day,” Wynn said. “Back at home, I mean. I guess Santa made it to Jotunheim after all.”

“Yeah. Santa.” Coming to her senses, Piper glanced about the room. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the most enchanting Christmas tree in existence magically appeared in their bunker mere hours after that conversation. She found him lurking in the hallway, watching them all from afar. Loki met her gaze, and Piper suddenly realized his eyes were the same brilliant green as the tree.

The biting homesickness that had been festering in her heart was still there, but it was beginning to fade, as if someone had wrapped it in a warm blanket. She smiled. As her colleagues continued to chatter over the tree, Piper made her way over to the Jotun prince.

“Thank you.”

He shrugged. “It was hardly an unpleasant task. I thought I might enjoy indulging nostalgia for a day as well.”

The changing lights from the tree cast a mystical glow to the desolate bunker, sparkling across the stone walls. It was like living within the Northern Lights. Hesitantly, Piper reached to put her hand on his forearm. “Merry Christmas, Loki.”

At first, he stiffened, but after a moment, he returned her warm smile. “Merry Christmas.”

#christmas across the stars #loki marvel #loki fanfic #loki x ofc #christmas fic

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quant-um-fizzx · 5 years

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Swept Away

Synopsis: Bucky feels strangely drawn to a woman at a Halloween party thrown at the Avengers compound.

Bucky Barnes x Reader. Except - not? There’s really no way to explain this upfront without giving the whole thing away. It is a nameless female character but it’s also not “fictional you” as a reader because I could not get that to work within this mystery concept.

Warnings: Smut, I’m calling this Dub-Con (but only in the sense that things might not be what they seem) Language, mild Angst, an attempt to be eerie.

Word Count: about 3000

This is for @sherrybaby14‘s Fall Into You writing challenge from the prompt: “Halloween Party”

It’s loud like parties always are and Bucky welcomes a reason not to join in their bickering, no matter how playful.

“It’s the principle, really.” Steve says, sniffs whatever Thor tipped into his glass this time.

“Yes, that’s my point. Thank you. Don’t make a rule and then break it.” Rhodey gripes, adjusting the gold construction paper shooting star taped to the center of his shirt.

“I believe the rule as stated was ‘don’t spend more than $10 on a superhero costume.’ I spent zero dollars on this ensemble.” Tony gestures at the Mark 5 armor he’s wearing. “What we need is a neutral party analysis, who will then concur I am winning at not spending.”

Clint twirls an empty beer bottle between his fingers. “Look, I’m not saying that it’s cheating to come as yourself...”

“I sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” Nat says.

“I sense a butt right here,” Rocket chimes in. He’s dressed no differently, having openly complained he didn’t see the point and costumes sound more like some of the stupid shit Quill would be into.

Steve flicks the deep red bed sheet pinned to the back of his shirt, making it swoosh around his feet, casually flipping what no one needs to know is Thor’s actual hammer. The group chatters on as he surveys the room, pausing when he spies Bucky in a far corner, his arm slipping artfully around the waist of a very pretty woman in a white post-Edwardian nightdress. She seems familiar but he can’t really get a good look at her and, considering Bucky’s clearly enthralled with her, he doesn’t think he should be trying to get a better look. They appear deep in conversation, the woman’s hair falling across her face like a curtain. It’s intimate, the way they lean in, and suddenly Steve feels like he’s intruding. He coughs and returns his attention back to the current debate.

***

She curls further into his side, burrows her chilled shoulder down where he’s warm and snug. Her head falls back to look up at him with doe-eyes. He gets lost in them, irises so peaceful and deep, dark like still waters, like starless night sky. She runs her hand over the blue near-ancient canvas stretched across his chest, traces the white star with an elegant digit.

He leans in, almost captures her lips. Forgets it’s not private. Like there’s no one else. Like there shouldn’t ever be. She offers her neck, bends so far back that it’s a bit unnatural, but he brushes the thought away. He shakes his head, tries to recall something. It seems important. Scratching at his brain.

He stops, pulls back. His eyes pinch. He doesn’t know this woman. Doesn’t know anything about her. But he wants to. He wants to know her. Maybe that’s what he couldn’t remember. “What’s…” Runs his nose along her cheek. “What’s your name, Darlin’?”

Did she already tell him that? Did he already ask?

