#fire red metal flake

[flakehub6]

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Flake Hub – Where Your Vision Shines Bright!

[kastalani123]

Consider:

Leo Valdez was not born. Instead, two pairs of hands form him from bronze and steel and gold. His hair is copper wires so thin they bounce like natural curls, and his eyes glimmer with silver flakes. The joints of his body are plated so delicately, so perfectly, the segments are near indiscernible, smoothly gliding over each other. Faint traces of fingerprints and flecks of impurity are deliberately left behind for their uniqueness, a form of impossible signature of his creators.

Most importantly, gilded bars curl around each other in his chest, protecting the red-red-red flame that pushes his eyes open everyday, that beats in tune with his thoughts, that heats his body to expand and grow.

A metal child is not so different from a human one, and yet is so far from it at the same time. He is curious, about the world, about himself, and he picks apart toys and TV remotes and his arms, spilling their secrets before his constantly shifting eyes. He does not cry from fatigue or thirst or hunger, but a bump, a dent, a scratch never fail to draw tears. He splashes in the rain and snow, carefully bundled in waterproof coats and jackets, and runs from baths like he's possessed, fire flickering in fear.

The first time he meets someone like him, an endeavour he had long thought hopeless, it is a malfunctioning dragon others call for the death of; he is too unpredictable, too dangerous, too broken. Leo looks him in ever-shifting eyes glimmering with silver and sees himself if the cage in his chest ever bends, cracks, shatters, if the gears beneath his skin ever jam and stick and wear down irreversibly.

It is not golden flowers and godly aid that preserve him; just as he'd done for his twin-in-all-but-appearance, he creates a new body, with new fingerprints and impurities mapping his design. His hair is more bronze than copper, now, and his eyes more gold than brass. The plates of his joints scrape against each other faintly, and the gears of his bones grind together uncomfortably — he only had so much time, so much material to use, he could not polish every element of himself in the way he wished, but it holds together.

Most importantly, he reinforces the cage in his chest, coats it in layers upon layers of metal, to ensure his flame will not go out in the explosion, that Festus will be able to salvage it and lay it gently in the chest cavity carefully carved in his new body, bringing it to life.

He returns to Camp, movements more clunky and mechanical than should be, and his siblings finally pin down his segmented limbs, his shifting eyes, his clicking fidgeting. They are ecstatic, just as fascinated with him as they had been with Festus, and he lets them. He lets them take him apart, piece by piece, clean out the sand of Ogygia from his organs, polish and oil his gears until they glide against each other, press new fingerprints, new signatures of belonging, against his skin.

Most importantly, they craft him a secure, intricate cage, with golden flames licking up the bars, with delicate chains shielding it from the elements, and his flame settles inside it, flickering happily, finally truly, truly comfortable in the cage of his body.

Leo Valdez may not have been born, but he was crafted with the most loving hands imaginable, and is that not so much better, for a son of the Craftsman?

[liyawritesss]

ᖴᒪOᗯEᖇᔕ Iᑎ ᗷᒪOOᗰ - ᐯᗩᒪEᑎTIᑎEᔕ ᗪᖇᗩᗷᗷᒪEᔕ

Ｄａｙ ２０ － Ｃｏｎｆｅｓｓｉｏｎｓ

－ Eastside - Insomniac!Miles Morales - Insomniac's Spiderman 2

－ In which Miles is usually the one to flake out on plans; so he's curious as to why all of a sudden it's so hard to get you on the phone.

－ Check out more prompts and other activities on the Flowers In Bloom Event Masterlist!

“We’re sorry, but the person you have called is unavailable at the moment. Please leave a message after the tone-”

Miles sucks his teeth after hearing the same automated message for the umpteenth time. Though he tried to keep the look of disappointment from gracing his face, the huff that left his lips was enough for Ganke to determine something was wrong.

“Did they answer?”

Miles shakes his head, “No dice.”

It’s been like that the past few weeks - plans would be made, but without warning, you’d go no contact with no prior reason as to why. At first, the gang just chalked it up to stress from school - it was very possible considering Visions wasn’t your average STEM highschool in Brooklyn. But the more it happened, the more Miles had begun to question that conclusion.

“What’s this, like, the third time in the past month?” Ganke sighs. “Should we, like, check up on them?”

Miles pockets his phone, nodding in response to Ganke’s suggestion. “Yeah, I’ll swing by.”

And swing by he did, after changing out of his red hoodie and green jacket and into his black and red Spider Suit. It didn’t take long for him to arrive at your apartment building on the Eastside, hanging just outside your window adjacent to the fire escape. He had made a move to knock on the glass, asking for entry, but he stopped mid-way when he saw what you were doing.

You sat at your desk, laptop open and phone propped up, apparently on a video call with Hailey. Though the window muffled your voice, he could make out what was being signed through the glass barrier.

“I wanted to go today, I really did, but I just couldn’t.”

‘Did you at least give them an excuse this time?’

“No, I wasn’t even thinking about that.”

‘Girl! When are you gonna tell him? This slow-burn is getting to be a bit agonizing over here!’

Slow-burn? What did Hailey mean by that? Your laugh breaks him from his thoughts, as he squints a bit harder to get a better look at the words your hands are formulating.

“What would I even say? ‘Hey Miles, sorry I’ve been bailing on you and the gang lately, I just have this massive crush on you that prevents me from even looking at you without feeling like I’ll die’?”

‘Well…that’s one way to say it.’

Crush. The word rang in his head like a loud bell, so harshly it almost made his head hurt. Miles’ body grew hot with an unknown emotion; was it anxiety? Embarrassment? Suddenly a lot of your actions made sense. Not answering calls, being exceptionally late to answering texts, the inability to make eye contact…

So caught up in his head, the young hero began to lose grip in his fingers that attached him to the brick building. Before he could reinstate the touch, Miles lost his handling and fell onto the metal fire escape, the loud thud ringing out with a loud hum for what felt like forever. A dull ache spread throughout back, a low groan leaving his lips in the process.

When he’d opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was you, surprised, with a hint of disbelief in your face; “Miles, what the hell?”

Shit, he thought. Despite his side-gig as Spiderman, he couldn’t seem to come up with a lie quick enough to cover up the fact that he had, in fact, been low-key spying on you.

“Are you okay?”

“I- uh-”

“How long have you been out here?”

“No! I- uh…was just swinging by…?”

Because what else do you say when you find out your good friend for years has a crush on you?

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

[achairwithapandaonit]

squint is atla shame the zuko self hating gay one or is that the soulbond au . either way explain atla shame pleeease

shame is the right one >:3 <- me knowing you have obviously been paying enough attention to know about my zuko struggle fic (cause he is struggling so much. guy who is in a consistant struggle).

it's basically a same age zuko/aang au set in ba sing se with the premise that aang kissed zuko at pohaui stronghold and he's really fucked up about it cause the fire nation is homophobic, but the avatar has now forced him to confront that a) he is very very gay and b) he is gay for the avatar.

some snippets cause this fic is my baby:

The Avatar laughs awkwardly under his gaze. “So, uh, there’s this thing, um—and I think you should see it. I mean, I want to show you it, so…uh, are you free? Right now?” “No,” Zuko rasps. His eyes burn and dirty water flakes his hands. He is tired. As if he’s heard something completely different, the Avatar grabs Zuko by the hand. “Great! Me too! Let’s go!” He doesn’t care for Zuko’s angry outbursts. He ignores his attempts to pull back. Once they’re halfway down the alleyway, the Avatar turns and grabs Zuko around the waist, hoisting him up and over his shoulders as if he weighs nothing. He acts as if Zuko isn’t scrabbling at his back like he might pry it open with his dry, cracked fingernails. “You can’t capture me!” Zuko shouts, knocking a fist over the Avatar’s tensed shoulder blade. “I’m the one who’s meant to be capturing you!”

.

“The people here have never had to want for anything,” Zuko says bitterly over the rising sound of a gong from the street. “They’ve never had to fight. No one’s ever taken anything from them.” The Avatar sits down beside him. “What was taken from you?” “My honour,” Zuko says. Longing fills his tone. His head aches like the recollection of his father’s voice is anything but lost. He turns, angry, to the Avatar. “You took it from me.” “I didn’t take anything,” the Avatar says. It’s true. Zuko’s honour was already long gone—but before, there was a chance. There was an ultimatum. Before, there was an offered redemption and metal walls to hold him; his Uncle’s hand soothing over a feverish forehead and falsely telling him, “You are not at fault.” Now, he knows better.

.

Years ago, Zuko’s mother had taken him and Azula to the theatre. The play could hardly be called a play by Earth Kingdom standards. No words were spoken by the actors (who’s faces were all covered by masks.), and there were no props on stage except for the swords and ribbons the actors took with themselves. They danced and sung without words, and fire moved with them as if it was a part of them. Azula had tried to replicate it later on, pulling clumsy moves she’d obviously seen from Ty Lee and blushing bright red when they didn’t work for her the same way traditional firebending form did. Seeing his talented sister fail like that had made Zuko laugh. He hadn’t been laughing when she’d set fire to his bed. Or when he could slink into the moves, but couldn’t wrap his flame around himself the way she could without getting burned. The memory lulls him. He finds his eyes slipping half closed; feels the warmth of his sister’s fire back when she liked him and he liked her. “I think people can be like that too,” the Avatar says. He sounds like he’s testing the waters for something. “Fluid. Together. I think, there are people who work well together.”

[wh3nturtlesfly]

Hello @epiclamer ! I saw you were looking for some hero whumpee and villain caretaker, I hope this could suffice :)

CW/TW: Hypothermia and frostbite, near death experience, whump

The room was immersed in white. Creeping over the metal walls and across the concrete floor. Icicles hung from the ceiling and left the floor slick and shining. The patterns would have been beautiful in any other case, spindling across the room in delicate flakes, but now they left the Hero shivering.

Their thin t-shirt served as almost no defense against the blistering temperatures- their coat had been taken long ago. Now Hero shook, red blotching their exposed forearms and stinging their cheeks.

Hero shifted, trying to touch as little of their bare skin to the concrete as possible. The chill numbed their muscles, though it didn’t take the pain of the bruises away. Supervillain had made sure of that.

Energy seeped out of them too fast to keep up. Too many times they had caught their eyelids threatening to slip shut. Their fingertips had frozen to the point they couldn’t feel them anymore. Hero was helpless, trapped in the pain that couldn’t even be healed by sleep. Their tears crystallized when they couldn’t hold it in anymore.

When the click of the latch sounded, Hero went rigid. Fingers numb, they couldn’t form so much as a fist, much less fight off anything more that came their way. Supervillain knew this as they strode in.

“My, you’re looking a bit blue my dear,” Their lips split in a cruel smile. Supervillain stepped forward and Hero inched back. They couldn’t do it- couldn’t fight-

Hero’s back bumped against the wall and they flinched from the new wave of cold that shot up their spine. Trapped, and Supervillain was well aware.

“Don’t look so afraid now. You know what I want,” They stepped forward before Hero could scramble away- not that they had the strength to- and grabbed a fistful of their hair. It crackled with the frost that had settled in their locks. “You’re only making this harder on yourself, and really, I don’t think you have much left to give.”

Supervillain yanked harshly on Hero’s hair and received a sharp cry in return. Hero fought to pry their fingers away but their own muscles were stiff. It was like moving through molasses, they couldn’t even manage to grasp Supervillain’s hand.

“It's lovely seeing you struggle,” they chuckled, pulling Hero so close that they could feel the breath upon their cheek. Warm. Their hands shifted to either side of Hero’s cheek, and they couldn’t help but lean into the touch, starved of heat for much too long. “Now, give in and we can forget this mess.”

They eyed Hero expectantly, brushing a finger down Hero’s cheek and leaving them chasing the trail of warmth that followed. It was a wicked game to play, though it was working. Hero wished to be free- to have their bones no longer encased in ice. It hurt to think, hurt to breathe. Supervillain’s touch was like fire, beautiful and comforting- and yet-

“I c-can’t.” The words were broken as they fell from Hero’s mouth.

Supervillain’s expression darkened. “You insolent fool,” their grip tightened, fingernails pricking Hero’s skin.

They hurled Hero to the ground and their cheek collided hard with the concrete. Pain shot through the Hero. It was all so cold. Hero groaned as they pushed themself up. Not a moment later and a foot connected with their stomach, sending them into the back wall.

“You just never know when to stop, do you?” Supervillain chuckled, eyes alight. “This time I’ll make sure the message is clear.”

“No- please,” The words were choked as Hero clawed at their ground. Their muscles refused to move, stiff with the chill and reddened with bruises and the smear of blood. Supervillain stalked forward and seized Hero by the throat, pinning them against the wall.

Hero gasped as the air was forced from their lungs. It burned. Squeezing, squeezing, they could feel Supervillain’s hands crushing their windpipe and yet there was nothing they could do to stop it. Pins and needles lingered in their joints. They couldn’t move.

