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#and the scars i have to look at every day on placement gone.

eliciana · 3 months

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Reverse SAGAU: The Weird Door At My Café

-> Chapter 1(Here)| Chapter 2 | ...

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Hello everyone, pls don't expect much from this chapter,which is going to be part of a series, will be that good. I may have grammatical errors and wrong spellings so please don't hesitate to tell me in the comments about it. English is not my main language. Also, I write some very descriptive and long scenes about what the reader does because i got used to writing descriptive essays so please bear with the long paragraphs and sentences. Thank you.

And yes, I'm back. Also the Misunderstanding series will be updated after my exams this is just in my drafts and I wanted to just upload it.

-Eli

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Tw: Reverse!Isekai!Sagau, Normal Au, Café Au, a bit of cussing like this bit 🤏.

Reader: Gn!Reader, Adult!Reader, Café Owner!Reader

Characters: Reader

Note: Restaurant to Another World animanga inspired au. You can slide into my dms (😝 im joking bro) if you ever want to be tagged in my works just tell me what series you want to be tagged in or all of them. thank you <3.

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You close your eyes and think back to that very fateful day — the day that entirely altered your life's course and shatter any semblance of normalcy you once knew. The memory is etched in your mind, clear and vivid. The secret your café had.

You had always dreamed of owning your very own café when you get older. It had always consumed your thoughts and fueled your ambitions. Doing everything you can to be able to make your dream come true. It was a dream that guided you through your highs and lows, the setbacks and triumphs, and now, your very own cafe is now right infront of your eyes. You stand awe, gazing upon your newly built dream café that represents your years of hard work and dedication. It almost feels surreal. The weight of such an accomplishment settles in your shoulders, filling with a sense of pride that it threatens to burst out of your chest.

The obstacles and challenges you faced along the way have not gone unnoticed. The countless hours of planning, the sacrifices made, the hurdles overcome—each scar and battle wound a testament to your unwavering determination. They have shaped you into the person you are today, a person who is standing on the precipice of their own extraordinary creation. In this moment, you can't help but reflect on how far you have come. You just want to curl up into a ball and cry for how proud you are for yourself.

As you approach the door to your café, your hand trembles with anticipation. You grasp the smooth handle, feeling the coolness of the metal against your palm, and slowly turn it. The door swung open, emitting a soft creak that pierced the silence. Above it, a small, quaint bell dangled delicately, waiting to be disturbed. The cascade of delicate notes wove together seamlessly, announcing your presence, like a whispered greeting to anyone who would listen.

You stare in awe and wonder at the interior design of your cafe , captivated by it's beauty. The space exceeds your imagination and sketches, each detail meticulously brought to life. You explore every corner, your eyes eager to take in every detail. The plants you selected with great care breathe life into the space, their vibrant green leaves adding a touch of freshness and enhancing the cozy, warm aura you envisioned. Sunlight steams through the windows, casting a golden glow that illuminates upon your carefully handpicked furniture, adding a touch of charm. Every detail, from the placement of tables and chairs to the color palette and textures and to the shelf placed at the wall behind the counter with small sized standees of genshin impact, comes together harmoniously, painting a reality that is more beautiful than it was in your imagination.

You took one last look at your own café, only to catch sight of a door that had seemingly materialized out of thin air. It wasn't in your sketches, nor was it part of the layout you had memorized. How could something so out of place suddenly appear in your beloved café? How weird. You were sure that when you went inside this café it was never there. It was on the opposite side of the front entrance door of your café. It had a very different kind of design from the doors you had. How weird . Were you perhaps hallucinating? Was your stress and sleep deprivation finally getting to you? You resort to pinching and slapping your cheeks in an attempt to jolt yourself back to reality. Nope. You can still see it. You rushed to go outside of your café. As you step out into the open, your eyes scanning the exterior, you're met with a surprising revelation—the door you saw inside your café is nowhere to be found. It's as if it had vanished into thin air, leaving you bewildered and questioning your senses.

Nonetheless, you breathed a heavy sigh of relief and once again went inside of your café, blaming your hallucination to your stress. However, as your eyes scanned the interior again, you saw the door still there.

'Oh, hell no.' You thought and quickly opened the front door again, took a look at the exterior, look at the door inside, and continued doing that action for a minute. Yup, you're officialy hallucinating.

You looked at the strange door and felt a nagging feeling of curiousity wanting to try and open that door. Maybe it was actually a big ass sticker that one of the builders placed as a prank. You never know. Steeling yourself, you went closer to the door on your tippy toes. Carefully trying to be quiet. Why? You don't know. You just knew you had to. Maybe it was an instinct of yours. You were now infrot of the door and you tried reaching for the door knob still thinking it was a sticker but the coolness feeling in your hands said uno reverse. You abruptly took back your hand in shock. You stared down at the atrocity in front of you. You quickly raised your foot and took off your shoes/heel/slipper and held onto it tightly. Preparing yourself to open the door, you took in a deep breath and reached for the door knob once more. Twisting it open, a ray of sunlight shone through the small crack as you pushed the door open gently.

Your eyes widen at the sight infront of you as you had fully opened the door. The grip your hand had on your lethal weapon widened and it slipped from your hands. The sight infront of you was so surreal. 'This can't be true, right?' your head was going to so many places, unable to comprehend what was going on. You felt kinda dizzy.

You would be a fool not to recognize this place that you had seen so many times throughout your life. A few kilometers infront of you was the City of Mondstadt in view. You could even see the knights guarding the gate and Timmie with his pigeons at the bridge.

The weird door from your cafe was actually a door to the Genshin Impact world. Wow... wtf.

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also pls take a look at my poorly drawn drawing of what your view looks like cause for the love of god I can't seem to explain it:

Also you're in a cliff or something. so yeah

Taglist:

None

#genshin sagau #genshin reverse sagau #genshin impact sagau #genshin reverse isekai #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #various genshin characters #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #gn!reader x various genshin character #•works[🍡]•#genshin series

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marshmallowprotection · 11 months

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Thinking Thoughts about mysme once again and they started to overlap.

So, I feel like it's pretty likely that V has some scars from the fire when his mom died. The house was fully on fire when his mom went to save him. And there's one chat, for the life of me I can't remember which, where V mentions he doesn't like taking off his clothes in front of people (which made me start thinking it).

Also I looked through all the album images and what title screens I could find, V is almost always wearing long sleeves. There's a handful of times where his sleeves are rolled up (mostly title screens, and usually still below the elbows). there's one (1) image where he's in short sleeves without a jacket and it's one of the defaced pictures Ray sent to the RFA so it's not super visible (but honestly even if they showed V without scars cheritz can't stop me. Like the twins are also covered in scars. they can give us all the tank top saeyoung they want but i KNOW he's got scars)

ANYWAY so... VAE. V is the one who goes back to Magenta and gets Saeran out of the wreckage and runs off with him (a thought that came later: I wonder how he felt walking through burned ruins, hoping someone survived such pure destruction). There's a lot of complicated feelings between V and everyone else--ESPECIALLY the twins--but I wonder. Towards the end of that two years. He and Saeran must be at some sort of peace. Saeran's physical wounds are... healed, as much as they really can be. The scars will stay.

Maybe one day V just rolls his sleeves up or tugs his shirt collar aside or something, just enough to show Saeran he's not alone. He knows how it feels to burn long, long after the flames have gone out. The only other person who's seen his scars is Rika (And probably Jumin, either in the hospital after the fire or by accident over the years). Not the rest of the RFA, not even MC yet.

I don't know how to word it but just. that... A sense of not being alone or just being seen when you see someone with wounds similar to your own. They're not exactly the same, no two wounds can be, but on some level you both understand it.

Finally. God. Do you know how long I've been trying to advocate for Jihyun's burn scars by putting them in countless stories? There's no wrong answer for the placement of the scars, but I've always thought that they were on his back and likely patches of his arms. Jihyun is a modest guy in general, so it makes sense why he doesn't show much of his body off, but when you add in the accident with the fire... well, I think his being insecure about his scars would make sense.

It's not even that the scars make him feel bad about his reflection. Those scars are a mark that reminds him his mother is dead every time he looks at him. No wonder he wants to cover up. His life went through a change that nobody will ever understand when he lost her. His personality changed, he withdrew, and he started to hold back on everything because that grief wrecked him in ways that he still hasn't started to unpack by the time you encounter him.

Between feeling insecure about himself and carrying a constant reminder that his mother died for him; You can only imagine what things must be like in his head for years. The accident happened when he was a teenager. Somewhere between the ages of 16-18, that's the only definitive answer I've got on that. By the time MC comes around, Jihyun is 25.

That's almost ten years of carrying shame and self-hatred. We all know how he feels about his mother, but imagining him carrying every scar like it's a punishment for not "loving his mother enough," now, that's hard to stomach. I sympathize with him. Learning how to love himself is going to come with the price of learning how to accept his scars, too. In the same way that Saeran and Ray have to learn how to accept theirs.

I truly believe that Jihyun would've shown his scars to him at some point. He fights hard to help Saeran, but I just know he's going to be quick to run out of answers within the first couple of months and he'll have to resort to thinking outside the box. He'll have to learn that the best way to get through to Saeran is to show him, not tell him. Words are empty to him given what he went through. You need to show him what you're made of.

That's why revealing his scars would be crucial in the healing process.

Imagine Saeran and/or Ray lashing out at V for months because they are angry, afraid, and want nothing to do with this healing that Jihyun is selling. They fight him every step of the way and there's nothing the man can do to stop it. V would be at his wit's end. He would have to try and find something else.

An angry cry of: "You can't even begin to understand my pain, V! You'll never know what it's like to carry these scars!"

Jihyun will have no choice but to roll back the fabric and show Saeran the weight of his worst trauma. "...I'm afraid I understand more than you'll ever know."

No words will be spoken between them about that. Only thoughts of pain and confusion because Saeran didn't know that V had scars like that. V will give him space for a while before Saeran comes back to his side to ask about the scars, and to learn about the story that comes with it... so that's how they open up to each other and finally start to have a healthy dialogue about everything and anything that happened to them.

#jihyun kim #kim jihyun #ask #mod kait #vae saeran #vae ray #v after ending #pastelsapphy #character analysis

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snuwolf · 5 months

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It was a rather cool summer that year, the island had begun preparations for the Festival of Kites a few days in advance.

An elven woman with rose-orange hair lived alone, in a house that always felt too big for one. She worked with dexterous hands to gently chisel into thin bones and sold beautiful jewelry out of the bone beads and wire. She had lived on this island her entire life, as did her mother, her mother’s mother, and several generations of ancestors before. She attended the church every day for sermons, praying fealty to her lord that she had spent her whole life praising. Days bleed in and out, a mess together as life would for someone reaching their third century. Life was dull and empty as the sea’s horizon for her. Until one day, during the festival she had long-since grown unimpressed of, a human she’d never met sidled next to her. He watched the performance of the great whale kite dazzle the sunset clouds as the rhythmic music pounded like a heartbeat with childlike wonder.

“Mind if I sit with you?” he asked, his voice was cool and calm as he adjusted his dreads to lay behind his shoulders and draped a dusty looking leather coat over one arm.

“Oh, not at all.” She readjusted her dress to not take up as much space. His features struck out to her in the best ways, sneaking glances while he wasn’t looking to admire the scar over his nose, the patch on his eye and the broad build of his hairy chest peeking from behind the ruffle in his white shirt. Despite looking like a sailor, he was very well groomed.

“Quite the performance goin’ on, this a regular thing?” he asked, briefly breaking his gaze away from the dancing kites to look at her face.

“Not from Thalasspiti, are you?”

“Heh, nah. I’m WAY far from home. Can’t say I’m complainin’, view in this town’s pretty great.” he smiled, still staring. He caused a bit of a giggle from her as she bashfully broke contact from his beautifully golden colored eye.

“Well,” she brought a hand to her cheek to try to hide the blushing “This is just for the festival for the solstice, the normal kites stick around until autumn.”

He mimicked her hand placement, “You stickin’ around here too?”

She stifled a laugh as he jokingly followed her hand over her mouth, “Yes, I am. Born and raised here.”

He grinned ear to ear and stuck his hand out, “Demoúr, by the way.” She took it, not surprised by the callous and firm grip of a sailor.

“Meiriannuh.”

“Meiriannuh...” he repeated her name, letting it sit on his tongue as he nodded. “Gorgeous name that is. Care to join me later for dinner?”

“That sounds lovely.”

In only a few short weeks they spent, Meiri’s too big of a home didn’t feel so big anymore. Demoúr spent days and nights with her, even willing to attend with her to the church's sermons and enjoy the myriad of beautiful secrets on the island. Meiri had never felt so... whole before. It was intoxicating, how high the feelings were to her. It was like a dream come true, she didn’t even think about how little time Demoúr would actually be able to spend with her, being a human compared to an elf’s life is naught but a drop of water in the ocean. She didn’t care, blinded by the love she deluded to thinking she could spend the rest of her life with him.

It should have been beautiful news to realize she was pregnant, starting a family and having the lonely home not so lonely anymore was a dream come true. If only Demoúr didn’t suddenly disappear. Meiriannuh was heartbroken, but with a child on the way she felt an overwhelming sense of regret and guilt. She confessed to Father Grienlynd, a middle aged elven man. As head of the church and closest to a leader the people had, she confided in him that she’d conceived a child out of wedlock and the father of said child was gone without a trace.

The father seemed shocked, but he told her that the Lord would forgive her for such an ordeal. “So long as you raise this child well and faithful to Thalasso, all shall be forgiven. Please, be sure to meet with me after sermons so that you may keep your health in check for your growing baby.” “I’ve never raised a child before, Grienlynd, I grew up as an only child, I don’t know what to prepare, I-”

“It’s alright, Meiriannuh. We all carry out trials by the lord, this child shall be no different. We live by faith, not by sight. This is all part of Thalasso’s plan, I’m sure.”

Without any other kin to assist, Meiriannuh would go to Grienlynd with every concern and query she had, he never minded how often or insignificant.

When the child was born, she looked like a happy, healthy half-elf. Pointed ears, olive brown skin, however she had a concerning pair of bumps on the top of her head, and the starting nub of a tail at the base of her spine. They were seemingly harmless, but her mother always kept a close eye on them. She fretted about them during the health check-ups at the church, but Grienlynd assured that they did not seem to hurt nor sign of any health issue, despite the fact that he himself was not sure exactly what they could signify. Meiri kept the bumps hidden despite this, out of a foundless fear that others would mock her or the child for being unsightly. Meiri had told Grienlynd that she thought it best to keep the growths hidden, and while he agreed, he always tried to nudge Meiriannuh to not be so superficial. She never seemed to let go of the issue despite his attempts. After nearly a year, Meiriannuh had finally settled on a name for the girl; Meldamiriel.

As she began to go from crawling to toddling, concerning traits slowly appeared on Meldamiriel. Those bumps on her head began to split as bone-hard horns that resembled semi-transparent corals began to grow out of them. Fear of ostracization took hold of her mother, and she taught Melody at a young age to keep these growths filed down close to her scalp and to never let anyone see them, and that she could never ever cut her hair for risk of letting the stumps be exposed.

When her baby teeth fell out, pointed shark-like teeth grew in their place. She developed symmetrical gouges on the sides of her neck that looked like they might have become gills, though never bore deeper than her skin itself. Meiriannuh gave Meldamiriel a scarf to keep her mouth hidden, instructing her to never reveal her mouth around anyone else nor let the scarf fall to show her neck. She was only ever allowed to eat inside their home, causing Meldamiriel to develop a difficult relationship with food, it was especially bad during festivals with great feasts at the church.

While hiding her face from onlookers, the young girl started to notice the pointing, staring, and muttering. She expressed discomfort from the way strangers looked at her for it, so Meiriannuh decided to wear a scarf with her from then on. It helped a great deal, and Meldamiriel didn’t complain after that. Whenever asked of this change of attire by others, Meiriannuh would speak of hiding her beauty to prevent unwanted attention from men. Deep down, she really didn't want to gain the attention of any other man, she would always hope that by some miracle, the Lord would return the man that stole her heart years ago.

The tail grew longer at the base of Meldamiriel's spine, with greenish fur that feathered out and slicked itself with a fine oil, mimicking sea kelp. Meiriannuh taught her how to tuck the tail under her long dresses out of view, often wrapping it around her waist and tucking overshirts or scarves around it. She would always fret over Meldamiriel’s clothes with a close eye before they left the house.

Her mother once asked Grienlynd if it would be best to cut off the tail after tripping and nearly being seen in the market, but he swiftly decided against it.

“It's one thing to hide her features, but maiming the child? Unthinkable, Meiri. These are things she was born with, as given by the Lord. She’s your only child, you shouldn’t risk something as dangerous as sepsis or infection.”

Meiriannuh was ashamed, but accepted Grienlynd’s advice. As a result for her daughter unfortunately, Meiri became more harsh and detail-focused about ensuring she was thorough with keeping the features hidden, entrenching it as a morning ritual to file down the horns, and to begin keeping the tail hidden and scarf worn even when at home. Eventually it became such a normal habit that Meiriannuh once overslept in the morning, and found Meldamiriel filing the horns on her own in the bathroom mirror.

At about 6 years old, a thunderstorm rolled in while Meiriannuh and Meldamiriel were at the market. Lightning crashed down in the middle of the town square, frightening everyone and causing a panic as people scrambled away from the strike.

Meldamiriel became separated from her mother and knocked into a dirty puddle as people fled to their homes. A stranger passing her by picked her up and placed her on her feet. They told her to run, and so she did.

As the thunder continued to rumble and the rain picked up, Melody found herself at the docks, and hid underneath to shield herself from the torrential rain. She shivered from the cold, her pretty dress and scarf stained by mud. She started to cry before a small hand gently touched her shoulder, where she jumped and turned around to see a young human boy. "Are you okay?" he asked, his black hair soaked by the rain.

Meldamiriel, scared and cold, shook her head. "It's okay, the storms aren't so scary on land.'' The boy tried to comfort her as another boom of thunder shakes the air. Meldamiriel's eyes began to tear up.

The boy stood in front of her, taking her attention away from the lightning filled sky. "Your scarf is really pretty. What's your name?" The temporary distraction works, and she meekly responds "M-meldamiriel." "Meldamiriel, huh? Hmm... what about Melody instead?"

She didn't like it at first, "N-no my name's Meldamiriel." "I know! I just think Melody's a good nickname. I've seen you sing at the church before, you're really good!" She blushed at that, she didn't think her singing was anything special, at least compared to her mother's. "So, how about it, Melody?" She smiled under the scarf, and nodded, accepting this new nickname. "...what's your name?" she asked timidly. "I'm Naru! I live on a boat with my family over there." he pointed to an ornate ship, a design Melody was unfamiliar with. Her eyes lit up, she had never been so close to the boats before. She stared in awe until another boom of thunder shook her, she covered her ears and shut her eyes tight. Naru gently grabbed her hands and pulled them away, "It's okay, the thunder's loud but it won't hurt you." "It's still scary, and there was lightning in the market..." she whimpered. "Yeah, but you're safe right here!" he reassured "You promise?" "Mm-hmm! Lightning only hits the highest spots so it can't get you under the docks."

She still seemed unsure, so he held out his pinky to her. She looked at it quizzically. “I pinky swear!” “Pinky swear?”

“Yeah! When you swear with your pinkies, it’s the seriousest promises get!”

She held out her own pinky and he locked them together, and she seemed to finally ease up.

The two stayed huddled under the docks for a few hours, Naru told Melody about the different ships they could see, pointing out the flags and structures and how they explained what the ships were meant to do. Eventually the rain started to let up as the sun started to set, and Melody felt sleepy, resting her head against Naru's shoulder. She snapped back up when she heard Father Grienlynd calling her name, he marched down the sand towards her, kneeling down and asking if she was okay and that her mother was worried sick. She nodded and Father Grienlynd smiled, and took her hand, willing to take her back home.

He told Naru to do the same, and they departed. Melody waved goodbye to him, unsure if they'd meet again.

Luckily, they did. Several times, only for short amounts of time, but Melody treasured them deeply. Naru would have her follow him to show something out at the ocean, watching the clouds, and searching for sea glass. He had once found a beautiful turquoise piece that he gifted to her, and she treasured it immensely. It stayed in her pocket at all times.

He talked to her as an equal, he made her feel normal. He made her feel safe.

When she would feel scared or nervous, she would hold the sea glass in her fingers, and she would find comfort in it.

On Melody's 8th birthday, her mother gifted her with a kitten, after a recommendation from Grienlynd to observe how Melody would treat it.

Melody was ecstatic, and named the kitten Sabinne. She and the cat bonded quickly, and she surprised her mother with the level of care and responsibility displayed. Sabinne helped fill a hole of loneliness within Melody, as something that would never judge her or tell her secret to anyone. They would sleep together every night, and played often in the day. Sabinne got along well with Meiriannuh as well, as a fine lapcat.

Shortly after her 10th birthday, Melody was watching the clouds behind the church, marveling at the vast ocean below the cliffs. Her moment of peace was interrupted however when a trio of girls showed up, and began to mock her. The leader of them was an elven girl named Lyra, who was about a decade older than Melody herself, but being an elf she was still roughly the same in size and maturity.

Melody knew of her, she gossiped and bad-mouthed most people, but she was never caught by the adults. She never directly interacted with her before, as often she would be within the church after sermons while her mother spoke with Grienlynd. Unfortunately, her choice to enjoy the spring air on this afternoon would lead to tragedy. Lyra snickered to her friends as she approached Melody, "What'cha doin', freak?"

Melody was taken aback by the comment, "Freak?" "Uh, yah! I've never seen you not wearing that scarf, so you've GOT to be hiding something." Melody's heart raced, how could she have known? Has she seen her teeth? Did Melody slip up somewhere? What else does she know? "I-it's none of your business, is it?" "Having to see you hiding your freaky face every day is TOTALLY my business, ugh, you and your mom are so weird!"

The two friends giggled and whispered to one another behind Lyra. My mom? Weird? Melody thought to herself, feeling vexed.

“Th-that’s not nice...” Melody stumbled over her words, feeling them get caught in her throat as she tried to choke down the bubbling rage. “Why should I be nice to you?” Lyra sauntered over to get in Melody’s face “An ugly freak like you shouldn’t even be here.” her two friends continued to giggle and whisper, parroting calling Melody a freak. “P-please leave me alone...” She refused to look in Lyra’s eyes, her gaze darting around as she spotted the various scrap woods laying near the church wall. “Why don’t you leave me alone?” “I-I was here fir–” “Uh, no? This is my hangout spot, you should run back to your whore mom.” “...Whore?” Melody’s eyes snapped from the ground and bore into Lyra. “Ew!” Lyra stood up, curling her upper lip, “Don’t look at me like that.” Melody’s hands shook, then quickly clenched into fists. “She works so tirelessly day in and out, only ever loved a single man in her life, and you call her a whore?" her jaw tensed, all of her reasoning was falling apart to not give in to punishing Lyra. "Pff, yeah I bet she works so hard since she sees Grienlynd every day to repent for something. Gotta be doing it with strangers every night." Her smirk deepened as she gestured with her hands provocatively.

"God as my witness, I am going to make you repent." She swung a fist right into Lyra's stomach.

Lyra was stunned for a moment, most people were scared to defend against her antagonizing, but her ego naturally would not let her back down.

"You bitch!" She called out, and slapped Melody. She fell to a knee, and quickly grabbed a piece of wood on the ground, and swung upwards, connecting with Lyra's arm.

She yelped, and Melody felt a sinister pleasure at the retaliation. "B-back off!" Lyra stumbled backwards, the other two girls watched in terrified silence. Melody would not grant mercy by now.

She charged and swung the board at Lyra's legs, twisting her knee and forcing her to lose balance. Melody swung over and over again as Lyra tried to curl up, covering her face.

Melody was so caught up in the adrenaline she didn't even notice when the other girls ran away screaming for help.

Every swing made a satisfying noise, and her smile grew more and more as Lyra whimpered and bled onto the grass. She became so drunk with sadistic pleasure she didn't hear someone run up behind and grab her. Melody thrashed at first, hungry to continue the violence until realizing her scarf had fallen below her chin, and a bolt of fear shot down her spine and closed her mouth tightly, her body freezing up in an instant.

The stranger struggled for her wrist, twisting it to force her to let go of the wood. Melody didn't fight back, she was simply staring down at the bloody and misshapen form of Lyra, her teeth still clenching. She couldn't tell if she was still breathing, her heart raced as the weight of the situation sunk in. A man kneeled down next to her, covering his mouth in horror as his trembling hand reached to the beaten Lyra.

Melody turned her head to see who it was that grabbed her. They were human, but she didn't recognize them. They looked... scared, as though they didn't want to be the person here right now. She could feel their shaking crawl up their spine as they firmly held her wrist. It felt like an eternity as they mistakenly peered into Melody’s guilty eyes. Seeing blood spotted across her dress, realizing the stain from her hands seeped into their own as they held tight. "G-Grienlynd!" they shouted, pulling Melody away from Lyra and towards the back door of the church.

Grienlynd quickly ran outside, confused by the panic and stopped dead in his tracks at what he saw. He marched to Melody, grabbing her by the upper arm as he gave an order to the man kneeling by Lyra, and he pulled Melody inside. Onlookers whispered amongst each other at the two of them, immediately fantasizing about what had happened. Melody felt overwhelming fear as they passed her mother, her eyes wide and hand pressed to her mouth. She looked full of fear and worry.

Grienlynd pulled her into the back rooms, shutting the door behind. He pressed his hand against the door, looking down and away from Melody. The silence in the room was deafening. She was too scared to say anything. "What have you done, Meldamiriel?" Grienlynd asked, not even looking at her. His pleading face was exasperated by the silence before Melody cracked open her lips.

She explained what had happened. Grienlynd asked why she beat Lyra so badly, and Melody explained the blinding anger to the libelous claims of her mother, that Lyra refused to listen to reason.

When Grienlynd told Melody that there was a chance Lyra was going to die, she was speechless. He asked if she intended to kill her. Melody promised she didn't, but Grienlynd questioned her honesty. Melody swore up and down she did not wish for Lyra to die, but Griendlynd's face never showed any relief as she spoke. He seemed almost fearful at who he was looking at, his eyes sorrowful as he took note of Melody's teeth, realizing her scarf had been down this whole conversation.

He told her she could not go home tonight. That he would need to speak with her mother. That what she had done was a crime, and needed just punishment. He told her to stay in these rooms and to not come out before he returned.

She sat in the dim light alone. She looked at her dress, splattered with blood. The adrenaline of the last few minutes faded away and her body felt heavy, and she sat against the wall, trying to listen outside. She heard the two girls lie to the gathered crowd that Melody attacked Lyra for no reason, she heard unknown voices demand for punishment, and others demand for Grienlynd to bring Melody out to speak her side. Grienlynd's voice boomed over them for silence, that he will set out a just punishment. That until Lyra recovers and can be asked what happened from her perspective, Meldamiriel is to work within the church and never leave its grounds.

Melody heard footsteps rushing toward the door, and she jumped up when someone tried to open it, unsure of who it may be. Grienlynd called out to Meiriannuh, telling her to remain calm. Meiri's voice cracked as she shouted just outside the door, “I need to see her!”

After a moment of pause, Grienlynd permitted it.

Meiriannuh opened the door to see Melody, and she kneeled down as tears built up in her eyes. Melody felt an overwhelming guilt as she watched her mother begin to cry, and Meiri embraced her. Melody grabbed at her mother's dress as she was hugged, silently crying into her shoulder.

During her imprisonment, the church volunteers would watch her like a hawk and would reprimand her instantly, even before understanding any situation that caused a problem, even if Melody wasn’t at fault. Only Father Grienlynd ever seemed to hold off on reprimanding her until hearing an explanation of what was going on. Many sneered and questioned the Father as time went on, calling him soft and too easy on the girl.

Many times they would lock her away into closets to keep her from potentially attacking someone again. Sometimes the volunteers showed guilt if they looked into her eyes, but most of them didn’t. Grienlynd was always the one who demanded to let her out.

Melody quickly learned she had to keep her temper under strict control, and she was never to raise her voice to anyone no matter how wrong or rude they were. Most townsfolk Melody encountered looked at her with horror and tried to steer clear of her. She eventually learned to hide herself from the routine hustle and bustle of the churchgoers. She didn't want to scare them.

She ate and slept within the belltower of the church alone, and was taught how to ring the bells. She learned how to read time from the placement of the sun in the sky, and how the sun rose and set over the year.

Most of her day was spent cleaning the church and helping with daily tasks, though most volunteers often abandoned their work when Melody would try to assist, forcing her to work alone. She began to accept that she was different from other people in the worst ways. She became homesick often, missing her soft bed and kitty Sabinne. She saw her mother less and less at the church, as she would leave shortly after a sermon instead of speaking with Grienlynd like she used to.

When the news came out that Lyra had awoken and recovered, she refused to speak to anyone, and limped everywhere she went. Lyra was pitied and adored for surviving, and the people's scorn towards Melody grew. When Lyra came to a sermon, she made eye contact with Melody, and smiled. Melody felt a slow burning anger, concluding that Lyra was playing off the tragedy to her own gain.

Eventually, Melody was forced to spend the days within the belltower to avoid the confrontational churchgoers who wanted Melody to suffer a similar fate as Lyra. Less aggressive people agreed that Melody should never be allowed near her again. Lyra’s own father at one point had cornered Melody, brandishing a club within the church, demanding Melody step forward to receive a beating like she had done to his only daughter. Before he got close enough to swing, Grienlynd ran between the two of them, and struggled to yank the club from the man’s callous hands. He scolded him that there would be no violence within the sacred halls, and gestured to the great whale above that he was bore witness by the Saints and Thalasso himself within the church.

Melody became lonely and resentful, but devoted herself to study the scriptures to make up for not being able to listen to sermons. She poured into the stories of the Saints, praying every morning and night for forgiveness and promising devotion to the Lord.

One autumn morning, as Grienlynd brought Melody her breakfast, Melody asked him how he became a speaker for the sermons. Grienlynd said he was raised to be one by his father, and that one day he will find a successor. Melody asked him if there could ever be a chance that she might learn, but he quickly turned her down.

"You speak too softly, and the people could not read your lips behind the scarf." he stated.

Melody retorted, "I could learn to speak louder, perhaps."

"You could, yes... but I find it doubtful that they would respect you," he discouraged, "no one could trust who they see as a monster to teach scripture."