***

“Tell me again, how is coming as yourself and wearing your actual multi-million dollar suit not breaking the rules?” Nat saunters across the circle, grabbing a drink off the bar.

“I’m just saying, that since you were the guy who made the rule, it’s kinda weird that you’re the one breaking it.” Clint sets his bottle down with a clink that sounds a bit more irritated than he appears.

“Point of order: Cap lent his costume to two people.” Tony feigns deep offense, gestures toward Scott.

“What? This? Nah, I hand-sewed this baby myself for Comic-Con years ago.” Scott stands proudly, hands heroically on his hips.

Tony’s eyes roll back into his brain. “That still leaves Barnes and his circa WW2 Star-Spangled-ness? Care to explain the museum piece over there and the clothes he’s wearing while you’re at it?”

***

She smiles softly, delicate. Her features unbothered despite that it seems he’s forgotten her. Goes up on her toes and places cool fingertips on his fevered lips. Pushes her own together in a silent hush and he feels it in his gut - feels himself give in to something more than gravity pulling him down, twisting. He leans in toward those lotus-petal painted lips, almost...almost.

She pulls back just a little. Smile shy, but somehow not. A little knowing. Knows a secret she’s going to show him. He doesn’t like secrets; he’s kept too many, he’s been too many. Doesn’t trust them.

But he wants to know hers. Wants her. Needs to see where this leads.

Her fingers entwine with his, pull him fluidly toward the exit door.

And he forgets. Forgets they are leaving a brightly lit room, forgets there are people who might miss him, forgets everyone, everything but the promise of losing himself in her.

***

Steve shrugs. “Bucky asked how much trouble it would be to borrow it. Turns out it wasn’t much trouble,” he says, pulling his eyes away from the door Bucky had disappeared through.

“Excellent!” Tony claps. “Now that we can all agree the utilization of old suits is not a budget factor, let’s discuss what I am sure is a fascinating reason why Wilson here jumped on the opportunity to dress as a defunct Russian asset.”

Sam scoffs and pretends to smooth the aluminum foil wrapped around his left arm. “The Winter Soldier? Nah, my arm’s just dressed as a baked potato.”

***

Her fingers swim up under his shirt and along each rib like organ keys. He’s draped over her, touching every inch, body covering her like a blanket, a pall. Their kisses swell and he dives when her mouth parts for him. At first a shallow exploration, his warm pink tongue skimming inside until she, impatient and sudden, curls into his mouth and catches it.

The party and the lights feel a million leagues away. The sounds muffled and distant as if they’ve sneaked off to skinnydip not go necking in a backseat.

Lips and teeth banging, urgent. She’s under and around him all at once. Calling him to claim her like the open sea.

Hot breath rushes from him as he pulls away and she floats up to follow but then settles back flat along the seat, smiling up at him. Hair splayed out around her face in waves and her face glowing like the moon.

It registers with him that they’re in a parking lot, in the back of a car. It seems like new information, as if he had just realized. Must have been too busy kissing her, touching her because he doesn't know how they got here. Doesn’t remember clambering into the car. It’s large and old. A Studebaker? A Streamliner?

No, that can’t be right.

***

“Hey, Mr. Stark. Cool Costume. Ned dressed as Mark 5 in 3rd grade.” Peter scurries up, acting slightly winded, as most of the crowd shoots daggers at him. “It, uh, it looks way better on you though.” He looks hopefully around, checking if that fixed whatever he’d said wrong.

Shuddering, as if he’s just recalled what he’d come to say, Peter looks back quickly over his shoulder at the doorway Bucky and the woman walked out. “That’s all kinds of creepy. Just like that urban legend, right?”

“When it comes to questionable bed partners, I am spectacularly aware that I have no room to talk. But what is the deal with Steve’s pal and Coraline?” Tony gestures over his shoulder. “There’s a line between cute and creepy. But that one just runs a bit too realistic as The Woman in White.”

Steve looks between them and the door again. “The what?”

***

He presses his lips to her neck. Runs his tongue up a long trail to the shell of her ear.

Soft. He’s never felt anything so soft in his hands. Breasts like silt, spilling under his palms. Soft every place he’s hard. He’s so hard, aching with it. Cock straining, reducing him down to that near-pain desire. He wants to bury himself between her thighs, drown himself inside her.

She pulls the gown free from her shoulders and it pools around her. She arches up to him. Offers. Urges.