The corners of their vision began to grow dark. Hero’s eyelids were heavy and a new wave of panic shot through Hero. They were falling unconscious. Fingers flexing, reaching for any sort of movement. They couldn’t close their eyes- they wouldn’t wake up again.

“Not so strong now,” Supervillain cackled, squeezing tighter and grinning when a choked cry fell from Hero’s blue lips.

Hero fumbled through pleas but no sound came out. Flakes swirled around Supervillain’s head like a halo, though they were anything but. Their lips were spread wide into the cruelest of smiles, nails pinching into Hero’s skin. They had to stay awake- they had to hold on-

They had to…

Hero went limp and fell into the void of ice and darkness.

***

Words mumbled above their head as if suspended in a fog. Hushed at first, a silent plea. Hero’s head lulled to the side as their eyelids lazily peaked open.

“It’s alright-” Were they being spoken to? Their eyes searched the space, but they couldn’t see anything. “It’s okay, you’re safe.”

Hero was dizzy. Everything felt distant. They couldn’t remember. This voice, it swirled around their form, but it was undeniably kind, comforting even. Supervillain would never-

Supervillain. Panic shot down Hero’s spine. They leapt up from where they had been laid only to discover they were trapped. Eyes darting frantically around, they trashed in the covers that held them down. Get out, they had to get out-

A hand pressed against their chest and Hero fell back onto the covers. Blankets, they must be in a bed. Why would they be in bed?

“You mustn’t move too much, no need to start any new wounds.”

Hero looked up to find the Villain staring at them. Worry shone in the wrinkles by their eyes though they hid it behind a gentle smile. The hand that wasn’t resting on the blankets held a damp rag. Beside the Villain was a bowl of water, steam pooling gently above the surface.

Villain dunked the cloth in the water and wrung it out until droplets of water no longer fell into the bowl. They reached forward and began to peel away the layer of blankets that were wrapped around Hero’s form.

“No! Wait, please!” Hero shouted before they could stop themself. They pulled desperately at the covers, their warmth. They couldn’t feel the scrape of cold air against their skin again. Couldn’t live with another second of clouded breath and silent shivers.

Sorrow crossed Villain’s face and they laid a hand on the Hero’s own, warming it with the touch of their fingers. “I have to treat the damaged skin. I promise I won’t hurt you.” They studied Hero’s expression, waiting until the tension in their shoulders faded before taking Hero’s arms from beneath the covers.

For the first time Hero noted the pinkish-blue tint of their fingertips. They had been too stunned to care before, but now the tingling sensation made sense. Frostbite.

Hero couldn’t help but sigh as the rag was wrapped around their hands. It spread like fire, licking up their insides and settling in a pool of heat. The cuts that covered their skin no longer screamed with pain, and the coloring returned to their complexion.

They stayed like that for minutes, breathing softly under the embrace of heat. Villain then removed the cloth to dip it back in the bowl.

“How did you find me?” Hero asked as Villain tucked them back beneath the blankets.

“It was late, and I still had yet to see you,” Clear droplets fell into the silver bowl as Villain squeezed the rag tighter, “I found your jacket in an alleyway, and Supervillain isn’t so secretive about their ventures.”

Hero tensed at the thought of the Supervillain, but Villain caught their gaze. “Don’t worry, I won’t let them touch you again, ever.” Their expression darkened as they spoke, though was soon replaced by a reassuring smile.

This time they held Hero’s chin gently and brushed the towel across their nose. The stroke of Villain’s thumb across their cheek left searing trails and Hero longed never to lose the feeling of their touch.

Villains retrieved a small device from their pocket, a thermometer, and ran it gently across Hero’s forehead. After a small beep sounded, they observed the reading with a pleased expression.

“Your temperature has gone back up,” they said, “You’ll have some scabs, but they should heal in due time.”

Villain gathered the bowl and rag and set them at Hero’s bedside. The thermometer was tucked into their pocket, but as they moved to stand, Hero stopped them.

“Wait-” Hero grasped their arm, all the numbness had gone from their fingers and they now latched onto Villain like a lifeline. “Stay.”

Arms outstretched, desperate, Hero tightened their grip ever so slightly. They couldn’t be alone again. They wanted Villain’s comfort and the warmth that came with their touch. They wanted Villain at their side.

And the Villain listened. They settled back onto the bed and shifted close. When Hero remained with their arms outstretched, they understood and carefully wrapped their arms around the other. Hero melted into the embrace, burying their face into Villain’s shoulder. They hadn’t even realized they had started to cry…

Villains rubbed soothing circles on their back, carding through their tangled locks even when Hero’s tears soaked their sleeve. They were safe.

Hero hugged Villain tighter, latching onto them as if they were the only one left on earth, and in Hero’s world, they were. “Please don’t let go,” They mumbled into Villain’s sleeve, and ever so softly a hand rose to cup their cheek.

“I won’t Hero, I swear with everything that I never will again.”

[oceanlipgloss]

BUBBLEGUM

PAIMON.

+ warnings: dark themes, erotic hues, focus on haematophilia [mentions of blood and its relevant elements], graphic/gory descriptions (gore fascinates me and I like it a lot, so while I enjoyed writing this a bit too much, it's a fact that this piece is definitely not for everyone—i.e. people with weak stomachs, revulsion of blood, and/or dislike for twisted material).

+ female mc, feminine pronouns.

Blood and bubblegum don’t mix. Is that what they think?

The thing is, they do. One minute he’s hunting angels, the next he’s putting on stickers. It’s quite stupid to judge a book by its cover, or a pretty face by its perfect makeup.

Blood can have different shades. Just as in the case of paint, darkness and texture depend on a number of factors.

‘They’d all look so pretty on youuu,’ he had told her.

His palms painted her naked body with the brightest red. He printed the shadows of his fingers on her as though she were a canvas. A pale canvas of soft, corrupted flesh.

Burgundy coagulated on her skin. Crimson clots flaked under his nails.

The room smelled rancid with the rusty iron of blood and the bloody juices of meat. It was a nauseating, sickening smell, but it aroused her. Even as her stomach heaved, even when her intestines tensed inside her, it aroused her.

Her organs were on fire.

Lipgloss and metallic salt became one in flavour.

She was smeared with the blood of dead angels.

He was lovelier when he looked crazy.

Everything reeked.

Dizzy.

She was dizzy.

So sharp, so rancid.

Swallowing everything else.

She could almost no longer smell the subtle flowers on him, faint as their syrupy fragrance had become. And yet, her overwhelmed senses latched onto something in the hot air, to the fruity sugar.

It was familiar.

Childhood’s unforgettable scent.

The sweet scent of bubblegum.

+notes: Paimon's lust for blood made PrettyBusy chicken out play safe, so I stepped in with a ketchup bottle and some red paint ;)

Either way, ever since yesterday I've been working on and organising my WIPs hence the fic duo today, and this was the last WHB piece in my notes. I almost murdered it and drowned the evidence in a bathtub, but to be honest, I really liked the only pair of sentences I had already written ('blood and bubblegum' ➙ 'putting on stickers') and thought it would be a shame not to use them; I couldn't put them in another character's fic either, as they were tailored specifically for Paimon, and I also didn't have a clue about which direction the fic should take. So, I gave my brain a few scritches, scratches, and pokes, until the next thing I knew, I was thinking, 'oooh, this is gonna be hot' lol ngl man, this has to be one of my favourite works I've ever written.

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

[theladyofrosewater]

Thinking about shadow knights and how their forms reflect their individuality when separated from Shad's direct control and they maintain their individuality and yes I will draw these later

(Content/Trigger Warning for like Body Horror, stay safe besties)

Laurance glows from the cracks in his armour, to his hair and even his footsteps leaving sparks when he's angry enough. He'll give off heat but it's never enough to really burn them, not anymore. It's more like he's a campfire or a fireplace. Something that makes you feel safe rather than threatened. Eventually the rock in his armor begins to look like wyvern scales as he ever so slowly learns to let other people back in and eventually he won't even look like a Shadow Knight....He'll look like an old friend.

Sasha seems to leach heat from the air even if she can still burn you without trying. Her hair goes short and is constantly flaking off ash as she walks, her hands ending in finger bones instead of flesh. Her armor is sharp and glass like obsidian which could cut someone if they even grazed against her. Worst of all her armour resembles the old guard uniform of Meteli and she doesn't even realize. What she does notice however is the burned in runes surrounding her left ring finger bones and reading them reveals that they were the wedding vows she wrote before her death.

Zenix's armour looks slightly childish and impractical, with twisted barbs and jagged edges, he looks how a child would imagine how a shadow knight looks instead of anything based in reality because he was a child himself when he was turned. He grows fangs just too long for his mouth to close comfortably and the heat he gives off does nothing but hurt himself and others when he loses his temper quickly. As the years go by the armor starts to shift slightly, oh ever so slightly into his old Phoenix Drop armour and he snaps at anyone who mentions it, trying to ignore the homesickness that's taking root in his heart.

Vylad is covered with ash and soot and seems to be made out of the very earth of the Nether, with regular pulses of heat that are just uncomfortable enough to make you sweat. He's made of the abyss that took him and was made to blend into it, to be forgotten in it's walls and let himself melt and become fuel for the souls in it's walls. That is except for the hole in his chest that goes all the way to the other side and glows with an inner fire that's white-hot.

Gene's armor is what one could call "fanciful" with polished rocks and glass to look like gemstones and the mix of red and gold of the earth forming a elaborate trim. Even his weapon looks perfect with it's glass sharp reflection and edge. It's almost eerie how perfect and put together he look. The perfect look for a head guard and Shad's right hand general or it would be if it weren't for the choking smoke that followed him everywhere and the fact that he can burn you without you even noticing. not to mention the rusty metal band around his neck that leaked a dark red every so often, as if it was holding a wound together.

Zane grew hanging lichen from his limbs while he was captive, with black metal growing and wrapping around his limbs and body as he grew thinner and thinner, his body desperate to stay together. Eventually the very rocks in the walls started to form together with his skin, so much so that when he finally stepped into the Overworld after decades several guards fled from the sight outright as he looked like an Eldrich being with the broken halo that seemed to form behind his head and the rocks that overtook his jaw, leaving nothing but a single burning eye to stare into your soul.

[mingtinys]

back in the game

pairing : kim younghoon x gn!reader

maverick!au , angst , hurt / comfort

warnings : mentions of fire , blood , and death

word count : 0.7 k

requested ? no

a/n : maverick and tbz lore has always been so interesting to me, SO expect plenty of lore-based boyz fics

Younghoon still dreams on the brink of suffocation. With smoke twirling in the orange glow of his world burning around him. Infiltrating the makeshift inferno trapping him and filling his lungs.

Every night, for nearly two months, the memory plagues his sleep. Forced to relive every excruciating second down to the very last detail.

It always starts the same, with you lying slumped in his arms. Short, sputtering, gasps escaping your red-tinged lips as he cradles you against his chest. His left hand is warm, coated in dark red as it desperately clamps down on the gaping wound in your abdomen. But no amount of pressure can stop your blood from pooling on the dirty cement below. At this point, it's a race to see what kills you first. The rebar through your stomach or the fire spreading through the compound.

The collapsed steel around him moans as it bows from the heat. The sound akin to the weathered wood of an old house bearing its final storm. Ash flurries around like snow from above. Each flake hissing as they singe his clammy skin.

"Please!" He cries, between fits of coughs. His throat too parched for his vocal cords to produce anything but a hoarse whimper. "Someone! We're down here, please..."

But in his dreams, Eric doesn't find him. Doesn't hear his tattered screams through the rubble. Doesn't tear through the remains, piece by piece, scorching his hands on the hot metal in the process. Sangyeon doesn't pull him from his prison and rush you to Jacob for treatment just in the nick of time.

In his dreams, you go limp, and Younghoon spends his final minutes on earth alone. Left to choke on the stench of iron and smoke. Those eight neon letters burned into his brain.

MAVERICK.

A sick, twisted, game.

It's not fair.

How could any of what happened ever be justified in their eyes? The inhumanity. All that training just to treat them as expendable tools. Like–

"Younghoon," you call softly. Like anything louder would shatter what's left of him. "Younghoon, love, it's too cold to be out here at this hour."

Younghoon can't remember how long it's been since he awoke from his personal hell. All he can recall after waking were the four walls closing in on him. The sweat drenched his back and hairline. Dread flooding his veins, mind, and lungs. Panic lighting every neuron ablaze until it propelled him into the crisp night.

He thought he could escape it out here. But his chair creaks against the wooden porch as he rocks. Creaks like steel beams. The stars litter the sky like ash. The rain pipe drips and pools like your blood–

"Hey," gentle fingers tilt his chin up to your worried gaze. "You're not there." It's times like tonight, when you tether Younghoon to his reality, that he finally feels safe enough to let his emotions catch up to him.