Melody bit her lip, she certainly felt like everyone else in the town hated her. Grienlynd could read the pain on her face, having watched the girl since she was born, he was not immune to the pangs of sadness to her ordeal.

“The mortal people may hold anger and grudges til death, you must seek to find forgiveness from the Lord. He is the only one who may grant salvation.”

It was the closest to comfort that he could grant her.

The next year passed by quicker than the first, as Melody fell into a reliable routine day-to-day. When she returned home, her mother gave neither praise nor condemnation, but Sabinne at least was happy to see her again, snuggling her closely.

Melody's bedroom gained a thin layer of dust, as it turned out Meiriannuh never even stepped foot within it while she was gone, so one of the first things Melody did was begin to clean it. Meiriannuh watched Melody from afar as she washed her sheets and blankets. Whenever Melody would look back at her, she saw a look that felt so cold on her mother's face. Colder than all the times she turned away from her at the church the last two years.

Melody didn't know what to do to regain her mother's love, but she coveted it more and more as time went on. She behaved herself exceptionally, kept her voice calm when speaking, and often offered to help with the housework and cooking. It felt like nothing would be good enough, but she relished in the smallest affections.

Her mother told her to hold her hand at all times when they went out together, and never left her home alone. They often had scornful looks from townsfolk when they went out, some of the farmers and fishers refused to sell to Meiriannuh. “Sure as hell not while yer monster’s with ye.” one scoffed. Many people stopped buying her wares, and she became resentful towards her daughter for causing their misfortune. She turned to wine to calm herself, often having a glass or two every night before bed.

About two weeks before Melody's 13th birthday, Meiriannuh spent most of her evening drinking the last of her wine reserves. She stumbled and fell into the hallway from the living room, and Melody rushed out to see what the noise was.

She knelt down to help her mother to her feet, but was refused.

"Don't touch me! I'm fine, I..." Meiri sat there dazed.

Melody watched her closely, "Are you sure you're alright?"

Meiriannuh scowled as she looked back at her, and then her face contorted to a disgusting sadness. She felt a lump forming in her throat as she spilled the repressed emotions of the last two years.

"Ohhhh my baby, you're a m-monsher and is my fault. I was temp-tempted and caused this cursh for you and th-the Lord has chosen to damn you for eternity! Issall my fault."

Melody was confused, she never expected this reaction. "No, I love you. You're a good mother!" she tried to reassure her.

You reek of wine, just how much did you have? she thought to herself.

"I'm s-sorry my child," she choked back tears "your eyesh.. They don't h-have th innocensh they did when you were l-little."

"What do you mean?" Melody's heart picked up.

"I'm s-sorry Meldamiriel." her mother began to weep.

You're drunk, you just need to get in bed. Melody reasoned as she tried to offer her mother a hand once more, but she jerked herself away.

"Lyra was bedrid-ridden for w-weeksh and won't talk to any-anyone! They said you would have killed her if-if-if Otysia didn't shtop you! You were gonna beat her to death!"

"Mother, I–"

But she called you a whore.

"Nnnno! I don't want to hear eksushes!" she pressed against the wall as she stood up too quickly, knocking a small painting off the wall, crossing her arms.

"But Mother–!"

Please listen to me.

"You attacked her, Meldameryl! Thash what you did!"

"I... she... she was–"

SHE WAS DISGRACING YOU. SHE WAS LYING AND NO ONE WAS STOPPING HER!

"Y-you're damned to senshless violensh and no matter how h-hard I toiled to raysh you, thish what you've become. You're a monsher, Meld'mirel, and issall my fault."

"...I love you, mom."

A monster?

"Don't–DON'T give me that. Don't do that to me." she stared down at Melody, tears welled in her eyes. Through the blurriness she could see her daughter's golden irises looking up at her

"I-..."

I do love you! I really do!

"I made th' mishtake f-falling for that man... I made a mishtake that night, and now look at what you are! Sh-sh-shtil a child, and you nearly kill a girl..."

"..."

I am a monster...

"I don' even wanna look at you anymore."

"..."

You need rest.

Melody sat in the hallway as her mother crawled up the stairs to her room, in the dead quiet she heard her door close, and then lock. She let out a small sigh of relief as she heard the creak of her bed, undoubtedly she fell directly onto it.

The next day at the church, Meiri stayed at home to nurse her hangover. After the sermon, Melody asked Grienlynd if they could speak. She confessed to what had happened the previous night with her mother, fighting back the tears as she recounted the conversation.

She begged Grienlynd what she should do, and he reached out to put a gentle hand on her shoulder, but hesitated as he noticed the various townsfolk eavesdropping. He told her to head to the back room to weep in private and that he would speak to Meiriannuh in due time. Melody nodded and left, spending a good amount of time crying as quietly as she could behind the closed door.

A week later, Grienlynd surprised Meiriannuh with a visit in the early night. He asked if he may speak with her for a while, and she shakily agreed. She prepared some tea as Grienlynd took a seat in the living room, observing all the small baubles and the handmade jewelry that decorated their home. He took note especially of the children's drawings, undoubtedly from Melody herself.

As Meiri brought over the tea tray and took a seat, Melody happened to be moving down the hall to use the washroom. Her eyes went wide when she heard Grienlynd's voice, and she froze in place, listening intently to their conversation.

Grienlynd asked Meiriannuh if she was doing well, since she hadn't been speaking with him since Melody returned home.

"I didn't think there was much reason really," Meiriannuh admitted, "in spite of years of dedication in raising her, I fear there's not much I could have done about what happened."

"Has she done anything violent since returning?" Grienlynd asked while stirring some honey into his tea.

"Nothing I know of, but I've looked in her eyes and there's something... different about her. I just feel this immense weight that Lyra's condition was my fault, Father."

"Do you know where she would have learned such violence?"

"I've no idea." Meiriannuh watched her own cup ripple under her hands, realized that she had begun to tremble and rested the cup on her lap.

"You don't hit her yourself, do you?"

"Of course not! I would never!" she defended against such an accusation "She's still my baby, I just..."

"Just what, Meiri?"

"I fear she's going to grow into a monster before my eyes, and there's nothing I could do to stop it." she wiped her eyes with the corner of her sleeve, trying to keep her composure in front of Grienlynd.

"Oh, Meiriannuh... the Lord made Meldamiriel the way she is for a reason. As her mother, you must set her in the right direction."

"But what direction is the right one, Grienlynd?! I was doing my best for 10 years, and this is still what has happened! I can't love the monster out of her, what am I to do?"

"You only see the monster in her?" Grienlynd raised an eyebrow.

"What else is she?"

"Your daughter."

Meiriannuh was stunned. She had spent the last 3 years in turmoil over the daughter she thought she lost. The revelation was too much, and she began to openly and grossly sob over her cup. Grienlynd stood up and placed a gentle hand on her slouched back as Melody’s eyes teared up at the sound of her mother sobbing. She looked down to Sabinne, picking her up gently as she sneaked back to her bedroom.

Melody had her own revelation, and decided that her mother didn’t deserve to see her grow into more and more of a monster. She laid out her blanket on the floor, and packed some of her things onto it, mostly clothes and bedding, and bundled it all up. She gave Sabinne a kiss on the head, asking her to watch over her mother after she is gone, and sneaked out the window late into the night. Sabinne watched her go until they couldn’t see each other any longer.

Melody walked down the beach as everyone slept, fascinated by the starlit sky and glowing beach sand as the waves rolled back and forth across them. She wandered down the beach for hours until the sun barely started to light up the sky. Just as she was making her way towards a rocky coast under the church’s cliffside, where she spotted the opening of a cave low to the water. Wading into the water as the low tidal waves lapped against the rocky surfaces, she meandered down a narrow tunnel until she reached a cavernous, open bubble. A small freshwater stream trickled through the center of it and out the opening of the cave. There was a sheer drop from the main floor of this cavern to where the seawater would come in, the entrance of the cave covered completely when not at low tide. The only other openings being small tunnels and craggy holes in the wall near the sea, impossible for anything bigger than a rat to squeeze through.

She decided to set up her new home here, turning her bundle into a makeshift bed to rest as her exhaustion set in.

The first two weeks were agony. Melody had no knowledge of how to set a fire, nor how to catch any food for herself. She rapidly lost weight, and woke up from the pain of sleeping on a rocky floor, but her determination to free her mother of herself was stronger than her desire to return home, despite her consciousness begging for her soft bed, warm food, even a bath.

At one point she found herself sitting in delirium in the cave, praying for Thalasso to end her pain. Something clicked inside her as she realized the absurdity of her prayer to the Lord, and fell into a fit of laughter.

“What am I doing? Asking you for anything?” she blurted in her hysterics. "Haha... you would never listen to my prayers!"

Her laughing was cut short as a salmon leapt out of the water and fell against the cave floor, flopping against the hard rock with audible slapping. The pain in her stomach and animalistic instinct kicked in as she grabbed the fish and took a massive bite out of its side, the tender flesh easily torn apart by her teeth. The salmon writhed under her grip as she rended the flesh, letting herself become a beast in this moment.

She paused with her third mouthful as her eyes began to well up with tears, acknowledging that her prayer was answered. She reasoned that the Lord gifted her the fish to survive, and she found a new strength in her faith like never before.

Melody sneaked out of the cave at night, and slept during the day to minimize any possibility of someone stumbling upon her. The beach just a small walk away from the cave was sacred ground. The dead would be loaded onto rafts and sent out to sea. No one would ever guess to go searching for her on this coast.

She learned how to catch fish with her bare hands, and later a spear and a handful of primitive knives made of stones and shells.

It took longer to learn how to light a fire, the driftwood that would wash up needing to dry thoroughly before even attempting to light it.

Every small bit of progress felt like an achievement for her.

She held deep into her routine. Her little nest of bedding slowly became a makeshift shack with various items Melody fancied decorating it. Her dress became thin and ragged, eventually unable to completely hide her tail underneath as she failed to find methods to mend the holes, so she settled for wrapping it around her waist to mimic a belt.

Then she became discomforted how the dress's ragged edges could not cover most of her legs, and unable to sew any new garment, she wrapped her legs in sheets of fabric, held together by pins made of fish rib bones.

Over time, various oceanic debris would wash into the opening of the cave. Seaweed, shell pieces, dead creatures and not so dead creatures alike. And eventually, a hand-sized pink and white shell.

Its shape was unlike any seashell she had ever seen. She was enraptured by it, holding it gently in her hands as she followed the spiraling design of the flares with her finger. She didn’t think much of the shell itself beyond its beauty, before placing the hole near her ear. She didn't hear the sound of the ocean from it, but instead pure silence. She thought it odd, but held no suspicion of the shell, and hung it above her bed.

A few days later, Melody began to notice an unusual phenomena. The typical items that washed up into her cavern would always be in a spiral pattern.

At first, pinwheels of seaweed, twisted and dried sea stars, lost boat nettings and ropes. She would have dreams of being deep underwater, deeper than she had ever swum on her own, surrounded completely by the dark blue void.

More unusually, fish of varying levels of decay started to wash up, all parts of them down to the skeleton twisted in this disturbing spiral. Her dreams became more vivid, as she repeatedly was either in or under the water, feeling a desire to find something, but unsure of what.

She found seashells and driftwood with carvings of spirals etched deeply into them.

She investigated these spirals for a time collecting them and sitting them around her little hovel as decor. Eventually after weeks of these gifts from the sea, she realized that each of the spirals matched the shape and curves of the odd seashell she found.

She picked it back up, retracing the shell with her finger and observing the collection of spiraled curios. She held it up to her ear again, but now heard her own direct heartbeat. When she pulled the shell away, she could have sworn she heard a voice say "Hello–"

She quickly stood up and looked around, but certain no one was around. Holding the shell back to her ear gave nothing but the sound of her heartbeat.

She was cautious for a time, and occasionally heard the whispers of that voice from before. Her odd dreams continued, all centering around being on or under the ocean, ever so certain that there was something for her to find.

One day, while holding the odd shell, she impulsively decided to peek into the opening, certain there would be nothing but the light shining through the beautiful pink inside. She was overtaken by visions of a monumental underwater city, spanning miles and miles along the seafloor. It was so ornate and beautiful, far beyond anything she had ever seen or imagined. She felt an overwhelming feeling of calm and awe, she was looking at paradise.

She woke up hours later. Disoriented and confused, she heard that voice from the shell, clearer than ever.

"Hello, Meldamiriel." His voice was ethereal and distorted.

"H-hello?" she hesitantly picked up the shell as she sat back upright, as though it were watching her closely.

His tone shifted to be more dulcet, like the gentle waves washing against the shore, "You have suffered a long time, haven't you?"

"I... not as much as my mother has." she pondered what the voice could mean, and how much it knew. She curled her knees to her chest.

"You would wish to relieve her sorrow?" he inquired.

"I just want her to be happy." her voice tightened in her throat as she thought of her mother's weeping and scornful visage alongside the bright and cheerful memories of years gone.

The voice’s honeyed words were direct, "and you think you have given her happiness by running away to rot in this hole?"

"She won't see me turn into a monster if I stay here. What good am I to anyone if I end up a mindless monster." She replied with a twinge of shame.

"Oh, seachild. You are so much more than that. You have the opportunity for a remarkable destiny, do not waste your life away in here."

“What kind of destiny could I even be worth to anyone anymore?” she pouted.

“Oh, plenty. You are one of my children, just as well as anyone else upon this island, as much as your ancestors before you, and the descendants after. My plans for you are bright and full of splendor, just as the surface of the sea glistens at first light. Like the many who have sworn body and soul among the stories etched into Suritehllarr.”

Melody perked up a bit, eyes widening slightly. The way the voice spoke, the words used... they elicited the same feeling as when Grienlynd’s voice boomed across the nave.

“Your life has been spent surrounded by fear, guilt, and shame. Your birth as what you are was purposeful.” Her eyes teared up as they assured her. Assured her against her entire life of pain and guilt. “Do you really mean such a thing?” she pleaded, hoping that this wasn’t the result of a dream. “Of course. You were meant to be born, my dear child.”

She let the tears slip out of her eyes as a pang in her chest hit surely. It felt like her ribcage was going to collapse on itself, her small life’s worth of relief to hear such a thing. Then suddenly, overwhelming fear. She felt her blood coursing through her veins with the still audible heartbeat through the shell as she realized. This was him. The voice of God. Thalasso himself was speaking to me. Any response she tried to sputter out was stopped by her own fear choking her voice.

“You need not fear as my eye finally turns upon you, seachild. I know you are loyal to the scriptures in spite of the weakness you bear now.”

“I-I– W-well it– It’s just–” Her breathing was shallow and panicked.

“Quiet, now. Your voice fails that which I already know of you.”

Melody sat in silence.

“I come to you now to tell you, in exchange for a fraction of the sea’s power and a destiny of that bright future of valor and honor, you will go out into the world and seek out that which I deem necessary.”

Her heart raced, she had believed her entire life that she was despised by the almighty Thalasso, and yet here he was, giving her the honor to not only speak to her directly, but to also offer her redemption for her cursed existence, to possibly become something her Mother would not cry over.

She couldn’t pass up the opportunity. It would be foolish to do so.

“Of-of course! I would be most happy to serve you! I would do anything under your guidance, my Lord!”

“Keep this shell near you, you will find the opportunity to leave this island and venture forth into the world. I will be with you then, as I have now.”

“Yes my lord, thank you. Thank you so much.” her tears continued as her emotions were flooding her. The fear was still there, but it was overshadowed by the absolute joy and relief.

She kept the shell close to her person at all times, careful to never let it out of her sight when not being held directly. Occasionally, she would hold it up to her ear, just in case. She was only ever met with the sound of her heartbeat.

Two years went by, and one early morning she had been picking through the rocks searching for oysters when she noticed a nearby seagull causing a racket. She looked up to see a black and orange crab had managed to retaliate and pinched at its neck. She waded over, causing the bird to fly off and drop the crab back onto the sand. It landed nearby, attempting to sneak closer, but a wave of her arm kept it at bay well enough as she squatted down. She observed the crab as it uprighted itself once more, defensively raising its purple claws at her before sidewalking toward her legs.

Melody gently put her hands down to scoop up the crab, and it skittered across her arms before slipping and landing onto her tail. It pinched the hairs for dear life as Melody quickly stood up in alarm, before taking a deep breath and relaxing as she realized she wasn’t in any pain.

“Aren’t you quite funny?” she said as she scooped the crab into a gentle hand. “You’re just trying to survive too, aren’t you?”

The crab rose its hands against her again, partially distracted by the oyster held between her fingers. The seagull hovered nearby before Melody hissed at it, waving her arm again as the bird gave up and soared downwind to peck amongst the sand for a different bite to eat. She glanced down again as she noticed the crab pinching at her sleeve, holding on tightly.

“You must be hungry after such a thing.” she slid a blade into the shell of the oyster in her other hand and shucked it, placing the meat near the crab as it stared at both her and the food. She smiled when it took a slow pinch of the meat and nibbled it, then another, and eventually turned fully towards the oyster as Melody smiled.

“It’d be nice to have a pet again. Hm.. I suppose then I’ll call you Sabinne II. Yes, that feels fitting.” She was pleased with herself as she walked back to her shack.

Caring for the crab kept her spirits high, just as her pet kitty back at home did. She shared her meals with them often, and enjoyed speaking to them to dull the edge of loneliness.

Two more years, after turning 17, Melody was making her way back to her hovel after catching her dinner, and she yelped in shock to see someone sitting amongst her things.

Her panic settled slightly when she realized it was Naru, but the concern of anyone discovering her hiding place clouded any happy thoughts of seeing her only friend again.

Naru looked over to her and smiled, "Melody? Wow I haven't seen you in years! What are you doing here?"

"I- I've been living here." she stammered, climbing up onto the raised floor.

“Here? What happened to your house? I swore you didn’t live in a cave last time I saw you.” “W-well it’s.. Complicated...” She looked away from him, ashamed as she thought of how to admit the steps that wound up with her here and now. “W-what about you? How did you find this place?”

"I was walking along the beach when I thought I saw someone drowning in the water. When I went in, the waves just took me away. I got slammed onto the rocks outside, busted up my hand but I'll be alright."

Melody stepped to him, taking a hold of his hand, concerned about the bleeding. "Oh, here hold on." She ripped off a strip of fabric from her bedding and tended to the wound.

Naru winced at first, the saltwater earlier still stinging as she rinsed his hand and wrapped it. He watched as the blood slowly seeped into the bandage.

“Have you just been here all by yourself?" he asked, flexing his fingers to stretch the bandage a bit.

“Mm-hmm.” she nodded, kneeling down to tend to the smoldering fire to cook the fresh catch.

“What about your mom? And your old home?” “This place is my home now, and... my mother is better off without me.” she poked at the coals with a stick as the fresh log began to burn. “What do you mean? What happened?” “You... hadn’t heard of the crime I committed, have you?” she turned to look at his face.

“Crime? What crime?” He was more confused than anything else. “Oh, well... the gossiping girl, Lyra, she insulted my mother and I-I don’t know what overcame me but I just. I couldn’t let her get away with it...”

Naru stared at her wide-eyed. He hoped Melody was joking with him, squeezing out a chuckle before asking, “Ah haha... what did you do to her?” “I beat her within an inch of her life with a plank of wood.”

Naru stood in stunned silence, his jaw going slack as he processed the confession.

“She didn’t die, but she doesn’t speak anymore.” Melody continued, “Can’t go spreading lies about my mother anymore at least.” She set a log into the fire once it gained enough strength.

“Wow, uh. Didn’t think you had it in you to do something like that.” “Neither did anyone else, but.. In hindsight I don’t think it should be a surprise.”

“What... Do you mean by that?” “Well, I’m a monster.”

“What? No, no no, you’re not a monster. Y-you, well. I mean-. ”

"It's okay, Naru. I've already accepted it."

"But that- No. No! That doesn't make this okay!" He gestured around them, the cave's high ceiling carrying his voice "They can't just force you to live like this!" “Oh, I already faced punishment, I spent two years confined within the church. But... my mother just couldn’t bear the idea of my bloodlust overtaking me. I don’t think it’s something I can fight against, so here I am." She prodded the burning wood

"I ran away from everyone so I don’t hurt them.”

“You aren’t like that.” “I am. I was born a monster. It’s in my blood and soul.”

“You're not. How could a monster build all of this,” his arms gestured to the decorations, “how could they choose to save those they love before ever thinking to hurt them?”

“You just- you don’t understand-”

“Your mother must miss you terribly-”

“She doesn’t even want to see my face!” She stood up quickly, her hand tightening on the now-smoldering stick. “The years of hiding, the scarves and the filing and long dresses, you’ve never seen what I look like under this! I’m not speaking of being a monster in only actions, I'm a horrible, ugly thing that God cursed for being born!” Naru kept a careful eye on the burning wood in her hand.

Melody noticed his gaze to it, and dropped it in the fire. “I don’t want to be a monster, but it’s my burden to bear. I was made to hurt. I just don’t want to cause pain to the ones I care about.”

“...Then you don’t have to, right?” He swallowed his built up fear and stepped closer to her. “I don’t see a monster when I look at you, Melody.”

“Then you’re just blind and stupid.”

“Enlighten me then, show me this ‘monster’ you’re hiding.”

“N-... I can’t.”

“Why?”

“...I’ve spent my whole life like this. I-... You’re the only friend I’ve ever had. I don’t want to lose you because I scared you away with my ugly.”

Naru shook his head and stepped closer, “I won’t see you any differently.”

“You can’t promise that.”

He stuck out his pinky to her. She stared at it and then him in disbelief.

“I’ll swear it. You’ve been my friend this whole time, you’ll still be my friend after.”

Melody hesitantly brought her pinky up to meet his, and he clasped their hands together just before she tried to pull it back.

“How can you be a monster when you’re the one that’s so scared?” He gave her a smile that was so gentle she felt like she was seeing the sun for the first time.

As her eyes welled up a bit she brought her hand up to her scarf, gently unfurling it as her tail shifted, unfolding and twitching as it swept against the floor. She tried to smile, but more simply bared her teeth with her brows furrowing.

Naru stood still close to her, staring at her up and down. His expression surprised her, in that he wasn’t afraid or disgusted or even upset with her. He just observed. His concerned brows relaxed significantly as he brought a hand close to Melody’s cheek, noticing how harsh the difference of the tanline on her face was. He took note of the gouges on her neck, his callous hands were gentle as he held her face. Being observed so... intimately. It made fear rake up her spine unlike anything else as she tried to keep still.

“Well, look at that. You’re as beautiful as I imagined you were under there.”

Her face flooded with a blush as she pulled away, her thoughts swarming in confusion to the feelings he gave her with such a comment.

“I suppose... I should let you know, I’ve been keeping a secret too.” he looked away from her.

“Oh?” She fiddled with her scarf in her hands.

“Y-yeah it's... man, how do I explain this?" his eyes darted around the room as he searched for his words. Melody tilted her head and looked at him with concern, unclear ideas dancing in her head as to what he could reveal to her. A part of her thought that by some chance he might be ready to reveal his own monstrous features.

"I'm... not a boy, actually."

Melody blinked in confusion, what did he mean by that? She quickly glanced him up and down but he was still exactly as he looked previously.

"I know, I do a good job at hiding it."

She crossed her arms in doubt.

"What? Want me to prove it?"

"I mean. You really do just look like a boy..." she insinuated his possible lie.

"Okay, how 'bout this then?" He pulled his shirt off, revealing the bandages used to wrap his chest down tight, his soft shoulders and hairless torso. Melody blushed at the sight of it, unsure why she felt like she shouldn't be looking at him like this.

"I-I see..." She held the scarf up in front of her face as she felt her cheeks turning redder, her eyes darting back and forth as she tried to refrain from staring too long.

"You can't tell anyone, we keep each other's secret, okay?" He stepped forward holding his pinky to her, and she locked it on her own without hesitation.

"Why do you hide being a girl, then? Hardly seems as bad as being a monster.."

"Well, I spent my whole life determined to be a sailor and an adventurer, and those boats are full of just men for months at a time... Not to mention they wouldn’t take me seriously at all if I looked like a girl."

It was now that Naru realized the distance between them closed again, Melody’s eyes still struggling to not continue to stare at his chest and shaking her own head to rid of the confusing thoughts that scooted to the forefront of her mind. He placed a hand on her cheek again, letting himself get lost in the glittering gold of her eyes and the way her freckles dotted her skin like the night’s stars. His eyes drifted to her mouth and back up as a smile appeared on him. With a gentle pull, he brought her closer and touched their lips together, both getting a taste of the ocean’s water that stained their lips. As his eyes closed and leaned into it, Melody’s remained wide open in awe. Her tail thrashed side to side from excitement until he eventually pulled away, his own face now suddenly turning red upon realization as he looked at Melody’s overwhelmed expression. Her tail continued to thrash as her feet lightly danced on the rock, unable to contain her emotions.

“Did you not like that?-”

“NO! I mean- I- I did! Just-! I never did anything like that before!” she put her face into her scarf, feeling a wash of shame before wrapping it back around her neck.

Naru snickered, “I liked it too. Maybe next time I visit we can do that again?”

“M-maybe...” Melody couldn’t bring herself to continue looking at Naru’s shirtless self any longer before her nose finally picked up on the still-cooking fish. Melody kneeled down to it as Naru replaced his shirt. Finding it wasn’t too badly burned before offering some to Naru, who happily took some, a seasonless fish wasn’t the worst thing he’d eaten before. The two continued conversing casually, as he told about the latest venture he’d sailed to and from, Melody completely enthralled by his mannerisms. It felt like a dream, as the strings of her heart plucked themselves following his words, though hardly retaining them as she got lost staring at his features.

The sun eventually began to set through the windows of the cave, and Naru stood up and stretched. “I ought to get back to the boat, my folks will be worried if I don’t show up after sundown.” he turned to her, “I’m really happy to have been with you again, Melody.”

“I enjoyed our time too... I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier.”

“Hey, no worries. You’ve put a lot of pressure on yourself living all alone out here. My ship’ll be sticking around the island for a couple days, so don’t be a stranger, okay?”

She nodded, and waved him goodbye as he swam under the covered entryway.

A short time after he left, Melody heard the voice speak through the shell, “The ship...” it whispered.

She quickly picked the shell up and held it to her ear, “Y-yes my Lord?”

“You must board the ship Naru works on. It is time for you to finally leave this island."

"Yes Lord."

"Keep your load light, you mustn't be seen when you board."

She packed away her things into her blanket, following the order to keep her load light and quiet.

She sneaked to the docks late in the night, and listened closely as the shell instructed her where to stow away.

She struggled with the nauseous feeling of being on a ship for the first night, but soon gained her bearings, stealing food from the supplies and staying out of sight of the crew.

She stayed on the ship until it's next dock, where she sneaked off and found herself in a strange new town. If not for the shell guiding her, she would have been terrified.

She would spend roughly a year repeating this pattern of sneaking onto ships the shell instructed, and stealing supplies and food as she needed it. She felt mildly remorseful, but justified by this being the instruction of the Lord.

Eventually however, her luck would run out. She was caught as a stowaway on the ship named "No Regerts." They were going to throw her overboard, but many of the crew didn't agree with the idea, and locked her in the brig until they could figure out what to do with her. They took most of her belongings, all but the shell when she refused to let it go. This brings us to the start of the true adventure:

The Island of Blue Flame

#woe; oc backstory be upon ye (its over 10k words i am trembling like a dog)#sunshine and smiles #melody #meldamiriel kohral #writing #fiction #novelette #original story #oc #tw: child abuse #tw: emotional abuse #tw: religious themes #tw: alcoholism #tw: child violence #ask to tag #the island of blue flame #November 2023

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starriva · 2 years

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8 and 21 for matthew , please !! <3

8.) Do they have any scars? If so, where and why? I only have three concrete scars for Matthew.

I also must establish my head canon around scars for nations. I see long lasting scars ( more than a decade) serving the purpose of being a reminder to the nation themselves of a tragedy that is still prominent in popular culture or perhaps that is how some nations would interpret them as. As nations themselves would have to establish their own reason for existing and their own purpose. Canada would be one of those nations who would derive purpose and meaning from his scars. I definitely think he has a nasty scar on his back side from a combination of the trama he suffered from the Explosion of Halifax and the second battle of Ypres happening so close together for him. As his body had just finished recovering from a horrific gas attack, where he lost his eye sight for some time, he got completely blindsided by the freak accident that was the Halifax explosion. I like to focus on the fact that he mentally combined the trama of the two events together with Francis as he was stationed in France and it was the French troops that fled first that led to his introduction to chlorine gas and the French ship, the Mont-Blanc, was the ship carrying explosives that created such a huge explosion in the beginning. I put the placement on his back symbolically showing one backside is seen as a symbolism of weakness and trust. Thereforth in Matthews mind he would use the scar on his back as a reminder to stay wary of Francis, especially after the war he became slightly more present in Matthews life.

He also does the same for his faintest burn scar on his chest from when Alfred burned down York during the war of 1812. When the scar was more prominant and noticeable he definitely emotionally distanced himself from his brother, but as the scar got lighter and lighter the closer they got again. The scar nowadays looks like a faint birthmark, a minor discoloration of skin. The only reason I don't believe it has gone away is because Canadian history seems to actually teach about the war of 1812 while American history doesn't. This does mean Alfred lost his matching scar with his brother. Finally, I like to personally think he has a scar hidden under his hair dated from the 1920's during his bootlegger days. Perhaps he got into a drunken fight over a hockey game or over some girl he wanted to fuck while high on cocaine. Definitely took him a while to notice that one, so it's not as present in mind of perceiving his scars as 'lessons' until he's gotten through the worst of the cocaine withdrawals in 1928/1929.

18.) Biggest red Flag? I think Matt's biggest red flag is his on and off drug addiction problems. when he relapses into drug usage he typically goes hard. going through a pack of cigarettes in a day. using a combination of weed and alcohol to fall asleep at night, showing up to work high. Relapsing into cocaine to feel something. He's also a wreck when going through withdrawals. He definitely emotionally evicerated Alfred every time he tried to interviene in Matt's cocaine addiction in the 1920's.