Insists.

He licks his lips and wants more. Already can’t remember what she tastes like, saltwater or sweetened honey? He kisses her again, soft press against his tongue and he’s thirsty. Parched. Dives in for more but each touch leaves him wanting more. More heat. More water. More...air.

She’s under him and begging him.

“Take me.”

Rouge tongue runs over chapped lips as he comes up for a breath. “You don’t have to ask me twice, Sugar.” He rasps, lungs seized up in want.

Her hands dig into blue shoulders and her legs wrap around red and white stripes, clasping behind the small of his back. Pulling him down to her, pulling him under.

Fog coats the windows. Their want dripping in rivulets down the glass. The air is thick with it, clings to his lungs, each breath heavy, laboring.

“Hang on babe,” he pulls back, heart racing gulping down air. “Whew. Huh. Wow.” He looks around, squints, trying to get his bearings. “Gimme a sec, okay?”

She smiles again, sweet as rain. Shakes her head slowly, hair swirling around, a tangle of moss on the seat. Locks her hands behind his neck and digs her heels into his thighs.

She reaches down inside his pants and draws him out, a whisper caress on his length. Barely there, but possessive. Hers.

“Take me.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he gasps, breathless. Gasps as strokes him. “I’ll make it good, so good for you.”

He wants her. Wants her like air. “Can’t wait. Gotta have you - now.”

She flips him over, deft like he weighs nothing and he floats beneath her. Straddles his hips and anchors him, grinding onto his cock. Her head falls back again, does that deep swoon to expose the marble column of her neck. And he feels again like he needs to stop her, to catch her head and stop her. To cradle her skull.

***

“I can tell you, Cap,” Sam says, leaning in conspiratorially, “but you and I are going to have a long chat later about how you manage to interact with other humans every day and still stay so damned isolated.”

Steve gives Sam a withering look but motions for him to continue.

“The story goes, there’s a ghost that wanders the area. She fell for a guy years ago and got abandoned. The story changes in the details. Sometimes she died in childbirth, jumped off a bridge, whatever. But one detail is always the same: heartbreaker was shipping off to war the next day. So, she, you know, ‘did it for her country.’ But the guy never comes back and she dies, waiting for him. Wandering the road leading to where they were last together.”

“Huh, that’s super weird,” Scott says, throwing back what he immediately learns is heavily-spiked cider, his eyes going wide on the burn.

“Ghost stories are weird by definition, Scott” Nat says, licking the rim of her glass.

“No,” Scott coughs, throwing back two more cider shots in quick succession. “I mean it’s weird because I picked her up on the road coming here. She asked all slow and dramatic about her soldier - I guess she is just super into Halloween - and I was gonna call her an Uber but then she said she was looking for Stark’s thing.”

Steve is incredibly done with this entire conversation. Peter, the exact opposite, presses for more info. “Which road?”

Sam shrugs dismissively. “The one by the old fairgrounds.”

Scott chokes on a fourth shot. “Down in Queens.”

“You mean the fairgrounds where Stark held the first Expo?” Steve say, unblinking. All fun gone.

Suddenly, Steve knows where he’s seen her. It’s just been a very, very long time since 1943.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Tony says, eyes locked on Steve.

“Are you saying that I picked up a...a... ghost and rode with her for an hour? Guys...guys, I need to sit down.” Scott wobbles, hand shooting out to steady himself on Rocket. Rocket steps aside.

Before Scott’s ass hits the floor, everyone else is out the door.

***

She sinks down around him, fluid and silk. Her hands press into his chest. His warm muscles tense and brown nipples pebble in her touch’s wake.

As she rides him, the night’s light behind her makes her hair look like a halo floating out around her. A thought breaks through that she looks familiar - he does know her - but she’s just one more thing he lost along the way.

He wants to tell her they can make this new, start over, whatever went wrong before, he can fix it and it wasn’t his fault and didn’t mean to leave her and please forgive him because he didn’t mean to toss her away.

Wait.

Wait...

He recalls a flash of her face, dry and bright. She’s looking up at him in his brown uniform. Red car hovering on a stage behind her. Then, as suddenly as it came, the picture’s gone, popped like a burst bubble.

***

Steve and Sam are first out the back, toward the dock. Peter has a legit meltdown but still manages to check every car. They’re all empty.