"Was it the same nightmare?" You ask even though you already know.

His answer comes in the form of teary eyes and an outstretched hand that tugs at the hem of your shirt. A silent plea for comfort. Certainty. Confirmation you won't slip away when his eyes shut. Shaky fingers dip under the soft fabric and ghost the scarred skin beneath. You shudder, no doubt with your own memories of that night. One's you've refused to speak of since. Younghoon doesn't know just how much of it you remember, just that the nightmares find you at this hour as well.

Strained sobs break the silence of the night. You cradle his head against your stomach to muffle them. Delicate fingers comb through his hair in an attempt to soothe, though they do little to quell his tears. Younghoon clutches at any part of you he can grasp. Refusing to let death rip you from his arms once more.

"I can't..." He gasps, "–I can't breathe."

You assure him he can. "Just follow me, okay? In–" you trail a finger up his spine "– then out," and back down. You breathe with him, letting your finger be the metronome to guide him. A few more and the tension in his muscles melts away into exhaustion.

Finally, Younghoon feels the smoke clear from his lungs.

[netherworldpost]

Deep 'Neath the Mountain the Forge Bellows High

The mountain dwarf hammered the horse shoe, careful to bend the red hot metal to the perfect shape. His hands, calloused beauties, mastered this craft more centuries ago than he had fingers.

The dwarf made a low, grumbling, barrel of a growl into his beard as he squinted at his work. Measuring the arc. Assessing the weight. He could tell to the metal flake how heavy the shoe is, he could spot if there were weak spots in the metal as if it were part of his own heart's riverways.

The smith exhaled a wheeze.

A laugh.

A pleased. Laugh.

"Three down," he muttered as he plunged the shoe into a bucket of thick, syrupy oil.

The dwarf did not mention 'one to go,' as that would call into question the possibility of metal cracking, fire dying -- or stone forbid -- a missed hammer strike.

No.

The dwarf turned to his forge fire and assessed it with the critical eye of a grocer inspecting incoming vegetables. The final had to be perfect. As perfect a horse shoe as its brothers.

This project, his masterpiece, his greatest (dare I say the word) passion, had to incorporate the entirety of his hard-earned skill.

Frowning in satisfaction, the dwarf glanced at a slab marked with white chalk, counting down the days, each line drawn carefully, precisely, of equal length, rigidly as tall as the rest, and no taller than necessary.

There was no flippancy to the marks.

They were all practical. Structured. A workdwarf's calendar. Easy to erase when the month shifted over. Easy to clean. Easy to track. Easy to count.

Except one.

There was one mark in rose quartz hued chalk. Bit taller. Rounded. Rounded!

The dwarf's satisfied frown softened, his lips pursed in reaction, his eyes squinted a bit, not from the smoke, not from the fumes drifting from the oil, not from the sweat beading on his brown, arms, back, chest, not the sweat running down his neck.

"Soon."

It was a word. A spell.

A hope.

The date the mountain dwarf propose to that damn fool centaur he has been dating nigh these twenty years.

"Neigh these twenty years!" the shoesmith laughed, a bellow, ringing sound of rocks tightening under the crushing weight of a shifting tectonic plate.

The mountain dwarf gathered himself, shook his head, his eyebrows knitting together. He would speak only in forge curses, prayers for help from the gods of metal and fire, for the rest of the evening, the next day, day after, as he worked to perfect the final engagement horse shoe.

[flowercrowngods]

just a teeny tiny little wintering kid fic thing for @cxwzkeys featuring transmasc!eddie/steve/johnny (that punk from family video) ❄️

Babies are the most punk rock thing to exist. Well, according to Eddie, they’re the most metal thing ever, but Eddie can’t be right about everything. They had lengthy arguments about it — lengthy only because they were busy laughing and kicking and fighting dirty about it (read: Steve distracted them both with kisses and scalp massages).

Secretly, Johnny decided that Val is their metal baby and Sue is their punkrock baby. Valerie Amalia Munson, born into the world during a glorious summer storm and crying her lungs out. “Most metal ever,” Eddie had breathed, exhausted and sweaty and so, so warm after giving birth to their babygirl.

And Johnny let’s them have it.

But Sue? Suzie Joanne? With her wild, blonde mane that Johnny likes to pretend to spike up into a mohawk? Oh, she’s his little punkrock baby, alright. Especially with that little pointy hat she’s wearing right now, sleeping soundly in her papa Steve’s arms while he caresses chubby red cheek whispering nonsensical promises to her sleeping form. It never fails to make Johnny smile, even as Joyce has him wrapped up in a conversation about… something. He’s not listening. Not when that’s his babygirl sleeping so soundly in the arms he knows can make anyone feel safe.

Joyce stops talking and follows his eyes, her hand coming up to Johnny’s forearm as she strokes him gently, as though she understands and forgives him.

“She’s beautiful,” she says.

“Yeah,” Johnny says. “She is.” Then, remembering where he is, he snaps out of it and looks back at Joyce, who has this awfully gentle look on her face, her eyes almost watery. She knows. She’s a parent, and she knows.

She had two little punkrock babies, too, even though Big and Baby Byers are a lot more normie about it.

He grins at her and motions for her to follow him. “How ‘bout we make some hot chocolate for those two, hm?”

“Oh, you deserve one just as much,” Joyce says, lightly nudging his shoulder as they walk through Steve’s winter holiday home — it should still be a crime that this exists, but Johnny knows how excited his idiot lovers get about snow, so he’ll pause the agenda for two weeks, in the name of stars in Steve’s and Eddie’s eyes. But after that, it is on!

“But I didn’t—“

“Yes, you did,” Joyce says, gathering all the stuff she needs to make her infamous holiday hot chocolate — these should really be capitalised, in his very secret opinion. “You’re doing a lot, all three of you, raising those two wonderful girls. And you’re doing enough. You deserve a treat about it even if you’re not drowning in house and care work, boy, when will you learn that?”

Johnny smiles sheepishly, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, not really comfortable with the easy affection just because.

“Sorry, ma’am. Yes, ma’am.”

“Now that’s what I wanna hear. Come, help me.”

And so he does. They work in silence, the entire situation still so unreal to him. Standing in this lavish kitchen in his big house somewhere in the middle of nowhere as humongous flakes of snow keep falling outside while he can walk around here in socks.

Some part about him wants to be angry about it. But another part is just… calm. Happy. Indulgent.

They get to have this, get to invite Steve’s found family here each year before the rest of Eddie’s and Johnny’s will arrive, too, for two weeks of winter fun.

Two weeks where his little family gets reminded of how big it actually is. It takes a village, they say — and man, they really actually almost got one. It’s insane. He loves them all so much.

The rest are lounging around the fire, with a very mortified-looking Hopper trying not to move as a two-year-old little metal gremlin girl spends her nap time sleeping on his stomach.

Johnny grins as he meets his eyes, saluting to him with too much cheek, knowing it will land him face-first in the snow later, but he doesn’t care as he carefully balances three too-large mugs of hot chocolate in his hands, walking over to his best guys over on bank by the large window.

Steve has stopped whispering things to his little banshee girl and is gently swaying her this way and that instead — Johnny wonders if he’s aware he’s doing it.

He watches for a moment, just to take it on, just to feel again how unreal everything is. Still he can’t help the smile as he steps closer and presses a kiss to the crown of Steve’s head, who hums in affection.

“Need me to take over?” he asks, finishing off with another kiss. “Take her for a while?”

Steve shakes his head, leaning back slightly to look up at him, his head bumping into Johnny’s stomach as he does, earning himself another kiss.

“No, she’s asleep.”

Eddie scoots closer to Steve to make room for him on their bench.

“Come sit with us?” they ask, barely tearing their gaze away from the dancing, tumbling snowflakes outside, their voice just as quiet as Steve’s, just as hushed, just as reverent. It’s the snow, Johnny figures. It’s the snow and their little babygirl.

Johnny hums and leans over to the side, lightly kissing Eddie and brushing his lips to his little girl’s forehead, too. It’s so… magical, having this tiny little human who is already so different from their other tiny human. Most beautiful goddamn thing he’s ever seen, both of them.

“I love you, little punkrock baby,” he whispers, delighted to see she doesn’t even stir. Delighted to see she feels so safe. So calm. That she can just fall sleep anywhere. She’s like her papa Steve.

“I love you, too, you big punkrock baby,” Steve says, bumping his nose into Johnny’s cheek with a smile. “Now come. Rest. While you can, before madame decides she’s jealous of this very delicious smelling hot chocolate you’ve acquired there.”

“Fuck off,” he chuckles, handing over their mugs as he slides in on Eddie’s other side, resting his arms on the window sill and just watching his little family for a bit.

In the end, they make use of the quiet they’ve been given when Eddie leans against Johnny and Steve against Eddie, the three of them falling asleep in a little pile, their baby safe in her papa’s arms.

It’s only when Val comes over an hour later and decides she wants to be part of their cuddle pile, too, that they have to stir and rearrange. She ends up in Johnny’s lap, watching the snow as Eddie tells a story about a Snowflake named Sam.

Johnny pretends not to listen raptly.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

The Lost Princess Chapter 7

Jotun!Loki x plus size reader

When Jotunheim and Asgard are on the brink of war, only a marriage of convenience between the two worlds can unite them. The only problem is, Odin does not have a female heir, or does he?

Submit your own character!

Warnings: violence, arranged marriage, angst, enhanced!reader, swearing, slightly unhealthy relationship, Loki is an emotionally stunted person, age gap (I wrote reader as being in her early twenties but can be read as any age)

WC: 8.9k (I'm so sorry hahaha)

A/N: Thank you all for sticking with this series, I find it hard to write sometimes but I promise, the subsequent chapters will be shorter and coming out quicker. I love you all!! 💞💞

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Minors DNI

Chapter 7

Home Again

“Remove your hands from her or I will do it for you.” Loki’s voice was edged with something dangerous, the tip of a knife doused in poison. Y/N could feel his anger even from yards away but her own fury overpowered her fear of him and his temper. Thor faltered only a moment before his grip tightened on his sister’s shoulders, pulling her behind his bulky body in a vain attempt to shield her from the frost giant.

His glare deepened, his red eyes blazing with a barely contained fire. Adjusting the hold on the hilt of his long blade, his knuckles turn a pale blue with the force. “Let. Her. Go.” Each word is punctuated by a thundering step forward that shook the stone floor. He seemed far bigger than his usual 12 foot-self like this, with his bare chest puffed out, silvery lines of old scars and traditional markings shining in the lamplight. He would look terrifying to Y/N if she wasn’t blinded by the overwhelming feeling of betrayal.

A sour anger curled in her gut as he got closer and closer. The rest of the world faded to a white noise, her focus solely on her husband. She easily side-stepped her brother, fingers curling into fists so tight that her nails sliced through the delicate skin of her palms. Bright red blood dripped from between her knuckles.  

The grey cobblestone beneath her bare feet melted, her body radiating a heat she had never felt before. The stone sizzled as her blood made contact with the floor, leaving behind dark stains on the now white hot ground. “You lying, manipulative piece of shit.” She barely caught the falter in his step, the hitch of his breath, as if he was wounded by her words. “You are a selfish worm who doesn’t deserve the air he breathes. Was everything a lie? Did you just make up that little sob story to get me into your bed willingly?”

The oxygen ignited around her, embers burning out before sparking to life again. The air crackled unstably, like the moment before a fire rages out of control. “Are you that pathetic that you have to rely on lies and trickery to force someone to marry you? To have a slave at your every beck and call to make you feel powerful?”

“You know nothing!” Shadows curled around the god. He had stopped in his tracks, blade plastered to his muscular thigh, almost as if he was preventing himself from doing her harm. The dark metal trembled against his blue skin. 

“I know enough.” She snarled, also stopping. Wind whipped around her, sending sparks flying through the great halls. She was an inferno, waiting to blow.

They were an arms length apart and he towered over her but she refused to back down, refused to give even an inch as the feared prince glared down at her, his jaw clenched so tightly, she could see the muscles ticking. “All that talk about helping me, about teaching me. All of that, was that a lie too?” His eyes darted away, telling her all she needed to know. 

Flames so hot they were blue licked up the bare skin of her legs, singing her husband’s shirt. It flaked away from her body but the fire replaced the silk. “I did what I had to.” The air shimmered with the heat, making her facade tremble before him.

Loki studied her, daring her to make the first move. They were on the precipice of something more but for the first time, Y/N was in control. She had a choice, turn her back and run or make him burn for what he did. She thought about what she had confided in him. Of her pain and fear, and he pretended to care. “I hate you.” Her voice was calm but brittle, on the edge of breaking with even the most gentle of touches.