#hetaila #hws canada #aph canada #hws america #na brothers #matthew williams #hws france #hws

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journalofsorts2 · 1 year

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i want to write down all the procedures i want when im old enough and im choosing here, enjoy my personal transgender checklist:

-top surgery, first and foremost. even before i knew i was trans and just thought i was non binary, i wanted my boobs off. i hate having boobs so much oh my god, the day they're gone i will be so happy. (also i lowkey love how the scars look on other people, it's like a sign like "look how much happier i am now!" idk)

-testosterone, duh. this ones another easy one but i haven't known that i wanted it for as long as top surgery. i want to be a man on the inside too. i want all the little things that come with being a man, and testosterone is the way to get those things

-a hysterectomy. this one's also a no brainer. i haven't figured out if i want bottom surgery yet (and i've got A LOT of time to worry about it), but if i were to get it this would be a requirement anyways, but i want to be done with periods and every other little thing that comes with having a uterus. i don't want it, i want it out of my body. and this was already a want when i hadn't figured out i was trans, but i didn't realize it was an option.

-phalloplasty, specifically rff. ik this one changes as people progress in their transition journey and so i wouldn't want to get bottom surgery until the above are already met, but if i were to get bottom surgery, right now rff phalloplasty seems to be the most appealing option. i wouldn't want metoidioplasty because i would want a regular sized penis, just me personally it wouldn't satisfy me. i would want specifically rff instead of alt because of many reasons. first, i'd be happier with the scar placement, an arm scar would be easier for me to deal with than a thigh scar, even if its harder to hide. second, an arm wound would be easier to deal with recovery wise, like it'd be easier to deal with, and i've had to deal with below the waist injury and maintenance after surgery before and it's not pleasant. third, rff usually produces smaller lengths than alt and tbh i want a more average sized penis, i get why other people would want a longer one, but personally i wouldn't. i've put a lot of thought into bottom surgery even though i'm not entirely sure i want it lol.

idk that's all the medical stuff i've considered with transitioning, and obviously i have a lot of time until i can actually do anything cause my insurance doesn't cover gender affirming treatment until you're 18 which is stinky but whatever, gives me more time to consider these things i've been considering for years already. my birthday present to myself when i turn 18 is going to be top surgery. the second i turn 18 i'm going to start looking at surgeons and pricing things out. and if i'm lucky maybe my dad will pay for part of it so i can get it sooner, instead of having to save as much. and then once i have my boobs gone im going to look at starting testosterone. or maybe i'll do it before top surgery idk, only time will tell. but this has been a long enough post already

#journalofsorts rants

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writingfics-passingtime · 2 years

Text

Understanding

~20,300 words of Loki angst and fluff.

Ok, yes, I know this is stupidly long. I considered posting this as two parts but there wasn’t a good place to cut it. To make up for the length, there are lots of tickles in this one 💜

Based on this prompt from a lovely anon, who asked for a storyline where the reader had never been tickled before. This fic is on the more intimate side, somewhat steamy, but not smutty.

Pairing: Loki x female!reader (romantic)

CW: swearing, mentions/depictions of violence and death, reader has a lot of scarring on their body (from combat), sexual tension

FYI: If you want to read this all in one sitting, it will take approximately 1 hour 15 minutes.

Loki didn’t care much for the opinions of mortals.

He well understood his standing in their realm. That he was a boogeyman of sorts, a failed tyrant, someone who’s name conjured a sour taste in the mouth of those who spoke it.

Even though his treachery was in the past, even though Loki had assisted in saving many more lives than he’d taken, the Asgardian Prince did not blame the mortals of Midgard for their reservations. Perhaps he’d blame them if he cared, but he couldn’t say he did. After all, in a century or two he’d be able grace the realm with a clean slate, all first-hand memories of him being dead and gone with the minds of those who’d held them.

Therefore, no; Loki, Prince of Asgard, Odinson, the rightful king of Jotunheim, God of Mischief, did not care if mortals looked at him with fear or disdain. However, late one Thursday evening, he discovered he was not immune to certain looks crawling under his skin.

Several Avengers were returning home from a mission he was not asked to lend a hand in. If Thor had been called away to help perhaps Loki would have questioned it, but he’d realised long ago that not everyone was needed for every mission. It took time to unravel the knot in his stomach whenever he was excluded from something which seemed so obviously suited to his skill set, but the quickest way to be benched was to argue with Stark or Rogers.

Loki would not call himself compliant, nor submissive by any means, but he was, if nothing else, a master in the art of self-preservation. Being stuck on Midgard was dull enough without the tyranny of boredom. So, he simply… played along. With their missions, with their trainings, with their fanciful notions of actually being a powerful force in the grande scheme of the universes. If sometimes that meant staying home, he would.

The returning heroes would often gather for a meal or debrief post-landing, but tonight there was a different atmosphere apparent. Stark had stayed back, and had been locked in the lab for several days. He also seemed particularly on edge this evening. His temperament uneasy, as if he were about to encounter an unsure situation. Perhaps someone was injured, or someone was missing. No. There’d be distress in his demeanour. This was… hesitance.

Stark’s unusual air was enough to keep Loki close to the hangar when the quinjet was due to arrive back. It touched down outside, then taxied in, its pilot indiscernible, perhaps Barton. The underbelly ramp descended and several people walked down it, less chatty than Loki knew them to be.

He saw the familiar casual walk of Wanda and the intentional placement of Vision’s feet. Black tactical boots tucked into navy-blue pants belonged to the stoic-footed Captain, Romanoff next to him with her sneak-like walk. An unfamiliar gait caught Loki’s eye. Their feet, her feet, he quickly discerned, falling next to Romanoff’s in an eerily similar manner.

They brought someone back with them.

The feet kept walking down the ramp in step with Romanoff until an entire body was revealed and Loki took his first glimpse of you.

The lack of shackles around your limbs or bag over your head told him you were not a prisoner and apparently not a threat. Loki folded his arms and leaned against the large double-doorframe everyone would have to pass through to get back to the weapons room to relinquish their equipment. Those who walked ahead gave him polite nods and tight smiles, all passing him by without questioning why he was there to greet them. Perhaps they understood he’d discovered something that made him curious. They were all, still, uncharacteristically quiet.

Loki casted his gaze over to where you, Rogers and Romanoff were standing in a close circle near the bottom of the ramp. All of the footsteps behind him kept fading, save for one familiar footfall. He got closer and the familiar cologne assaulted Loki’s senses. Stark walked past without acknowledging the demigod in the doorway, and the Captain’s head shot towards the approaching scientist.

“Tony,” he said, his voice ever strong and commandeering. His greeting turned Romanoff’s head, and then yours. He saw you look at Tony, then he saw you look towards him in the doorway. Your eyes locked with his for several seconds before you looked him up and down, then turned back to the conversation which now included Stark. Loki stayed leaned with his arms folded, brow lowered in thought and curiosity. He’d never seen them bring someone back like this. And to be greeted by Stark? Were you sticking around?

The possibilities ran through his mind as he took note of your familiar stance and impeccable posture. It was possible you’d always been a part of the team and you’d been deep undercover for the ten months he’d been living at the Compound. Hmm, no. He would have heard your name. Perhaps you were a SHIELD Agent, or a defector of some kind. But you didn’t feel out of place. No, something about you felt all too much like a word on the tip of his tongue. He’d certainly never seen your face. He would have remembered.

After a minute or two of hushed conversation, you nodded and said something that looked like “Understood” before the four of you turned and began walking towards the hallway. Loki held his ground as you approached, even though Stark made some sarcastic comment about vampires and lurking. Rogers chuckled once through his nose at the joke, but Loki could see he, too, looked hesitant. Distracted. Wary.

Then, the impossible happened - a mortal’s look got under his skin.

You looked straight into Loki’s eyes as you approached, scanning his stance, eyeing his hands, his feet, his waist. Loki squinted a bit. You were assessing him as a threat. You were clocking his weak points, checking for weapons and signs of aggression. When you met his face again, the look you gave him made his shoulders tense and gave him the desire to shift from one foot to the other in discomfort. But he did not give you that satisfaction. Your eyes gave him no indication of fear, they did not flash in recognition like every other mortal’s did when realising who they stood before. You didn’t blink and flinch and stammer out his name like a bitter taste you wanted to be rid of. You just… walked on by, breaking your stare to look ahead right before you passed where he stood. Setting his jaw, he turned to watch the four of you retreat, wondering how in the Nine Realms you’d just looked at him like that. Your eyes had told him exactly what you thought of him, and he’d thought it impossible.

You either had no idea who he was, or you did not care.

He couldn’t decide which was worse.

The mystery of the reason you were brought back, and the familiarity of your stance, was explained over the next day or so as conversation buzzed around the Compound.

The team had been on mission in Belgrade, tending to a situation where there was a looming assassination threat against the President. The political situation in Serbia had been delicate, to say the least, and an assassination would destabilise Eastern Europe beyond the threshold of what could be repaired in a year or two.

Romanoff had been undercover at a gala with government officials when she recognised one of the waitresses: you. The Avenger had been wearing a nanotech mask to disguise her true face, but something about the familiarity of her had triggered something in your keen Widow senses. After a lengthy fight between her, you and Wanda, the two women had managed to combine their skills of magic, manipulation and sheer brute force to break past your defences and knock some sense into you.

It was more complicated than that, of course, but Loki had never felt it appropriate to discuss the life of a Widow with Romanoff before. He’d seen her ledger. He’d practically felt the need to wash his hands of the metaphorical blood dripping from her history. When he’d first read of it, when Barton had provided it to him all those years ago, he’d been impressed. It made him think he’d taken the wrong assassin. Though the ledger did not mention the training. The pheromones. The total mind and body control.

You kept mostly to yourself for those first couple of days, and Loki couldn’t quite blame you. The first time he witnessed you venturing into the kitchen with other people in it, the conversation all but stopped. It hadn’t been about you, but it may as well have been. You gave a tight-lipped smile and mumbled an apology for intruding. Wanda assured you it was fine, you weren’t intruding, but the words coming from the still-swollen cut lips of a mouth you’d punched weren’t as convincing as they needed to be.

Romanoff was seen considerably less of for those days, and Loki assumed it meant she was taking time to talk with you, work with you, help settle you in. You didn’t seem particularly thrilled about being here, leading Loki to assume you were probably in some kind of danger. A conversation he stumbled across that same afternoon shed some light.

“We have her to thank for Petrovic not being dead, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Romanoff’s argumentative tone made Loki pause in place just as he was about to open the door to the lab. He knew they were talking about you, so he listened.

“Uh, she changed her mind about an assassination she was going to commit,” Tony fired back. “Should I house every non-murderer in the state?”

“You‘re being ridiculous, you know it’s not that simple- Tony!” She urged and Loki heard his footsteps and his sigh. “She doesn’t want to be an Avenger. She just needs some help to take down Dreykov.”

That name, Dreykov, immediately conjured images of that gushing ledger. His daughter, the explosion, who he was, what he’d done. He was supposed to be dead.

“They’ll be after her now, she needs a place to lay low. But now there’s someone, someone qualified, who wants to work to dismantle the global Widow network. One long, deadly game of catch and release.”

There was a pause. “Alright, what does she need?”

Loki started feeling like it was nearly time for him to make his entrance as Romanoff explained to Tony that you just needed a place to stay, some transport, some weapons, some equipment.

The night they’d free’d you, you told them there were half a dozen Widows disguised at the event and the assassination was going down that night. What’s more, they knew the Avengers were there.

The team managed to free two more Widows from mind control -one of whom was killed in action and the other one absconded. Another Widow was killed, the other two narrowly escaped back to the Red Room. The ones who’d escaped would have surely told of your defection by now. Dreykov would know. Drekyov would know Natasha was involved.

Loki could hear the tension draining from the room as the two Avengers discussed your needs and came to an agreement, even if Stark still sounded sceptical, so Loki entered with a loud interrupting greeting to the scientist saying he was ready to provide insight on that alien tech he’d recovered.

Tony gestured to it over on a table as he bid his colleague farewell. One look and Loki knew it was of Asgard. “It’s a portable bullet mill. Used by factions of soldiers needing to produce more ammunition during travel. It converts asteroids into rounds for their weapons.” Loki kept explaining the technology to Stark, impressed by his own ability to be speaking one thing and thinking of something completely different.

So the freshly-freed former Widow wants to take down Dreykov. You’d barely had your own life for two days and you were already throwing yourself back into that world. Loki couldn’t blame you. Old habits, and all that. It intrigued him, however, that you intended to do it alone.

The following afternoon, Loki finally had his first conversation with you. He‘d come across you in a wayward hallway, your brow furrowed as you opened and closed a few cabinets. After opening a particularly large one, your face fell, then you noticed Loki was close by.

“Where do they keep the shoes?” You asked, closing the cabinet which housed yet another switchboard of the Compound’s operating system.

“Pardon?”

“The shoes,” you repeated. “I need some shoes. I don’t know where they keep them.”

Seeing the earnestness in your eyes, Loki resisted the inherent desire to be insufferably snarky. He knew if he brushed off your seemingly silly question the first time you ever asked, you’d probably dismiss him as a useless source. And he couldn’t have that. Not with his unanswered question about the way you’d looked at him.

“Clothing on this team isn’t standard issue. It is yours to choose.”

“Oh.”

“Come,” he tilted his head and you followed without a second thought. You walked beside him as he navigated through the hallways of the residential building on the Compound, exiting into the sunshine with you still close. He wondered how long it was take you to realise it was foolish to trust him like this. Who knows where he could be taking you? How in Midgard’s name were you so unfazed about trailing along behind Loki of Asgard like a lost puppy?

“Settling in?” Loki asked as he approached the doors of another building.

“No,” you answered honestly. Loki smirked to himself, opening the door for you like the chivalrous Prince he was raised to be. You seemed unfazed by the gesture. Perhaps you didn’t find the need to stop and think about such things.

As Loki approached the desk of a somewhat receptionist, the young uniformed man’s eyes went a little wide when he saw who was about to ask him a question. “Miss Potts,” Loki stated, telling the already-nodding Agent who he needed to see. Daniel, the name tag told you both, scurried away through some security doors and you two were left alone for several moments.

“She’s with Tony Stark,” you said. The way you said it was confident, but still had the hint of seeking validation for your intel.

“Correct.”

“She runs his company.”

“Also correct- ah,” he smiled dryly, but tried to make it look polite as Pepper walked into the room sporting a similar air of general displeasure.

“What can I do for you, Loki?”

“I take it you’ve met your latest house-guest?” Loki gestured to you.

“Uh, yes,” Pepper turned to you, her smile becoming slightly more genuine. “Are you settling in well?”

“Yes,” you lied with a soft smile. Loki bit back a smirk, and couldn’t help but flag your honesty with him as another thing he’d have to ask you about. “Although I’m looking for some shoes.”

“O-oh, okay,” Pepper nodded, but looked confused.

“The woman has no money, Miss Potts,” Loki stepped in to hurry the conversation along. “She needs clothing.”

“Of course,” Pepper instantly softened in understanding, then quickly regained her all-knowing posture and gestured for you to follow her. “Come with me. We’ll find you everything you need.”

As you followed her, you shot a tight thankful smile over your shoulder to Loki before being led through the security doors and falling out of sight. Noticing the smirk tense on his lips, Loki relaxed his features and began making his way back to the Compound.

You didn’t strike him as a particularly trusting person, so the more he thought about it, the more he realised why you had such confidence in being led around; you didn’t see any of these people as a threat. Including him. Which, he still wasn’t sure if he liked or not.

A little reverence for his deity certainly wouldn’t hurt. Nor would a little awe at his power. No. Why did he feel the desire to be impressive to you?

Mortals knew nothing.

Several months later, you appeared to have finally settled in. Loki hadn’t explicitly asked you since that first day, finding the brief conversations he had with you to contain much more pressing matters, but you no longer completely avoided everyone when you were home. You were more likely to join in on a dinner than a movie night, you didn’t shy away from training at the same time as anyone else, but it was rare to get you talking about anything non-work related.

You were away a lot. Safely based at the Avengers Compound, you tapped into your (and Natasha’s) sources and travelled the world in that one big, deadly catch and release expedition. When some intel would indicate Widow involvement in some upcoming event, you’d attend to it. Using a pheromone-based counteragent Banner had managed to replicate from a small sample that’d been recovered, you’d search the world for your sisters in order to help free them of their bonds.

Though, more often than not, you’d return home with an air of defeat. You were mostly doing it alone, and you didn’t have the added benefit of being deprived of fear and choice, so that cutthroat edge had been taken away. You were still keen and deadly, Loki learned as he saw you train, and then eventually heard of you in the field.

The first mission you tagged along on was one Romanoff insisted you’d be perfect for. It required the finesse of two former Widows who could make quick work of a break, enter, steal, replicate, reset, escape. It went flawlessly. Loki hadn’t been there, but he’d heard the stories. The excited stories. The compliments from Barton, the nods of approval from Rogers as he conceded it was a lot easier with you around than it would’ve been otherwise.

As you cupped a mug of coffee in your hands the morning of your return, and smiled politely at their praise, Loki saw the way the smile reached your eyes, but he also saw the way it looked to be a replica of the one you’d given Pepper all those months ago. At some point in the conversation, after Clint asked Natasha about how the new repelling hooks he’d helped designed had worked for you two, you snapped your gaze to Loki. The Prince nearly flinched at the way you seemed to know he’d been looking at you at that point in time. The warm, polite smile on your face, for the briefest second, morphed into a knowing smirk before you sipped the steaming coffee once more.

That look you’d given him held a lot. A lot of questions, a lot of comments.

Do they always sit around and talk about how great things went for themselves after a mission?

You know this is ridiculous.

Seriously, how self-satisfied?

You understand. I know you understand.

He deciphered the meaning behind your look before your eyes left his and you stood up from where your elbows had been propped against the kitchen island. Once the conversation had petered out and most people left the kitchen, you turned to Romanoff.

“Any luck on me borrowing Wanda for that lead in Interlaken?”

“None,” she smiled sympathetically. “I’m sorry. I wish I had more pull over allocation of people.”

“You’ve done a lot,” you nodded. “I appreciate you trying.”

Romanoff gave an affectionate squeeze of your forearm and excused herself, leaving you and Loki alone. He noticed how your face dropped into frustration, and the smallest roll of your eyes, as you leaned back down against the counter the second she stepped out of the room.

“Why do you need Wanda?” Loki folded his arms, leaning against the opposite counter as he peered to where you stayed leaned on the other side of the kitchen island.

“I’m getting my ass kicked,” you muttered. “They’re too-… part of being a Widow is not really grasping that your life is something you can lose. It’s hard to explain,” you dismissed with a wave of your hand, then let out a breath. “Anyway, I’m convinced Nat and Wanda were able to pull me out because of Wanda‘s ability to enter the mind.”

“How so?”

“The antidote, whatever you want to call it, the stuff that Bruce gave me… I think it would work better if the subject‘s mind was already susceptible.”

“Is the antidote not working?”

“I’m having a hard time getting close enough to find out,” you sighed, defeated. “I get that people don’t trust me, but half the situations the Avengers go in to fix wouldn’t even be on the table if the Widow network was dismantled. I don’t understand what’s so hard to comprehend about that,” you looked over your shoulder, measuring your voice, before turning back to Loki. “Widows are effective because they don’t avenge. They’re ahead of the action.” You sat back, lifting your mug to your lips before finishing with, “Everyone here should be on board with coming to Switzerland.”

“I’ll go with you.”

The words left Loki’s mouth before he’d really thought them through, but his chest didn’t immediately surge with panic, so he didn’t let himself regret saying it. You looked taken aback, nearly choking on your sip of coffee.

“You will?”

“Why not?”

“Why would you do that?”

“If you don’t want my help, I-”

“No, I do. I really do,” you nodded. “I appreciate it.”

Less than three days later, Loki found himself sitting across from you at a candlelit table overlooking the Aare River, which had long since ceased glittering with sunset and was now a peaceful reflection of the star-laced night sky.

You gifted a sweet fake smile at the waiter as he refilled your wine in your glass, your cherry-red lips framing a coy flash of pearly-white teeth. Loki looked at your glass as it was filled, confident the waiter was not perceptive enough to pick up the lack of a lipstick stain on the rim. Even if he were perceptive enough, Loki gave him a zero-sum chance of realising it’s because you weren’t actually wearing lipstick. You weren’t wearing your hair down in soft waves either, and you certainly weren’t wearing that long-sleeved black dress that hugged you in all the right places.

Your eyes had called him cheeky for conjuring such an alluring illusion onto you, but when Loki had cast his magic to disguise you two as an impeccably dressed couple dining at the most expensive restaurant in town, you seemed preoccupied with your delighted amazement at his magic. That’d made him happy - to see your child-like smile of joy when your heavy tactical clothing had been concealed and replaced with beautiful black gown.

“I can’t even feel my real clothes,” you’d commented as he‘d led you through the grand doors of the restaurant. Pausing by the maitre d, you turned to Loki and reached up to smooth out his collar. He knew his collar was perfect, but the way your eyes flitted towards the dining area told him you’d done it to have a chance to clock your target. “A table by the window?” You turned and smouldered the host with your gaze, and he immediately nodded in agreement.

That table by the window was close to a man with the last name Dubois. He managed a large charitable trust which was primarily funded by a number of Catholic organisations. So in order to dismantle that trust, and all it did to fund efforts to stabilise regions Dreykov did not want stabilised, Dubois needed to die. But he did not just need to die, he needed to be ruined. His name dragged through the mud. How better to do so, than to find him dead from an overdose in the expensive hotel room he’d purchased for himself and his mistress.

Of course, Dubois was a Boy Scout. An upstanding citizen. Your sources had told you he’d not given into the advances of the strikingly beautiful Widow sent to seduce him. So even though Dubois was here alone, on business, sat in the restaurant at a table by himself enjoying a fine-dining experience, in a mere few days his wife was to receive a call that’d he’d been found dead with evidence of another woman in the room. They’d never find the mistress, but that’d hardly matter. The damage would be done, as would the multi-million dollar funding when the churches needed their names nowhere near a dead, drunk adulterer.

Your time as a Widow had told you there’d be eyes on him always; the One sent to do it was probably here watching. A waitress, maybe. Or that older-looking woman by the window. The bartender, perhaps. Loki saw you scan the room, then visibly try to relax yourself as to not give away your mission posture.

“This wine is exceptional, given Midgard’s usual standard,” Loki commented.

“It’s probably just grape juice to you, right?” You half-smirked, resting a forearm against the edge of the table as you toyed with the stem of the glass. “This wouldn’t do anything to you.”

“Two or three bottles might. But the richness-”

“Oh, far too much,” you frowned and nodded in agreement, then silence hung between you again. Then, Loki caught it. He turned to see a woman a few tables over who shared your stance. Her arm was also resting on the table, her fingers also playing with the glass. She sat up a little straighter and then leaned her elbows on the table with a flirtatious smile at her date. Loki turned back to you, and watched you mimic her perfectly.

“You’ve never done this before.”

“Is it that obvious?” You sat back, looking disappointed at being caught out.

“Were there only certain Widows trained in the art of dinner table seduction?” Loki tried his hand at a playful jab.

You smiled, looking down at the table cloth before examining it between your fingers. “We all learned everything. It wasn’t an option to not be good at an aspect of the job.”

“Yet you’ve never done this before.”

“Maybe the other Widows were just more beautiful.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” Caught you. Loki smirked at the subtle blush that bloomed on your cheeks before you reigned it in and smirked back at him, picking up your wine glass.

“Smooth.”

“There’s a reason.” Loki sat back and folded his fingers on his lap, tilting his head down to watch your expression. “Why you never done this before.”

Your jaw moved with the dance of you taking in the flavour of the impossibly expensive wine as you bided your time to think of an answer. Loki knew you knew the true answer, so he was watching to see if you’d share it with him. Then, a genuine distraction caught your eye.

“Shit,” you whispered. “Tatiana. I need to look like not me, Loki.”

“What, right now?”

“Just do it!” You whispered loudly.

“And how were those starters?” You both snapped your heads up to see the impeccably-mannered waiter smiling down expectantly. It was too late. Loki couldn’t change your appearance now. He flicked his eyes to the window in an attempt to check where you were looking, spotting the vague figure of a beautiful woman in a royal blue dress. The movement of your hand on the table brought his gaze back to where you wrapping your fingers around a butter knife and shifting the blade to be concealed against the underside of your wrist.

“Excellent,” you answered, tensely. “Can we have a few more minutes please?” You asked without looking up.

“Of course,” he nodded, almost bowed, then took his exit. Unfortunately, he had been shielding you from Tatiana’s view and the second he moved aside, she saw you.

“Oh, shit,” you breathed out, then grunted and shifted your head to the side as a blade flew through the air where your left eye had been a second before. “Really?!” You growled and stood with the realisation that she was willingly engaging in open combat. Running past Loki, you leapt over a table and took a swipe at your former comrade with the butter knife - possibly the most infective weapon in this room.

The room erupted in a nervous buzz as you and Tatiana began duking it out, taking vicious hits and swipes at each other with any blade you could get your hands on. Loki stood and swiftly made his way over to join the fray, not before pulling out a vial of Banner’s Widow Antidote, ready to subdue Tatiana’s mind. Before he could get far, he felt a viciously sharp pain in his upper arm. He winced, clenching his jaw and turning with fury in his eyes to see the flirty woman, the one you’d copied, in a battle posture with a steak knife in hand. Another Widow.

Loki conjured a blade, finding his injured arm substantially weakened by the depth of her slice, but nevertheless began a duel with this vixen. Having the benefit of observing Romanoff, of training with her on occasion, of seeing you fighting in the training room, Loki had the upper-hand when it came to knowledge of his opponent. Understanding the way she would move, the attempts she would make, he was able to block her stabs even with his half-incapacitated arm. He was trying to not harm her as much as possible, just as you’d asked on the way to Switzerland, but a cry of pain that sounded a bit too much like you made the godly power boil over in his chest. He summoned a mighty magical force to his hand, and then blasted the Widow backwards. She flew nearly fifteen feet before colliding with an empty table and crumping to the ground. As she attempted to collect herself, Loki turned his attention to where Tatiana had your back bent over a table and her hand around your throat.

Before he could intervene, your fingers closed around the first thing they found, being a napkin. You flicked your wrist and lashed it in a whipping motion towards her eyes, causing her to cry out in agony and release you in favour of stumbling backwards, recoiling from the white-hot pain. Instead of wasting time finding another weapon, you wrung the thick white cloth in your hands and slipped behind the temporarily-blinded Tatiana, wrapping the cloth tight around her windpipe and kicking at the backs of her calves to force her to kneel.

“Now, Loki!” You motioned down, prompting him to grab hold of her mind so you could free her together, but suddenly another knife flew past your head. You both turned. That woman Loki had fought being still on the ground, you realised the knife had come from yet another Widow. This time, disguised as a chef. The chef nodded to who appeared to be an elegant older woman at a table with her friend in the corner, and they both stood with far too much dexterity to be as old as they appeared.

The room went near-silent as the innocent people cowered under tables and behind the bar. Dubois sat calmly at his table, casted a gaze up to you and cheers’ed his glass before downing his wine. Loki turned back to you and saw the realisation morph into your features, as you resigned yourself to the fact that you’d be set up.

This was a trap.

Your eyes met his and he could tell what you were thinking. With a forwards wave of his hand you two were suddenly in your tactical fighting clothing once again, and on the backwards flourish he summoned a blindingly bright ball of energy to shoot towards the women in the corner. They dove out of the way in time to see Loki‘s blade fly through the air and clip the thigh of the chef. Sufficiently distracting them, he watched as your heel connected to the place between Tatiana’s shoulder blades and she went tumbling to the ground. Then, you turned tail and ran.

Bursting out of the mountainside restaurant, you and Loki booked it down the dimly-lit driveway, feeling horribly exposed as bullets shot from the doorway whizzed past your head. Spotting a gap in the trees that lined the main road, you ran towards it with the expectation that Loki would follow you. As you broke into the steep forest and began running further into the dark, dense, snow-laden bush, you shouted to Loki to cover your tracks. And so he did, waving his good arm behind him to collapse the snow over your sets of footprints.

After a good twenty minutes of getting yourselves lost in the forest, you paused and leaned over, resting your hands on your knees as you gulped for air. The snow was now nearly waist-height, and it was taking some effort for the two of you to slog through it. Several long moments passed of your panting and sniffing with the cold, until you laughed bitterly and stood up straight. The moon wasn’t full that night, but your features were lit enough through the gaps in the pine trees for Loki to see the dark and frustrated look on your face.

“Well, that source is burned,” you scoffed. “They’ll know where we’re staying. We need to find somewhere to shelter for the night,” you said, then looked up to where the trees had been dripping with snow, dropping frost onto the two of you as you‘d made your way through the forest. “We also need to get dry.”

With his keen senses, Loki looked around through the trees and spotted something over a rocky expanse. “There,” he nodded, you turned around but shrugged.

“I don’t see anything.”

“Come,” Loki beckoned, still concealing your trail as best he could.

The something Loki had spotted turned out to be a small cabin in the woods. The shoulder-height chainlink fence surrounding the darkened property bore a sign saying tresspassers would be prosecuted, and that this house was property of the Swiss Nature Conservatory.

“It’s f-for the people who come out-t here to study wildlife,” you deduced from the sign. “The latch is frozen s-shut, the lights are off, I d-doubt anyone’s here.”

Ripping the frozen gate open, Loki moved with more urgency having heard the frost settle into your voice. He took a final look around as you walked up the wooden porch stairs and located a lockbox which certainly contained a key to enter. Once he was satisfied no one was watching, once his instincts told him you two were alone, he unlocked the front door with a wave of his hand.

“Man, y-you’re usef-ful,” you chuckled as you entered the cabin with him right behind you. Quickly locating a generator switch next to the front door, you pulled the small lever with your cold-shaken hands and a low hum resounded throughout the cabin.

A few wall lamps sprung to life, dimly lighting the small abode. The warm light hit a number of pieces of eclectic furniture, revealing a small, round dining table with three white wooden chairs, and one mismatched grey one. The old tile on the kitchen floor was oxidised with age, but still looked to be mostly in tact. The dust and dead bugs on the windowsills, and the general must in the air, told you both it’d been a while since anyone had stayed here.

The flickering lamp in the living room, which was just an offshoot from the kitchen, revealed a staunch, yet ragged, faded navy blue sofa which sat atop a fibrous wool rug that spanned nearly the entire wooden floor. Close behind the couch were a set of doors, presumably leading to bedrooms and bathrooms. There were only four doors, three on the wall behind the sofa, one on the opposite wall near the fireplace. Ah, thank the gods for a fireplace.