“Cap! There!” Clint shouts, pointing out at the water.

The middle of the goddamn lake.

In the goddamn, deathly still, dark lake.

***

She glides over him and it’s so desperate and slippery. Everything urgent when all he’d really wanted is to take his time. To do this right. Bring her some daisies - or, no, she'd like lilies he thinks dumbly and runs his hands up to cup her face. He wants to show her a good time before his ships out in the morning and see if she has a different friend for Steve.

The guilt is raw and burrowing in his heart he can’t shake it but he doesn’t quite know why.

Maybe that’s her secret. What she wanted to show him.

Maybe it’s that she deserves better than this back seat in a parked car outside Stark’s expo. He starts to say sorry but is silenced with another watery kiss.

Burning starts low in his back, the building pull low in his spine, and he wants to come. Desperate for his end.

Maybe it’s too much because she can have it all she can have him and he’s not scared - but a small spark fires some forgotten place in his mind, that he is scared - that maybe he should be.

Sliding over him, bend and rock. Tight. He surges up into her again and again. His release looms, vision tunneled down to her. Nothing but her and the sweet hold, the way she’s anchored him down after so many years adrift.

He thinks blindly that he should warn her. Opens his mouth but she swallows his words.

Then he’s coming, pulsing out of him like lifeblood. Breathless and drained. And he’s so tired.

Peaceful. Serene.

“Take me,” she sings.

He can’t hold on. Body aches for rest.

Her brow furrows. “Take me home.”

His eyes flutter. He starts to form the words, but just...can’t.

He would’ve taken her home and not left. He didn’t mean to make it seem like it must have seemed. He didn’t just throw her away. But it was war and he wasn’t expecting the hell it brought or the hell that came after. It had all seemed so innocent in that old back seat, with his promises he didn’t mean to break.

She grinds down, damned serum refractory period kicking in. He swells against all reason and moves with her until she shakes and clenches, nails digging into his skin, a mournful wail spiraling out of her as he feels himself spill again.

She touches his neck, feels his pulse stutter out, slow. Her face is confused. Head shaking.

He takes her hand, holds it to his heart. An apology.

Then, she rails back, wretches and twists. She slips through his fingers like time, like silk, like thread.

What was once solid, warm like new sun on a cold sill, now shifts. Contorts and writhes, skin viscus and pooling around his fingers like so much rancid dough.

He wants to care but he wants to sleep. Just rest his eyes. Just for a second. It doesn’t feel right but he can’t make himself care. It’s so quiet and peaceful, down here where she used to be solid, where he used to be warm.

***

Then, when he’s almost gone, when peace has fired off in nearly every cell, he’s yanked free.

Colder than he’s ever been. Night air like a fire burning, like he is nothing but frostbite dropped in a boiling pot.

Sam drags him up onto the dock and collapses beside him. Sam’s face is drawn and terrified and their clothes soggy and weighted, water running off between the wooden planks.

“The Hell Barnes? Party full of perfectly available, alive folk and that’s the strange you go for.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction

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babywarg · 5 years

Text

ironstrange multipart fic: Settling for a Miracle [7/?]

Chapter Summary: A deal is made, while another deal is broken. Stephen does something the Ancient One had warned he should never do.

Chapter Notes: Something I should have mentioned in previous chapters, but overlooked: Stephen wears gloves to hide the scars in his hands, lest his patients feel uncomfortable looking at them. That’s sort of relevant in this chapter, so I’m casually mentioning it here.

We know MCU Peter is bad at keeping his own secrets, but let’s pretend for the sake of this fic that he’s good at keeping others’ XD

Another thing! In the last chapter, Stephen noticed that Peter’s hand gesture when he slings webs and his own hand gesture when he casts spells are similar. I knew I couldn’t have been the first to realize it, and I was correct! It’s been pointed out in the comics. But I just found out about that recently XD

Originally on AO3.

Strictly speaking, Stephen wasn’t helpless.

Far from it.

“Helpless” was a state of mind he kept himself in, in order to keep himself from using dark magic in ways he never should

- from using it, for example, to save lives on the operating table.

To delete unsavory individuals from the earth.

To get something that somebody else owned, but he wanted (attachment to the material is detachment from the spiritual - a handy mantra).

To take over the world and become its emperor, wipe out all of its problems with a snap of his fingers.