“You do not hate me.” He urged, his own voice becoming softer as if to cradle her own. “You could never hate me.” The flickers began to die down around her as the fight began to leave her body. She was tired and her body craved his attention, needing to be held and comforted.

But when he took a step forward, she took two back. The tears that escaped her eyes, disappearing as soon as they touched her cheeks, evaporating instantly. “I can’t believe I trusted you.”

She did not fight the hand that closed around her bicep, carefully pulling her away from him and into the embrace of her brother. “I can’t believe I-I lo-“ Her words were cut off with a sob and buried her face into Thor’s chest who had silently followed her every step, her anger burning away like ash in the wind. 

“If you know what is best for you, let us leave.” Thor spoke plainly, using one arm to lift her into him so that he could carry her, while the other held Mjölnir at the ready. For a moment, it seemed Loki would let them leave, the ruby of his eyes dulled and forlorn but then, in the blink of an eye, his sword was pressed into Thor’s sternum.

“You are mine! You have always been mine! How dare you disobey me! How dare you even think of leaving me!” But the god did not waver, his hold tightening around her as he prepared himself for battle. The leather of his armour easily gave way to the sharp tip of the blade.

“By order of Queen Frigg of Asgard, the allmother, your marriage is annulled and Princess Y/N must return to her place on Midgard.” Thor took several long strides backwards, Loki followed, his weapon at the ready. He would kill to get her back, the god could see that, but he would not give him the chance.

“You cannot take her from me!” He howled like a wild animal. And Y/N flinched.

“I was never yours, I will never be yours.” She spoke in a whisper but her husband heard her all the same. “Goodbye Loki.” As the light from the bifrost enclosed around the siblings, he lunged but a sudden wall of white flames forced him back as they burned his skin.

“No!”

The air was warm, almost biting against her freezing skin as the sun finally shone on them. The wind was a gentle breeze, shifting the fields of flowers like the waves of an ocean. But the beauty of the scene was broken by a scream.

Y/N slipped from her brother’s arms, releasing a howl from deep in her soul. The ground singed beneath her, burning with the rage and pain she felt. Thor could only watch, helpless as she crumbled before him, crawling at the dirt.

“Sister.” He called but she did not respond. Her sobs broke his heart and all he could do was kneel beside her and pull her back into his arms. She clutched onto his arm which was pressed against her chest as she leaned back against his front. His blue eyes shut, wishing he could take her pain.

By the time her chest hiccuped with quiet cries, the sun had begun its descent, casting a golden glow over the field. “I want to go home.” She whispered against the tanned skin of his forearm. Thor nodded against the side of her head and laid a quick kiss to her temple.

“Then let’s go home.” 

Tony kept three photos on his desk. The first was of him and Pepper the day he proposed, the Paris skyline silhouetted behind them as their lips met in a kiss borderline of explicit. The second was of him and Peter, both hunched over his lab bench, focusing on some invention that they had later scrapped.

The final one was a side profile of a woman. Tony had found it in the small bedroom in Y/N’s home. She was younger, not yet burdened by the world. Her smile was easy, her eyes soft. She wore a lilac sundress, a flower tucked behind her ear. 

It had been almost seven months since he had last seen her face, heard her voice. The search had been given up when Thor came back, reeking of alcohol and sadness. He had told him that he was too late, that she was already Loki’s and there was no way of getting her home. 

She was gone, married to the monster responsible for the death of more than 80 people and the almost complete destruction of New York. He dreaded even thinking of what was happening to her, what he was making her do. Everything he had tried to get her home had failed. 

Building a long range rocket to somehow reach Jotunheim. Trying to beat up a depressed Thor and forcing him to take Tony to her. Even trying to bribe Strange. All of it crashed and burned.

It was only last month, during a late night brainstorm that Pepper had convinced him to stop. “She made her choice Tony. She married him of her own free will.” It destroyed her to tell him that but he needed to hear it, he had to know it wasn’t his fault. He had broken down in her arms but he was ok, finally.

AC/DC, as usual, blasted far too loud through his home lab. His ears pounded with the high volume but he kept plotting along, his eyes focused on yet another suit design that FRIDAY had pulled up for him. Pepper was out at a charity gala that he couldn’t be bothered to attend so he could stay up as late as he wished, or rather, how late his body would allow given that the only thing in his system was a smoothie and many cups of coffee.

“Hey boss, Thor has just made a landing on Earth.” The AI pipped up. Tony sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“And why is that of any importance to me?” There was a beat of silence before the hologram before him disappeared and a video feed filled his vision. Thor was standing outside the gate, a woman held tightly in his arms. His armour looked strangely burnt, the silver metal blackened, his cape ripped.

“Is that?” Tony started, his eyes widening.

“Yes Boss, it’s Miss Y/N.” He stumbled to his feet, knocking over everything on the bench. His chest constricted with panic. She was alive, she was here. “Should I let them in, boss?” But he didn’t respond, lost in a blind haze. Tony ripped through the lab, his disbelief and returning hope driving him forward faster and faster until he was sprinting through his home, FRIDAY’s voice following close behind him.

“Y/N!” He consciously knew she couldn’t hear him but he had to call her name, to make this real. The front doors swung open before him like gates to a new world. The setting sun illuminated a pair of figures, forming a beautiful glow around their heads.

Her head lolled against the god’s shoulder and in the fading light, he saw her smile sadly at him. “Tony.” There was no grace to his movements as he collided with them, only pure relief. Her soft body fell into his embrace and he finally felt like he could breathe again.

“I’ve got you. You’ll never have to leave again.” There was movement in his peripheral vision as Thor backed away from them. Tony chanced a glance at the god who had brought her home. He looked devastated. He could only speculate about what had happened to them both for them to end up here. A sudden wetness forced his brown eyes back down to Y/N.

She was crying quietly, sobs that sounded strained like she had nothing left to give. Tony cupped the back of her head as he wrapped his other arm around her shoulders. “Keep her safe, there's work to be done.” And with that haunting message, Thor was gone. 

“Let’s get you inside and put on some human clothes.” She chuckled tearfully against his chest and Tony smiled, feeling the way her own lips curved up in that grin he knew so well.

“I really want a cheeseburger right now.” 

“Then let’s get as many greasy slabs of meat as you can stand and a milkshake too.” Her laugh became more joyous, a sound he missed so dearly. “Come on, you also have months of trash TV to catch up on. You won’t believe the shit you missed on the Real Housewives.” He helped her to her feet, noting the shirt she wore that was far too big to be her own. He resolved to burn it as soon as she took it off.

She hummed in agreement. “I miss my phone too, and coffee. Dear lord, I would kill for a coffee.” His arm wrapped around her shoulder, guiding her into the luxurious mansion, leading her away from the nightmare she had escaped.

“Now you’re speaking my language, kid. Coffee and a phone coming right up!” 

Cold water washed over her as Y/N stood in the massive shower. She was still running terribly hot, her skin blazing like a bad fever. Emotions swirled in her mind, the anxiety, fear, and sadness. But what made it worse was that every time she closed her eyes, she saw Loki.

She wished her mind showed her his terrifying anger, the evil deeds he had done but instead she watched snap shots of their life together. The way he held her protectively while they slept, his huge arms winding around her soft body to keep her pressed against his muscular chest. The rare instances where he would chuckle under his breath at one of her outbursts. Even those times where he kissed her with a passion she had never encountered before.

Her chest ached with the simultaneous feeling of complete betrayal and the relief to be home with people who loved her. But seeing her ex-boss again, eating their favourite meal together, even watching menopausal white women yelling at each other felt different. Everything was just as she left it, but she had changed fundamentally.

Her fingers brushed the slim chain of her collar which she had not had the heart to take off yet. Everything else had been stripped away and she assumed destroyed in the most violent way possible by the eccentric billionaire but the necklace remained.

Shutting off the water, she dried almost immediately, the remaining droplets evaporating into the chill air of the bathroom. A small pile of clothes were left on the counter for her, suspiciously they weren’t new but in fact from her now abandoned apartment in the Avengers Tower.

She caught her reflection in the huge mirror on the otherside of the blindingly white bathroom. She was not the girl she was before. Her innocence and trust in the world was robbed from her, replaced with an anger and cynicism that would have disgusted her younger self. Her body was now covered in scars, the branding of the torture she endured both mentally and physically. 

Y/N traced the lines of her body, now more rounded out than the last time she was on Earth but she did not feel a hatred for those extra pounds that sat on her curves. It meant that she had survived, and now, she would have the chance to live again. 

As she quickly redressed, hiding her necklace under the large plaid Tony had given her. Sadly, she glanced at her left hand. Her ring had been the first thing taken from her. 

Tony ripped it from her finger as soon as he saw it, tucking it into the pocket of his jeans with the promise that he would melt it down into nothing. She couldn’t admit to even herself that her hand felt wrong without the familiar weight of the bulky ring. 

A sudden knock on the door shook her from her thoughts. “Did you drown in there?” Tony said jokingly but she could hear the worry in his voice.

“I’m fine boss, just getting dressed.” His sigh of relief was loud enough to hear through the large door. Double checking her appearance and making sure her scars were covered, Y/N opened the door, the ripped ruins of her husband’s shirt in her arms.

As soon as Tony made eye contact with the younger woman, his shoulders slumped. “C’mon kid, let’s get you downstairs, there are some people that want to see you.” The silk was taken from her grasp with a quick yank and tucked behind his back.

Y/N’s heart rate spiked. The last time she was surrounded by people was her wedding. She had been isolated for months, only seeing Loki or his father on occasion. But still she nodded, painting a strained smile on her face to appease her mentor. He had told her of the effort and pain the whole team went through to find her again, she had to see them.

He took her arm in a friendly gesture. Y/N froze up. Suddenly her belly was filled with fear as bile rose in her throat. They marched side by side to the main sitting room where she picked up overlapping murmuring of voices. Each step brought back memories of her biological father pulling her forward to a fate she agreed to but did not want.

She heard the clack of her heels, felt the weight of the tiara on her head, heard the swoosh of the beads Frigg had given her, with each step. Her fingers curled tightly around Tony’s bicep causing him to hiss. Her eyes were wide with fear.

Logically, she knew these people would never hurt her but yet, she was still terrified. “Hey hey, we don’t have to do this now.” Tony had stopped walking only a few feet from the entryway to the large room and turned to face her.

Y/N shook her head. “It’s fine, I’m fine.” But her words were hollow.

He glanced at her skeptically. “Ok- how about if you need to tap out, say pineapple. It’s my safe word.” That made her giggle, easing the building pressure in her chest. 

“Could you get any more basic?” She teased. Taking in a deep breath, she stepped forward once more, entering a window to her past.

The Avengers looked like they had been trapped in time until she returned. There were small differences, like Bucky’s short hair and Steve’s beard but all in all, they looked just as she remembered them. It felt like a dream, an image her mind had conjured up as some sort of unconscious protection from the cruel reality she had been living in.

Her eyes locked with Wanda’s grey ones. The witch gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. This caused the others to look around, searching for the source of her shock. “Y/N!” She threw herself at said woman, enveloping her in the warmest, tightest hug Y/N had ever experienced. 

That seemed to break the others from their trance. They swarmed her like ants, each attempting to embrace her but stopped by the arms of another team member. Even as her brain was thrumming with panic, she laughed. Those feelings were shoved down as far as they would go, inevitably to be dealt with when she woke up from her nightmares.

She could barely catch individual words as they spoke over each other, eager to hear of her ordeal. There was only one that hung back. Steve looked like he was about to cry, his blue eyes shone with tears he couldn't hide as he crumpled onto the couch behind him.

Instantly, the way was cleared for Y/N. “Steve.” She whispered. He wouldn't look at her. She knew he must've been wracked with guilt, blaming himself for what happened to her like the noble and slightly foolish man he was. Y/N repeated his name, drawing closer to the soldier, her body trembling.

His broad shoulders shook with silent sobs, becoming more hysterical the closer she got. “I-I can't believe this. You're not here.” The others had gone silent, glancing at each other with looks of worry. They knew Steve had taken her disappearance hard but they didn't think it was this bad.

“I'm here. I'm home.” She fell to her knees before him, dipping her head so she could catch a glimpse of his eyes. “I'm safe.” Tentatively, he reached for her, the tips of his fingers just barely touching her full cheek. As soon as he made contact with her hot skin, something snapped in his mind.

Strong arms wrapped so tightly around her, her ribs creaked with the force. But it didn't hurt. “I've got you.” Tears soaked into her shirt from where he tucked his face against her neck. 

Y/N expected that usual warm feeling to settle on her chest from whenever Steve touched her, the butterflies in her stomach and dare she say it but the spark of arousal between her legs. And yet, as she held him more intimately than ever before, emotions flying, she felt nothing. 

Well, she did feel sad, she chose to marry Loki and put all of her friends through this. She had a fondness for Steve she knew would never dissipate but it seemed now there was an icy grip on her heart, holding all of her affections back. “Oh Stevie. I'm so sorry.”