“Is that smart?” Loki referred to lighting the place up while he looked around the tiny kitchen he’d stepped into before closing the front door.

“We’ll t-turn it off b-before we sleep,” you answered. “It’ll be fine f-for now.”

“You need to warm up.”

“Y-you n-need first aid,” you motioned to his blood-soaked sleeve. “I’ll g-get a fire going,” you sniffed from the cold and crossed the length of the kitchen in a mere few strides, shakily breathing in relief when you saw the fire-making supplies were bountiful and plenty.

With a shake of his head, Loki dried his clothing and conjured his shirt away so he could assess the damage without having to tear a sleeve from his leather armour. The cabin was dry, at least, but the air still bit at his skin. Shooting a glance over to where you were gathering your fire-making supplies, he shuddered to think of how cold you must be. You must be numb with it, considering even his frost giant blood was on edge.

The cut was deep and jagged and ugly. The Widow had twisted the knife half-way through, leaving him the gift of torn and stinging skin. He pressed his other hand to the still-bleeding wound and began applying his magic deep into the tendons and muscle fibres which had been unceremoniously destroyed.

He raised his head when he heard you sigh in relief as the spark caught to the kindling. You knelt before the flame, trembling with the cold, and blew gently on the embers to bring them further into life. You worked naturally, flawlessly, as you fed sticks into the fire until you felt confident enough to place a couple of bigger logs around the small flame. Then, you noticeably shivered, quite violently, and let yourself fall backwards to sit on the rug and begin stripping the freezing wet clothes off your body. Loki, still sitting at the rickety table in the kitchen, wondered if he should exit the room, but you didn’t seem phased. You never did when it came to him.

He focused his gaze on the nearly-healed gash on his arm as he heard your jacket unzip, the clunking of boots tossed aside, the peeling of frosty skin-tight clothing away from your arms and legs. He heard your teeth chatter and your breath quiver and then he heard you settle. Finally daring another glance, he looked over to see you huddled in on yourself, facing the fire with your hands stretched towards it to warm them. You‘d taken yourself down to a sports bra and some skin-tight shorts that many Agents wore under their tactical clothing. Your forehead was against your knees as he heard you try to steady your frostbitten breathing. You began to relax, ever so slightly, as the warmth of the flame started to grace your nerves.

He squinted a bit in the low light, not sure if he was believing what he was seeing. Flecks of uneven skin showed in the dim lamp glow. The fire before you poured light onto your front and shadows over your shoulders, and Loki caught the painful memories woven into your skin. Countless tears, gashes, bullet holes, slices, Freyja knows what else, all healed over by your body’s natural process of regenerating. Some scars were so large they must have had surgical intervention to heal them, perhaps even most of them. Several minutes of silence passed as the fire grew and Loki looked on. Unable to tear his eyes away, unable to stop himself from standing, he finally released the magic from his arm to see not a hint of where the blade had sliced him. It seemed so unfair that you should be left with all those reminders. If only he’d been there for each and every one.

After conjuring a long-sleeved thermal shirt, he walked over to you before he had the wherewithal to stop himself from intruding on your space. He reached down and picked up your items of clothing, allowing a green magic to pass over and dry them. You looked up when he did so and smiled thankfully, then managed a dry chuckle through your shivering.

“Y-you c-couldn’t have d-d-done that before I st-stripped-d?” You joked. Loki knew you weren’t upset, so he allowed himself a small smirk.

“My magic was in use, I’m afraid,” he nodded to his now-healed arm and then placed your clothes on a chair beside him. “I can dry those too, if you’d like,” he gestured to the under-clothes still on you. You nodded without hesitation. He would have offered to conjure you more warm clothes, but he knew mortals well enough to know that what you needed right now was the warmth of this fire against your bare skin.

Loki walked over to crouch behind you, placed both hands on your shoulders, and allowed his magic to pass over your body. You shuddered under his touch, but almost rose to grow into it. The simple lifting of your shoulders to add more pressure to his hands against your skin made his breath catch in his throat.

“That felt strange,” you admitted, placing your forehead head back on your knees and sighing again. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Loki smiled, allowing himself to squeeze your shoulders affectionately. You sighed in contentment again, then turned your head, slid your hand over your knee and rested your cheekbone against it.

“Does it leave a s-scar? Your magic,” you asked, eyes fixed on your clean and dry clothes on the chair several feet away. Loki wondered if it was out of a longing to cover yourself back up, but he then noticed his hands were still on you, and that you appeared to be content with that.

“No,” he answered, daring to run his palms over the sides of your shoulders before removing them from your skin.

“I know it’s bad,” you spoke up, breaking the several seconds of silence that had fallen. “I d-don’t see the back of myself all too of-often, but I know it’s bad,” you clarified.

“I’m afraid I can’t do much now the wounds are healed,” Loki offered, wondering if your question about his magic was an attempt to surmount if he could wipe your slate clean. You shrugged with one shoulder, seemingly unfazed, noticeably shivering less now.

“That’s okay.”

“I wish I could help.”

“I’m not upset. Just thought it might be useful.”

Loki shifted to catch some of the fire warmth for himself, half-sitting behind you with one leg outstretched and one tucked underneath. He propped himself up by his hand and tilted his head to catch your eye. “That’s why you’ve never been to dinner.”

“Mmm,” you confirmed, nodding against the back of your hand. “Dinner table seduction only goes so far. Can’t really go undercover into someone’s bedroom after dinner if they can read your battle history when they take your clothes off,” you chuckled sarcastically, then lifted your head from your hand. “Haven’t broken that news to the Avengers yet.”

Loki felt the discomfort surge in his chest at the thought of you being assigned to such things. “The Avengers aren’t quite like that.”

“Not yet,” you sniffed, looking over at the fire. “Just you wait. The second it’s the best option, Rogers and Stark will send Nat in wearing a sexy dress and very little underneath.”

“You’re wrong,” Loki said firmly. The defence of the co-leaders left a sour taste in his mouth, but you seemed to believe him, and that seemed to make you feel a little more relaxed. “If you’re worried about what people would think if they saw-”

“I’m not. I don’t care what people think. Besides, in certain contexts, it‘ll weeds out the wimps.” He saw how your cheeks were pulled into a playful smirk so he let himself smile.

“Romanoff has nowhere near this level of scarring,” Loki commented, scooting himself to be situated more behind you to take another look.

“She got out sooner,” you said, looking over your shoulder from the corner of your eye. “Or maybe she was just a better Widow.”

Before fully considering the implications, Loki gently traced his thumb over a longer scar that began just under your neck and travelled several inches down the centre of your spine. It was thin, impeccably straight. You relaxed under his touch, noticeably so. So noticeably, he let himself consider you’d done it on purpose. To let him know it was more than okay for him to touch you.

“That one was surgery,” you explained, then titled your head in thought as Loki traced another scar close by. It looked almost like a bullet hole, but not nearly as neat. “Unmarked soviet slug.” Loki’s mind immediately latched onto the obvious connection but you seemed to catch the drift before he had to decide whether to speak it aloud. “Possibly Barnes. I haven’t asked.”

“If it was Barnes-”

“I’d probably be dead. I know. But Nat has one of his and she’s still here.”

Loki didn’t allow himself to dwell on the intimacy of the moment, lest insecurity grip either of you, as you let him touch your scars and you offered brief explanations. Sometimes it was a word, sometimes it was a short story.

“I got sliced by a branch of a fallen tree, the wound was wide but not deep,” you said as his finger pressed over a wide patch of scar tissue. He moved his hands, you always spoke.

“South Africa.”

“Another surgery. Kidneys.”

“Friendly fire.”

When he traced three identical lines near the centre of your spine, you paused. He saw your chest heave with a deeper breath and you turned your face more towards the fire. “Torture.”

Loki, before he could stop himself, placed his whole palm against the lines and willed all the magic in him to rid you of this memory.

“It’s fine,” you said, and reached behind yourself to close your fingers around his wrist. If you could feel his magic against you, it must be doing something. He ignored your tugs until he felt he’d done his best, but when he removed his hand they’d not shrunk one millimetre.

He couldn’t fix it. Maybe he could make it right.

“A name,” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

“Mikhail.”

“Where might I find him?”

“I buried him at sea.”

Loki tempered the rage swelling in his chest, not wanting to compromise the delicacy with which he was able to touch your skin. To compensate, he softened his touch further and ran his fingers along a small scar on the back of your lower ribs. As his fingers ghosted over the mangled skin, you shuddered and twitched beneath him. You subtly arched away and made a small noise of grimace, but didn’t otherwise verbally react. Loki felt his brow furrow, and felt a knowing smirk tug at his cheeks as he allowed himself the bravery to try elsewhere.

With less pressure than before, he brought five fingertips to a small collection of scars on your lower back. He grazed his fingers along the tiny cuts that had long since healed over, smiling to himself as you squirmed a little under his touch.

“I’d never think you one to be ticklish,” Loki commented with a mischievous smile curled into his words.

“I didn’t know I was,” you admitted. The casual indifference in your tone made Loki’s brow twist in confusion. You were telling the truth. He chuckled once through his nose and tried his feather-light touch near your shoulder, settling on scar that ran from your rotator cuff to somewhere concealed beneath your clothing. You shuddered and sniffled once, maybe in a small breathy giggle.

“Not one person has ever tickled you?”

You shook your head. “Why would they?”

Loki found himself at a loss for words. He could explain it was a form of playfulness, of affection, often used as an excuse to put your hands all over someone who’d taken your eye. He could tell you it was meant to be a game, to be fun, to punish for cheekiness or that some found it alluring. He held his tongue, knowing any one of those explanations implicated him as someone who wanted to have you close.

He decided on, “It’s a common experience.”

“I don’t have a lot of those.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he smirked and quickly found the sides of your ribs, pressing and wiggling his first two fingers into the bare skin. He felt you flinch before you crumpled backwards against him and let out a stream of surprised laughter. Your arms had pressed themselves to your sides and a uncharacteristic grin had spread its way across your cheeks. Loki‘s eyebrows shot up in surprise as your shoulders landed in his lap, and he stayed in that surprised state as you made no moves to get away from him.

“That… it…” You seemed to be attempting to describe why you reacted the way you did, so Loki returned your grin with a wide smirk.

“It tickled,” he finished with a warm chuckle. You quirked an eyebrow and started to realise your position. Desperately wanting you to know it was okay to stay where you were, Loki‘s eyes latched on to the scars that laced the fire-lit skin on your belly. Fewer than on your back, but your stomach and sides still had their fair share. He sighed sadly, and you followed his eye.

“You don’t need to feel sorry for me,” you said in a low, reassuring voice.

“You’ve been torn to bits,” Loki‘s face fell. He shifted his hand over and ran his thumb along a jagged scar halfway between your side and your stomach. To his delight, you winced and squirmed, bringing a hand down to grab his. “Alright, I refuse to believe you‘d no idea you were ticklish,” he teased, evading your fingers to flit around the skin as it twitched beneath his touch. You spluttered and brought your other hand down to attempt to catch him. “You’re allowed to laugh,” he teased further. “It’s actually the whole point.” He pinched his hand at your hip on that last word and, after a surprised squeak, you shot a hand to your mouth in horror at the sound you’d just made.

“Ohokay,” you laughed nervously and lurched forwards. “Enough of that.”

As soon as you’d sat up, Loki opened his legs and reached his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. “That’s actually not up to you.” You seemed too surprised by the move to fight it. Then, he remembered: you were a Widow. You’d have fought it if you wanted to.

Loki’s heart beat harder as you let yourself be captured by him, only wriggling a little bit in his strong hold as he shifted his palms to rest at your sides.

“What are y-”

“Darling, you may not understand the politics of what is about to occur, but I have no doubt you’ll learn very quickly.” With that, he dug his wiggling fingers into the soft skin behind your sides and chuckled with delight as you immediately fell into a squirming laughter.

“Wait wahait!” Your warm laughter filled the cabin as Loki’s amused chuckles mixed in. “L-Loki!” You gasped as he pulled one hand away and grazed it under his other arm, skittering his fingers at the bare skin on your belly just above the waistband of your shorts. That really got you laughing. You yelled out in shock before throwing your head back against Loki’s shoulder, your chest heaving with laughter. You kicked your feet out and closed your hands around the fingers flitting at your navel, successfully wrapping them tight enough to stop them on their path.

“Tsk, you’re no fun,” Loki turned his head and teased his whispering lips near your ear, unwrapping his other arm to target the sensitive skin on your belly. Now free to move your body, you twisted between his lap with all ten fingers still wrapped around his one hand, but Loki’s arm caught you and held you sideways, both of your legs draped across his one of his. He looked upon your playful and warm smile, and it was the perhaps the most carefree he’d ever seen you.

Gods, what he’d give to kiss you right now.

Oh. That was a thought he’d tried to suppress.

He looked back at your stomach and focused in on a scar, wondering if he could get you talking and keep you like this for just a bit longer. “This one,” he nodded, firming his hand under and around your waist to keep you close to him without tickling you. You precious thing, you leaned your side against his chest and released his hand to let him trace the skin once more.

“Careful,” you warned with a coy grin before reclining and looking at the skin Loki traced. A soft smile stayed beautifully on your lips as you tensed, trying not to squirm away from Loki’s touch. “That was from a scimitar,” you said, barely above a whisper. His fingerprint grazed the scar with enough pressure to not be unbearable, and he felt you relax into him once more.

When he soon lightened his touch as he travelled to another bullet wound, you giggled once and turned to hide your face against his chest. Oh, this was undeniable. Loki found his jaw tensing as he forced himself to look away and try knocking some sense into his mind.

You’re a god, he told himself. A powerful, brilliant, god. Midgard has made you weak. Filled you with sentiment.

Loki cursed himself as he longed to pull you even closer. How much easier this would all be, he thought, if you were simply beautiful; he could be himself about it. Seduce you, proposition you, see that gleam of desire in your eye, throw you against the wall and kiss you senseless until you’d both had your fun. But you weren’t just beautiful and you weren’t just a piece of fun. That made things, for him, uncharacteristically complicated.

Loki tried to listen as you told him the story of the scimitar scar. How you’d fought, how you’d escaped, how you managed to get them in the end. There was an eerie calmness in the way you so easily described how you killed an enemy, and Loki saw too much himself in that. It was perhaps his least favourite thing about you.

There were many things about you that were like him. But so many that were the polar opposite.

Your lives began the same way. Both of you cast out, both of you taken by an enemy. However, those who’d taken him in cared for him, taught him to live well, given him love and a family. Those who’d taken you did so knowing they’d throw you away the second you were deemed to be unworthy, useless, degenerate. Much as King Laufey had seen him.

Where Loki’d been given attention and love, you’d been given training and reprimand. Where he’d been given a title and a brother, you’d been given a number and an alias. When he’d been given a chance to break free from his expectations, he attempted tyranny. When you’d been given the same chance, you saved the Avengers’ mission from failing. You became a hero.

How he wished he could bend time and trade places so you could have grown up in the golden palace of Valaskjalf, having flowers braided into your hair, being taught arts and languages and that you were worthy of so much more than the life you’d been made to live. Perhaps then you’d know how you were far too good to be falling all over the lap of the likes of him. Maybe if you’d received true love growing up, you’d be less okay with a would-be tyrant’s hands all over you.

But he could not change time, and he could not change you. The more he settled into the feeling of you against his arms, his legs, his chest, the feeling of your skin against his fingers, the less will he had to pull away and declare you foolish for trusting him like this. Eventually, your story ended, and the way you smiled contentedly got the best of him. So he moved his fingers to a lightened and raised patch of skin just below your ribs.

“Another Soviet slug?” He poked his finger into the scar. You twitched and gave him a scolding look.

“Some empathy you’ve got,” you scoffed. “I‘ll have you know that was a good old fashioned Midwestern American cop.”

“Ooh,” Loki winced. “That’s got to sting.”

“The wound? Healed. My pride? Irredeemably shattered.”

“And now it’s a reminder that even a slippery little spy can be sniped by Ohio’s finest,” Loki taunted with another tickling dig at the wound. You bit back a laugh and grabbed his hand.

“Michigan‘s finest” you corrected. “And it was point-blank. Hardly sniped.”

“Perhaps I’ll try erasing this one for you. It seems to be particularly painful.” Loki winked and flatted his palm over the wound to seep his magic into your skin, clawing all five fingers against the flesh they rested upon. You yelped and fell back into giggles, pressing harder into his chest as you sought refuge from his hand. “Come now, you’re stronger than this,” Loki ducked down to make you look at him as he teased you. You hid your face again, but then pulled back and thrashed as the hand holding you close joined the attack, fingers hooking into a space on your lower ribs. “Oho! Some fight in you, now?”

As he redoubled his effort at your ribs, he slid the hand at your side down to knead at your hipbone. You burst into loud laughter, shaking in ticklish helplessness as Loki’s attack on one side of your body kept you pulled into him. When you finally gained control of the arm that’d been clamped over his attack on your ribs, you wrapped your fingers around the hand at your hip and yanked on it through your laughter. He responded by twisting out of your grip, snatching your wrist, pulling it away from your body and slithering the hand at your ribs up to dig into the soft skin beneath your arm.

“H-HEHEY!” You yelled and thrashed in his hold, twisting your body almost entirely towards him as you laughed heartily into his chest. He took the chance to pull you close, your chest flush and sideways against his, his fingers still wedged beneath your arm and digging into the soft skin. He grazed the fingers of his other hand down the width of your back as his free arm hooked under your torso and grabbed at your waist. “Okahay! Okay, Lokihi!” You laughed hysterically and squirmed against his trapping hold.

“If this is truly your first time being tickled, I certainly can’t go easy on you, can I?” Loki teased with his lips dangerously close to your ear. “We’ve got a lifetime to make up for, darling.”

“Oho my GOHOD!” You giggled, then shrieked into his bicep when he used the the fingers at your waist to scratch maddeningly at your bare skin. His fingers quickly found the unevenness of another scar, making him grin with a devious idea to tease you further.

“Tell me about this one,” he spoke casually, wiggling his fingers over the raised skin. You yelped and jumped, still clamping your arm hard against his fingers twitching in your armpit. “Tsk, it’s a rather sensitive one,” he taunted, quickly swiping at it with one finger as he wiggled his thumb into the side of your belly. You threw your head back and laughed even harder. Loki was delighted to see your closed eyes, rosy cheeks and the big ticklish grin spread into your cheeks. “Ignoring me isn’t going to help your case,” he scolded in a gravelly whisper, scratching four fingers at the scar. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

You let out a giggly scream against his shoulder and finally manoeuvred your body to roughly twist away from him. You tumbled out of his lap and rolled a few feet in front of him, landing on your back as you sought to catch your breath. Loki, seeing the enjoyment in your body language, went after you.

He was beside you in a second, grappling with you for your wrists until he caught one in each hand. He chuckled as he swung a leg over your hips, “You’re a quick learner,” he smirked. “So I should explain tickling is also a method used to extract information. Tell me the story of that scar.”

“Torture doesn’t work on me,” you scoffed as he pinned your wrists above your head in one of his own hands. “If you don’t believe me, you could dig up Mikhail’s bones from the Caspian Sea and ask him.”

“Consider this a bribe, then,” Loki squinted at you, reading your willing cheekiness in the way your eyes gleamed with firelight. He, ever so softly, began grazing his fingers against the scar. Those same sparkling eyes shut as you took your bottom lip between your teeth. “I’ll stop if you tell me.”

“Yohou’re a menace,” you huffed between giggles, clearly trying to surmount if you could block out the feeling.

“Such a shame you’ve had no training on how to withstand this,” Loki sighed.

“P-perhahaps I’ll have you trahain me,” you grunted, then giggled harder when he picked up the pace of his fingertips. “S-seems like a- AH! Aha good skihill,” you fell into more solid laughter as Loki wiggled his fingers deeper against the skin.

“And relinquish my advantage?” Loki chuckled, “Tell me the story.”

He grinned as you tried to suppress a shriek and fell into frantic laughter when he hooked a thumb against your lowest ribs, wiggling it into the spaces between the bones. “AHH!” You yelped out and jolted when he found a particularly sensitive rib, focusing his efforts there as you were clearly attempting to begin blocking your mind against it.

“None of that,” he tutted, releasing his hand to not give you the time to get used to the sensation.

You huffed up at him and started to catch your breath. “How do I block it out?”

He smirked and fluttered his fingers against your exposed underarm. Your heel slammed into the ground behind his back as you laughed breathily, sniffing and trying to turn the feeling into something bearable. Just as he saw you begin to stop struggling as hard, he dragged his fingers up to tease against the impossibly soft skin of your inner bicep.

“W-whahat?!” You wheezed and kicked your feet harder, digging your bare heels into the rug in an attempt to gain traction to throw Loki off of you. He began lightly scratching all five fingers against the skin and you shattered the cool mountain air with high-pitched laughter.

“This is most entertaining,” Loki mused, trailing his fingers over to graze at your neck. You shuddered beneath him and bit back breathy giggles, twitching under his touch.

“H-hohow are thehere so many pla-haces?” You winced and giggled as he kept your nerves on edge.

“You may be exceptionally ticklish.”

“Dahammit. T-teach me,” you growled and looked up at him firmly. “How to withstand it.”

Loki sighed and smiled, “Where does it tickle most?”

“Around that scar,” you nodded towards the place where your stomach met your side.

“Lesson one,” Loki placed his fingers back on that space. “Never give up your vulnerabilities.”

You fell into loud laughter when Loki began scratching his fingers against the sides of your belly. He grinned as you thrashed wildly beneath him, arching your back only for him to spider his fingers in the very centre of your stomach where it had lifted highest off the ground. You slammed your back down onto to carpet and fell into hiccupy giggles.

“Besides, I recall this spot being rather effective,” Loki called to you, then latched his hand around your hip and drilled his thumb into the soft space next to the bone. He was beyond pleased to watch you jolt and fall into desperate cackling, your legs scrambling behind him. So he released your hands in favour of attacking both hips simultaneously, an endeared smile pulling across his cheeks as you, stomach tensed, weakened by laughter, tried to sit up to fight him off.

Your grip tugged at his shoulders, then fell to his forearms and then to his wrists as his onslaught brought you back to your laying-down position. You simply couldn’t hold yourself up, disoriented from the relentless steady drilling of his thumbs against your hips. He was so focused on your rosy laughing cheeks, he surprised himself when his body reacted to some icy fingertips tickling at the skin of his lower belly. He flinched backwards, holding in a laugh, and grabbed at your wrists that you’d slipped beneath his shirt.

“You are learning,” Loki smirked.

“Let me have a turn,” you panted.

He felt laughter rumble through his chest as you pulled on your wrists. “That’s not how it works.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “I let you tickle me.”

“You let me?” Loki laughed again.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “… Yes?”

Loki felt his heart beat warmly against his chest as he couldn’t stop the amused grin spreading into his cheeks. Even if you thought you could escape, you hadn’t wanted to. Loki smiled, beyond endeared.“Why would you let me?”

“Isn’t it supposed to be some kind of bonding exercise? It’s supposed to be fun.”

“I suppose.”

“Then…” You shrugged as best you could with your wrists in his hold, “Why wouldn‘t I?”

“You’d really submit to my hands all over you, weeding out your little weak points?” The question tumbled from his lips before he had the wherewithal to stop it. Immediately regretting it, he followed up with, “Besides, I don’t believe you’re in the position to be making demands.”

Loki couldn’t have explained how it happened, what the exact sequence of events was, the way you twisted your hands or turned your body with deadly precision, but he knew that in less than three seconds he went from a position of power to being flat on his back with your legs around his waist and your hand at his throat.

You leaned in and let a smile come to your cheeks at Loki’s surprise. Your hand at his throat wasn’t holding hard, just enough to make your point. “I let you,” you repeated. His eyes locked with yours, the licks of flame sparking in your gaze. He again wondered if he should offer to conjure you some more clothes, but you still seemed perfectly comfortable considering you hadn’t made a move for your dried laundry on the armchair. “Will you let me?”

Loki had to chuckle at the question. “You’ve still got lots to learn, love.” He brought his hands to your hips and sat up slowly underneath you, giving you the chance to unfold your feet and slide down to sit in the gap between his legs, your knees slightly bent over each his thighs. The earnest and somewhat confused look in your eye pulled on his heart. How had you never done this before? It seemed such a basic universal experience. “Tickling isn’t something participants usually submit to,” he explained, taking your hands in his.

“Why not?”

“It can be unbearable. Too much.”

“But not always.”

“Not always. And some pretend to not submit, as the chase can be part of the fun, but they enjoy the playfulness and the intimacy nonetheless.”

“Intimacy.”

“Hmm, yes,” Loki looked at your hands before guiding them to either side of his waist, slipping them beneath the hem of his shirt. “Pure romance, it is,” he murmured, “Knowing someone’s most ticklish spot.”

“How so?”

“There’s an inherent intimacy in bestowing that trust. Allowing someone to know just how to touch you,” Loki said, his voice low and thoughtful as he handled your palms in his grasp, the pads of his fingertips taking in the ridges and callouses. “Giving them the power over you. Knowledge of how to pull you apart with their bare hands.”

“What are you doing?

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“I have a lot of questions,” you said, watching curiously as Loki settled your hands against the bare skin of his sides. “I don’t understand things like this.”

“I’m letting you have a turn,” he sighed, thanking every god he knew that no one could see him now. Not Thor, nor the Warriors Three, the Avengers or the other agents. How they’d laugh at the mighty God of Mischief submitting himself in such a way. “You’ll have to be quick. I‘ll fight you from instinct.”

Having learned from Loki, you took to scratching and wiggling your fingers against the skin on his sides where he’d placed your hands. Your touch sent ticklish sparks through his muscles, up his torso and into his neck. Loki clenched his fists on the ground and they turned white as he willed himself to not reach out and stop you.

“You’re not laughing,” your brow lowered in annoyance, and you slipped your hands around the front to flutter your fingers against the centre of his belly. A deep rumbling laughter bubbled over from his chest at the feeling of your fingers lightly prodding against the vulnerable area. “Ah,” you nodded, then grinned, and became a little braver. Throwing yourself against him you wrapped your arms all the way around his waist and dug your fingers deep into the backs of his ribs. Laughter ripped through Loki’s chest, he brought his arms up to wrap around your shoulders so he wouldn’t grab your hands. He let himself twitch and laugh under your searching fingers until he couldn’t stand it any longer and made a play for your arms.

“There you ahare,” he sniffed and smiled down at you. The goofy grin on your face told him you’d had far too much fun.

“That was nothing compared to what you did to me,” you argued, pulling on your hands to signal the intent to continue.

“You’ll have to get stronger then, little spy,” he smirked. “A god doesn’t submit to such things.”

“You just did,” you argued further.

“Perhaps we’ll have a proper grapple in a place better suited,” Loki nodded to the fireplace and released your wrists. “Then you can try earning it.”

“Earning your most ticklish spot?” You asked, head hung as you inspected your sensitive scar with your own fingers. He bit his tongue, unravelling the implications behind your words whilst watching you try repeating the movement against your own skin.

“It won’t work on yourself,” he explained, avoiding your question. You looked up quizzically, prompting him to explain further. “If your body fully understands what it is, if your own hand is performing the action, it won’t work.”

“I suppose that makes it more romantic.” You commented innocently, squinting a bit. “Because you can‘t figure out your most ticklish spot on your own. You need someone else.”

Loki’s mouth twitched into a nervous smile. “I suppose.”

“So I need to tell my brain it’s not a threat,” you nodded, turning back to the facts. “That’s how to overcome it.”

“Correct,” Loki’s smile became tainted with a hint of sadness at the beginnings of the loss of his way to make you laugh. “Master that, and you’ll be immune from my vicious attacks.”

You actually laughed out loud at that, a wide smile pulling onto your cheeks. You looked up at him, eyes soft and full of comfort, then looked back at your own skin. “Vicious?” You chuckled and adjusted the waistband of your shorts before leaning back and propping yourself up with your hands behind you. You looked at the fire, a smile still playing on your lips. “I think that was the most care with which anyone’s ever touched me.”

As Loki looked that the small shadows cast across your torso from where the firelight caught the topography of your scars, he remembered your words from earlier. “In the right context, it weeds out the wimps.” Here you were, completely vulnerable in front of him. Battle history on display, allowing him to touch you, to undo you, to find the places on your skin that made you crumple and twist against him. To laugh with abandon. Engaging in the romanticism of allowing him to know just how to touch you.

You were testing him.

Here you were in very little clothing, falling over him and pulling him close, but what if he was just a beautiful piece of fun to you? What if you were bored, or just looking for satisfaction? For un-aloneness.

Even if you’d had no idea who he was when you first laid eyes on him, you’d certainly have heard the stories by now. You’d know details about what he’d said and done. To Barton, to Romanoff, to the Avengers, to New York, to your world.

Yet here you were, testing him.

As he looked over the collection of your trauma, your skin a map of the suffering you’d endured, it hit him that you remembered each one. The reason it happened, the way it happened. You remembered the pain. Something deep within him emotionally recoiled at the thought of you enduring more pain on account of him. Barton, Romanoff, the Avengers, New York, your world. He’d hurt them all. He’d sooner leave this realm and never return before allowing himself hurt you too.

No, he couldn’t do this.

“You’ve no idea what you’re doing.” The words left his lips, calling out your not-so-subtle ways of tempting him.

“I’ve made that much clear.” You met his gaze and sat up straighter.

Loki chuckled, but more scoffed, and shook his head. “This is madness. You desires are madness.”

“You’re going to sit there and tell me you don’t feel anything?”

“I feel like there’s a very pretty little thing sitting in front of me. One who’s been trying to tempt me all evening.”

“That’s all I am to you?”

Loki clenched his jaw, seeing the skepticism in your eye.

“If that’s the case…” You tilted your head to the side in consideration. “Why hasn’t it worked?”

“Who’s to say it hasn’t?”

You laughed at his words again, pulling your knees back from over his, bringing them to your chest, resting your chin on your arms wrapped around them. You looked to the dwindling fire and sighed. “If I was just a pretty little thing to you…” you looked back at him, a slight victorious smile playing at your lips, “We’d have been in there a long time ago.” You glanced and nodded towards the bedroom, then back to confront him with your stare. “You wouldn’t be asking stories about my scars, threatening captors from my history. You would have kissed me already.”

“Watch yourself,” Loki felt his eyes turn dark.

“But you can’t, can you?”

“Provoking a god is inadvisable.”