To get certain people to love him more.

Things like that. Little things, when one considered that there was a vast multiverse out there, with much more to offer than the material world did.

Stephen had to keep perspective like this. He’d wanted his old life back, and that was exactly what he got.

He’d wanted a mundane existence, unaffected by anything magical.

He’d made a deal.

***

“...Doctor Strange?”

Stephen tore his eyes away from the television, which was showing news about Sokovia.

Only then did he realize that Peter had been asking him something, and he hadn’t been listening.

“I’m done with the equations.” The boy spoke cautiously, aware that Stephen’s mind was elsewhere. “You have to check them, right?”

“Peter,” he said casually, “what say we take a break from studies for now?”

He shut the chemistry textbook in front of him. Took the notebook and pen from Peter’s hands, shut the notebook, and laid them both flat on top of the dining table they used as a work desk.

“I want to show you something,” Stephen began. “But first, I want you to promise me one thing.”

Nervousness and curiosity played on Peter’s face.

“What is it, Doc?”

“That you won’t freak out.”

Peter’s brows furrowed. “Why would I...”

Stephen removed the black cloth gloves he wore.

Peter stared at his uncovered hands. He would, of course. It was his first time seeing them.

“Car accident.” Stephen held up his hands, so Peter could get a better look. “The nerves were all but disintegrated. Common knowledge. Made the headlines, you know.”

He doubted that Peter had been aware of how the accident had made waves on the news - he might have been too young to care, at the time.

“Well,” Peter reluctantly remarked, “they’re not so bad now...I mean they look completely healed. Which is what they are. Right?”

Stephen willed out the dark energy from his body. It was over quickly. Apart from a slight wind from nowhere briefly stirring his hair, Peter should not have been able to see it happen.

“The scars aren’t what I want to show you, Peter.”

As the boy watched, Stephen’s hands started to tremble.

“This is.”

He held out one shaking hand.

An empty coffee mug shot out like a bullet from over Peter’s shoulder.

And landed neatly in Stephen’s grip.

Peter jumped to his feet.

“Holy shit!” the boy exclaimed.

Stephen let go of the mug, and it floated in the air by itself.

Peter’s eyes went wide as plates.

Stephen traced a circle in the air with his forefinger, and the mug spun vertically in place. Then he made the mug move in a spiral that grew and grew, drawing closer and closer to Peter, until it was able to dance around him in circles.

The boy laughed, astounded. He reached for the mug, and it stopped moving so he could hold it in both hands.

Peter thoroughly inspected the thing. No strings anywhere. No magnets.

“H-how...” he stammered.

“Magic. That’s the simplest way I can explain it.”

With another small gesture, Stephen made the mug disappear from Peter’s hands.

The boy stepped back and looked around him, alarmed.

“Oh God - where is it?”

“Back on its rack.” Stephen smiled. “I like to keep stuff where they belong.”

Peter turned and saw the mug behind him. “Holy shit,” he said again, softer this time, as he stared.

“So now you know my secret,” Stephen said to Peter. “I’ve been called ‘the man with the steadiest hands in the world.’ But I can only keep my hands steady through magic. And I can’t keep them steady and do other kinds of magic at the same time.”

(Not the whole truth, but the truth, nonetheless.)

Stephen breathed out loudly, clapped his hands together once.

“Whew! That was a relief. It’s been hard keeping a secret that big to myself.”

Peter was incredulous.

“But that’s fricking awesome, man,” he cried. “You can fricking do magic. That’s fricking COOL!”

Peter resumed his seat, more fascinated than frightened. Which was definitely the outcome Stephen had been hoping for.

In Stephen’s mind, the alternative was that the boy was going to run away screaming. But Peter Parker was more curious than anything. Faced with something new, even something that could potentially kill him, his default reaction was amazement.

Peter leaned forward eagerly, elbows on the table. “I have so. Many. Questions.”

“Feel free to ask them,” Stephen replied. “But before you do, I want to tell you something.”

Stephen leaned forward as well.

“I trust you, Peter,” he said in low, conspiratorial tone. “I trust you’ll keep my secret safe. If this gets out, my life could change completely or fall apart.” He added knowingly, “I know you know how that feels like.”

Peter blinked. Hearing this restored some of his nervousness from earlier. What did this well-meaning neighbor know?