The room grew quiet. They had all waited for this moment for so long and yet there was a wrongness to it that no one could identify. Y/N was different. Bucky clocked onto it first, seeing how dull her eyes were, how guarded her body language. She was holding back, fearful of something or someone. Or more likely, a whole room full of people.

“Let's give them some space.” He grabbed Sam by the shoulder as the younger man went to swoop in for another hug, “I'm sure we'll all get our fair share of Y/N time now that she's home.” A grateful look confirmed his suspicions. He nodded as he led the others away.

She watched them leave. He knew that look, it was the same way that he used to look at the world when he first escaped HYDRA. She was questioning if what she was seeing was really real or just some dream. Just as he turned to exit, Y/N shifted, causing her shirt to lift over her hip, exposing a small sliver of skin but it was more than enough to reveal the puckered flesh of a scar, one that looked painful and deep.

Their eyes met and it was like looking in a mirror, a broken and bloody mirror. With a silent promise to himself to check in on her later, Bucky shut the door softly behind him.

“It's just us now Stevie, you don't have to worry any more.” Her knees were getting sore from kneeling on the hardwood floor but Steve wasn't letting go anytime soon so she just resolved to sit there and wait for him to let go.

“I thought you were gone forever. And it was my fault.” He felt so small in her arms, so weak. He was crumbling before her like a sandcastle caught in the incoming tide. 

Y/N shook her head. “No Steve it isn't, I promise you that.” And no more could be said. He would insist he was at fault, and she would reassure him that it wasn't the case as more and more shame built up in her gut. So they stayed quiet, holding each other on the floor, both wishing they could turn back the clock.

“Little star, it’s time to wake up.” A smooth voice crooned. A cold hand cupped her full cheek, encouraging her to wake from the light slumber she found herself in. She smiled but quickly stamped it out, keeping her eyes firmly shut. “You cannot sleep forever, my star.”

“I’m not asleep.” Her voice was filled with laughter just waiting to bubble out.

“Oh really?” He hummed. “Then what are you? Because you look asleep to me.” His voice grew closer and she could feel his warm breath against the cup of her ear.

“I've been cursed and only you can break the spell.” Even with her eyes closed, she knew he was smiling in that wicked way he always did before he lathered her with his attention.

“And how do you propose I do that?” He asked like he didn't already know the answer. His fingers trailed down from her cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw, down the softness of her chin, then following the lines of her neck until he reached her collarbone which had been exposed by the t-shirt she wore.

Her breath hitched the lower he went, goosebumps following in his wake. “True love's kiss.” She felt him lean closer, his slim chest pressing against her left shoulder.

His lips were cold, as they usually were, but they were the softest things she ever felt. The kiss was gentle at first, merely a brush of his lips against hers but soon, he rested more of his weight on top of her, his hunger for increasing exponentially. 

But far too soon, he pulled away and her eyes fluttered open. “It's time to go, my star.” She frowned.

“But I don't want to go, I never want to leave your side.” Black hair hung over them like a curtain, shielding their faces from the rest of the world. She knew he didn't want to leave, but he had to, just like how she had to go home before her mother got too worried.

“I know my darling but one day, one day we will be together forever.” His green eyes shone with love as he looked down upon her.

“Do you promise?”

“Always.”

Y/N jolted awake, gasping for air like she had been drowning. These dreams were becoming more vivid as if she were revisiting a memory that had only occurred the day before. The boy had been a fixture of both her childhood and teen days, a comforting presence that only a first love could be.

“Little fucking star.” She growled, throwing the sheets from her body and slipping from the too soft bed Tony had provided her that she could never find rest in. Even with the air conditioning on full blast and sleeping naked, Y/N felt too hot, too uncomfortable.

She knew that her body was used to the freezing temperatures of Jotunheim and having a living ice cube sleep beside her but she didn't want to admit that out loud. It would be like admitting that she actually cared for the man that ripped her life apart and destroyed any future hope for an actually healthy relationship.

Darkness still enveloped the wooded area around the mansion, it must have been still early morning. Haphazardly, she grabbed coverup, concealing her naked body, and ventured out into the house, in search of something to occupy her mind.

It had been just over a week since Thor returned her to Earth. And to say it had been strange would be an incredible understatement. No more than three other people would be in a room with her, even movie nights and dinners were split up so she wasn't overwhelmed. Everyone walked on eggshells around her, consumed by their own guilt and frightened by what, if anything, would trigger her.

The only person that had actually treated her normally was Bucky and she supposed that was because he had gone through something similar. Well not the being forced to marry a god that tried to start a war in order to get revenge against his previous adoptive father, but the being kidnapped and experimented on part of it.

And then there was the person she had been avoiding for the six days she had been there, Steve. It was hard to look him in the eye and see that undying love he held for her while her own heart was confused and broken simultaneously.

The house was thankfully silent as Y/N walked along, mindlessly wandering as she  got lost in her own thoughts. Most of the Avengers had decided to temporarily stay with the Starks in an effort to provide some sort of normality for her. Only Clint, Bruce and Peter returned to their own homes, leaving the mansion still quite full.

“It's a bit late for a midnight snack.”

“Holy shit!” Y/N jumped at the sound of another voice interrupting her thoughts. Bucky sat at the counter, dressed in a red henley and sweatpants, his short hair still mussed from sleep, sipping a coffee that had gone cold a while ago.

He slyly smiled at her from behind his mug. “Don't scare me like that, asshole.” She grumbled but her scolding only served to make his eyes light up in amusement. Padding over to the pantry, Y/N began searching for something. She didn't know what she wanted but it was so nice to have that choice of just looking at a shelf full of food while she decided what to eat.

“You're the one stalking around a dark house in the middle of the night, I'm just having a coffee. Can't sleep?” She hummed.

“I'm thinking mac and cheese. Do you want some?” She knew she was being obvious with her avoidance of the question but hopefully the super soldier would take the hint and just drop it.

But Bucky was nothing short of persistent. With the silent steps of a weathered assassin, he cautiously approached her. “Go sit, I'll cook it for you.”

“No!” She snapped and suddenly the air in the room got ten degrees hotter. Bucky stepped back preparing for another outburst, but her shoulders fell, and so did the temperature. Her right hand cupped her cheek in a self-soothing manner. “I'm sorry. I just, I need to do this myself.”

“I know. How about I make us some hot chocolate to go with it?” Taking his chance, Bucky moved forward once more, his metal hand coming to rest on her bicep in a friendly touch.

“Y-yes thank you.” Her voice was shaky but her hands were steady, he would take that as a win. With a kiss pressed to her temple that made her release a shuddering breath, he left her to cook her mac and cheese as he started some hot chocolate. Maybe tomorrow she would open up some more.

“Hey Wanda?” The TV played a rerun of an old sitcom the witch was fond of, the volume down low so as to not wake Vis, who was somehow asleep. Her head lolled back on the couch and saw Y/N standing nervously in the doorway.

Her face was illuminated by the flashing lights of the show. Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Wanda could feel how conflicted her mind was, how lost and broken she felt. It was hard not to. Sadness oozed from the demigod like oil spilling into the ocean. “I need help.”

The testing room for Tony's suits was surprisingly empty given how many projects he was working on at once. Already, FRIDAY had a fire safety protocol in place plus a protective shield for Wanda if Y/N happened to go nuclear. “I'm sorry, what do you want me to do?” The red haired woman asked in disbelief.

“I want you to get into my head and find out how exactly my powers work. Lo- he tried to help me control them but I passed out whenever we trained. I need more control.” Her brow was set with determination. “So come on, slap my brain around a bit. It'll really help me out.”

Appalled, Wanda's mouth hung open in shock. “Y/N, that's not going to help. I think it might just make this whole thing worse.” But it seemed, she wouldn't listen to reason.

“I don't know what I'm capable of or even what could set me off. I need to find that trigger before I hurt someone. Please Wanda.” She crossed her arms over her slim chest.

But as she looked at the other woman, feeling her pain and her terror, she relented. “Fine, but I get to stop at any time for any reason. Deal?” Y/N's face lit up and Wanda was suddenly struck by the thought that she hadn't really seen her smile like this since before she disappeared.

“Thank you! Thank you!” She almost jumped for joy and Wanda watched as a huge weight was lifted from her shoulders. How heavy had this burden been and why would she want to carry it alone. Y/N scuttled off to the center of the room, stripping off the oversized long-sleeve shirt and leggings she wore, leaving her in a sports bra and panties.

Catching Wanda's curious gaze, she shrugged. “I don't want to burn up my clothes and have to walk back to my room naked.” 

“Fair.” She agreed. The scars were obvious now, standing out like tattoos against her skin. Wanda was fascinated by the morbid beauty of the largest of them. “So how do you want me to do this?” 

“Just get in there and poke around, see what sticks.” Red mist curled around her head as she steeled herself for the inevitable onslaught of emotion. 

An older man laughing through tears of sleep deprivation as he leaned against her.

Pain, knives slicing into her skin.

Blinding white and cold, the coldness of a hand as he slid a heavy ring on her finger.

Warmth as strong arms encircle her.

The taste of foreign fruit exploding on her tongue.

Tones of blue and red, lips coming closer to her own.

The sound of his amusement.

The smell of his hair.

Suddenly, all of it disappeared with a shocked gasp. Y/N shakily opened her eyes to see the devastation before her. The now previously white walls of the room were black with char, smoke curling from beneath her feet. Wanda still stood behind a protective shield but her face was coloured with terror.

“We have so much fucking work to do.” 

“It's not always nightmares.” A lone lamp in the corner of the living room was the only source of light for the pair, casting their faces in soft shadows. Bucky looked at Y/N from over his small plate of leftovers, noodles hanging from his lips as he took in what she said. “I dream of a boy I used to know sometimes.”

He quickly slurped up the rest of his food and put his plate to the side, shrugging. “I sometimes dream about Dot but they are of the damp variety if you know what I mean.” With a disgusted look on her face, Y/N slapped his arm but Bucky could see the way her mouth turned up in a shy smile.

“Shut up Barnes! I don't want to hear about your centuries old conquests!” He chuckled along with her.

“It was barely a century ago and besides who are you to judge, virgin.” He stuck his tongue out at her childishly which made her laugh even more. 

Their midnight chats had become a nightly occurrence, a colliding of two alike souls who were destined to drift apart once more like passing galaxies. She spent her days training, learning what she was truly capable of and her nights were for soothing her hurt.

Bucky was of two minds about the whole thing. He knew that he could help Y/N in a way that none of the others could but it broke his heart to see his best friend so hurt. No one knew why she had been avoiding Steve, well maybe Wanda did but there was no way she was going to say.

Steve needed to talk to her, to touch her and make sure she was real but whenever Y/N saw him, she would leave the room and isolate until it was time for her and Bucky to have their little chats. “I just keep dreaming about him. I don't remember his name or really what he looked like, but I know that he made me happy.”

She looked wistfully into the darkness as if trying to conjure him to appear before her. “It could be your mind trying to comfort itself, creating someone to deal with all the trauma you went through.”

Her brows furrowed. “But it feels so real, he felt so real.” Curling her shapely legs beneath her, Y/N leaned against the back of the couch, her eyes shifting upwards to the ceiling. This happened a lot, she would drown in her own mind, overwhelmed by the waves of emotion. 

“He might have been, a long time ago. But there is someone who is real that could help you.”

“Bucky-” Her gaze flicked down to him.

“No listen. Steve adores you and he cares for you in a way that I have never seen him care for someone before. You two need to hash out what ever the fuck has been going on.” His words carry a weight that Y/N already felt on her chest. “Let him help you.”

Taking in a deep breath, she tried to find the words to explain to him that she couldn't, when her breath caught in her throat. Emerging from the shadows, Steve loomed over the pair. Evidently, he had been working out, he donned his usual track pants and white t-shirt that was always a size too small. Sweat still glistened on his forehead, making his blond hair appear even darker.

Her head snapped to the former Winter Soldier, leveling him with a glare that sent a shot of fear down his spine. In that moment, he saw her become the goddess they all logically knew her to be, terrifying and beautiful. But her anger was controlled, measured. She knew he had told Steve to come up during their talk and he knew that she would get her revenge one way or another.

“You two need to talk. I'll see you in the morning.” Bucky began to reach out to touch her shoulder in a friendly gesture but faltered when he caught the flash of betrayal in her eyes.

Steve quickly took his place on the couch, his blue eyes boring into her soul. Guilt ignited in her veins. At first she avoided him because she was confused, her feelings were jumbled and running wild. But now, after having her brain turned into soup and put back together again by Wanda, she knew why.

“You, um you're looking a lot better.” 