“I’m not provoking,” you shot back, sitting up straighter. “I’m giving you a chance to be honest.”

“I’m the God of Lies.”

“Then lie to me. Tell me you feel nothing, then let’s have some meaningless fun.”

“No.”

“You don’t want to, or it wouldn’t be meaningless?”

“I said no.”

A log cracked in the dying fire and Loki saw the flash of confusion cross your face. He set his jaw, giving you nothing with his look.

You nodded and made to stand up. “Understood,” you got to your feet and stepped around him. You didn’t say anything as he heard the sounds of fabric and buckles as you replaced your dry clothes on your body. The dwindling flame would soon only be embers in the stone fireplace. Loki wondered if he should tend to it. Stoke the flame, or let it go cold. The cold wouldn’t affect him as much as it would you, but you’d covered yourself more and there had been lots of blankets in both the bedrooms, so he didn’t touch it.

You walked around the back of the couch towards the smaller room with the smaller bed, boots in hand. “We should leave at first light.” You paused in your doorway, stuck your tongue against the inside of your cheek, cleared your throat, then turned to switch on the small lamp in your room, the one that sat on a table next to you. “What just occured? I won’t bring it up again,” you promised politely, not quite meeting his eye, then shut the door.

The pressure shift in the room extinguished any flame that may have still remained in the fireplace, the smoky embers now glowing as small pricks of orange. The room was mostly dark, now only lit from those wall lamps. Standing and moving to turn off the generator, he let the darkness wash over him. The frosty air, the aloneness of the room, the silence. He could hear you preparing for sleep in the room you’d taken. You were probably sleeping in your clothes to be prepared to run should someone find you two here. The rusty springs of your mattress squeaked a few times, then it was truly silent.

Loki watched the embers fade, focusing his gaze on the blaze’s gravesite as he ruminated on what‘d just occurred. He wished it had bothered him more - that you’d walked out, that you’d promised to never speak of it again. Perhaps he didn’t have feelings for you beyond attraction, if he was able to let you walk out so easily. Or, perhaps, he was too shocked to feel the initial blow and he’d feel the dull ache in the morning, or only see the scars of his decision years down the line.

As he settled himself into his own creaky bed minutes later, he allowed himself to believe he did the right thing by you. It would’ve felt, for lack of a better word, gross. A gross dishonesty to allow you to proceed with him when he was convinced you’d no idea who he really was. If you did, you wouldn’t look at him like that. If you knew the depths pain he was sure he’d have eventually inflicted upon you, you’d never look at him again.

On the trip home and the several days after Switzerland, Loki was surprised to find that you didn’t ice him out after his rejection of your advances. Something had changed, but you weren’t acting like a scorned lover, and that was at least a small relief.

But, again, something had changed. He first noticed it around five days after you’d both returned, the first time you were back in a large group setting. It was a dinner with most of the team and Pepper had entered to announce the anniversary gala being held in honour of Stark Industries the following Saturday. Loki saw the way the table accepted the news and buzzed with the prospect of a party and limitless alcohol, and then he saw Pepper approach you.

“You’re of course very much wanted in attendance,” she smiled warmly. You smiled back, that smile reserved for her that wouldn’t at all hurt her feelings, and you thanked her for her hospitality.

Now, usually, that would be followed by an exchange of looks with Loki. Some sly, meaning-filled flash of your eyes to make a joke or a comment that he’d understand, but you just looked back at your plate, and then over to where Sam was telling some story. Loki looked at you for a few more seconds until his brother commanded his attention, and he regretfully ripped his glance away.

He then realised you’d stop treating him differently than you treated the others. You weren’t unkind, but you’d stopped giving him the allowance of a glimpse into your psyche, into your secret thoughts and quips as a fellow observer on the outskirts of this team. When you’d meet his eye in a conversation, there was not one hint of the fireside vulnerability. No, that vulnerability was left behind in a mountainside cabin belonging to Swiss Nature Conservatory.

Now with the insight of what lay beneath, Loki began noticing, realising, that you always wore clothes that completely covered yourself. He did too, of course, as he always had, but his was a choice devoid of the desire to hide. Whereas your decision to wear long sleeved everything seemed to be a begrudging one. Something you sometimes wished you didn’t have to do. Or maybe it was habit.

It was hard to tell, now, what you really thought about things.

The following Saturday evening Loki heard you still in your room as he passed by on his way to join Thor in a car to the gala. His focus on an adjustment of his cuff link was taken by your sigh, and so he dared a peak into your near wide-open door. There you stood, looking at yourself in a mirror with far too little enthusiasm for how undeniably gorgeous you were. He saw you catch him lurking, but you didn’t acknowledge him, you just moved to sit and pull on some simple strapped heels.

“You’ll be quite warm in there,” Loki commented from your doorway. You didn’t react, didn’t look up from where you were securing the strap of your shoe, not until it was done.

“I’ll be fine,” you replied shortly, standing from your place on the ottoman at the end of your bed, smoothing out the silky fabric of the floor-length black gown. The sleeves hugged your shoulders down to your wrists, the bodice fitted down to the hips until it fell in a shimmering cascade of elegance down to just above your toes. Loki couldn’t help but wonder if you’d been inspired by the dress he’d conjured for you, considering the similarities.

“Is this all you have?” He nodded to the dress as you picked up a simple black clutch purse from the end of your bed.

“Rude,” you scoffed with a wry half-smile.

“It’ll be crowded,” Loki explained. “You look… exquisite, I merely-”

“I chose this dress from a rack of many- did you need something?” You finally looked up and locked eyes with him, and he noticed how well you’d done your makeup. Accentuating all the right features, impeccably applied, highlighting that gleam of attraction in your eye so well he considered perhaps it was always there, not just for him. “Loki,” you caught his attention, walking towards him as you slotted the phone in your purse. “Did you need something?” You stopped right in front of him, looking up into his stare, the way your cheek moved told him you were biting your tongue.

“No,” he responded. You nodded, then fixed your gaze past him down the hallway before stepping around his body and making your way towards the cars. He followed you with his eyes, noticing the only slivers your skin visible below the high neck of the dress were on your hands and feet. Your hair fell in soft waves behind your shoulders, covering the back of your neck.

Yes, you were making it clear: no one gets to see that much of you.

Loki let you round a corner before making his way to the cars, giving you time to chose one that would have no room for him. However, when he got there he found the time you’d taken to get ready meant you were seated in the last vehicle, with no one else in it. He sighed and ducked his head into the doorway.

“I can find another way.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you chuckled dryly. “Get in, we need to leave.”

The ride there was mostly silent, until near the end when Loki asked if you’d received any more intel. To his relief, you didn’t ignore him. Again, you treated yourself with the dignity of not behaving like a scorned lover, even though he felt he may deserve it for how long he’d let himself touch you that evening.

“That dirty source went dark. Which, I mean… good riddance. Barnes actually mentioned he might have some chatter. Old Winter Soldier contacts.”

“Barnes.”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, looking out the window. It would have been easy for you to make some comment, even spin a lie, about how Barnes was going to join you on the mission. Loki was glad you didn’t, considering the jealousy he already felt rising from his chest to tighten his throat. You even could’ve made some vindictive remark about how that unmarked Soviet slug behind your shoulder wasn’t his, to make Loki think you’d shown your history to someone else out of spite. Somehow, the fact that you hadn’t made it that much worse; it made clear that your vulnerability wasn’t a pawn you played with abandon, but a powerful Queen now retreated behind the army to keep out of harm‘s way.

Romanoff had waited for you outside and when you saw her your shoulders dropped the tension Loki’d barely noticed you’d been holding. A relieved smile formed against your muted crimson lipstick as she looped her arm through yours and led you into the lavish towering building, straight up to the penthouse ballroom.

Loki followed, close by, rode the same elevator, but almost immediately broke off when he stepped out of it into the bustling and crowded room. A large brass band played in the corner and the building was alive with celebration. Stealing a glance at you, seeing you gauge the unfamiliar territory of simply being a guest, he surmounted that you would be okay. Then, he went to find himself a very strong drink.

Elbow against the bar, The God of Mischief looked out over the mass of Midgardians as they ate and drank and schmoozed and pretended to like each and every person they met. Observing the hoards of diamond-laden patrons, he downed his drink and then ordered another. The band kept playing some roaring jazz which, even Loki could admit, was exceptionally well performed. The dance floor opened and several couples jived and spun elegantly, all the people invited to this party being the sort who actually knew how to do that kind of thing without mortally embarrassing themselves in public.

Catching a glimpse of you in a conversation with Sam, Loki set aside his jealousy and allowed himself to be thankful such a man’d found you here. Wilson was gifted at making people feel comfortable, and Loki hadn’t failed to notice that The Falcon was one of the few people who could make you smile on the days you were regressing. Falling inwards.

The more he saw you from across the room, the more he ached for your company. You seemed to be the only person who was on the same page as him at all times, always. He longed for those looks you’d shoot him across the room, the smirks and winks and exchange of information that was held in a lingering gaze. It was more than camaraderie. Much more. Much deeper. Finally, it bothered him that you’d walked out that night in the cabin. That he’d let you. Asked you to.

Thor approached the bar, interrupting his younger brother’s downward spiral, and pulled a bottle from a pocket in his suit.

“Thank the Norns,” Loki sighed, sliding his glass over in request for some of the Asgardian spirits.

“Loki, come talk with the scientist I met.”

“Brother, I-”

“Lurking by the bar all night is not becoming of a Prince, nor an Asgardian,” Thor clapped him on the shoulder, leaving no room for debate with that declaration. Begrudgingly, Loki entered a conversation with a scientist whom he quickly learned was not a bore, and not horrifically ill-informed about matters of the universe. Making sure he was facing the wider room, he listened and discussed with the scientist and his brother for a surprisingly long while, every so often looking up to clock where you were, to make sure you were okay. Which felt unfair to you, that he was keeping tabs.

Then, one time he looked up, he couldn’t find you. The room was crowded, yes, but it was like he’d been attuned to the specific way the light hit your hair. He waited several minutes, because perhaps you were in the bathroom. But he still couldn’t find you. Excusing himself, Loki went in search. Weaving through New York’s elite and the higher-ups at Stark Industries, Loki copped his fair share of scowls and shying aways but he had more pressing matters to attend to. What if you’d left?

After searching far and wide, Loki finally caught a glimpse of someone out on a balcony. The glass door to it was off to an uninhabited section of the room, so he was fairly confident you’d taken your leave there. As he approached the door it again felt unfair to you, that he’d come looking. Let her see your selfishness, Loki told himself as he broke away from the noise and onto the balcony.

New York City had never been quiet, but compared to the tank of sound he’d just stepped out of, this balcony felt as peaceful the corner of the palace library he’d hide away in when he was younger. Or maybe that was just your presence.

You peeked over your shoulder to see Loki approaching, then turned back to the skyline. “I needed some air,” you answered his wordless question as his hand met the rail next to where you were leaning on your elbows.

“It is rather stuffy in there.”

“Come here to gloat about how I should have heeded your advice and not worn long sleeves?”

“I came here for the same reasons as you. I can only stand the people in there for so long.”

He saw you fight a smile. “It feel aimless being here without an objective. I mean, why do people do these things?” You nodded behind him to the party, then finally locked eyes with his, a wry smile on your cheeks. “If not to give assassins the perfect cover. Seriously, they’re just asking for it at this point.”

“Perhaps you should run a seminar.”

“I can’t give away all my secrets. They’ll need them one day.”

Loki remembered your words in the cabin, how you’d assumed Stark and Rogers would use you and Natasha. Use your skills. Use your bodies. He set his jaw, then turned back to look over the city, still several feet away from you. “You don’t trust them. The Avengers.”

You chuckled once, bitterly. “Not yet.”

His eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, his questioning glance still casted over Manhattan. “You trust me. Even after Switzerland. Why?”

“Because you don’t hide the things you’ve done.”

The exchange happened so nonchalantly Loki might’ve blinked and missed it, but it finally made sense to him. His dirty secrets were out in the open, so were many of yours, all of those around you knew about the bad things you’d done. About who you were. You probably saw it as an unfair advantage and you were waiting for the other shoe to drop - to be sent in with a kill order, or to be sent in wearing very little clothing to seduce a target. You were waiting for the moment they revealed that all you were to them was a Widow.

You pulled at the high neck of your dress and Loki saw, even in the early spring air, that you were uncomfortably warm. He sighed and made his offer, “Allow me to conjure you a different dress. You’re clearly uncomfortable.”

“Either I‘m uncomfortable or everyone else is,” you smiled begrudgingly. “Tony caught a glimpse of…” you gestured to your own body, mainly to your back, “All of that, and offered to arrange some kind of laser skin therapy- I don’t know the details,” you brushed it off with a weak wave of your hand, still looking down across Manhattan.

“I thought you didn’t care what people think.”

You were silent for a beat. You smiled, looking up at the cloudy light-polluted sky, then back at your own hands before ducking your head in concession. “I didn’t.”

“What changed?”

You sniffed, your jaw tensed, your mouth curled into a wry smile. “Before I showed you, you looked at me a certain way. I liked the way the looked at me. Now it’s different.”

You’re one to talk, Loki shot the comeback through his stare.

“That wasn’t the reason.” Loki was then silent, prompting you to reply, but you didn’t, so he stepped back in. “I find myself drawn to you in a way I’ve never known,” he spoke to you by way of the night sky. “You know you’re beautiful, there’s no doubt in that, but beauty is easy to resist. Scars or not, you have this… this allure, this charm, an enticing demeanour. That’s a lot of power for a mortal to hold over a god.”

You turned back to the sky and sighed. “So it’s because I’m mortal.”

“It‘s because it wouldn’t have been right by you.”

“What?”

“I not willing to let you become another person I hurt. You’ve no idea who I really am. What I’m capable of.”

“What on Earth gave you that idea?”

Loki let out a breath and looked out over the city he once sought to destroy. “I could see it in your eyes the first day you arrived. You weren’t afraid. You didn’t know me.”

“That’s not true,” you shook your head. “I knew exactly who you were.”

“You don’t know all the things I’ve done,” he continued. “The pure treachery of it all.”

“That’s why you pushed me away?” You stood up taller and turned to face him, placing a hand against the railing much as he did. “Because you’re afraid of hurting me?”

“Look there,” he pointed to an empty lot with a sharpness in his command. “At that building foundation that’s just been poured. That used to be a twenty-two story apartment complex. Would you like to wager a guess at how it came crashing down?”

“This is different, I’m not a building, Loki-”

He digressed, “Or how about a guess at how many were inside when it did collapse-”

“You’re projecting what you did then onto what you might do now. I’m not some brick and mortar that’ll blow up if you get too close!”

Loki seethed in pained frustration. “If I get too close, I will hurt you-“

“You already have!”

If he was a mere mortal man, he’d perhaps have recoiled at the angry desperation in your voice. He set his jaw and shook his head the smallest amount. “This is different. The pain of this is nothing compared to what I’m capable of.”

Your lips parted with the beginning of your response, but you closed them again before looking out over the cityscape. The lights from the city betraying the fact your eyes had gone a bit glassy. Swallowing hard, you shut your eyes, then released a resigned breath Loki hadn’t realised you’d been holding. You looked back over to him and sighed in defeat, near-whispering, “You’ve already hurt me, Loki.”

You took a step forward, taking his hand at the railing and guiding it towards yourself. He allowed you to place his palm against that wildly sensitive place on your side. The one below the bullet hole from Michigan, to the left of the scimitar scar. The scar you hadn’t told him the story of.

He remembered it well. It was long, curved, the wound must have been deep when it was inflicted. The way it widened near the top made him assume a blade had been plunged in and pulled upwards, but he couldn’t know for sure. The fabric of your dress was thin enough, and the scar prominent enough, for him to feel it against his palm beneath your gown.

“No,” he breathed out, feeling a sick twisted knot in his stomach when he realised what you were about to say.

You looked at his hand, closing your fingers around his wrist to hold it there. “I got this scar in 2012. Right here in New York City.” Then, you looked up at him and let the roots of your words catch hold. He very quickly put the pieces together; you had that scar because of his attack.

Because of him.

He set his jaw and tried to pull his hand away, but you held fast. He pulled harder but you stayed firm, stumbling forward with his tug as he tried to take his hand off the horrifying agony he’d inflicted. Loki felt the pain and humiliation, the pure horror, pricking against his eyes as he tried to find the words to meet your sad and earnest gaze. He stopped struggling, taking in the sheer size of the scar, allowing the shame to strike through him as penance.

“I was in the city on an assignment to take out the assistant manager of a hedge fund. I was supposed to make it look like an accident,” you started. “Then, suddenly, the sky opened up. Before I knew it, I was on the wrong end of an ugly alien’s spear,” you said, all too casually. “It actually made my mission a lot easier, considering the invasion took care of it for me.”

Loki winced and tried again to pull his hand away, not feeling he had any right to tell you what to do. “Please.”

“You’ve already hurt me, so what‘s your excuse now?” You took a brave and shaky breath in, finally releasing his wrist. He retracted it like a wounded dog.

The silence hung thick amidst the white noise of the city until Loki managed a small scoff. “I belong in the depths of the Caspian Sea with all others who’ve hurt you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I’d only hurt you more.”

“I don’t think you will.”

“You deserve far better.”

“And you deserve much more mercy than you’re affording yourself.” You reached out and took his hand, guiding it back towards that place on your side. “As someone who’s felt the pain you can inflict…” He bit back a grimace as he allowed you to drape his palm over the damage he’d caused. “I’m okay, and I forgive you.”

Loki audibly winced at your confession, his heart and eyes and lungs stinging with his regret at pushing you away. Yet, here you were, still close to him. The Queen was out on the battlefield once again. “This is madness,” he choked out. “How can you truly believe I deserve your forgiveness?”

“Because I understand how it feels to be the person the good guys whisper about. The one they think might snap at any second, turn evil, hurt innocent people, and prove that people don’t change. But people do change. Right from the start I could see that in you, and it gave me so much hope,” you smiled as your eyes became glassy with emotion. “Because if you were a really, at the heart of it, a good person who’d done bad things… maybe I could be a good person too.”

And there, then, you gave him that same look you’d given him the very first time he’d seen you. Your eyes were full of contradictory soft stoicism, flashing with both a familiarity and an undeniable desire to know more. He settled his hand more comfortably on your side, relieving you of the need to hold it, but you still did. He looked at where his touch lay, he looked at the way your fingers draped delicately over and around his wrist and the back of his hand, then he looked up to see your eyes hadn’t left him. Then, he finally got his answer.

That look you’d given him hadn’t been one of indifference or courage. It had been understanding.

“You’ve seen far more of me that most,” you swayed your head to catch his eye where his gaze had been fixed to his hand at your waist, taking a reassuring step closer to him. “You don’t need to be afraid of hurting me. You know I can overcome pain. You’ve hurt me before, and I’m still here.”

Loki choked an incredulous breath as he brushed a strand of hair from your cheek, bringing it behind your ear as he laced his fingers through your hair. “Gods, you beautiful, precious thing.” He let your affection wash over him like a wave of relief. Here came the Queen charging down the battlefield, and he’d gladly relinquish his throne.

His hand at your waist slipped around to the small of your back, but you stepped even closer to him before he had the chance to pull you in, and you lifted your head to meet him halfway. He leaned down, and then kissed you with the fire of every shred of forgiveness he could bear to afford himself.

Your arms wrapped around his waist as you pulled yourself closer, deepening the kiss as much as you could without making it uncomfortable for either of you. He could feel your craving desire in how the fabric of his dress shirt became bunched between your fingers and you used anything you could to press into him, forgoing your need for air to kiss him as long as you could stand it. Fearing for you consciousness, he pulled away to force you to breathe, a loving smile pulling at his lips as he saw you pant and sway and look up at him with a sheepishness he hadn’t seen you wear before. “Careful,” he warned, allowing a sliver of his playfulness to return.

You nodded and gulped more air, pulling again at the collar of your dress as you flushed under your desire and the heat of the fabric.

Loki moved to run his hands over your arms. “Please, allow me to rid you of this discomfort,” he looked on earnestly and saw you consider the offer, then nod. Wordlessly, he slid his hands up to your shoulders and, with a flash of golden green, the top-half of your dress transformed under his magical guidance. The high collar dropped to an almost-modest straight neckline that continued all the way around, supported by a thin strap over each shoulder. You visibly relaxed in relief as the cool night air surrounded your skin, and once again pressed upwards into his hands. Just as he had experienced that night in the cabin, Loki found himself completely unwilling to take his hands away from your reassuring nestle.

“Loki.”

A familiar voice from the doorway turned your heads, interrupting your moment of closeness. A quick glance at your eyes nearly made Loki laugh, seeing how annoyed you looked at his brother for interrupting.

Thor informed them there was a speech about to begin, and neither of you should be missing it. A knowing glint in his eye brought a half-smirk to Loki’s lips, then his brother re-entered the party.

“I suppose we-”

You cut him off with another kiss, pulling him down by the lapel of his tuxedo, crashing his lips to yours. His hands found your waist, one of them trailing up your back until his palm lay flat against the uneven bare skin. Then, you pulled away, again a little breathless. “Just making sure that first kiss wasn’t a goodbye.”

The solemn look in your eye and the way your brow furrowed with your declaration brought a smile to his cheeks. “It was certainly not goodbye.”

He removed one hand from your back, using the other to gently guide you back towards the party, relishing in the way you seemed fidgety. Not nervous, but excited, shying closer to him from the anticipation of sharing your next kiss.

When you two settled into a place to stand near the back of the room, his hand moved again, his forearm rest against your lower back as his hand rested on your hip. Pressing into him as much as you elegantly could, Loki had to resist the urge to wrap both arms around you and distract you while Pepper gave her speech. He held you close, every so often giving a gentle and reassuring squeeze of his hand against your hip. You’d always press a little more into him when he did, probably to reassure him as well, or maybe because you were afraid he’d slip away again.

But he would not. You knew who he was, you knew what he’d done, and you were still here. So he would be too.

So when the speech was done and the applause had resounded and the band slowed its music down to a slow and beautiful melody, Loki turned to you and watched as you observed the couples pouring onto the dance floor.

“Do you know how to dance?”

“Of course.”

Without asking further, he began leading you towards the floor. You looked up at him, perplexed, your eyes asking him why you two were wasting time on the dance floor when you’d just had to keep from jumping each other for the past fifteen minutes. He breathed out as he settled you two into the outskirts of the dance floor, placed a hand on your lower back, and took your hand in his.

An uncharacteristically shy smile found its way to your lips, reminding Loki that touch like this was unusual to you. So he pulled you a little closer and led you in a slow waltz. You didn’t put a foot out of place, but you seemed far less interested in the dancing than you were in feeling close to him. The music slowed again, and you pressed your body further against his.

“Careful,” Loki warned, breath hitching in his throat. “Making moves like that. You’ve no idea what it does to me.” You blushed again, bringing pure delight to Loki. He made it obvious that he was scanning your features for any feeling you were trying to hide, and then he pulled you closer so you couldn’t see his smirk, but you could certainly feel it against your ear. “Or, perhaps you do know what it does to me.”

You chuckled, stepping in time with the slow music, squeezing his hand once. “I’m not trying to seduce you.”

He braved a good-natured jab. “Not again, you mean.” He pulled away and led you to turn outwards, which you did with an unmatched grace. Your controlled collision back against his chest brought another blush to your cheeks. A blush Loki was certain you were cursing yourself for not being able to hide.

You cocked your head and put on a brave and playful glare. “I’ll leave it to you next time.”

“Hmm, that’ll be quite the mission,” his whispered low and led you two steps forward, then around with him in a slow gentle spin.

“I’m sure you have your ways.”

“Oh, but I’m sure you’ll take great pleasure in making me work for it.”

“Can’t make it easy for you, can I?” You tilted your chin further up towards him, looking back and forth between his eyes glittering with warm lights strung along the ceiling. “Not after you took me to a nice dinner, tickled me senseless and then let me go to bed alone. Rather rude… for a Prince.”

“Mmm. A Prince, I am,” he smirked back, sliding his arm further around your back to be gripped on your opposite hip. “Riches, palaces, armies, land, anything you desire. How might I make it up to you?”

“I’ll think about it.”

He narrowed his eyes and saw the beginnings of a coy smile crease at the sides of your lips. “You’ve already got something in mind,” he tilted his head to the side, then down in a playfully warning glare. “What are you trying to get from me, little spy?”

“Intel. Some… sensitive information.”

Loki chuckled, licked his lips and stood to his full height, letting himself laugh at the audacity of what he knew you’d be asking him. “That’s what you want?”

Slipping your hand out of his, then looping both around his neck, you shrugged and gave him a cheeky smile. “I’m new to this whole romance thing, and the only thing I know for sure is you said knowing someone’s most ticklish spot was pure romance.”

“So is dancing like this,” he chuckled again and lifted his head so he’d be looking down on you in a way meant to be a little intimidating, just so you’d understand who you were asking this of.

“This party is nice, but I’d much rather be back in Switzerland.”

“For which part?” Loki quirked his brow. “Having knives thrown at you, the wading through snow, the freezing next to the fire? Perhaps the god, crippled by self-loathing, who foolishly let you go to bed alone.” He nearly chuckled. “Pray tell, what about Switzerland do you miss?”

“Being with you,” you answered honestly, casually. “Just you.”

“If you’re not enjoying yourself,” Loki lowered his voice to a gravelly rumble beside your ear. “Might I take you home?”

Loki would’ve used the car ride back to the Compound to run you through the ground rules of knowing such sensitive information about another person, if he’d been able to keep his lips off yours for even a second.

Thank the gods for backseat partitions.

By the time you two stumbled out of the car, breathless and kiss-delirious, he’d completely rid himself of any desire to set any sort of ground rules. Perhaps it was because he knew, when it came down to it, your strength was no match for his and he could easily turn the tables and teach you a lesson if you got too cocky. Or, maybe, it was because the mere thought of missing a potential second of your hands on him was unbearable. He couldn’t be sure. All he knew was as long as you kept looking at him like that, he’d tell you anything you wanted to know.

The empty Compound echoed with the clicking of your heels, the stumbling of his shoes, the slamming of your bodies into walls to steal another moment on your way, then the laugh of delight as Loki swept you off your feet and declared he was done wasting time in the cold and unforgiving hallways. When you tried to pull him off course, to comment that a particular doorway would be a detour on your way to his room, he responded with a playful growl and a slip of his fingers up under your arm to dig into your upper ribs. Then, the empty Compound resounded with your melodic laughter for the rest of the journey to Loki’s room.

“My tuhurn!” You laughed as he slammed the door with his heel, pausing his tickling fingers to duck down and captured your giggling protesting lips in another fiery kiss. After several seconds you broke away, shaking your head. “You’re not getting out of this.”

“Darling…” he kissed your cheek sweetly before smirking, “I’d never dream of it.” He pulled away and you looked up at him, squinting a bit as your jaw slackened.

“God of Lies, you finally lied to me,” you smirked before you broke into a grin, then let out a yelp of surprise as Loki spun and fell down backwards onto the bed with you still in his arms. He pulled you in for several more long and fervid kisses, trailing his lips along your jaw and down your neck until he hit a sensitive spot, making you giggle and instinctively push him away.

He caught you before you could go too far. “Are you sensitive here, my little spy?” he chuckled, pulling you close and grazing his teasing lips over the spot to watch you shiver and giggle. “My… aren’t you just the most delightfully ticklish thing.”

“Okahay, enough!” You pushed yourself away with a final giggle before settling yourself atop him, hiking your dress above your knees to straddle his waist. “Tell me.”

“I’ve honestly no idea how I’ll keep myself from throwing you off into a wall,” Loki admitted with a resigned grimace, then removed his hands from where they sat at your legs. He laced his fingers together and used them to cradle his head, but more to keep them out of your way.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” you smirked, then raised an eyebrow to ask that same question.

“There you are,” Loki muttered, motioning with his eyes to the space under his arms he’d exposed for you to attack. You gave him an unimpressed look.

“You have a tux on. Take the jacket off at least,” you crossed your arms and huffed, quite adorably, so Loki smirked and obliged. In a brilliant flash of magic, he’d changed himself from his black tuxedo into a long-sleeved black shirt and matching pants. To tease, though, he added a large chainmail vest. “Loki!” You swatted at him and he laughed, the allowed the chainmail to disappear.

“I should warn you,” Loki felt his stomach tense as you brought your fingers closer to his torso. “This opportunity will not present itself again.” You shrugged, nodded and smiled wider as you watched him tense further, instinctively shying away from your approaching fingers. “AND- and,” Loki chuckled nervously, eyeing your fingertips mere inches from his ribs. “We’re fihinding yours after this,” he declared.

You smirked in response. “Stop trying to make me go easy on you. It won’t work.”

Loki scoffed, narrowing his eyes. “You cheeky little-mmm,” he was cut off by your fingers touching down at his ribs, when he sealed his lips to try holding in his reaction. Unfortunately for him you appeared to be a quick leaner, very effectively sending ticklish shocks in the wake of your fingers.

“Oh, not so tough now, are you?”

“Wahatch your tongue,” Loki growled, some laughter slipping through his lips. You cocked a grin and brought your hands higher, prodding at his uppermost ribs, wriggling your fingers into the divots of his bones. “Gehet on with it!” Loki coughed a laugh and glared through his tensed jaw. You grinned wider and descended your fingers against the thin fabric covering his armpits, scratching and clawing your fingers firmly against the vulnerable area.

The Prince of Asgard shut his eyes and burst into a deep, bright ticklish laughter as you alternated between the firm fluttering and devious digging at the the susceptible spot. You were quick and agile, ensuring to make good use of the limited time you’d have. Just as he thought he may lose control and throw you off, Loki’s laughter-laden lips were semi-captured with your own as you kissed him through your grin and his laugh, not letting up on your attack.

Unable to stand leaving his arms behind his head, he whipped them down and took your face in his hands to kiss you as hard as he could while still laughing. He’d trapped your hands under his arms when he’d sealed off the space, and you were still going at it while giggling and you two were failing to kiss each other properly. And as if you couldn’t get any more precious, you pulled your hands away before it became too much for him, and planted your elbows either side of his head, hovering your face over his to kiss him properly.

Loki’s hands ran firmly over your sides, hips, legs, back, neck, everything he could touch and pull you closer by as he kissed you with a fiery passion. “My love,” he panted, pulling away to look you in the eyes. “I hope you understand your mercy has no effect on mine,” he lowered his voice to a teasing growl and watched the breath catch in your throat. “We’re going to have so much fun figuring this out together.”