“And I want you to feel like you can trust me, too,” Stephen continued. “If there’s anything weighing down on you - anything you may need help with - I want you to know that I’m here for you.”

Having said his piece, Stephen picked up his gloves again and put them on. His hands still shook, but it was safer to keep them shaking; he wasn’t about to perform a Dark ritual while a child was watching.

“I know, Doc,” Peter said after a pensive pause. “I know you’re there for me. And that I can trust you. That’s why I came to you in the first place.”

He fidgeted for a bit after that, as he struggled to find the words. Stephen waited patiently for him to finish.

“So I guess my first question is...if I tell you something...something I’ve been keeping secret...you won’t freak out, either, right?”

Stephen easily nodded.

“Whatever it is,” he said reassuringly, “I’m almost a hundred percent sure it’s not any weirder than being a doctor who can do magic.”

That called up a chuckle from Peter.

“Guess I can’t argue with that...”

First, Peter let out a long and deep sigh.

“Okay, so,” he carefully began, “a couple days ago, we were on this field trip for science class, to a lab owned by Oscorp, right? And there was this spider...”

***

Long after Peter had gone back to his apartment, Stephen still couldn’t sleep.

He stayed on the couch, keeping tabs on the news.

It was pandemonium in Sokovia.

There were no live feeds from the ground. Internet, mobile and radio signals going out of Sokovia were virtually nonexistent. Local news outfits couldn’t broadcast, international crews couldn’t fly in, and no one had access to social media.

More than once, news anchors said that their best shot at getting concrete details was to wait for survivors’ stories - if anyone were to survive.

So Stephen devoured what information he could get. Even if the broadcasters repeated the same bits of info and over, just to fill dead air - he listened carefully.

He didn’t dare miss a thing.

Around midnight, aerial cameras from neighboring countries finally showed something different - the entire nation of Sokovia rising into the air.

Sokovia was landlocked and surrounded by mountains, so international forces based in neighboring countries had a hard time getting there. That the place was rapidly shooting up into the atmosphere did nothing to make it easier for them.

Stephen watched the nation’s ascent, trembling fingers clenched together tight, as if in prayer.

Somewhere in that chaos was Tony.

Thinking about it made his chest ache.

“This just in,” the news anchor said in a slightly more urgent tone than usual, “we’ve received word that a Sokovia local found a way to broadcast from his mobile phone. We’ll be showing you live footage from downtown Sokovia. We repeat, this footage is coming to you live from within Sokovia.”

Stephen sat upright as the live stream began.

The person who held the mobile phone was hiding behind debris. His hands, understandably, were shaking violently, and the visuals were all over the place, so it was hard to make heads or tails of what was happening.

What was clear enough to anyone watching was that it was a war zone. There were explosions, screams, dead bodies everywhere.

There were also humanoid robots flying all over the place.

Were they the Iron Legion? They were moving too fast and the video was too shaky, and Stephen couldn’t be sure. He had never seen any of the Iron Legion in person, but he knew what they looked like from photos and videos.

The broadcaster was attempting to explain what was happening, but the phone could hardly pick up his voice in all the background noise. He was using his native language, too, so even if the phone could pick up some of what he was saying, Stephen couldn’t understand it.

Frustration began to eat away at him.

Soon after the live stream began, a male voice with an American accent yelled nearby:

“What are you doing? Move! Put that phone in your pocket and get to evac now!”

There was a glimpse of the speaker: the Avenger known as Hawkeye. Clint Barton.

Hawkeye dragged the broadcaster out of his hiding place and hurried him along, shouting encouragement for the young man to run faster. As the broadcaster ran, he still attempted to film and comment on as much as he could.

For the briefest of moments, the broadcaster’s phone caught a glimpse of red and gold, at a battleground nearby. The Iron Man.

A swarm of humanoid robots were fast closing in on him.

Stephen leapt to his feet.

Tony.

Tony was in trouble.

***

Stephen stared at his shaking, gloved hands.

He hadn’t performed the Dark ritual yet.

He could portal over to where Tony was.

...But then what?

Was he going to risk becoming another casualty, just so Tony could puzzle over how the fuck his dead body got all the way there from New York?

Would his paltry assortment of standard spells (little more than party tricks) be of any real help?

Did he have time to care?

He decided that he didn’t.

A grim look fell over Stephen’s face. He steeled himself.