“Thank you. I think I just needed some junk food and TV.” She huffed nervously. Every fibre of her body was telling her to run but she forced herself to stay, she owed him that. Reaching down, she fished her now cold cup of tea from the floor and cupped the ceramic gently between her palms. 

You're mine, little one. Heat soon flowed between her skin and the cup, quickly heating it back up. Steve looked at her in fascination as the tea began to steam. “Wow.”

She chuckled and curled into herself even more. “Pretty wild right?” He gave her that dazzling smile she knew so well, the one that made people around the country swoon when they saw it, his fake smile.

“Yeah, it's a neat trick.” She cringed at the insincere tone of his voice. Steve readjusted himself, his knees spreading wide so he could bend forward and plant his elbows onto his strong thighs. His fingers intertwined beneath his nose in a pose that screamed dominance. “So.”

“So?” He exhaled harshly through his nose.

“You've been avoiding me. No, don't try to argue, you have. I've spent days trying to figure out what I did wrong and I couldn't figure out what it was. But then, I overheard you and Wanda training.” Her heart dropped. She knew what conversation he was talking about.

“Y/N, I think we seriously need to talk about what your powers are tied to.” Confused, she glanced over at the witch and in the process, extinguished the flame floating freely before her.

“What do you mean?” She asked. Wanda sighed deeply from her place on the small bench they had dragged into the testing room. Her red hair hung heavily around her face, framing the devastating expression she was sporting. 

“Throughout everything, all your thoughts, your feelings, your fears, your hopes, they are tied to one person.” Her voice was soft like she was breaking bad news to Y/N.

“Steve?” 

“What? No. Loki you idiot!” 

Not convinced, Y/N shook her head. “No, I hate him, I want nothing to do with that piece of shit!” But her words held no conviction. Patting the spot beside her, Wanda gestured for the other woman to sit down with her.

“You say that but I have seen your mind. You may not have liked him at first, but you have grown to care for him. Your souls are intertwined like you have loved each other for decades. No matter what has happened, you do lo-”

“Shut up.” She snarled, suddenly turning on her friend. “You don't know what he did to me, what he caused. He is a monster, nothing more.” 

“I have seen him through your eyes! No matter how much you tell yourself that you despise him, it isn't true. I hate this as much as you do but it's a fact. You're in love with him.” There was a clatter from the opposite end of the room, causing both women to whip their heads around but there was nothing there.

Tentatively, Wanda faced Y/N again. “And he loves you. In some twisted, sick way, he needs you more than anything in this universe.” Fat tears streamed down her full cheeks as Wanda took her by the hands. “You need to admit that, and then we can move on.”

“Ok, fine.”

“You're avoiding me because he tricked you into falling in love with him!” The rage came swiftly like a summer storm. “He took you from us, from me! He forced you to marry him! And you're in love with him?!”

But her anger was the tsunami, not the rain. “You know what, fuck you Rogers. You don't know what I've been through and you certainly can't judge me for doing what I had to in order to survive.” 

“You need physiological help Y/N! You're obviously suffering from Stockholm Syndrome! I can help you! I can make it better!” He attempted to reach for her but she jerked away. His eyes flashed with pain at her rejection but she truly could not give less of a shit.

“Oh and what do you get out of this? You fix me and then what, I fall at your feet and offer to blow you as a thank you?” A dark pink flush spread across his cheeks and Y/N scoffed. She rose from her seat, slamming her mug of tea back down onto the coffee table in front of them. “That's what I thought. Don't speak to me again unless you're ready to actually fucking listen to me instead of pretending to be my hero. And tell Bucky that he can go fuck himself.”

Smoke rose from the empty cup, the only thing remaining was burnt tea leaves.

“I need to talk to my brother.”

“That's a weird way to say 'good morning my favourite human. Would you do me the honour of using your insanely large brains and good looks to contact my idiot brother?'” Tony didn't even bother to look up from his work as he answered but when Y/N didn't reply, he lifted his head.

She stood in the entryway to his lab, her expression that of pure hatred. He could see the heat around her, making the hardwood beneath her feet warp and curl from the flames within her. Her eyes were pure white, milky like those of a corpse. “My brother. Now.”

He had seen that look before, but it had been four years ago, looking into the eyes of a man that wanted to kill him and his entire species. How far had Loki sunk his claws into her?

“Ok ok just keep your pants on, this could take a minute.” That seemed to appease her as slowly, the colour returned to her irises almost like dye bleeding through white fabric. Her shoulders dropped and she staggered forward collapsing into a chair by his work bench. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

“Not really.” Came her response.

“Does it have something to do with the midnight rendezvous you've been having with the Manchurian Candidate? Or the mind melding with our wicked witch?” Y/N groaned and slipped from the chair, practically melting into the cool concrete of the floor.

“Sort of. It's mostly Steve though.” Tony glanced at her over the line of code he was writing so that Thor could be alerted. “He just- ugh I hate men!” 

“You can't have your big brother beat him up. No matter how much I dislike the Golden Boy, he's useful and the press like him, we don't need him dead.” 

Y/N sat up onto her elbows. The white streak of hair that she left out of her usual hair styles, falling perfectly over the left side of her face. “Please, I don't want to talk about it right now.”

“Riiight. Do you need your timeout room until point break gets here?” 

“Maybe a little bit.” He smiles kindly, as a father would to their child and nods his head towards the door diagonal to him.

“Go on, I'll have FRIDAY let you know when I get through to him.” With a groan, she pulled herself to her feet, staggering only once before she righted herself and slipped into the testing room. 

Tony turned back to his code but was interrupted once more as Y/N poked her head out from behind the door. “I know I don't say it enough, but thank you.”

“Go blow something up and stop bothering me.” He said dismissively but she heard the waiver of his voice.

“Whatever you say, old man.” 

The sound of small explosions soon became a white noise. The rumbling under his feet turned them numb but Tony didn't want to complain. He had seen her power, spying on her training with Wanda on occasion, only to be struck by what he had seen. 

Fire swirled around her like wind, a rainbow of reds and blue and whites. Her face was always at peace, her arms moving gracefully as she conducted an orchestra of destruction. But when she was mad, she really got mad. 

The flames became huge waves that would crash over her. Blind with rage, she would let it consume her whole until she collapsed in a heap. And today, seemed like one of those days.

Absent-mindedly, Tony switched on the fire suppression system for when the room got too hot and then returned to his work. The message had been sent out, now all he had to do was wait. 

“Where's Y/N? Did something happen? Is she ok?” The lights in the lab had brightened with the rising sun, but as usual, Tony was too absorbed in his own head to realise how much time had passed. The sudden panicked voice broke him from his thoughts.

He went to answer the frazzled god who stood in the slightly damaged doorway but found his throat was bone dry. He really needed to drink more water. So instead, he gestured vaguely to the training room and Thor took off. His huge bulk bumped into several tables, knocking a few important projects to the floor. He ignored Tony's hoarse shouts of protest in favour of almost ripping the door from its hinges to get to his sister.

But evidently, there was no need to panic. Y/N was sitting on the floor in the middle of the white room, covered in a white foam. Her expression was both one of absolute glee and extreme annoyance. “He could have just sprayed water on me and not this shit.” 

Thor's head dropped forward in relief. “That is not very dignified for a princess.”

“Suck my royal ass.” She retorted. She held her hand out and her brother wasted no time pulling her to her feet and into a tight hug.

“I'm glad you're alright, sister. Tony's message worried me.” Slowly, his arms unwound from her, letting her take a step back so their eyes could meet.

“I need to talk to you about something that none of the others would understand.” The strained tone behind her words, immediately sobered his mood.

“Very well, get cleaned up and I will take you somewhere private.” 

As it turns out, somewhere private was Thor's small cabin in Norway that had been set up for him a month after his sister's marriage. Apparently, he had gone mad with grief, falling into bad habits that put the other Avengers at risk. So they created a home for him in the wilderness where he could indulge without hurting others.

It was small, probably far too small for someone of his incredible stature, especially with all the little trinkets scattered around and framed photos on the walls. There were some generic stock photos of flowers or beaches but there were also candid shots of their friends, a gorgeous one of Jane in her lab, and a copy of the photo of Y/N that Tony had on his desk.

“I hope this is far enough away for you to be comfortable.” Thor said nervously, his anxiety spiked at what she could need from him. 

“Thor, we could have just gone to my room, but I appreciate the effort.” She chuckled as she ran her fingers over the photo of her brother very obviously drunk with his arms wrapped around Peter and an inebriated Sam. “You've got a lot of pictures here.”

“Yes! Cameras are such a magnificent invention, certainly better than sitting for portraits for hours on end as a child.” Y/N glanced back at her brother from over her shoulder.

“Do you have any portraits here? I bet you were such a cute kid.” He visibly lit up. With ginger steps, he scooted around her and walked further into the cabin.

He disappeared into what she presumed was the bedroom at the back of the house. There was a brief moment of silence and then a crash, followed by some truly explicit curses. Thor soon emerged with a small box in one hand and a red splotch on his forehead which he was currently rubbing with his free palm.

“I stole these from mother but I guess she knew because she gave me more.” He squeezed into one of the small kitchen chairs. Y/N had the distinct thought that he looked like an adult trying to sit in a child's seat. He laid the box down in front of him and carefully lifted the ornate lid, letting Y/N catch a brief glimpse of the collection of papers inside.

Without needing to be told, she sat opposite him, elbows on the table, hands folded beneath her soft jaw in waiting. The first he pulled out was a simple sketch of Frigg. She looked far younger than Y/N remembered her. She was gazing out a window, wind blowing through her loose hair. “She's beautiful.” 

“Indeed, our mother is a handsome woman.” He simply commented and moved on quickly. The next was of him as a baby, she could tell because of the shock of blond hair atop his head and huge blue eyes. He was being held by his mother as Odin stood proudly next to them, his armour gleaming even through the medium of paints. 

Many photos followed after, showing his slow progression of growing up, but as he was in the middle of a story about the first time he held a sword (at the ripe old age of three), Y/N froze, her entire body going stock still. “Who is this?”

Thor stood beside another boy, his arm wrapped around his shoulders. He was taller than the other but they looked to be similar in age, around their mid teens. He was smiling broadly while the boy under his arm kept a straight face. His black hair was slicked back, away from his face, highlighting the high cheek bones that would emerge with puberty and his shocking green eyes. It was the boy from her dreams.

Before Thor could answer, she flipped the small portrait over to read the inscription left in the corner of the canvas, written in Frigg's hand. Thor and my little star.

“Oh, I didn't realise that was in here.” He was avoiding the question.

“I-I've been dreaming about this boy. I knew him a long time ago, before my mother died.” 

“Are you positive that it's the same boy in your dreams?” He implored, his jaw set and brow furrowed.

“Of course I am! I've been seeing him almost every night and whenever Wanda got into my head.” The air seemed to freeze with tension, and then shattered as a sudden epiphany came over the older god.

“Sister, it seems you have known Loki for far longer than any of us have realised.” Her gaze dropped back down to the image in her hands, focusing on the boy as her fingers unconsciously reached for the necklace hidden beneath her shirt.

“What in the actual fuck?”

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King!Steve | Lovers to Enemies

An innocent crush leads to Steve teaching you the rules of the game. Turns out you're an even better player.

TW: FemReader, Angst, Revenge, Smut, Hate Sex, Jealousy, Cheating, 18+

It began with a kiss. 

A party on a cool fall night. Red and gold leaves still clung to their branches, painting the woods around skull rock a new color. Your friends were getting tanked on cases of cheap beer bought by Dean Finley's older brother after a blow job from Chrissy under the bleachers.

Hawkins golden boy Steve Harrington stood on the other side of the fire, untouchable, above it all. Like a stalker, you hadn't been able to keep your eyes off him all night even though he's never spared you more than a glance. A moth to a flame, you watched him through the tiny glowing embers rising in the smoke, with a growing ache radiating from your gut. A crush – that's what your friends told you. It can't be real love if it's not returned, but you know that's not true. It would be so much easier if it were. It would mean you could stop. 

He threw his cigarette into the fire and wandered away from his friends into the dark of the woods, and because you couldn't stop, you followed him. But he was already gone, lost among the tall trees, leaving you alone with your pain. A twig snaps behind you, and Steve is there, leaning against a tree.

"Following me?" he stepped toward you until you looked up at him.

"Um…no," you sputtered, panicking, "I was just…um…what are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," his hand landed on your hip, drawing you closer. 

"Me?" you questioned as your body automatically complied, "How did you know I'd come out here?"

"I hoped," his lopsided smile had your stomach doing somersaults as his thumb traced your bottom lip.

"I didn't even know you–" 

His pillow-soft lips covered yours, slowly teasing your mouth until you opened for him and his tongue found yours. All the pain turned to rapture, your love burst into gold flakes that glistened as they floated through your veins. 

He kissed you and kissed you until you were drunk on him, eyes still closed when he pulled away. 