And so Loki set out on your shared mission, ignoring the protests he knew you didn’t mean, using his mischievous fingers to seek out your most sensitive spots. He relished in the way you melted into his touch, let yourself laugh without a care in the world, not at all attempting to conceal how he was setting your nerves alight. Every so often he’d pause his torment to allow you to catch your breath, only to steal it again with a deep, consuming kiss. Most times he did, you managed to distract him long enough to test another spot of his and finding, to your delight, his hips were nearly as ticklish as yours.

He made sure you picked your moments carefully, never above the threat to use his magic to fix you to the bed and turn you into a begging, ticklish mess. “Perhaps another time,” you’d winked before kissing him once more. Loki’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at your agreement, but he filed the permission away to use at a later date if you ever became far too cheeky with him.

Knowing you, intimately acquainted with your battle history, Loki couldn’t blame you for how much you enjoyed the playful game. Especially not after your admission in the cabin - that him tickling you had been the most care anyone’d ever had when physically engaging with you. He’d thought about that a lot, and wondered if you’d still be as keen for this playful game after you learned all the gentle ways he could hold you.

So after you two discovered that you were definitely most ticklish just above your knee, on the sensitive skin of your leg, he relented on his fact-finding tour and wiped a happy tear from your temple before falling beside you and pulling you in close to his him, smiling at how your cheek rested so perfectly on the space where his shoulder met his chest.

He teased you for your dramatic silent-laughter reaction, for how hard you thrashed when he’d dusted his fingers across the skin. How you’d finally begun begging after he’d laid himself across your hips, facing your feet, pinned your knee to the mattress and traced quick fluttering circles all over the soft skin of your inner lower thigh. How you squealed in breathless laughter and helplessly grabbed at his shirt when he trailed five fingers in a blossoming motion, opening and closing, maddeningly lightly against the inside skin of your quivering leg. Loki promised you he’d only use it if you absolutely deserved it.

Then, he silently promised himself, even if it meant you became less keen for this playful game, he’d teach you the kindness of touch.

He didn’t see you as fragile. No. That much was clear. But you’d asked him to teach you things, and you were a quick learner. So as you laid on his chest, he ran his fingers through your hair and tightened an arm around your waist to pull you as close as you could comfortably be. There was a stammering hesitance in the way you’d respond, this affection being so new to you, but you seemed desperate to respond in a way that let Loki know you were happy, here, with him. Still here, with him.

He kissed you, sweetly, on your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids just to make you giggle and then let out a content sigh and ran a soothing hand over your back. Somewhere in the scuffle you’d asked him to conjure you a tank top and shorts; the fine silk was of the gown getting in the way and had tangled around one of your legs. Through the fabric of the clothes he’d placed on you, he felt the tumultuous surface of your skin as it rose and fell with the chronology of your pain.

He knew there’d be more bullet wounds, more gashes from daggers and scimitars, more burns and grazes. But next time it would be different, because he would be there.

You were tenacious, a firecracker, unwilling to sit still or stay on the sidelines. Unwilling to leave so many women out in the world under control of the worst man to walk Midgard. But not one more scar would mar this body, he promised himself. As long as he was there, you’d have no more permanent memories of your hurting. Only of a kind touch. Only of a tender kiss, a wildly ticklish spot, his fingers through your hair as he worked the tension away with every caress.

He couldn’t change time, and he couldn’t change you. In fact, he did not want to change you. But perhaps he could not only teach you the kindness of touch, but, over time, he could teach you arts and languages and that you were so much more worthy of the life you’d been made to live.

And perhaps, over time, he would learn some things too. Such as the depths of you knowing him, the depths of your affections for him. He held you close and breathed you in, still in awe that those two things could go hand-in-hand. It’d always seemed impossible.

Yet, here you were, looking at him like that.

So on the days he was tempted to regress inwards, to deny himself forgiveness and to paint himself as nothing more than a villain, he’d look into your honest eyes and remind himself that here you still here; forgiving him, understanding him, knowing him, and wanting him all the same.

#Loki x reader #ler!loki #loki x reader #loki tickle #loki x you #tickle fluff #lee!reader #loki fluff #marvel fluff #Loki angst #loki x reader angst #loki laufeyson #tickle fic #Ticklish!loki #lee!loki

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babyyweebbitch · 3 years

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S/O covered in scars…

Hi guys! I’m back!

Summary: you have scars everywhere. There isn’t a place on your body that doesn’t have at least one small scar. You have some on your face too which makes you look hella cool.

T/W // talking about scars and trauma

Characters: Chris redfield; Piers Nivans; Ethan Winters x gender neutral reader

Chris Redfield

So when Chris saw your scars for the first time big soft boi hugged you

He felt so bad someone like you, so kind and sweet could have gone through something probably very traumatic

You had this scar across you nose he likes to trace whenever you two just cuddled

He saw the rest of the scars on your body when you two were gonna shower together one day

Chris was shocked at the amount that was on your body. He’s never seen anyone… ANYONE with this many scars

He wanted to know what happened but at the same time he didn’t know if it would bring back bad memories so he just left it alone

You finally did tell him what happened, some of the scars were just you being a stupid kid, the rest was from working in the BSAA for so long and going on life threatening missions. When you said BSAA Chris immediately remembered seeing you a few times before missions or in the hospital

This was one of the reasons you left, the big scar on your chest that looked like a massive X almost killed you so you decided to leave

“Well…. I used to work for the BSAA for about 8 or 9 years, I left once I got this one. I almost died and I didn’t really feel like dying at 30” you showed him the scar on your chest

Chris listened as you told him the stories behind each scar and how much they meant to you. He had a shit ton of respect for you. Not only because you worked with the BSAA, because even he wasn’t tough enough to go through some of the shit you went through — Especially if you’re a woman.

✨———————————————— ✨

Piers nivans

When you two started dating you never EVER wore short sleeved shirts or shorts. Your body from the neck down was always covered

He only knew the scars on your face and Hands Existed

Even during summer you always covered up until he asked you why you did. You finally told him and then showed him every scar on your body

Piers was speechless, he stared at you before getting up to hug you

“You didn’t have to keep this from me… why did you think I’d love you any less? You look badass!”

He meant every word he said, now whenever you two cuddle he likes to trace some scars on your arm or leg. Depending on where his hand is

He never really asked you what happened because judging by the amount and some of the placements — He didn’t wanna bring back any memories for you.

He never made you feel pressured to tell him and you eventually did. It was because of your parents and your old job. You used to fight for money as a teenager to survive and eat dinner. After your parents basically left you, you because homeless at age 13

Piers was honestly absolutely disgusted by your parents and why they could treat their own kid like that!

“I’m so sorry…. I didn’t wanna bring up those memories for you” piers said trying so hard to hide his anger and frustration towards your parents

“It’s fine… I’m completely open about it… But anyway — I remember I got this one from a fight I had with a guy when I was probably 16.” One thing you were good at was changing the subject very fast and turning any moment into a light hearted moment. Especially with Piers so angry.

✨———————————————— ✨

Ethan Winters

If there’s one thing you both have in common are your scars.

He obviously doesn’t have as many as you but he has a pretty decent amount.

But another thing you have in common was that you both were in very similar situations like Louisiana but in different parts of America. You were in north Carolina while he was in Louisiana

You both never really talked about those events because either one of you ended up having a really bad panic attack or something

You two do like to talk about the ones that didn’t come from your version of the incident

Like one on your knee was from a surgery. Another was on your chest area from when you were a kid and you fell out a tree

“So I was climbing and I Apprently lost my balance and fell out the tree!” You laughed, so did he

“Oh jeez — I did something similar when I was a kid but just ending up breaking my arm instead”

You two spent the rest of the night telling stupid stories from your childhood

#resident evil x reader #resident evil #chris redfield x reader #chris redfield #ethan winters #ethan winters x reader #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #resident evil 7 #resident evil biohazard #re x reader #resident evil 6 #resident evil 4 #piers nivans #piers nivans x reader

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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

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A Surrealistic Life (Adrenaline Junkie Part 17)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, derealization, depression, grief, blood, mentions of death, nightmares, panic attacks

Word count: 3,385

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You cried in Philza’s arms for hours on end until you couldn’t cry anymore. Your head was left pounding and your throat scratchy from the loud crying, but you didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore, without Arthur you were nothing. The past two and a half years just- just didn’t exist. Your mind was still reeling, the words ‘will you always be with me?’ echoing through your mind constantly filling you with guilt.

With one last shuddering inhale, you separated yourself from Philza and wiped at the tears that had long since dried on your face. His eyes, vigilant as ever, scanned your form looking for any sign of distress. In his eyes, you saw pity and grief. This angered you, you didn’t need his pity; you were long past the point of pitiful glances. Well, you were, he wasn’t.

You purse your lips as you watch his eyes flick between your wing and where your other wing was supposed to be. Sorrow flashes in his eyes before he looks back at you with a small, painfully fake smile. With one hand, he gently pushes your shoulder down back onto the bed and stands up.

“I’ll be back, you get some rest.”

With the slightest hint of a nod, you watched as he lingered in the doorway before hesitantly walking out of your room. After he left your room, you locked the door behind him. That door remained locked for weeks on end, every knock or attempt at conversation was never answered by you. Their words were nothing but background noise in the back of your mind.

Instead of responding, you would lay in bed staring at the ceiling with unfocused eyes thinking about nothing but everything you’ve lost. Only occasionally you would leave your room to attend to your most basic needs when you were sure that everybody was asleep or out of the house.

The days meshed together as your thoughts consume you in a whirlwind of unorganized messes. Several times, you’ve worked yourself into panic attacks and paranoia filled spiraling because you didn’t know what was real anymore.

Being left alone with your thoughts was something that you always avoided by constantly tinkering with contraptions, your thoughts wandered off to places that greatly disturbed you. But now, you let those thoughts wash over you without a care. Your dreams reflected this; they were plagued with images of Arthur looking up at you with large puppy dog eyes and a large smile before he would be sucked into darkness screaming for you to help him, to do anything, but you were always glued in place leaving you to watch helplessly as he left you over and over again.

Another common one you would have is Arthur getting lost in a bellowing snowstorm in the dead of night. You would be wandering through thick snow calling his name until you would come across a small, pale hand peeking out of an abnormal lump of snow; dread would always fill you during those dreams, it was a parent’s worst nightmare to lose their child.

Other dreams, though very rare, would be pleasant; whether they were about you and Arthur whistling a small tune as you both invented something or a small picnic on the cliff laughing freely into the air, you would always wake up in the mornings prepared to greet him and cook breakfast with him. It wasn’t until you moved your right arm and found that it had limited mobility that you realized that everything was a dream.

You hated those dreams, they always gave you a false sense of hope that everything was okay. Nothing is okay, absolutely nothing.

You refused to believe that… whatever was going on didn’t happen; Philza had said that the last few years had been fake, something that your mind had made up as some form of coping mechanism, but who’s to say that this isn’t a hallucination as well? Both your experiences felt completely different from each other, this reality could be the hallucination for all you knew.

The only thing on your mind was how you needed to get back to Arthur in any possible way you could. If Arthur didn’t exist in this reality, you didn’t want to be in it. You need him and he needs you, you didn’t want to imagine a reality without him. If you got yourself into this by dying, perhaps that was your ticket back to him. Perhaps there was a way to reverse this.

You were going to get your son back, and you were going to die trying.

Until then, you just have to wait out your family. They’d just stop you in the end and you couldn’t have that. You’d have to put on an act that you were perfectly fine and that would entail inventing everything over again, but you were fine with that; if you made it once, you can make it again.

With a newfound sense of purpose, you searched your closet for your old cloak but then you remembered you got your cloak weeks after your first death. Groaning to yourself, you settled for your old bomber jacket. The slits in the back of it wouldn’t cover your nub, so you awkwardly tucked it underneath the fabric of the cloth. It shot pain down your spine, but you shook it off; the pain was something you could handle, you’ve had worse.

Without another thought, you quietly left your room with only one destination in mind.

--------------------------------------------------

You softly padded down the basement stairs towards your workshop. When you arrived at the bottom of the stairs, you paused and looked around. The walls that were once covered with sloppy sketches and words written in two different handwritings, both equally as messy and rushed, were barren for the most part; you forgot that the walls were painted an off white color. Your filing cabinets were gone, replaced with cardboard boxes containing old clothes and toys with thick layers of dust sitting peacefully on top of them. The crafting table sat in the corner of the room wasn’t worn, in fact it looked brand new, not a scratch could be seen on the surface.

Everything was wrong.

You numbly walked over to your desk and picked up the paper that laid on it, holding it up to the light. It was the first draft to your TNT launcher. The sight of the crude, minimal sketches made you cringe, it was far too messy; you had no idea how you could make out what your sloppy handwriting pointed to or what materials were supposed to go where.

You dropped the paper and let it flutter to the floor without a care. Your eyes flickered over the desk and eyed the notebook sitting on top of a stack of spare papers. A spark of hope ignited inside of you, this was the notebook Arthur so often doodled in with different ideas of what could be invented.

You snatched it and flipped the front cover over with haste. A wide smile stretched your lips when you caught sight of the small handwriting that littered the page. It was yours, but you had given it to Arthur so that he could learn and copy from your early years. It was perfect for a blueprint template, neat and organized.

However as you flipped through the book, your smile dropped and the little hope that flared in your chest was snuffed out. You stared at the blank page as frustration built up inside of you. Before you knew it, you threw the notebook at the opposite wall as hard as you could. You were left standing in the middle of the cold basement with your chest heaving and your teeth gritted.

Everything was so wrong. So, so wrong.

You heard footsteps thunder down the stairs before they came to a stop behind you. Hesitant footsteps made their way over to you, you didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was.

“(Y/n)? Is everything-”

“Nothing is okay, Tommy,” you gritted out, “absolutely nothing about this is okay.”

He said nothing as he walked around you and put his hand on your clenched fist, his fingers curling around yours and opening your hand. Your palm stung slightly as you glanced down at it. Four small, crescent shaped cuts were imprinted on your skin slowly starting to glisten with blood.

Huffing, you ripped your hand out of his grasp and glanced at his face. You caught yourself doing a double take as you saw just how innocent he looked. No sign of hidden pain in his shining blue eyes, no scars littering his skin, and the bags that once made him look years older was nonexistent. He was your annoying, gremlin of a little brother again. He was Tommy again.

You watched as his eyebrows furrowed and his head tilted slightly, “why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” you breathed out before you shook your head trying to rid your mind of your frustrations, “no reason at all…”

He awkwardly coughed and nodded slightly, “right…”

You cleared your throat and glanced off to the side at the book laying on the floor. Tommy’s eyes followed where you were looking and went to pick it up. You felt a twinge in your heart as he started to flip through it much like you did earlier. He looked up at you with furrowed brows, “why’d you throw this? What’d the book do to you?” He jokingly asked you.

“It didn’t do anything and that’s the problem,” you mumbled out before you snatched the book out of his hands and tossed it into the trash can.

“Why are you acting so weird? I know you just died and all, but you never let that notebook out of your sight and now you’re just tossing it into the bin!” Tommy fished it out of the trash can and haphazardly placed it back onto your desk on top of the stack of unused paper. You could feel your eye twitch at it’s placement before you threw it away again.

“Leave it there, I don’t want it. I won’t need it anymore anyways,” you murmured under your breath.

“Why wouldn’t you need it- wait, don’t tell me you’re quitting working with redstone. Cuz I’ll have you know that you’re going to be the best goddamned inventor this gods forsaken world has ever known and-”

“I’m not going to quit,” you interrupted him, “trust me, I’ll need whatever I can make. I just… don’t need it anymore, I already know exactly what I need to make.” I can’t stand the sight of Arthur’s notebook so empty and blank your mind supplied yourself.

He tilted his head slightly, “even without the bluepri-”

“Even without the blueprints,” you curtly nodded and automatically turned to look at the bulletin board hanging above your desk only to sigh when you once again saw that it was barren. “I made these things thousands of times before, I know what I’m doing,” your gaze zeroed in on the half finished blueprint for your automatic crossbow, “I’ll just make them again.”

Tommy once again looked at you with furrowed brows and inquisitive eyes, you could just see the curiosity and confusion swimming around in his baby blue orbs, “what do you mean, you literally only have one prototype of everything on here.”

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you, so just drop it.” You hadn’t meant to snap at him like that, but the frustration was just too overwhelming to ignore. Just as you could see him start to get dejected from the corner of your eye, you made quick work of changing the subject.

“You know, I could hear what you said when I wasn’t awake. I really appreciated the music, it was a nice change of pace.”

He tensed before his eyes were drawn to the empty space over your shoulder. His breath hitched slightly as a sorrowful look appeared in his eyes. Looking back at you, he grabbed your shoulder and pulled you into a tight hug. You didn’t struggle against him despite your frustrations, you knew he needed you right now. You could still remember how broken he was when you were unconscious. The way his lip wobbled slightly before he hugged you reminded you of Arthur.

You gently hugged him back and wrapped your wing around him. He gripped you tighter, his breath shuddering as wetness started to hit your head. You said nothing as you started to hum and run your fingers along his back tracing out patterns without a particular one in mind.

Eventually, he pulled away from you and chuckled sardonically, wiping his tears away with a fist, “you’re the one who died and I’m the one being comforted. Gods, it’s pathetic.”

“It’s okay to feel emotions, Tommy. You should never bottle them up, it sounded like you needed a good hug anyways. I’m happy to give you that,” you softly told him.

He said nothing as he crossed his arms and shifted on his feet, avoiding your gaze. For a moment, your tall brother was replaced by a short, red haired boy wearing that same expression. You purse your lips in thought, your previous frustrations completely gone and replaced with an urge to comfort him or at least distract him. Though a deep sadness dragged your body down at the thought of Arthur, Tommy just reminded you too much of him. It was eerily uncanny in your opinion.

Ideas swarmed your head as you thought back to how you comforted Arthur when he fell down. Besides talking to him, you would always teach him something; knowledge to Arthur is- was like a sponge absorbing water. It gave him a distraction to whatever got him down, maybe that would work for Tommy as well.

Wordlessly, you walked over to your desk and gestured for him to follow you. You plopped him into your office chair and pulled one of the cardboard boxes up to the desk. In the process, you grabbed your gloves, goggles, and everything you would need to set up a simple timed piston. The smallest spark of happiness flashed inside you as you saw that your resources were fully stocked.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, Tommy, I’m going to show you how to set up one of my favorite redstone mechanisms. Put these on,” you handed him the gloves and goggles and watched as he put them on. The goggles were a bit small on him, but besides that, everything fit him.

“Now, you’re going to want to…”

--------------------------------------------------

Hours passed as you both worked together on the contraption. Slowly, you could see Tommy loosening up and making more jokes, successfully distracted. However, you didn’t expect yourself to follow suit. Laughter came easier to you whenever Tommy would joke around, your troubles long forgotten.

It took a little longer than you were used to, but eventually Tommy started to follow along with the precision you’d expect from a beginner. Slowly but surely, with many mistakes along the way, there was a working piston system sitting on the desk.

Tommy triumphantly laughed into the air as he watched the pistons work in tandem with one another. You laughed alongside him and ruffled his hair, “nice job, Artie! I knew you could do it!”

Tommy completely stopped and looked at you in confusion, “‘Artie’? Who’s that?”

You completely froze in place, you hadn’t meant to call him Artie. He was Tommy, he was your blond little brother, not your ginger son. Tommy was his own person, he was Tommy, not Arthur. You mentally scolded yourself for constantly mixing the two up.

“Artie is- well, he’s just… Arthur is my old friend,” you stammered out after tripping over your words clumsily. Tommy couldn’t find out about Arthur, nobody could. That’d just ruin your plan.

He snorted, “sure, ‘old friend’. You know, if Dad finds out that you’re dating someone he’d ground you for life.”

“I’d never date anybody, you know that,” you scolded him with your nose wrinkled in disgust. “He’s just an old friend and you remind me of him.”

“Well, old friend or not, he sounds amazing if I remind you of him!”

You smiled sadly as your mind flashed to images of Arthur at various points in his life, “he really was, you would’ve loved him, Tommy. He might’ve been the best person I’ve ever met.”

“Why don’t you tell me about him? I can preen your wings-” Tommy abruptly stopped himself and looked like he’d just accidentally kicked a puppy, looking at you with wide eyes and red tinted cheeks.

Just as he started opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, you chuckled at his expression, “you’re fine, Tommy. It’s just going to take some time for you to get used to this,” you shifted your wing and cringed at the uncomfortable feeling. You haven’t preened your wings since before you left for the cave nearly two months ago, and your wing was a mess of bent and loose feathers. “I’d… actually like a good preening, are you sure you know how to do it?”

“Please,” he scoffed before pushing you to sit down in your desk chair, “I’ve seen you and Dad do it to each other thousands of times, I think I know what I’m doing.”

“That isn’t how that- you know what? Just go ahead. Make sure you get any loose feathers and straighten them out,” you stretched your wing out and hoped for the best. Tommy surprisingly did a decent job of straightening out feathers, he just had to work on distinguishing loose feathers from intact feathers (you were now missing a couple of smaller feathers).

The entire time, you were telling him how amazing your boy was. Sure, you might’ve overexaggerated just a little bit, but Arthur was certainly someone that deserved the praise. That kid was something else, truly a prodigy at both redstone and compassion. Leaving out the fact that Arthur was your adopted son and that he was ten years old was a little hard, but you managed to avoid that.

You could tell that Tommy knew something was different about you, but you guessed that he just assumed the changes were because of your death and not because you were technically two and a half years older than you physically are.

When he was done, you looked at your wing and you were pleasantly surprised at how well he did; sure there were a few loose feathers and they were partially crooked, but you could tell that Tommy did his best with them.

“Thanks, Toms,” you smiled at him after you tucked your wing back in, “I really appreciate you doing that, it was starting to bother me.”

“It’s no problem,” he puffed out his chest in pride, “I told you I knew what I was doing.”

“And I’m sorry for ever doubting you. Who knows, maybe Dad’ll let you do his wings next.”

“Oh gods no,” Tommy shuddered slightly, “his are massive and he has two of them! If doing yours took me an hour and a half, I’d hate to see how long it’d take me to do his.”

You cringed, remembering the last time you preened his wings. Though you were experienced, it had taken you two full hours for each wing. “Yeah, his wings are huge. Gods, I hope my wing doesn’t get to be that size.” Though they grew to be nowhere near Philza’s wingspan when you were in that reality, you weren’t sure if yours was going to be larger or smaller than what they were.

Just as Tommy was about to open his mouth to respond to you, Wilbur’s voice echoed down the stairwell, “Tommy, dinnertime!”

“Well c’mon then, let’s go. I’ll race you there,” was all Tommy said to you before he bolted up the stairs with a booming laugh, skipping every third step. You could feel your heart stop when he almost tripped on one of the stairs because he skipped too many. Rushing after him, you shouted at him, “Tommy, walk! You’re going to break your neck if you keep running up and down the stairs!”

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

OH ANTONI 🥺🥺🥺 my poor baby. I hope he will find it within himself to come clean to Jake or SOMEONE about this :((((

(((ALSO CANT WAIT FOR MORR))))

One Two Three Four Five Six

CW: Wound cleaning, burns, touch aversion, aftermath of torture, BBU, conditioned fucky headspace

"Lift your chin for me," she commands, and he doesn't really remember that he could choose not to obey.

Antoni dutifully shifts, his eyes moving to roam over a line of framed photographs along the wall behind her. A wedding photo, faded with time, a much, much younger version of the woman currently dabbing a cotton ball dipped in something cold and stinging to the fresh burn on his throat with a man he's never seen. The two of them are smiling, holding hands, looking right into the camera.

Bright white wedding dress turned cream with yellowing paper, with time, covered in lace. Powder-blue tuxedo. Brilliant smiles.

She touches the cotton ball to his skin and he hisses, hands tightening where they grip the edges of the chair he's sitting on. The sting rockets through him, only a pale echo of the original pain, but it's enough.

It's enough.

Fuck, that's hot.

He catches the sob before it can leave his throat, forces the burn behind his eyes to stay there and not turn into tears. He will not cry over this again.

Not now.

"There we go, just a bit more," She says, her voice gruffly compassionate. She presses a small rounded bandage against his throat, her fingertips are warm against his neck.

His skin crawls at even this slight, indirect touch, but he doesn't protest.

He wouldn't dare.

"All done. That's not s'bad, I think with a good bandaging it won't scar half so bad as all its little friends down south," She mutters, more to herself than him, really.

Where her fingers touch, he feels the echoes of other hands around his throat. Thicker fingers, heavy with rings. Smiling down at him.

Beg for me, love.

"Please-" It's automatic. He's drifting, in and out of this old kitchen that still looks like it must have looked thirty years ago, when the man in the wedding photo would still be here maybe cooking or cleaning or chatting up a storm to anyone who popped by for a visit.

"Hm? You say something, sweetheart?" Miss Ruth looks at him, and those dark eyes are shrewd. They know more than anyone is supposed to, they know things Nat hasn't told her. Hasn't had to.

"Ah, no," He whispers. "Just. I am very tired."

"No doubt. I'll finish these up and you can get back to your own bed and no doubt you'll be glad to get there." She looks him over, and his eyes dance to hers and away again. Back to the photos.

He sees a family photo, the two people from before and a daughter and son. Everyone is smiling, looking carefully just off to the side. They wear matching outfits.

"Get a look at 'em?"

There's a 35th wedding anniversary picture with a big banner behind the happy couple. The two people, much older, stand in front a cake nearly as tall as they are, surrounded by others. Everyone in the photo smiles in sort of the same way.

The next photo is a birthday, he thinks. There's a boy and a young baby in the photo, and the man from wedding and anniversary photo isn't there. Miss Ruth, holding her grandbaby he thinks, is wearing all black. The photo was taken in a church, and there's a spray of white lilies just visible at the edge of the picture.

Another, with Jaden, who Chris plays basketball with. The kid who more or less effortlessly opened his life for Chris when Chris badly needed a friend his own age, or closer to it, to remember what being a kid was like.

He is reading, in images, the story of this woman's adult life. Marriage, and death, and birth. Children. Life going on.

A life he won't have, that he gave up every possibility of having, because of... of whatever is inside him that Mr. Davies knew about, that the people who just hurt him could see in him even though he cannot see it himself.

He must look like someone who deserves to be hurt.

"Young man." She taps on the back of his hand and he flinches, blinking at her, struggling to pull himself out of his reverie. Her words filter through his mind, shift into the language all his thoughts are moving in, come back out in hers. He swallows, feeling a lump in his throat that refuses to move.

"I'm... sorry," He says softly, with difficulty. "I did not hear."

"I can tell. I asked did you get a good look at whoever did this to you." Her eyes roam over his chest, his stomach. The circle of new burns, placed so carefully compared to the haphazard placement Mr. Davies had favored, no pattern at all. "Looks like they took their damn time, anyway, to get you so much."

"N-... no." Antoni's eyebrows furrow, and he tries to think, but all he can remember is their hands holding the lit cigarettes, the quiet one touching his face, ruffling his hair. He can't... he can't remember their faces at all. "I am sorry."

You're fucking gorgeous, buddy, you know that?

"Hm." If she's disappointed in him, nothing changes about her expression, still held in a kind of skeptical compassion as she wets a new cotton ball in liquid from a small frosted plastic bottle and touches it to each burn, one by one, in the circle. It's like a ritual, the sting, washing away a bit of sin with each hint of pain. He clothes his eyes and breathes carefully through it.

When he is done, each circle covered with a bandage that is shades darker than his skin, she steps back to look him over, critically. She steps away and he takes in deep breaths free of her air, the powdery scent of her. He breathes in her absence, no one nearby.

She returns with a washcloth and he takes it, scrubs at his face until his cheeks are red but clean, until you can't tell anymore that he cried while they burned him.

Good boy.

"You can stay here," She says, voice low now. "Sleep it off for a while. I've got a guest room."

"No. No, I will go home. Thank you. I will... I want to go home." He looks out the kitchen window right at Nat's house next door. No lights are on... yet. But there isn't much time before they will be.

"Fair enough. You plan to tell 'em what happened to you?"

He looks back at her, searches for the judgement, finds none.

"No," He says. Confesses, really, his sin. "I will not."

I will lie to them.

"That's your choice to make, I suppose." She lays a hand on his arm. He doesn't pull away from her. He wants to unzip himself from his skin and step out of it, let them all have what they seem to want to touch so much.

Instead, he holds himself perfectly still, until she pats him a few times and steps away again.

"I've done what I can do. You come back over here tomorrow or the day after and we'll look 'em over again and make sure they're healing up nice, you got me?"

"Yes," He says. He is good. He can be good.

"Right. Off you go, then, before your people wake up and you get to come up with a story about why you're in an old widow's house at 4:30 in the morning, hm? You're pretty enough, but you're no Wilbur." She laughs to herself, a dry and crackly sound, and he thinks that her laugh was the sort that could set a whole crowd to laughing, when she was young.

It still is.

The corners of his mouth twitch in an answering smile.

"Yes, ma'am," he says, and pushes himself off the edge, standing up again. No one has seen his scars, no one but this old neighbor woman who looks at them like they are simply part of living, not something to be pitied. "I go. S-... thank you."

"Paugh." She scoffs, waves a hand in dismissal. "Go on, now. You've thrown off my morning coffee time. Tell your young man that Jaden will be over this afternoon."

She all but shoos him out the door, and the air is clear and clean and quiet. The only dirty thing is Antoni himself, smudged and mussed, still feeling in his scalp the prickles of Quiet One's hands, still feeling on his arms the sharp pressure of the shirt tied around his wrists.

Still aware of every single burn under the slight pull of the bandages pressed over them, the gentle sting that feels like a return to how he was always meant to be.

Even the walk from one yard to another feels like too much. Antoni's eyes move over the empty darkened windows of the houses all around him. How obvious he must be, if three people saw him in the darkness and knew him for a pet pretending to be human.

He shouldn't have left, shouldn't have gone on those walks. He'd left himself open and vulnerable, hadn't he? His scars are deeper than skin, and they must shine like the streetlights to anyone who knows what to look for.

Antoni stops at the porch, where he carefully lifts a loose bit of board from the porch railing, finds the small box hidden inside. The slightest scrape of metal on metal as he pulls off the lid makes him freeze, but no one is awake to hear it. He takes the contents of the box, moves it quickly back to its hiding place, replaces the board.