And opened a portal.

***

He stepped right into the war zone, and the portal closed behind him.

He had made sure he would enter Sokovia at the place shown in the video, the place near where the robots and the Iron Man clashed.

He could hear the sounds of vicious fighting nearby. But he looked around, and couldn’t find Tony anywhere.

Just then he heard a voice. He turned toward it. There was a woman lying nearby, her left leg visibly broken and bleeding out.

The woman was repeatedly saying something to him. Stephen didn’t need to understand Sokovian to know what she was trying to say.

“Stay calm,” he told her, crouching down so he could help her up. “Don’t be afraid. Breathe.”

If she didn’t calm down, she would lose more blood than she already had. Not to mention her heart might give out, if it happened to be weak.

He was sure she couldn’t understand him, but he needed to engage her attention all the same.

“I need to get you to safety,” he said to her. “Come with me.”

She slung her arm around his shoulders and let him carry her in his arms to a nearby abandoned low building, which was somehow still standing in spite of the constant shelling.

There wasn’t much to use for first aid - strips of cloth from the woman’s dress to use as bandages and stem the blood flow, plus a splint from the many pieces of wood that lay in the area.

No disinfectant - that would have to come later.

“I’m sorry I have to leave,” he said to her, when he was done with the splint. “But I promise I’ll get help for you.”

He left the building, with the confused woman yelling after him. He was sure his departure worried her, but time was of the essence.

As he reached the door, however, a group of people, some wounded, barred his exit.

“Please,” one of the group said in English - a young woman who seemed unhurt, for the most part. “We have wounded and we can’t reach the ships. We need help.”

He hesitated - and then caught himself. He couldn’t believe this was even up for an internal debate.

“All right,” he answered, “bring everyone inside. I’m a doctor. I’ll do what I can.”

When all the wounded were laid down on the ground, alongside the woman with the fresh splint on her leg, Stephen tasked the young woman who had spoken to him to find emergency supplies.

She knew there was a municipal clinic in the vicinity. She left, and came back quickly with the medicine and bandaging equipment he requested.

He made fast work of all the wounded, paying closer attention to the more urgent cases - then finally left, feeling guilty that he couldn’t stay.

But he didn’t have time. Not for charity or guilt.

He had to find Tony.

***

As it turned out, he didn’t need to look very far.

Tony came to him.

To be more precise, the Iron Man flew right in front of him, as Tony distanced himself from another swarm of robots on his tail.

This swarm looked even bigger than the last one - the one that had brought a panicked Stephen to Sokovia.

From what Stephen could see, the Iron Man looked beaten up. Not damaged, but certainly the worse for wear.

Stephen was sure he wasn’t spotted. But he hid himself behind the biggest piece of concrete he could find, all the same.

That brought him face to face with the swarm in pursuit of Tony.

Instinctively, Stephen crouched down and braced for impact.

But the robots flew past him.

That was how Stephen knew he wasn’t in their radar at all.

He watched as the Iron Man, already far away but still within his field of vision, stopped mid-flight. Turned. Faced the swarm.

No. Tony, NO, he wanted to shout. There’s too many of them.

They were out for blood.

Tony’s blood.

He couldn’t let them have it.

But he searched the arsenal of spells in his head, and couldn’t think of one that might be of use to Tony right now.

None from Kamar-Taj.

***

“The missing pages from the Book of Cagliostro don’t simply speak of channeling energy from the Dark Dimension into your body,” the Ancient One said. “They also tell of how to harness dark energy not to heal, but to kill. These spells are too strong for ordinary humans...but they are not beyond a person who is both skilled in magic and naturally talented in it - such as yourself.”

She had contained the two of them in the mirror dimension, so they would not be overheard. There would be no practice, she had warned him beforehand: the spells they were discussing were too dangerous to even attempt.

“I will teach you about these spells, Stephen...but I will warn you never to cast them. These spells would need you to draw enormous amounts of dark energy. So much would open your mind and spirit to Dormammu.”

That was the main risk of attempting the spells in the Book: exposing oneself to the ruler of the Dark Dimension. Using dark energy to heal oneself was a negligible thing - but using it to heal others, or to kill: that drew the attention of Dormammu himself.

“If the choice were mine, I would not have allowed you, a novice in the Mystic Arts, to even know about such spells. But you know about them already. The best I can do is to guide you, so that you do not misuse them.”