"We should get back," his hand smoothed along your jaw, "You go first, and I'll be there soon."

"Okay," you agreed, shaking your head like you understood, although you didn't.

Sipping from the warm can, you let the malt and metallic tang wash away his kisses as you watched from the other side of the fire when he joins his friends, not offering you a glance. Seeing his kiss-bitten lips kept you from wondering if you had imagined the whole thing.

A few weeks without acknowledgment and he was pulling you into the tiny half-bath on the first floor of Tiffany Edward's house. His mouth was sweetened by beer and tobacco while his hands roamed over your clothes. Your body heated, and that gold glittered - though slightly tarnished from neglect. Sighing into his mouth, you pushed those thoughts away. He wanted you. That was all that mattered. 

That turned into this - in the backseat of his car, thick fingers finding you sticky wet. 

"Has anyone touched you before?" 

"There has only been you," you admit without regard for your heart. 

He smiles against your lips, "Can I make you feel good?"

With your permission, you're stretched around him. Pants and gasps steaming the windows until he does just that. Still floating and trembling, his hand moves yours until you're touching him and watching him get lost in the feeling. 

When he told you his parents were gone for the weekend, you knew what you were saying yes to. You'd been expecting the sting. 

"It won't hurt next time," he soothed.

The promise of next time made any pain fade as he moved inside you, and you gave him everything. 

"Bend over and hold on to the hood."

He found you after the game, asking you to stay. He kept you waiting in the parking lot until everyone else had gone. His BMW sat parked in the shadows. His hair was damp from the shower, and his body still high from his win. His hands moved under your skirt, flipping it up, moving aside your panties. Rubbing your clit until you were embarrassingly wet. He pushed inside while you clawed at the hood. And he was right. It didn't hurt. He moved hard and fast. Colors exploded behind your eyes.

"Shit, that was good," he kissed you after, "I made you cum, right?"

He was holding Nancy's hand, walking her to class, when you first felt it. 

Those tarnished gold flakes had turned to rust, collecting in your heart, corroding it until it seized. She was perfect, smart, and pretty. He put his arm around her shoulder, and you watched his eyes light up with pride. She's his girl. He walked past you without a glance. Your blood is a bitter poison, formaldehyde keeping you preserved despite being dead inside. 

Everyone gets it wrong. Hate is just as strong as love. 

It ends with a kiss. 

A party at Carol's, one you know that Miss Priss won't attend. Steve arrives with the rest of the basketball players. His eyes land on you, and he looks away. No matter. Chance Bailey is his teammate, his rival, younger with adorable floppy hair. They even play the same position. It doesn't take much, a smile while you "accidentally" rub up against him, and he is yours – like you used to be his. It makes you just as bad as Steve. That should give you pause, but it doesn't. Steve taught you the truth. It's all just a game, and not everyone can win.

Pulling Chance over to the couch, you sit on his lap and hang on his every word. Steve's jaw is clenched when he takes the chair beside the couch – you've got his attention.  

"I think next year we'll make it to the championship," Chance tells you with his hand high on your thigh. 

"I bet you're real good at gettin it in," you run your hand through his wavy locks, and his eyes widen. 

"Give it a fucking rest, Bailey," Steve stands up, his hands open and closing into fists, "We could have won this year if you tried as hard to get the ball as you are trying to get this girl's ass." 

"Is that right, Harrington," Chance pushes you off his lap and mirrors Steve's posture, "because I was thinking we could have won if Coach had kept you on the bench with the rest of the losers."

Without another word, Steve's fist connects with Chance's nose. There's an audible crunch of bone and a burst of red. The other players are getting in between them to make sure things end there. 

"This is who you want now?" Steve yells at you, pointing his hand toward the boy bleeding onto the carpet, "or are you making your way through the whole team?"

Now it’s your turn to strike. With a red handprint on his face and his arm wrapped around your bicep, he drags you into Carol's little brother's room, and you get exactly what you want. 

His hungry mouth is on you, tearing at your lips as his hand fumbles behind him, twisting the lock on the doorknob. 

"Is this what you wanted?" he yanks your head back with a hand full of your hair, "you wanted me to fuck you."

"It didn't have to be you," you say, loosening his belt, "anyone would do."

He pushes you further into the room against a low chest of drawers with a mirror attached. Plastic dinosaurs and transformers fall over the side and onto the floor. The stiff corduroy of your skirt burns your skin when it's yanked up around your hips, and you're lifted to the edge of the bureau.

"Is that right? You think you're going to give away what's mine?" He latches on to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark while peeling your panties down your legs until they slide off the rest of the way, fluttering to the floor. 

"Yours?" you can't help the laugh that bubbles from your throat, "I think you're confused."

"There's no confusion," he wrenches your legs open wide, "this cunt is mine to play with when I want," he looks down at your center, a warm blob of spit falling from his mouth, running down into your folds. 

"Sorry, Harrington," you suck in a sharp breath as his fingers start to work you, "You broke this toy, and now it's somebody else's turn."

"You think someone else is going to fuck you as good as me?" his tone is arrogant, and he holds your gaze, trying to prove his point with his thumb circling your clit.

Only one of you can win this game, and it's a little pathetic he hasn't figured out he's already lost. Your hands on his chest push him away, "You think I need your fingers to cum?" your fingers glide through your wetness before taking his place, "I can play all by myself," you say each word slowly before letting out a moan. 

"Christ," he breathes, eyes darkening with lust and fury. His knees hit the floor, and his hands push into the skin of your inner thighs, holding you open so he can bury his face into your core.

He licks you and licks you until you're cumming on his tongue, eyes opened wide when he pulls away. 

"We should get back," your hand wipes away some of the wetness on his face, "You go first, and I'll be there soon."

With a growl, he pulls you off the bureau and spins you around. He unzips and holds himself at your entrance watching your face in the mirror while he waits for you to fuck yourself onto his cock. Smirking, you oblige him, rocking back until your ass slaps his thighs. His eyes roll back as you really start to work him, rolling your hips as you push back hard and fast. 

"Feels good, doesn't it?" you coo, sticky sweet, as you watch his face in the mirror, "You like watching yourself get fucked, Steve?"

His lips twist into a smug sneer as his hand comes down on your ass with a loud slap before he digs his fingers into your hips and starts meeting you thrust for thrust. Angry grunts mix with moans and swears. You're cumming again when his strokes get frantic.

"I'm gonna cum," he pants.

"No," you say, pushing back hard and moving away until he's out of your pussy, "you can't cum inside me."

His hand moves to his cock, stroking, trying to salvage the orgasm you had rudely interrupted. 

"What the fuck?" ropes of cum splash his shirt, and run down his hand staining his jeans.

Bending, you pick up your panties and smooth your skirt back in place. 

"Save that for when you're with Nancy."

That was the moment you won. His eyes widened with the realization of what he'd done with his cock softening in his hand. He really loves her, and now he can live with his guilt.

Pausing before you walk out the door, a little of that rust flaking off with a single pump of your heart – maybe not completely dead. 

"Steve," you look at him over your shoulder, blowing him a kiss, "have fun cleaning up your mess."

If you've enjoyed this fic, please reblog & drop me a comment. It helps others find my work. For more fics check out the pinned post at the top of my blog. Thanks for reading.

[rammingthestein]

🔥 ON THIS DAY 🔥

4/5/1998

Rammstein Play At The Metro in Chicago with no pyrotechnics.

No Fire This Time Rammstein Forced To Rely Strictly On The Music | May 07, 1998 | By Joshua Klein for the Tribune.

"The rebellious subtext of heavy metal changes depending on what country is doing the headbanging. In America, metalhead teens rail against the restraints imposed by relatively minor authority figures, like parents or the high school principal. In Eastern Europe, before the fall of Communism, heavy metal was an outlet for frustrations generated by repressive governments. Thus when Western acts finally began to filter through the red tape and play in Communist countries, what seemed to American fans like novel musical diplomacy seemed to audiences in the Soviet bloc the stuff of revolution.

The six members of European superstars Rammstein grew up in East Germany before the fall of the Berlin Wall. Now the neo-industrial band avidly espouses the tenets of free expression, although in general it eschews politics in favor of lurid lyrics. Rammstein (whose name, appropriately enough, translates roughly to “battering ram”) has gleaned more than a few shock tactic tricks, like bondage gear wardrobes and staged scenes of S&M submission, from fellow faux freaks Marilyn Manson. But Rammstein's hulking singer (and former Olympic swimmer) Till Linderman is unique in his propensity to light himself and everything around him on fire, and it's his pyromania that has played a big part in the band's rapidly spreading reputation.

The Chicago Fire Department curtailed Linderman's right to blow things up Monday night at Metro, so Rammstein had to stick with less flammable forms of entertainment. Keyboardist Flake rode an inflatable raft out into the sold-out crowd, and Linderman lashed himself with a whip. But most impressive was Linderman's insistence on singing in German. Translations don't do justice to songs like “Du Hast” and “Tier,” whose English equivalents miss the meaning in the double-edged words. The guttural growls and rolling “r”s of Linderman offered the thrill of something different, something forbidden. The crowd even shouted along with the title track from Rammstein's domestic debut “Sehnsucht,” and cheered wildly in response to “Engel,” the band's most potent pairing of pop hooks and metallic bite.

Though watching Rammstein play without fire could have been akin to watching a horror movie with the lights on, the band revealed that at the heart of its art lies some truly potent songs. Rammstein overcame the conspicuous lack of explosions with its danceable dirges.

The ridiculously Teutonic opening band, Hanzel Und Gretyl, wore matching red and black lederhosen, but its music — typically fast, one-chord metal drones — wasn't nearly as memorable as its fashion choices."

[autumnvine]

Accidental Love

Summary- Everything seemed normal at first, until the Chituari destroyed your world.

Tw: War, fighting, violence.

New York was always busy, there was no down time for the city, there wasn't much excitement. There was always people on the street, running in central park or having coffee, always someone having to wait for a bus, someone in a new suit with a briefcase in hand going to a meeting with other colleagues discussing and arguing their points for hours on end. And then there was you, always having the same routine, waking up at six, getting dressed, brushing your teeth and hair, walking your high heels down the same grey pathed street with the matching bag to your shoe.  Walking into the same coffee shop, having a poppyseed bagel with creme cheese, blueberry muffin with a large flat white latte to go. The brown paper bag holding your muffin stuffed less gracefully then you planned into your handbag.

You didn't work far just a few streets down which gave you plenty of time to finish your latte. Waiting to cross the street, staring at the green traffic light shifting from one foot to the other slightly swaying as you listened to Dolly Parton blasting through your headphones,

"Tumble outta bed and I stumble to the kitchen

Pour myself a cup of ambition

And yawn and stretch and try to come to life

Jump in the shower and the blood starts pumpin

Out on the street the traffic starts jumpin

The folks like me on the job from nine to five"

Noticing the red traffic light you walked across the street, down the hill, tripping over the same kirb each morning, into your work, greeting the security guard on the main entrance swiping your keycard, the lift out of order which was not ideal when you work on the seventh floor, that's fourteen individual flights of stairs in stilletos. Eventually reaching your floor sitting at your desk and trying to focus on the pile of papers that awaited your attention. Hours into your collection of paperwork the pile was getting smaller and smaller, alot of emails sent, replied, sent and replied to. Various phone calls to offices in the tri-state area, listening to business man after busines man trying to argue and offer you new solutions to which you weren't interested in hearing. Your clients trusted and needed yyou, from day one on the job you swore to do right by them. Sure it got long and often annoying it still brought you great satisfaction knowing in some smqall way you were helping. You pushed through your lunch break, with nearing the end of your shift having a few files left to tend to you took a break, standing, walking over to the window looking onto the skyscrapers admiring the sun breaking through the clouds, a faint darkness appearing in the sky, becoming bigger and bigger, what appeared to be a light blue electric stream beaming up from a building into the sky, watching as a golden metalic aliens crawl through the darkness. Turning to run grabbing your phone and your bag shouting to your collegues down the hallway to leave the building as you ran, the sky suddenly filling with aliens, stilletos were not good shoes to wear when taking to the stairs. Shots were being fired through the other buildings, feeling the rumbling underfoot, the stairs begain shaking, above your had fell some dust and paint flakes, your co-workers nearly trampling you as they shoved passed, the whole stairwell shaking more and more became too much, reaching the fourth floor a man much much bigger then you shoved you to the floor, crawling into the fourth floor hall to escape the masses. It was empty, paperwork, bags, random shoes everywhere. Standng up by the window seeing massive metalic aliens swarm the streets of your city, noticing a tall man, long dark hair, golden helmet and green robes, riding the monsters that threatened your existance past the window, something almost shooting him out of the sky, blowing up, blasting him and you across the town, him landing somewhere on the building across, you however falling further and further down toward the street you walked across this morning, now filled with rubble, screaming as you fell toward almost certain death you stopped falling, landing on the floor ontop a metal sheild red, white and blue, you had heard stories of the super soldier, thinking only of myth and legend but today saving your life. Smaller aliens apearing around you and the soldier

"Stay down, stay behind me,  it'll be okay" he shouted to you, punching each one away, fighting to save you, when it stopped, the aliens falling, almost as if they were switched off suddenly, the others falling from the sky, it was over, the fighting stopped. Reaching his hand out to you helping you stand

"Are you alright ma'am?" the super soldier asked

"You saved me, thank you" replying in disbelief of what happened and who was standing infront of you, collapsing underfoot he caught you in his arms.