Like nothing ever happened.

Everything can be made as good as new, as long as it isn't him.

He slips inside the safehouse, where everything is still quiet, in the silent inhale that comes before the exhalation of morning. The clock in the kitchen reads 4:45, fifteen minutes until Jake's alarm will go off, until he - and likely Chris - will stir.

Fifteen minutes for Antoni get upstairs and look so deeply asleep that no one will realize he was ever gone.

No time to shower.

He will have to sleep with the grime of their hands still ground deep into every single pore. He will sleep with Deep Voice's we know what you are in his ears, with Quiet One's fingers tangled in his hair, running over his skin. He will sleep with Lookout's eyes locked on his chest as he presses the cigarette in.

Antoni hasn't worn a collar in years now, but he buckles it on, just one notch too tight like Mr. Davies would have, and climbs under the covers, pulling them over his head.

He breathes in as deep as he can, to feel the constriction. Breathes out, and runs his hand up over his chest, over the bandages that cover his burns.

They knew what he was.

Everyone always will.

Good boy.

The ashtray falls asleep humming a lullaby, afraid that if he pulls the blankets back down he will see bars on the windows.

#antoni sings lullabies #aftermath of injury #caretaker and whumpee #fucky headspace #bbu #box boy #box boy universe #pet whump #internal dehumanization #(a little bit)#touch aversion #touch averse #recovering whumpee #wound cleaning #hurt/comfort #angst #angst angst angst #come get y'all angst #whump

118 notes · View notes

atsukashii · 3 years

Note

Hi! I love your writing so very much 🥰

For the event, could I possibly get: Tirza x Midoriya + she/her pronouns + ☀️ + green

Thank you thank you 🥺💕☺️

how long do I have to wait how many nights do I have to pass

✘ he was the one who got away, but now the number one pro hero has returned to japan, and come home to you

✘ GENRE: fluff

✘ WARNINGS: none

✘ WORD COUNT: 1.4k

To the world the name Izuku Midoriya was synonymous with the pro hero Deku. But to you, Izuku Midoriya is synonymous with sorrow, desperation and hurt. To you, Izuku Midoriya is the one who got away.

You’d been by his side since elementary school, where Katsuki Bakugou had coined the name Deku, which caught on in the opposite way than what he had initially intended it to be interpreted. You had been friends with the shy, hero crazed boy who had helped you draw your hero costume and equipment when you had decided you both were going to be pro heroes. You had been by his side as this quirk he was supposedly ‘born-with’ had manifested. And you knew, from the moment you saw All Might talking to him, just who’s quirk he had inherited.

You had been by Izuku’s side from your earliest memories, and you had loved him for as long as you could remember. You’d loved him for so long, and you were planning on telling him the moment you had finished your studies but never got the chance, because he’d left for the U.S a day later, working at an agency courtesy of Professor David Shield. And you had let him go, and took your heart with him.

Those six months had turned into three years, and now he was back.

“Can you please at least say hello to him? That’s all I'm asking here,” Your friend Ochako pleads from next to you, and you finally turn away from the bar to face her. You had been dragged out to a bar by your friend, only to discover the whole thing was an official ‘welcome home’ party for your first love that you hadn’t seen in years. So you’d reacted like any mature person, and hidden amongst all the bodies at the bar, cradling the same glass of water because you had work tomorrow and couldn’t afford to turn up hungover.

“I will,” you reply, looking over across the room at the green haired man laughing along with a bunch of your old high school friends. You give Ochako a pointed look as you swirl back around on your stool. “Later.”

“For fucks sake, even Bakugou is over there. Ba-ku-gou!” She combats, waving her hands to emphasise her point.

“Good for him.” She huffs out a breath of frustration at your antics but really, you don’t want an audience when you first talk to him, because you don’t know what is going to come out of your mouth. Will it be what your heart wants to say, that you missed him every single minute he was gone, or your head, where you’ll just simply say welcome back and move on with your life. You weren’t willing to take that gamble in front of your closest friends.

“Go have fun, I’ll talk to him later, I promise.” You swear, and even hold out your pinky which makes your friend let out a shocked laugh.

“Why don’t I believe you?” she asks, and you simply shrug, watching as she shifts through the crowd towards the table and the star of honour. The minute you know you’re out of eyesight and earshot, you leave your glass on the table, grab your jacket and sneak out the side door of the complex. Inhaling the chilled night air, you hesitate in the alleyway of the bar, letting yourself revel in the silence of the outside world. Getting used to having Izuku was going to take a while, especially considering he would no doubt be visiting his mother, who still lives next door to your own. You could never escape him, and why should that change even if you want it to? You only take a step further into the alleyway before the door bangs open behind you.

“Y/n?” His voice is deeper than you remembered it, but then again, he had been only a high school graduate when you’d spoken to him last. Slowly you turn around to face him, taking in Izuku’s face one inch at a time. Freckles still dusted his nose and cheekbones, and those deep emerald green eyes still glowed like sea glass - stop, you mentally plead. Don’t go down this road.

“I thought it was you. I saw Uraraka talking to you at the bar, and I wanted to see you before you left.” He’s taller too. You’d been the same height through most of your schooling, but now he towered over you by at least a foot. As Izuku stops under the dim light on the wall, you notice the undercut he now has and hate how it makes goosebumps break out on your skin.

“How have you been?” He asks, one of his hands clutching his other wrist in a nervous tick that holds your attention. How have you been? How have you been… miserable, lonely, lovesick, missing you… but you can’t say that. So instead you muster all the confidence in you to tell him the opposite, that you’ve been fine.

“I-” Your voice breaks on the word and you feel the world around you freeze. Your heartbeat echoes through your head and the happiness on Izuku’s face shatters and pain flickers to life in his eyes as he looks at you. A scarred hand reaches up and gently caresses your cheek and only then do you notice that you’re crying.

And the moment you recognise their existence, your chest heaves and you burst at the seems. The gruttal sob that leaves your lips has Izuku lunging forward and bringing you into his arms. Burying your face into his chest, you don’t try to stop what you’re feeling, and just let it run its course as you listen to him talk.

“I’m so sorry Tirza.” He repeats over and over like a mantra, softly running his hand over your hair whilst holding you close to his chest. Once your sobs cease and your tears slow do you finally trust yourself to talk.

“I missed you,” you get out, stepping out of embrace so that you can look at him properly, and gage his every reaction. If you’re going to get your heart ripped out, you’d at least like to try and see it coming.

“I missed you so much, but I couldn’t tell you. I missed you, but I was so proud and happy for you, because you were doing what you loved and even though I loved you, I didn't want to try and take you away from what you were born to do.” You try to explain, knowing you're making a mess of it all, but still trying to get it all off your chest. Izuku’s green eyes blink at you owlishly for a second, and fear enters your body for a second. But only for a second.

Because in the next, Izuku has your hand in one of his, and his lips on your own. Your eyes widen in surprise at the sudden affection, and you carefully place your hands on his shirt to push him away? To pull him closer? You’re unsure, but when he finally pulls back and looks down at you with so much adoration, your heart almost stops in your chest.

“I’m so sorry I left. I wanted to tell you how I felt back in highschool, but then I got offered a placement in the U.S. I almost didn’t take it too, but then I knew you would kick my ass if I didn’t,” Izuku rambles and you nod, knowing fully well that you would have. “And then I was going to come back after six months but they asked me to stay longer, and then I came to visit, but your mother said you hadn’t been back home since you graduated.” You cringe at the memory, knowing you hadn’t gone back because you didn’t want to be asked about him.

“But I get it.” Izuku finishes, pushing your stray hair back from your face. “It’s the same reason I went and sat on the beach when I missed home.” Because across it was you. “I’ve loved you since I was in middle school, and I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.” You let out a shocked laugh at his words, which turns into a soppy one as you grin at the man in front of you. He was home, that’s all you’d wanted, and now it was staring you in the face. Him. It had always been him.

“I love you Izuku. So so much.” You say, crying into your laughter as he joins you.

“We’re idiots for waiting this long,” He groans, leaning his head on your shoulder, and another laugh slips from your mouth, but one that actually has you smiling.

“The biggest idiots to ever live.”

a/n: Thank you for your kind words anon, you get a big MWUAH from me :) i didn't mean for this to have an angsty start, but oops... also i think these are getting longer and longer. Note to self, you can't write short drabbles for shit. Looks like its full length fics for me

✘ EVENT STATUS : OPEN ✘

#special event 🧚‍♀️✨#lols writes #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya x you #izuku midoriya fluff

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eloquent-vowel · 3 years

Text

Part 4 "Type of" Bucky x OFC (#043)

Description: After two years of upgrades, #043 is finally woken up permanently. Just in time for her fight with the Winter Soldier.

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Slow burn, very much a slow burn. Bucky Barnes x OFC, Winter Soldier X OFC

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoy the first meeting between #043 and the Winter Soldier. <3

Part 3

The lights were bright. Too bright, the ceiling was blindingly white and it burned. The light burned. Her eyes were dry, so dry, blinking hurt but having her eyes open hurt.

Everything was loud, not everything, some things were quiet, the things that were loud were meant to be quiet. The buzzing of the air conditioner, the static sound of electricity, footsteps that sounded close but felt far away. It was overwhelming but she couldn't speak, there was something in her mouth.

A high pitched whine filled her ears, they began to ring, louder and louder, until it drowned out the buzzing.

"#043, you have finally woken up."

The ringing in her ears ceased and she could now hear the chatter in the room. A face blocked the light from her eyes, a familiar one.

"It is likely you don't remember but you have been up before." Dr. Leeb began to fiddle with some restraints on her wrists. "We had to wake you up to test if the enhancements worked. It may have taken two years but I believe we have made the latest breakthrough in mechanical enhancements."

#043 was finally able to sit up, disorientated and confused. She had never seen the room she was in yet it felt familiar. White walls and medical equipment surrounded her, there were a couple of men in white coats chatting by the door.

"You are a stunning success #043, almost enough to atone for your previous mistakes." Dr. Leeb undid the restraints on her ankles, as #043 sat up to face him. "Now I want you to do something for me. Listen to the men over there." He pointed to the men in lab coats. "You can't hear them now but perhaps if you just focused, you may be able to."

#043 didn't quite know what focusing your hearing felt like but she did was Dr. Leeb said and focused. Her ear began to burn slightly as she focused in but eventually she could hear the two men talking as clear as day.

"... chip in the Occipital and Frontal lobes, replacement of the Stapes, enhanced prosthetics and enhanced senses, what type of monster is..."

#043 tuned out, before nodding at Dr. Leeb.

"What were they talking about, dear?"

"Me." She paused before staring right at the Doctor. "What did you do to me?"

"We have simply made you better now! Enhanced sight and hearing. I upgraded you prosthetics to fit your fully grown form and added some extra bonuses in them! #043, click your heels together."

#043 slowly stood up from the bed, Dr. Leeb seemed much smaller than she remembered. Her knees almost gave out when she put her full weight on them but she caught herself on the IV pole beside her.

"We haven't got all day!"

Struggling, #043 balanced herself the clicked her heels together. There was a slight hissing noise and two small blades perturbed from her feet, from the heel on her left leg and the toe of the right. She clicked her heels again and they retracted.

"Brilliant aren't they. Come on now, its time for you to get used to these new legs and then it is time for you to fully atone."

Although he wasn't mentioned by name #043 knew that her atonement was in the hands of The Winter Soldier.

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The Soldier stood on the edge of the fighting ring. It was a large concrete circle with walls built up around it, high enough to prevent escape but low enough to allow scientists to stare at him from above. He knew little of why he was here, other than to fight yet another contender. He was tired, tired of the endless fighting, he always won in the end and those who would lose to him would be taken away for more enhancements or to be disposed of.

For this fight, however, there was a palpable tension in the air as the men above him whispered to each other. He was unarmed, except for a small knife which he was currently flipping between his hands. He was unsure how long it had been, how long he had been waiting for but just has the knife in his hands flipped at the fastest it could the doors on the other side of the chamber opened.

The doors parted to reveal a tall figure, probably as tall as him. She was dressed in a similar fashion to him, black vest and her hair pushed out of her face. The Soldier analysed his opponent. She rivalled him in stature, and her eyes were just as sharp as his as he saw her sizing him up as well.

His eyes flicked down to her legs, he felt his arm whirr slightly as he recognised the same mechanics used in both her legs. They were made of interlocking metal parts that glinted in the florescent lights, with every step she took there was a slight whirring as the metallic joints folded over each other.. Her right leg still had her own knee and was made of metal from there down in contrast her left has an artificial knee joint that clacked slightly when she straightened it, the metal plates going far enough up to just brush her hip.

He walked towards her until they met in the middle. He was right, she was the same height as him and almost as broad. Once she was closer to him, he saw that her shoulder's were littered with scars. They were uniform and regular in their placement, perhaps they were a weak spot of hers? He followed her arms down to see the knuckle dusters clasped in her fists. He looked down at his small knife, this was to be a game of wits as well as strength.

All in all he saw her as a threat, he knew he would have to avoid her legs. Now that she was close enough he looked right into her eyes. They were empty. While her eyes moved over him in a clearly assessing way there was nothing behind them. She was devoid of emotion, his heart beat loudly in his ears as he felt pity. Pity and sympathy. A voice came over the intercom

"#043 meet the Winter Soldier, Soldier meet #043."

They nodded at one another.

"#043, you are to defeat the Winter Soldier. This is the only way you may become Eris. Make me proud, my dear, destroy him."

The Soldier looked as the empty eyes of #043 turned from emotionless to anger, she gave no warning before she attacked.

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It wasn't personal, the Soldier was just a target. #043 thought as she launched forwards. Despite not remembering the past two years her movements were the same as always. Chaotic and destructive. She felt her arms moving before her brain and watched as the Soldier jumped to block her.

The two super soldiers battered at each other. #043 felt her arm getting bruised each time she countered the metallic arm. She stared into the eyes of the soldier and he stared back each trying to predict the others moves. They danced around each other. Exchanging pummel after pummel, the brass knuckles caught the Soldier's temple, tearing it. In retort the knife caught #043's cheek. Blood flowed down her cheekbone and she paused.

The Soldier paused too.

They stood for a moment, fists still raised, eyes still locked. There was a hint of recognition that passed between them. A familiarity of shared experience, a moment of finding someone who could finally understand.

"Do I need to remind you what will happen if you lose this #043."

It was enough for #043 to be spurred into action once more. The Soldier was immediately back on the defensive as she attacked him continuously. He couldn't predict a pattern in her blows. She seemed to move with no thought, no direction other than to harm. Her legs kicked out with shattering force and he soon learned it was better to dodge than block. She was unrelenting, while his body was not as tired as hers his mind was beginning to lag. He had to focus, he had no time to switch to the offensive. He had to wait, to wait for her to get tired, for her to slip up.

She punched, he parried. She kicked to his chest, he sidestepped, His eyes narrowed. She was going to kick, with her left, no RIGHT. A deafening clang rang out as he blocked her leg with his arm. Her foot was an inch away from his head. They were both breathing heavily, neither of them having fought someone as similar to the other. Once more their eyes met, the Soldier hesitated- under all the anger and hatred in her eyes was a desperation- fear. She was scared. Not of him. Of consequence, of losing.

She began to push against his arm. The scrape of metal against metal sent shiver's down #043's spine. But she kept pushing, she couldn't lose, she refused to. She grunted out at the effort it took to break the Soldier's guard. She gritted her teeth, she felt his arm give way, she relaxed and was swiftly thrown off balance by the Soldier throwing her leg away. He took the opportunity to run at her.

She was now on the defensive. Using her arms to block in coming knife swipes. Using her legs to parry his own kicks. She tried to get a jab in. Only to have the knife slash across her knuckles, causing her to drop on of her brass knuckles. They clanged against the floor, forgotten as she had to double her efforts to concentrate. She ignored the shooting pain over her hand and continued to block punch after punch.

#043 was tiring. She knew this. He knew it. She felt him doubling his efforts to trap her. Sweat was dripping down her brow. Her usual ability to predict her opponents movements was gone, her brain too focused on surviving. The Soldier drew closer. She blocked a final jab with the knife but he grabbed her. He grabbed her wrists and twisted. She dropped the other brass knuckle. He pulled her close, twisted so that her back was to his chest, and placed his metal arm around her throat. He squeezed.

"Yield." His voice was quiet in her ear, low enough so that Dr. Leeb would not hear.

She struggled, clawing at his arm. She thought of Dr. Leeb, of the chair, of consequences. Black spots began to dance around her vision. She would not go out like this. She focused on her left leg. The chip in her brain that lead directly to her left leg. She really did not want to be disposed of.

Dr. Leeb watched with barely veiled excitement as #043 let out a guttural scream. He watched as her left leg began to twist, it rotated against her skin until it was facing backwards, the foot facing the Winter Soldier. The leg reared back, unnoticed and kicked. Dr. Leeb laughed as that single kick dislocated the soldier's knee. The Soldier loosened his grip and she escaped. They faced each other once again.

The ache in her leg was almost impossible to ignore as it twisted back to the right place. Much to her annoyance the soldier was still standing. They were both breathless, bloody and bruised.

The Soldier grimaced before snapping his knee back into place, he had given enough for it to be considered a fair fight. It was time to end this fight.

They both moved at once. Their dance resumed. This time they were both switching from attacking and defending every other hit. #043 began to launch a series of kicks. The Soldier kept deflecting them. She knew she was becoming predictable but every inch of her hurt. Her knuckles were bleeding. Spraying red droplets everywhere as she continued to punch. In desperation she began to launch a final switch kick. It felt obvious, she saw the soldier's eyes flick to her feet. He knew what she was going to do. It was too late to change. She launched her right leg towards the Solder's temple. He raised his arm.

There was a thud as the Soldier hit the floor. Unconscious.

#043 blinked. He had seen it coming. He had raised to block it. Had he been tired? Was he too slow? Her win felt wrong. She stood frozen over his form. She had won. She was Free. She was Eris. So why wasn't she happy?

"What type of monster have you created Dr. Leeb?"

Dr. Leeb turned to face the General, a joyous smile on his face.

"I have created an unstoppable tide of chaos, General. I have created Eris."

Part 5

#marvel #hydra #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x original female character #bucky x oc #bucky fic #angst #avengers #eventual fluff #winter soldier #winter soldier x oc #bucky barnes one shot #sebastian stan #hydra are assholes #eloquent-vowel #043 #slow burn

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whumpingcrow · 3 years

Text

Ink Poisoning - Chapter 2

Shiny New Toy

CW: BBU and everything in relation to that, drugs/alcohol, party themes/setting, tattoo whump, creepy whumper, scar mention, noncon/dubcon touching, crying, nightmares, bathing, lady whump, noncon drugging, vomit mention (let me know if I missed anything!)

The first thing that Nicko noticed about his box boy was how nice his skin was. He realized how creepy and serial killer-ish that seemed, but it only stemmed from an artistic place, for the most part he wasn't trying to be creepy. He had ordered him that way, to be as pale and smooth as possible. He did have a couple scars around his wrists, what looked like maybe he’d had too tight shackles or ropes there once, and some on his face, around his mouth. But besides that, he looked brand new, despite being recalled, or whatever. Nicko didn’t particularly enjoy the fact that his boxie was used, but it was so much cheaper that way. And so far, in the week and a half that he’d had him, it didn't seem like it mattered that he'd been sent back.

Nicko wasn’t home when he was delivered, he’d gone out to get new art supplies while Rory sat in his living room to wait for him. She had been coming over a lot, recently, unannounced and for long amounts of time. Nicko hoped she wasn’t wanting to move in with him. It was starting to bother him having to entertain her constantly, but right then he was glad that she had been there. Who knows how long the poor boxie would’ve had to wait in that box out in the snow if she hadn’t been. When Nicko got back, Rory had already given him a shower and gone through Nicko’s closet to get him clothes, and she was combing his wet hair out of his face when Nicko walked in. He looked so terrified, his shoulders high and tense and his eyes huge in restrained panic.

Rory took a liking to the boxie right from the beginning, Nicko suspected they might’ve had some sort of bonding moment when Rory let him out of the box and showered him and gave him clothes. Weirdly enough, Nicko didn’t mind so much. When he first noticed it, he was annoyed and jealous that this frail, falling apart at the seams boxie was getting more attention from his girlfriend than he was. But then he realized it wasn’t that bad, that when Rory came over now and Nicko had enough of her, he could stick her in a room with his box boy and they would keep each other busy.

Three days after he got there, Rory decided he needed a name. Nicko had been working on a piece in the kitchen, some dumb still life painting for class, and Rory walked in, her timid friend trailing closely behind her. He saw Nicko, sitting straight in the chair and putting those vibrant colors onto the huge white canvas, and he shuffled right up to him and sank down to his knees at Nicko's feet. That was another reason Nicko didn’t mind how much Rory liked to play house with the boxie, because they all knew who he was loyal to, they all knew who signed the papers and who was in charge of him. And when he did things like this, like groveling at Nicko’s feet and looking at him with wide, nervous puppy dog eyes, it made Nicko high on power.

“I thought of a good name for him,” Rory announced. Nicko turned to look at her, at how she leaned against the wall lazily, eyes droopy and words slurred. She was high, she was always high and Nicko really hated it. He told her all the time how much he hated it, she just never seemed to care. “What do you think about Giovanni? Gio for short.”

Nicko looked down at his boxie, who was now swaying just a little, looking a little pale. When Nicko’s hand found his wavy brown hair, he closed his eyes tight and pressed against the touch for the split second it was there, then he deflated as it was pulled away. “Giovanni,” Nicko repeated thoughtfully, “Yeah, it’s cute. Suits him.” With that, he lowered his paintbrush and smeared some red onto Gio’s nose, laughing at how shocked he looked. Giovanni looked up at Nicko, saw him laughing, and a tiny grin slipped onto his face. Nicko liked the way red looked against his pale skin.

The first time Nicko tattooed him, Giovanni cried. He didn’t move around or try to stop Nicko or make any sounds, he was perfectly behaved the entire time. Nicko was entranced, the needle was sliding across his skin smoothly, the dark ink looked so striking against his skin, and Giovanni was so good and still, he got lost in the moment. He had been working on it for probably a good two hours before he noticed Gio crying. Nicko didn’t say anything, simply pulled his hands off of him and looked back over his work. Maybe he should have opted for something smaller, and in a less sensitive spot, allow Gio to ease into the stinging pain of the needle before starting this huge, intricate bouquet on his ribcage. It was looking incredible, though, and Nicko had to finish it.

He glanced up at Giovanni, who was staring up at the ceiling with huge tears slipping down the sides of his face and into his hair, his bottom lip trembling as he took in tiny, shaking breaths. Nicko laughed softly at him, drawing Gio’s attention to him. When he realized Nicko was watching him cry, he frantically reached up and swiped away his tears.

“It’s ok,” Nicko said softly, “crying’s normal. I’ve seen grown men sob like babies in these chairs. You’re doing great, Gio. Just keep still, like you’ve been doing.”

Giovanni took a deep breath, then smiled at Nicko through his teary eyes. “O-Ok…”

Nicko felt a certain thrill when he tattooed Giovanni. Something about it was different than getting paid to do one, than having to sit in front of a bossy customer who would whine about it the entire time. Giovanni belonged to Nicko, he didn’t have a say in what markings were put on his body, he just had to shut up and take it. It also felt so much better, physically. Giovanni’s fragile ribs underneath Nicko’s hands, tensing occasionally as he tried not to jolt away from the pain, felt sort of similar to choking Rory when they fucked. He thought it was just because of the placement of his hands, the intimacy of touching someone's bare torso, but then when he was doing a couple on Gio’s arms another day it felt the same. His wrist was frail and breakable in Nicko’s hand and his fingers were twitching when the needle caught a sensitive spot, and Nicko was absolutely obsessed. He knew it wasn’t great to do so many tattoos all in a short period of time, but he couldn’t help himself. He caught himself thinking about it all the time, during class, while he was painting, while he was fucking around with Rory, when he was drunk, he was constantly imagining Giovanni's almost inaudible gasps of pain, the way his brown eyes dulled in fear when the tattoo gun started buzzing loudly, how he bit down on his full bottom lip when it really hurt. He just wanted to do it all the time. Even when he couldn’t take Gio down to the shop, he would lock them away in his room and bring out his own supplies. His were cheaper and older, and that meant it hurt worse, and the few times Nicko used it on him, Giovanni couldn’t help but let out tiny whines and hisses every so often. He looked mortified that he was doing it, when Nicko stopped to look up at him, he would duck his head in apology. Nicko wondered if he used to get in trouble for making noises while he was hurting.

Actually, Nicko wondered a lot of things about Gio’s past. Before he showed up, his biggest question was what had he done to be given up by his old owners? The company had listed him as “refurbished”, because he had done something that went against training and had to go back to go through the process again. Nicko couldn’t imagine him doing anything wrong enough to deserve whatever horrors were held in retraining. Hell, he had sat through about 13 hours worth of tattoos perfectly still and quiet, and he never complained, so it certainly couldn't have been because of his inability to do what his owners wanted him to. And Rory absolutely adored him, he let her play with his hair and smear makeup on his face and even pump him full of whatever drug she was using at the time, and he didn’t protest once. Giovanni was perfect. But maybe at one point he wasn’t, it was just hard for Nicko to imagine that.

After he realized that, he also couldn’t stop thinking about what he had done to become a boxie in the first place. From what he’d read, someone had to do something pretty awful for a judge to even consider that as an alternative punishment, it wasn’t something they gave you for vandalism or trespassing. Again, though, Giovanni was so soft spoken, so timid, so afraid of everything, Nicko didn’t believe he could do anything bad. At least not bad enough to warrant what he’d gone through.

That was only stuff Nicko thought of at night when he couldn’t sleep and he could hear Giovanni whimpering and sniffling to himself from his makeshift bed on Nicko’s floor. Once or twice he debated inviting him up into the bed with him so he’d stop crying, but something always stopped him. He told himself it was because Rory would be mad if she found them in bed together, but he knew that wasn’t the case. So for some reason, he just pretended he didn’t hear it and waited until it stopped. Or fell asleep anyway before it did.

The rest of the time, though, he was thinking about how perfect Giovanni was, and how much he liked having him around.

And then Salem came back and started messing things up.

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Giovanni was scared of Salem right away, it was hard not to be scared of someone when they march right up with a huge black bag that looks like it would hurt so bad if it was swung hard enough, and start yelling and cussing. It didn't help that he was already freaked out enough because of the loud party that had been going on for three days now and whatever it was that Rory had made him swallow earlier. He didn’t mean to let his fear show, he was planning on just sitting very still and pretending he wasn’t there so he would be left alone, but he was so high he couldn’t help but react just a little. When Rory noticed, she grabbed his face and leaned in close and said “it’s ok, Gio, it’s just Salem, I won’t let him hurt ya.”

He liked Rory a lot. He was really scared of her, too, at first, with her bright blue hair and black powder smudged around her eyes like charcoal. She looked just as scared as he felt, as she looked down at him through the now open wooden crate he was still in, and for some reason that made him feel a little better. She helped him out of the box, held his shoulders to keep him steady when he stood on wobbling knees. Gio allowed her to lead him down the long hallway, walking slowly and patiently next to him so he wouldn’t fall. She sat right outside the bath on her knees and washed him off, her sharp nails dragging through his hair. She laughed at him when he closed his eyes and melted against it. When she was done rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, she leaned back with a sigh.

“My name’s Aurora, by the way. Like the princess.” When she said it, she smiled widely and her cheeks got a little rosy.

“Like the what?” He whispered.

She laughed at him again, this time it was just in disbelief. “The princess? Aurora?” He shook his head a little. “Sleeping Beauty? You don’t know her?”

He had been silent for a long time, thinking really hard, trying to remember. Was he supposed to know her? Was this part of his training? Did he forget? His heart sank the longer she stared at him, he was stupid and forgetful and she was going to send him back to training and he couldn’t go back there, it would kill him if he had to do it one more time.

But then she was reaching over to drain the bath, and standing up and trying to help him to his feet as well. She wrapped a towel around his waist carefully. “It’s ok, no one calls me that anyway. You can call me Rory, ‘kay?”

After that point, she wanted to be around him almost all the time. She liked to mess around with his hair, tug at it and put it into colorful rubber bands. A few times she had put some makeup on him. She told him that Nicko didn’t let her do it on him, even though she thought it was so attractive when men wore makeup. She told Gio it was ok, cause he looked better than Nicko would anyway, told him he was handsome. He liked when she said nice things like that. He didn't believe her, of course, but he still liked it. She would also give him tiny pills and make him breathe in smoke and put powder on his teeth, it all made him feel so strange and distant, more so than usual, anyways. Some of them made him feel so good he never ever wanted it to end, and some of them were so scary he ended the night hunched over the toilet vomiting in pure fear or sobbing in Rory’s comforting arms. He never refused anything she tried to give him, though, he wouldn’t dream of that.

As much as Gio liked Rory, it paled in comparison to how he felt about Nicko. Giovanni liked him so much that it scared him sometimes. He found himself wanting to be next to him always, felt utterly ruined when he wasn’t allowed to be. The way Nicko smiled at him, especially when Giovanni sat down at his feet while he painted, made him feel like screaming. He thought it was incredible what beautiful things Nicko could create with his hands, he often sat close by and watched silently as Nicko worked with thick, bright paints, completely mesmerized. One time, when Rory was gone and it was just Nicko and Gio, he gave him one of the pictures. It was while they were in Nicko’s room, Giovanni was sitting on the floor and watching the snow fall just outside, and suddenly Nicko was waving his hand at him to get his attention.

“Come here, I wanna give you something.” Gio wasted no time scrambling over to him, watching him intently as he ripped a piece of paper out of his sketchbook. Giovanni heard himself gasp when Nicko extended the paper out toward him and he saw it. It was him, Nicko had been drawing him while he was distracted by the snow. Nicko laughed at him, shaking the paper at him pointedly. “Here, take it. It’s for you.”

Giovanni blinked up at him in surprise, then slowly reached forward and took the paper with shaking hands, like he was afraid it was a trick. Once it was in his grip and Nicko had let go, he looked down at it with his breathing shallow. It was beautiful, just like everything Nicko created, and Giovanni felt so lucky, so thankful.