In fact, the best she could have done, Stephen said to himself, was to wipe the spells from his mind. He knew she could do it - he’d seen her do it before.

But she didn’t opt for it - and in this case, Stephen could only take the advice of a fellow in Kamar-Taj known as Mordo: forget everything you know, and trust your teacher.

Masters knew more than novices did. And the Ancient One knew a hell of a lot more than every other Master in the world did.

Perhaps she’d seen in his future that he would have need of them at one point. There would be a right time to use them. That was why she’d allowed him to keep the memories of the spells.

And in that case...

Wasn’t now the right time to use them?

Wasn’t now as good a time as any?

***

No time for guilt.

No time for second thoughts.

Stephen made the necessary ritualistic gestures, finally crossing his arms over his chest, with his fingers forming the shapes the book recommended.

Dark energy flooded into him at a strength and speed he wasn’t quite prepared for.

He was almost knocked flat on his back. It was nothing like the ritual he used to heal his hands.

This was...

Exhilarating.

When the magic stabilized inside him, he didn’t just feel healed. He felt powerful.

Like he could take life. Any life.

He could ruin anything.

Dark magic was, as to be expected, a force for destruction. It was all Stephen could do to remind himself that he had not drawn so much of it to destroy.

He needed it to protect.

Tony.

With great effort, he focused. He saw that the robotic swarm was speeding toward Tony and in just a few seconds, he would be overwhelmed by them.

There was no time to lose.

He channeled the energy inside him into a vein that sped in Tony’s direction.

It enveloped the Iron Man in a sphere of deep purple light.

This confounded Tony’s attackers for a moment, made them stop and hover around the sphere.

Quickly, with eyes enhanced with dark energy, Stephen took stock of the robots surrounding Tony. How many needed to be dispensed with. Where they were located.

Then he willed the sphere open.

The sphere broke apart into what spectators would later describe as a pair of giant black-and-purple wings.

Spreading out behind the Iron Man.

And as the wings unfurled, they threw out a spherical blast of magic strong enough to disintegrate all the robots in the immediate vicinity.

Metal turned to ash.

And for a moment the Iron Man floated amid an ashfall rain, the wings behind him looming large and menacing, blocking out the light from the sky.

The fortunate robots that were out of the blast radius had the sense to flee.

Tony was out of danger.

Stephen let out a breath. It came out as relieved laughter.

Then he made the wings dissolve into thin air.

He was about to will himself into Tony’s eyes. He could do it, with the magic still in his body. He could see what Tony saw.

He wanted to know how Tony reacted. How he might have felt when the sphere-turned-wings appeared.

But that was when a voice entered his head.

YOU’VE OPENED YOURSELF

TO ME

AT LAST

The voice was loud. Extremely loud.

It drilled into his brain like a jackhammer.

Stephen let out a yell and fell back, holding his head.

AND FOR WHAT?

A SINGLE

MISERABLE

HUMAN LIFE

NOT EVEN YOUR OWN?

Stephen desperately willed the dark energy out of his body.

He couldn’t.

The magic clung to him painfully. He felt it digging its claws into his astral form, wrapping itself around him.

His heart pounded inside his chest.

HOW...

...SMALL

Stephen cried out as his forehead burned. It felt like someone was carving something into it with fire.

No no no no no

Have to get it out

He called forth every ounce of astral strength he had.

And pushed the dark energy out of his veins.

His effort was rewarded with laughter - a dark, malevolent laughter, so strong that it blocked out even his vision.

He chose not to be distracted by this. He didn’t need to see to free himself.

YOU ARE MINE

LITTLE WIZARD

AS YOU SHOULD BE

Stephen pushed harder. Surrender wasn’t an option, and there was nothing else he could do.

I have to get it out

Soon, he felt the dark energy draining away. Slowly. Much too slowly.

Small amounts of energy could leave his body without a trace. But this much was bound to be visible even to people with no special psychic ability.

Others might see him. Tony might see him.

He needed to leave that place.

Now.

Still bleeding out dark magic, with demonic laughter still ringing in his ears, Stephen opened a portal back to his apartment in New York and stumbled into it, closed it swiftly behind him.

#ironstrange #tony stark #stephen strange #peter parker #iron man #doctor strange #spider-man homecoming #strangeiron

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