He was always thanking Nicko, even when he shouldn’t be. After the long, miserable sessions where Nicko would press that loud machine against him until Gio wanted to tear himself out of his own skin so he didn’t have to feel the sharp stinging and burning, he would look at the new design Nicko put on him and he would say “thank you” so genuinely, and it always made Nicko smile warmly. The pain was horrible, and Giovanni was so sensitive, he always had been, and he was so embarrassed when he cried, or when they were alone in Nicko’s room and he couldn’t stay silent. At first he was so worried Nicko would be angry with him for making noise while it was happening, but then he told him it was ok, it was normal, and it eased his anxiety a little.

Nicko was good at that, at making Gio less anxious. All it took most of the time was a small amount of reassurance, a simple “it’s ok, don’t worry”, and then he would feel better. Gio only wished that he did it more often, because everything made him nervous and Nicko could help him so easily, if he wanted to. Like when he would wake up from nightmares he wasn’t even able to remember, crying at memories that disappeared once he woke up. If Nicko just sat up for a second and told him it was ok, he would probably feel better instantly. But he decided not to, for whatever reason, and Gio just had to be ok with it. He would be ok with anything Nicko decided to do or not do, if he was being honest. As long as he didn’t get rid of him, as long as he just kept him around, Nicko could do whatever he wanted, and Giovanni would be happy. He did exist for Nicko now, after all, it was purpose to please him or entertain him however he asked, to do everything and anything he could to make him happy. So really, as long as Nicko was happy, so was Giovanni.

The only problem was Giovanni was secretly miserable.

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pinkykitten · 3 years

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everything stays

chapter 1 - blood on her hands :: gisela klein [ an aot oc story ]

note: hey guys i know its been a rlly long time since ive posted anything and u may be rlly let down and underwhelmed that ive chosen to write a aot oc instead of fanfic but its what i want to write and i rlly love my oc and wanna give her some love and some praise and let u a little in how i see her. im sorry i havent posted a lot im going to try to write more and who knows i may or may not finish this but its ok imma try lol but life sometimes is a butthole. i hope you love her as much as i do an tysm for taking time out of ur day to read this story. enjoy!

Even though she knew that this day would have to come and that it was near, it still was a surprise for her. She was taken aback. It didn’t make sense and add up to her; she was trained for this since she was little; preparing mentally and physically for phase one of the plan; and the day appeared through the trees; past the wall; the opportunity was present; the fate of the people were waiting in their hands; and yet she felt a sense of evilness within her heart. Was this right? But there was no time.

The day was written down in history. The stories were spread around like a disease. Heights, jaws, teeth, feet, stench, the screams. If they survived that nightmare they were seen as a tough soldier; as someone that was applauded because they probably had PTSD and had to see everyday as a reason within themselves or God that they were alive. That maybe just maybe they were saved for a reason; for a purpose. That is what Gisela Klein thought. Maybe there was something greater out there for her to do, to accomplish and that was why she saw another day; breathed another breath.

But one thing was for sure. Forgiveness would never come her way; she would never expect it. To be a warrior she had to endure the horror; the pain; feelings of worthlessness; and friendships lost.

This is the story of the 10th finding titan; the Slash Titan.

The pounding of her heart rang through her ears. It had taken everything for her to keep going on this journey; to continue on the path to and through Hell. She felt a loss within her and the light in her eyes died out. The loss of her friend made it hard for her to function. To keep her head in the game and in the plan.

She sighed as she stared at her hands. Broken and bruised like her heart; scars and scratches scattered on her skin. Her bite mark deeply engraved into her flesh. She heaved a huge sigh. Ready to give death a handshake and make a deal with the devil. Panic was rising in her chest from her stomach, almost ready to throw up.

As she thought about her family back home she realized there was no other way; she had to do this. In order to be with her family, to save them she had to do the one thing she was trained to do.

Kill.

A lightning strike shot over the wall. The wall that kept the monsters away and at bay. Something was wrong; the air seemed to change. The lightning strike caused a boom, clap and the ground started to shake.

Bertholdt drew his leg back and with full force swung his leg forward, knocking a hole into the wall that was impenetrable. Many people flew back from the wind of the blow and some were crushed by the debris of the wall.

Many were going to die; but it’s what needed to be done.

The titans were called.

Finally the titans entered the devils homes and started to rip up their lives. “This is right, this is right.” Gisela had to keep reminding herself. “For my family.” And something snapped within her. The image of her mother, tortured, flashed in her mind. And suddenly everything was worth it. “No regrets.”

Gisela eyed Reiner, an agreement, a sign. She exhaled and in a quick motion placed her hand to her mouth and bit into it. In a spark she transformed into her titan form. Her eyes were much like a cats, sharp. She was made into the slash titan, she was chosen for this program. Her titans fingers were like sharp knives, able to cut any object or person. They hung a little past her knees.

Reiner then transformed and both stomped past the hole. Many citizens glanced up, horrified. Gisela and Reiner were titans never seen before.

She nodded to Reiner, bent down and started to pick up debris and pieces of houses to throw over the bigger wall. The chunks started to smash against people. Blood splattering everywhere. Gisela almost wanted to close her eyes from the immense amount of dead bodies piled on top of others, graves upon graves.

She was hauling boulders as high and fast as she could. Her titan held a high amount of power and strength. Being slim, muscular and as tall as the armored titan and female titan. Reiner took a step back and gained his speed to go onward to destroy the bigger wall.

“Fire!” Their soldiers cried out. Fear evident on their face. They shot their cannons, not even slowing down Reiner. Gisela continued flinging, wanting to create a path for Reiner. She was faster than before and many of her hits flattened the men in the front lines. Their screams and cries loud.

“Close the gate!” They tried, it was their last hope to save humanity. But it was not enough. Reiner broke the wall and killed those running and they went flying. They reached even higher than Gisela. It astounded her almost, they seemed like helpless birds flying high in the sky; but that thought was quickly wiped clean because the second they flew up in the air they came straight down with much force that many parts of their bodies broke.

Reiner did what he needed to do, he opened up a way for the titans to get in and they were swarming by the bunches.

In the distance, the survivors fled in boats across the river to get into the other walls. Gisela put herself in their shoes for a second. They had reason to be scared. Everything they have ever known was gone; their houses, loved ones, food, a place to feel the most comfortable you can feel despite situations; it was all gone. Gisela shook the thought out, not caring about these cruel humans feelings. They had none. No emotions. Gisela had to believe that thought; what she was told, she had to believe it with all her heart, or else what was real?

They waited till they were able to not be seen and Gisela turned human first and then so did Reiner. The four of them hopped on the boat. Talking amongst themselves. The wind howled through the vacant homes. Destruction everywhere. Gisela looked around her setting and saw a little girl had been crushed because a tree fell on her, her doll mere inches away from her grasp. She died with her eyes open; almost looking into Gisela’s soul through the eyes. Gisela’s body trembled and she threw up.

“Don’t.”

Gisela looked up to see Reiner wiping blood and debris off his clothes. He picked his sleeve and turned Gisela’s head to look away, he wiped her chin and mouth off the puke. He saw the trauma in her eyes and felt guilty. But it’s what needed to be done. He kept telling himself that the more he did this the more he would understand and get used to it. It was still all new to her and he had to be strong for her. He knelt in front of her small frame. “It’s not your fault. They needed to die. We are in this together. You don’t need them. Look at me.”

Gisela looked into his eyes, away from the sadness. His eyes carried the feeling of wanting to be wanted. That was always what Reiner wanted. But they also had fear in his eyes.

“Stop acting like you’re in control when I know how sick you feel. I know how afraid you are Reiner.”

He paused and took a look at his hands and others surrounding him. “You’re right. But I made a promise to Marcel.”

They joined the other citizens arriving at the food reserves. The master of disguise was needed in this mission. People needed to see four hungry, depressed children that survived the fall of their homes, not mass murderers.

Annie was only able to fetch two loaves. “Alright, who's the most hungry?”

“You girls should eat, you’re more feeble.” Bertholdt sat on a crate, pointing to Gisela and Annie.

Annie tsked, moving a bang from her eyes, “who says girls are more feeble? I recall kicking your ass all those times in training.”

“You guys can eat it, I’m not hungry.” Gisela sat on the other crate and saw the chaos of the crowds. A boy caught her interest. He had dark brown hair, tan skin, and light blue green eyes. He was having bread shoved in his mouth and he seemed to have such a strong personality to him. If only Gisela felt so strongly about her motive and her placement in this life.

“You really should eat, you need your energy after all you did.” Annie broke all the loaves in half and shared it amongst the four of you. “It’s not much but at least it's something.”

Gisela sighed, “you’re right. Thanks.”

After that day there was land given to only a few refugees but there were too many of them. Luckily the four of them had a piece of land that was enough until further inching themselves within society. Through that whole span each day was getting easier and easier living with the lies and day by day Gisela felt more at sure with herself and knowing that she could fulfill this mission. Pills and alcohol helped the pain and ease the thoughts. She taught herself to put a gap between what she came here to do and feelings. She told herself every day that nobody else mattered except her family and Reiner. She trained her brain to not care, to not have strings attached or any love for anything. It was all a play, all a rehearsal for when the curtain would fall. She was readying herself for that fall. Everyday she educated herself more on these scums. What they liked, wanted, needed, craved for, and what they craved more than ever in their life was freedom.

She trained her body as if it were her last day, barely getting sleep. The face of her mother haunting her every night making her get up at three in the morning to do pushups or sit ups. Not only was her mind getting stronger but also her body. Even Reiner would make jokes noticing the muscles that would appear. The six pack that formed on her stomach. Her thighs growing tight and firm, her arms growing stronger. The sweat growing on her forehead longer.

With her body growing her relationship with Reiner also changed. They no longer were the tiny children that didn’t understand anatomy or the air between two people. Reiner and Gisela’s relationship was of being flirty, sharing a few kisses here and there, trying to be a couple but then yelling at each other and breaking it up and realizing maybe this isn’t right a million times. Even Bertholdt and Annie were getting tired of their outbursts. But each time they made up to be friends only and then the cycle started where the feelings came in the way and they wanted to be more. They would tease each other, especially Reiner. They were each other's best friends. Gisela was like one of the boys, loud, obnoxious, burping all the time, Reiner would get a look at her and smirk thinking he taught her well. When Reiner looked at her he felt at home and that everything was going to be okay. Her nightmares continued and each time Reiner would come to her room and hold her, let her cry into his arms. She felt he was the only person that knew her pain.

Gisela understood many things in life and for once she understood her life here, she understood why she was born and chosen.

It was the following year and in order to get closer to finding the founding titan the four became part of the 104th cadet corps.

“Are you ready to train more?” Gisela nudged Reiner, eyebrow raised.

“What do you mean train more? This is going to be a new but scary experience honestly.” Reiner spoke as if he was a different person. As if he didn’t have a life outside of the walls.

“Reiner?” Gisela placed her hand on his shoulder, steadying him. He looked fine on the outside but Gisela knew the issues were inside, his mind. She knew this was becoming disastrous to him, he was starting to have almost two personalities, two lives, two worlds, two people. Gisela tried to tell Annie or Bertholdt, they saw it too but there was nothing they could do.

All that Gisela could do was smile as they made their way to the first day of training.

note: again ty y’all sm!!!! If u liked it lmk and this is kinda new for me cuz I usually don’t post my ocs stories here or much at all but I’m rlly excited for y’all to see her and for y’all to know this oc of mine and hopefully accept her ❤️

Taglist: @witchofinterest @chlobenet @eddysocs @fpxloomis @whctsherncme-archive @ocfairygodmother @fandomchick80 @ocappreciationtag

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writing-the-end · 3 years

Text

LoL Chapter 42- Crossfire

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

When the Forest has control of lightning magic, someone is bound to be struck.

Warning: mentions of abuse, invasive thoughts

_________________________

The deeper they got into the forest, the worse the illusions got. No one was safe, no matter how many talismans, potions, and mental exercises they run through. Sometimes the hermits have no choice but to stop and console a team member who’s being affected by the Forest. Warm hugs bring Cleo back from the long locked away memory of her death, how she became who she is now. It wasn’t until three potions and the welcoming press of his zweihander resting in his hand that Wels is able to ignore the illusions. And Grian nearly flies away as the Forest reminds him of how many times he’s been thrown out of every orphanage and guild he entered. If it weren’t for the hermits, he’d be alone, lost. And at the will of the Hangman’s Playground.

Scar feels the sting of torn skin, right along where he got his namesake, before the rest of the illusion appears. Such a peaceful, normal forest. He tries to focus on the trees, the creek he passes by, with gentle animals of all kinds drinking from the fresh spring water. Of the perfect placement of rocks, ferns, even the way the dirt curls over roots.

“No merchant’s son will be seen playing in dirt!” The hot sting of blood, of torn skin marred by rich jewels and gilded rings. His father’s voice growls through the extravagant manor.

“And he tracked mud onto the entrance carpet! There’s no possible way we can get that stain out!”

“I wasn’t playing in dirt.” Scar whispers, daring to defy his parents. To speak out without being told to speak. His voice is young, pitching up and down across his words, tinged with anger and contempt. “I was practicing my magic. I was creating something ahmazin’.”

“I forbid you from ever using your magic! It’s a disgrace that my son’s magic is so...is so messy!” Scar’s feet were no longer on the ground, though he can faintly feel the soft compress of dirt in the forest, the illusion tells him otherwise. His father’s opulent outfit, matched with the bloody rings he wears on each and every finger, his hand balled in a fist in Scar’s collar. “You will let your worthless magic die, and do exactly as you are told.”

But Scar’s own thoughts rebuke the forest, without need of a single potion or talisman. Because he remembers what happened next. He spent his youth practicing in secret, and as soon as he knew he could make it on his own, he set off. From that moment forward, he defied his father by nurturing his magic, rather than letting it die. From that moment forward, he never did what he was told.

And that led him to the hermits, his best friends, his family. He remembers the fateful day he met BDubs, pure happenstance and Scar’s own proclivity for disaster. He was in a tree, trying to better understand how trees form and grow to mimic in his magic- he wanted to make it as perfect as nature itself- when he fell backwards and ended up crushing the hermit just walking through the woods.

If it wasn’t for his act of defiance that night, he wouldn’t have found his true family. If it wasn’t for that night, he wouldn’t have become the S-Class mage he is now. He wouldn’t have won in the Chimaera’s Championship. The night the Forest of Memories chose was one of the worst nights of his life, but it was also the beginning of the best thing ever to happen to him. The beginning of his new life, with his true family.

The illusion shatters, like glass, fractals dissolving and lost in the wind. Scar smiles, looking around at his friends. Those who welcomed his magic, let him nurture it. “Have I told you how much I love you guys?”

“Look, I think we’re getting close to whatever is hidden in here.” Doc points out, his hand on his friend’s shoulder. In the distance, red light bounces and is absorbed by the warm brown bark of the trees. Another leyline, just as large and pulsing with stolen lifeforce. They’re so close, they’ve come so far. Certainly there’s no way they can lose themselves now, they’ve been fighting it off successfully for who knows how long.

But not everyone is successful in fighting off memories. At the back of the group, Mumbo wipes away the tears in his eyes. He doesn’t warn the others about the memories playing around him. He doesn’t want to disappoint the hermits.

Not like he disappointed his dad. The Forest of Memories, the Hangman’s Playground, has dug up his worst fears, and replays every time he’s failed his father. Every time he returned from one failed guild exam after another. The sidelong glances and long tirades of how much of a disappointment Mumbo was. Every single one, from his first exam when he turned thirteen, to the last exam before he was disowned.

It was that one that hurt the most. And it was that one that the Forest replays not just in Mumbo’s mind, but all around him. The trees turn to pillars, and Mumbo is standing on the expansive steps of his family’s manor. His father’s stern face looks down at him, clean shaven and hair slicked back harshly. The tight pull of the starched white collar of Mumbo’s shirt is even harsher, but nothing compares to the dense silence between father and son.

He was a disgrace to the family. Dozens of guilds, laughing at the family line for creating such a worthless progeny. Dozens of guilds, turning him away after he failed their gauntlets, exams, and prerequisites. No matter what Mumbo tried, no matter what he did, he could never be good enough for his father. Not the way he was.

“Miriam.” Mumbo tips his head up to meet his father’s stern, cold eyes. “Come back a guildmember, or don’t bother coming back at all.”

He failed his family. He’s failed so many. He’s failed his family, he’s failed to help Gildara, or Danes. Fight after fight, battle after battle, he’s always the weakest link. He’s always been failing the hermits. And he’s failing them now.

He’s the weakest link, and the Forest knows it. It knows he will fail, just like always. Mumbo wipes away tears, and discovers he’s in total darkness. The memory is gone, but the illusion kept it’s grasp on Mumbo.

“Why would we want to be your friends?” A sneering voice echoes through the darkness, an accent all too familiar, the words all the more painful to be held by Iskall’s voice.

“You can’t even use your own magic. All that power, wasted on a weakling.” A shadow passes in the emptiness, and Mumbo barely catches a glimpse of the brown, furry dog tail.

A high pitched laughter, followed by the scrape of metal against stone. “You can’t fight, you can’t defend, you can’t even heal. At this point, you’re just dragging us down. We should have cut you down long ago.”

The swing of a saber appears in the night, and Mumbo staggers backward as Cleo’s saber nearly cuts his chest open. In the foggy darkness, he can just make out her eyes. Or where there should be Cleo’s sea blue eyes. Instead, all he saw was oozing, black goo, pouring like viscous tears down her seafoam green skin. She’s gone, disappearing back into the darkness, a shark cutting through the waves.

Mumbo attempts escape, but no matter where he crawls, the ebony darkness has him trapped. Laughter, voices rise from the void, whispers and shouts. Voices he knows, like those of his friends. Scar, Jevin, Hypno, even TFC. Berating him for being a useless member of the guild, that he’s just the jester, the pet. Of his father, yelling about the shame, that he wishes Mumbo was better, stronger, worthwhile. And voices he doesn’t know apart from the words they spit out. Bullies in school, taunting him in magic class for not even being able to call on his magic. Bullies in guilds, casting him out and laughing with every mistake he made. The guild leaders, sneering and jeering before, during, and after his failed tests.

There was no escape from these dark thoughts, not when the Hangman’s Playground plays them out before his very eyes. Memories of reality, and memories of the fears and ‘what ifs’ he’s played a thousand times over in his head. He hears the voices he knows, just knows the other hermits say behind his back. He feels the stinging betrayal as they kick him out, the very words dozens of other guilds have told him before. He watches Grian leave him for better, stronger friends.

Mumbo reaches out for Grian, his best friend, shaking fingers just barely able to grip onto the tarlike wings of the agnel. Like a bird trapped in oil, each feather dripping with the black goo. “G-Grian, please, I promise I’ll work har-”

Grian turns around, hand slapping away Mumbo’s own, and the empty black goo of Grian’s eyes stare into Mumbo. Pinning him down, too afraid to fight back. To weak to fight back. “Forget it, Mumbo. You’re useless, you can’t even draw your own magic circle. I don’t know why I bothered to ever save you, that day so long ago.”

Beside Grian, Iskall’s laughter pierces through Mumbo’s heart. It feels so cold, so abrasive, even though nothing has changed about that tittering laugh of his friend. Mumbo shrinks awake, wiping the tears that cascade like a waterfall down his face. “I-I can be better, I can do better! Please don’t leave me!”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.” The hiss from Iskall, slicing across his beard, catching the sludge and twisting in his facial hair. “Prove that you’re this mega awesome multi-mage of doom, and not some puny mega weakling that we know you are.”

Mumbo’s panicking. He has to do it. Just this once, he has to unleash his power. So he can keep his friends. Closing his eyes, he digs deep. He tries to ignore the jeers and laughter around him, focusing in on his magic. His hands shake, but he tears down the walls he’s set up to protect himself, protect everyone from the surges he’s prone to. Mumbo can’t hold back on his powers, not unless he wants to hold onto his friends. He feels the power rushing through his body, but he doesn’t stop. He will prove it- he’s not worthless.

Grian turns around, noticing that there’s one less person in the group. They’re so close, he can feel a change in the atmosphere around him. It reminds him of when they were in Gildara, but stronger. Like the entire world is pressing on his shoulders. “Mumby?”

Mumbo’s on the ground, kneeling with fingers clutched in the forest floor. His shoulders rise and fall, and Grian realizes that the Forest of Memories was playing with Mumbo. Grian walks away from the group, keeping his spirits high and fighting off the tendrils of dark thoughts that tickle his mind. He reaches Mumbo’s side, kneeling on the red illuminated leyline.

“Oh gods…” Grian whispers, seeing Mumbo’s eyes as he tips the mage’s face up. Veiled by mist, Mumbo’s sight has swirls of grey blinding him to reality. He’s trapped, deep inside the illusion that the Hangman’s Playground. And he’s losing control of his magic, sparks snapping free from fisted fingers, redstone saturating the ground around him. Grian reaches his hand out.

Hands rest on Mumbo’s shoulder, holding him down. The voices are louder, angrier, filled with spite and hatred. Drowning out any sense of Mumbo’s rationale, he lets go of his magic. He unleashes it all onto the world.

Mumbo grabs his father’s hand resting on his shoulder, and lets loose as much of his lightning that he can muster.

The darkness shatters, and Mumbo sees that it wasn’t his father, or any guildmaster, bully, or even Dolios himself holding Mumbo down. But it’s too late to stop the bolts of energy as it crawls through his hands and runs up Grian’s ruddy skin. One more time, the Hangman’s Playground toys with him once more, letting him see the truth. Letting him watch as the uncontrolled magic surges through Grian, sending the young angel crashing to the ground.

“Grian!” Xisuma cries out, abandoning the track of red, skidding to the ground at Grian’s side. Mumbo scrambles to his feet, stepping forward. But then he sees the ricocheting of lightning, jolts of lightning still searching for escape from Grian’s body, and the writhing pain that his friend is in. Charred black wings, just like the ones he saw in his illusion. Mumbo’s not in control of himself- was he ever?- and the power of uncontrolled magic fills his body, blinds his thoughts. From one extreme to another.

He hurt Grian. He could hurt any one of the others. He’s horrified by his actions, the thoughts that led him here. He’s all or nothing- too weak or too strong, and either way it destroys those he loves most.

The ground moves beneath his feet, the shouts and calls little more than white noise as the Forest of Memories replays that second over and over again in Mumbo’s mind. Hurting his best friend, hurting a fellow hermit. The hermits could be calling for him, calling for Grian, calling for the goddess of the dead for all he cared about.

Mumbo just runs. Far away from the hermits, deep into the branching teeth, into the belly of the Forest of Memories.

#hermitcraft #abuse cw #invasive thoughts cw #light of lairyon #lol #wizard hermits #wizard au #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitcraft au #wizard mumbo #wizard scar #wizard grian #mumbo jumbo #gtwscar #grian #grianmc

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nights-legacy · 4 years

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Another...Sea Turtle?-TMNT

Requested by @moonlightprime

+The boys reacting to another mutant, sea turtle that is female.

2014/16 Turtles

The Sea Turtle girls were mutated by some escaped mutagen that got onto the beach. The girl as a baby sea turtle wandered into the mutagen and was found by a kindly human that raised them as their own.(The pics of sea turtles are how the girls shells look.)

Leo: Curiosity and Concern

It was on a mission down by the docks that brothers and i met Y/N. There had been reports of strange activity by the dock workers. They said they kept seeing a humanoid figure creeping around and swimming in the waters. The strange part was that the figure seemed to have something big on its back. We split up and i was investigating the water front under the docks when I saw it or more like her. I froze with my katanas at the ready, not sure of what I was seeing.

“Please, I don’t want trouble.” The girl whimpered and backed up into a support beam. I looked her over, taking her in. Long red hair, glowing green eyes, and a turtle shell adorning her figure?

“You’re a turtle.” i stated the obvious. She nodded but then shook her head.

“A sea turtle actually.” She whispered. I stepped forward and she pushed farther back, eyes locked on my katanas. I quickly put them away, having a feeling she wouldn’t attack, and knelt in front of her. She looked at him and he gave her a soft smile.

“Are you alright? Are you alone?” Leo asked. She nodded and looked off in the distance. I looked her over again, seeing scars and dirt scattering her skin. But this didn’t cover up the beauty she held.

“My mother didn’t wake up. She took care of me until then.” She explained. I connected that her mother was dead. “I have been hanging around her because I don’t know where else to go but the men here are mean. They throw things at me while I’m swimming.”

“I’m sorry. People just don’t understand people like us.” I held out my hand. She looked between my eyes and my hand. Shaking, she reached forward and grabbed my hand. I pulled her to her feet. “I’m leo. What’s your name?”

“Y-Y/N.” She said before her stomach growled. I looked at her with concern coursing through me.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. How long has it been since you’ve…”

“Yo Fearless! Find anything? Woah.” I heard Raph come up as well as the other two. I turned and looked at them. They all had surprised looks on their faces.

“Guys, this is Y/N.” I looked back at her. “Y/N these are my brothers and if it’s alright with you, I think we need to take you to our home to make sure you’re okay?” She nodded after a minute. I smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You can trust us.”

Raph: Abrasive but Intrigued

Damn Mikey and his fluffy nature. Damn Leo and his high & mighty ego. Sending me off to do the patrol around the water front all because of one little cut on Mikey’s head. I never thought that this patrol would lead to a discovery Donnie would be kicking himself for missing.

“Damn you Fearless.” I growled as I jumped from rooftop to rooftop. Out of nowhere, a loud commotion caught my attention. I skidded to a stop and listened. Once I caught the direction of the sound I ran for it. I looked over the edge and saw a group of men surrounding a crouching figure. I couldn’t make out what they were yelling but jumped down and interrupted. “Can I join the party?”

“Another one!” I furrowed my brow ridges at the statement but fought them off til they were running.

“Another one?” I turned to the figure and finally saw them clearly. My eyes widen when I saw a redish turtle shell acomponied by blonde hair that nearly hit the ground and dark eyes. “Who the hell are ya?” I said roughly.

“Some hero you are. Help drive those guys off then yell at me.”

“What do you expect? It’s not every day I stumble upon another turtle mutant!” I snarled while pointing a sais at her. She rolled her eyes but flinched and clutched her side.

“I’m a sea turtle mutant. Get it right.” I took a big breath and looked her over. How was this possible? Another mutant? “Why are you staring at me like I have two heads?”

“Just trying to figure out how there are more mutants running around.” I said truthfully. She shook her head and looked down. I saw her pull away her hand from her thigh and saw blood. “I should probably get you to my brother. He can fix that up quick.”

“Quick? So you can throw me out again to get another tomorrow?” I chuckled at her defensiveness.

“I may be an asshole but I’m not heartless. My brothers, father, and I know what it’s like to be on the outside. We won’t let someone we can help live the same way.”

Donnie: Inquisitive yet Mystified

I was out in the sewers checking the perimeters and security systems. Lately, every now and again, an anomaly was showing up on the scanners but it was there and gone so quick, it was barely picked up on. I made to the area and started the check on the system.

“Nothing wrong on the placement, nothing on the clarity, nothing…” A crunch behind me cut me off. I reached for my bo slowly and listened for more. Quiet footsteps walked toward me and a shadow appeared from behind me. I grabbed my bo entirely and whipped around knocking the person off their feet.

“Ahh!” A female voice caught me off guard. The next thing that threw me off was the person that laid before me had a shell. A Sea Turtle shell to be specific. I squinted my eyes and cocked my head in confusion. The female whipped around and looked up at me frantically. “Please, I…”

“Are you a mutant? Wait dumb question, of course you are.” I shook my head. I returned my bo to its place and moved my goggles down to analyze her. “Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“No. Just spooked me.” I heard her stifle a giggle. Her shoulder length brown hair bounced as she did. I lifted my goggles and looked at her eyes and saw they were bright blue.

“How did you become this way?” I asked as I was entranced by her eyes.

“My father said he found me next a puddle of green goo on the beach when I was a baby. He took care of me even though I was different. That is until he died some months ago,”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I nearly lost my father once and couldn’t imagine it actually happening. I don’t think my brothers could either.” I helped her up. “How did you end up down here?”

“A storm. Where I was staying flooded and washed me down here. It’s a maze down here and I got lost easily.” She looked around in fright. My heart leapt with something I didn’t recognize. But I did recognize the bruises and abrasions that littered her skin.

“Let me take you to lab and take a look at you wounds. Then I can get you some hot food and some water. You’re not lost anymore and there’s no reason to be afraid anymore. You’re safe with us.”

Mikey: Excited and Scared

I loved the sound of wheels on the concrete. Skateboard wheels to be exact. I was taking my normal skate through the sewers and listened to the echoes of my board. It was a small cry that came one of the openings that turned the echoes turned to crashes.

“What?” I mumbled as I rubbed my head. I looked back at the tunnel and slowly got up. I picked up my board and went closer. I peeked around the corner and looked over the dark area. I didn’t see anything at first. I walked in and got a closer look. “Anyone there?”

“Yes. No. Um…” My eyes darted to a pitch black corner where the small voice came from. I saw movement. I tensed. I set my board on my back and grabbed my chucks.

“Who’s there?” I called out. I didn’t like that someone was this close to the lair. I moved forward and my eyes adjusted to the dark. A figure was huddled into the small alcove. “How did you get down here?”

“I fell.” The voice sounded feminine. All of a sudden, a set of purple eyes peaked out, I gasped and took a small step back but I could see intense fear in theirs.

“Hey I’m not gonna hurt ya.” I placed my nun chucks away. They were still for a second before they crawled out. I was taken back by seeing another turtle, but not just that but a girl turtle with short black hair. “Yo! You’re a chick and a mutant. But you don’t look like be but you’re a turtle. What gives?”

“Haha.” She giggled through the tears I just noticed. “I am a sea turtle, mister. I’m Y/N.”

“Mister? Haha. The names Michelangelo. But my family calls me Mikey.” She smiled. “I like your name. This is so cool another good guy mutant!” I fist bumped but stopped short. “You are a good guy right?”

“I think so. I haven’t done anything wrong before. I’ve been hiding most of my life with my mother. I don’t want to be called a monster again.” She looked down. I sympathized with her.

“I get it. I really do.” I set my hand on her shoulder. “But you found yourself a safe place. Me and my brothers and my dad are all mutants like you.” She gave me hopeful eyes before shivering. “Come on with me back to the lair where it’s warm and we can get you some food. Do you like pizza?” Her eyes lite up.

“Of course!” I whooped and helped her up. I started to show her the way as a thought came to mind. How many other mutants are out there?

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