Waking up in an unknown bed, not knowing how long it had been, or what happened or where you were, you got up to look, noticing your shoes were missing, your leg bandaged up, as were your hands. Walking barefoot along a metal floor, through each door leading to another hallway noone around, trying to navigate your way around you found a room, door labelled "Holding Facility" going in hoping to find someone. Instead finding a clear container, yellow pipes everywhere, boxes in each corner stacked ontop of one another. Following the path around the glass room, finding the man who was flying past you, riding the aliens that destroyed your home, sitting with his back to you,

"Are you alright?" not knowing who he was you asked anyway. The man turning to face you smiling

"There's not many people who can sneek up on me"

"It's you, you're the one who fell with me, pardon me but where are we?"

"I am where I'm meant to be" Loki snapped

"Who are you?" almost afraid to ask

"I am Loki, King of Asgard and I am burdened with glorious purpose" realising you were in the presence of royalty you bowed, Loki smiling as he watched

"What do they want with me? With us? What were the monsters that came here?"

"The Chituari" Loki answered just one question of the three you asked him

"Do you know-" stopping yourself from speaking as you looked at him "Loki you're bleeding, your head, you're hurt." lifting his fingers to his head wiping away a few droplets of blood, as you tried to push the doors open, "How do I get this open? You need help."  Loki standing with the same grin across his face

"Who are you and what are you doing?" A voice bellowed from behind you, startled you spun around

"I'm Yn I woke up here, I got lost trying to find someone, I found Loki, he's hurt, he's bleeding. Please don't hurt me."

"Yn come away from him, he's dangerous."

"Yn I need help, they'll kill you, I can protect you, first you just have to push that button to open the door." Loki gently spoke to you from behind.

Unsure of what to do, You pressed the button releasing Loki from the glass cell, after all he was bleeding and they left him

"Nooo" Thor shouted swinging his hamer pushing Loki back into the cell." The doors closed behind him,

"Are you ever not going to fall for that brother?" Loki remarked standing by you and not in the cell.

By the door out appears the soldier who saved you, a lady with short firery red hair in a black suit, a man in a red armoured suit, and a man tall with an eye patch with a gun, scratch scars down the eye with the patch. All staring at you

"Let her go Loki" shouted the soldier

"I'm not keeping her" answered Loki "You see, she understands loyalty to a King"

"We can't let you leave here, you know that Loki"

Walking over to the side getting a cloth from hanging over the banister you handed it to Loki "Here, for your head"

Somewhere in your head none of this made sense, but in your heart it felt right. Standing by Loki felt right. Seeing them all standing there looking at you felt uneasy, threatening. This morning you were going to work, now you stood in a room of super soldiers, army men, King's and fighters. The lady pointed her gun at Loki"I wouldn't do that if I were you" Loki laughed "Look how far that's gotten you, look at how it turned out the first time.

The Chituari destroyed it, all of it, now here you are standing trying to stop me leaving when your world is crumbling, people are dieing, crushed by buildings you build. You want to pick fight with a God, what kind of hero's are you?"

"He's right, he can't cause any more damage, they need our help. There dying out there. We'll be back for you."

"Oh I don't doubt it."

" Loki what is Asgard?"

"Dont worry love you'll see"

[riftfic]

16. Together Apart

The final chapter before the epilogue.

Warnings: strong language, injury

Featured Characters: Sans, Chara/Frisk (Reader), Papyrus, Toriel

I had a really hard time choosing a moment to illustrate that wouldn't be a total spoiler, so I made this instead and buried another illustration in the chapter itself for payoff. I think the epilogue is going to have 3 illustrations? I might be a masochist.

< Load | RESET | Continue >

Drifting incorporeal beleaguered the mind like a lengthy shortcut. No breath. No sight. No sound. Sans sensed your presence near him, conjoined with a red ribbon of fate . . . or was it determination that bound you now? It didn't matter. What mattered was that you each refused to let the other go.

You recognized this sensory deprivation chamber. You had lived this way for years buried behind yellow carpals, detached from a truly compatible form. The only word that had ever come close to describing it was "limbo." It was neither pleasant nor unpleasant, save for the tiresome pull at your resolve.

You could feel the time turner draining you, hungrier and hungrier. Even though your well of determination flowed ceaselessly, the machine very nearly outpaced you. Then, when the situation felt dire,  Sans' soul drew its attention away and allowed your supply to replenish. 

That greedy mechanism thought nothing of the lives fueling it. Just as it had guzzled down your determination, it drank dry from him. His determination did not rejuvenate as plentifully as yours; after all, he was only half the flesh and blood that grounded you. He still dusted when he fell. He still needed hope to survive. You refused to let it overdraft from him, as he had done for you.

It went on like this in an endless cycle. Whenever he nearly emptied, your determination caught fire and refilled his cup. Then he did the same for you, even if less impressively. Back and forth and back again, your collective determination fought valiantly, but slowly, steadily trickled down.

After what could have been years or seconds, that atrocity of metal and magic finally licked its lips with satisfaction. Your souls clung to one another, nearly spent, and yet determined to return to a world where you could forge ahead together. If the machine could listen, maybe it would take you there.

The white light finally dispersed into smaller and smaller fragments. The pieces drizzled in cold flakes from a crystal ceiling that looked nothing and everything like the stars. Snow. Sans stared up from where he lay and once again found it easy to imagine he soared through space. His head swam. His body felt stiff and immovable, pinned, though his arms wrapped around something warm. 

He dipped out of consciousness again. Though it felt like the blink of an eye, when he woke next the snow no longer fell, and a blanket of crystal white tucked him into a sharp and crooked bed. The warmth in his arms remained, though colder than before.

He clenched his eyes shut and grimaced. A cloud of dust and mist hacked its way out his mouth. He grunted to feel something jagged snaking between his ribs. Coughing only made it worse.

He turned his faded eye lights dizzily around him. Clearly he lay in Snowdin, though where or when escaped him. It took a moment to remember what had happened before the world went white, but when it finally returned to him, he bolted upright.

ouch.

That was a mistake. He huffed a gravelly breath and collapsed back into the rubble and snow that cocooned him. 

When he focused enough, he could make out what was left of the basement roof and the frame of his home in shambles. Fallen stalactites and crystals littered the ground among cracks in the earth. The machine stood resolutely where they had left it, though the lever had broken clean off and its monitor had shattered. 

He found the bravery to look down into his arms.

There you lay, alive, not spirited away into an alternate universe where you remained asleep forever under a golden flower garden. You must have fallen on top of him, your head where his stomach would be, your hands also bound to his sides. Albeit nearly as buried under plaster, wood, and other rubble, you breathed easily. 

"kid," he tried to say, but it hardly left him in a whisper. He shook you lightly instead. 

You didn't wake.

"frisk," he managed to force through whatever was stuck in his ribs. "wake up."

Your eyelids fluttered open. Pebbles once stones sprinkled off your head as you lifted it only inches. You took the same pause he had, calculating where you were, when you were. 

Sans' face split with a relieved smile when you moved. In the corner of your eye, you caught his expression and reflected it.

"We made it," you breathed with relief.

"sure did," he murmured. He coughed again and this time tasted a little magic. "shit."

"What's wrong?"

"mm . . . can't move," he hummed tiredly. "somethin's got me kabobbed in the ch . . . chest."

You also tried to sit up, but failed. The weight of what remained of his house pinned you down at the knees. You struggled just a moment longer, then dropped to rest your head against him wearily. Your soul ran nearly empty.

Sans' eyes felt heavy again. "you okay?" he murmured.

"Tired," you mumbled back. "Cold."

He nodded knowingly. The way his soul felt now, the ordeal must have pushed him just short of his limits. He couldn't imagine yours fared any better.

Slowly, painfully, he managed to free his arms from the wreckage. He pried the sleeves of his jacket off, then paused to catch his breath. Through clenched teeth, he mustered the strength to pull that indigo coat over his head amid a rain of snow and powder. He draped it gingerly across you like a blanket.

You had nearly fallen asleep again when its weight fell over you.

"don't worry, kiddo," you heard him wheeze faintly. "it's . . . gonna b . . . be . . ."

When he failed to continue, adrenaline sharpened your wits. You forced your eyes upward.

"Sans?"

He didn't answer.

You struggled upright again and pulled harder against the grave of debris gripping your legs in place. Sheets of wood and plaster slid away from you into the crossbeams of old rafters like a broken carapace. The rubble felt to cinch tighter around your legs. Just as you began to worry that moving did more harm than good, a crack and whump of falling bricks proved you right. 

The sensation that something had gone terribly wrong in your left leg shivered up your spine into the back of your head. It was a pitifully late messenger, warning you of the pain now flooding you with stars and dripping eyes. You cried out and collapsed under Sans’ jacket.

After a moment of gasping and crying, you remembered he needed you. You steeled your nerves. Shaking, you began peeling away pieces of the upper floor from his torso. The last block of wood revealed a jagged chunk of metal protruding from his core, straight through the bleeding heart graphic on his t-shirt. You worked your fingers into the fabric to rip it wider and see how you could fix this.

As the shirt split open, you realized this might be beyond your power to solve. The beam skewered his cavity at an angle from shoulder to hip, where it disappeared into that mess of a foundation. Though it had thankfully done its best to pass between the bone rather than through it, harsh abrasions tore across his ribcage and spine. A hairline fracture split three ribs and his collarbone where they met the sternum. His soul rested against the metal rod, slowly trickling cyan blue down the shaft. Its red interior had all but faded away, down to a faintly warm center. Its ruthless scars nearly faltered you.

You wrapped your trembling fingers around the icy metal and tugged outward slowly. Though he could not tell you if it hurt, the way his ribs clung to the rod and groaned like splintering wood gave you pause. Hadn’t you learned? What if moving it only made things worse?

You let go, and not entirely because you had meant to. Pain and weariness had surged in time to your pull on that harpoon, and the moment you braced to try again, you couldn’t hold onto anything anymore.

Every time you were aware enough to know it, you felt colder. At some point you must have slipped your arms into the sleeves of Sans’ coat and pulled the hood over your head. It slowed the inevitable chill that deepening pile of snow exhaled down your neck, but did not impede it altogether. You shivered, extremities tingling, numbing, burning.

You couldn't tell how much time passed. Nothing seemed to stir the air but the occasional flurry and the cold cave’s natural draft. The Underground sounded empty, and it very well could have been. The only comfort you found was in feeling Sans' bony body still lying whole beneath you, not dust, though not breathing either. A reassuring glimpse showed you that his soul no longer hemorrhaged magic, even if it glowed a little more dimly than before. 

In hours or days, voices finally stirred you back to the waking world through a thick fog. A warm light behind the wreckage mound flickered, tinting the darkness red. 

You opened your mouth but nothing came out. You were too tired, too weak. To your relief, they found you anyway. Your vision swam as if that fire rounding the corner were a mirage. You recognized Grillby, leading Papyrus and Undyne through the dark among several more monsters and . . . humans?  

A flurry of sound rattled your head, difficult to parse when fading in and out of consciousness as you did. You picked out tense voices, the whirring of machinery, the hum of magic, the crunch and shuffle of loose debris as it was thrown around and stomped. Suddenly you could breathe better. Suddenly you were warmer, safer, bundled in arms of fire that sank deep into your skin with purpose. The pain in your leg had dulled, though your head and mouth felt like cotton in exchange.

Through the din of screeching metal, you heard a hard, ironclad snap. You watched two firelit silhouettes carefully set aside a long metal rod stained blue and red. A glow of green illuminated Undyne’s scowling face from below. She was crouched over Sans, grumbling insults and curses under her breath. You listened to her mutter something about the damn skeleton not knowing how to stay in one piece for five seconds.

“. . . It’s . . . okay,” breathed a crackling voice overhead. 

You lifted your eyes to a pair of glasses over an expressionless wall of fire. You noticed that colors like blue and wine red accented Grillby’s flames in a way you’d never seen before—not that you had spent much time with him outside a few weekends and nights Sans visited with friends.

“. . . He’s going to . . . make it,” he hissed. A pop and flurry of golden sparks punctuated his sentence. “. . . You’re both . . . safe now.”

You hadn’t known you needed calming until those words spread through your soul like honey in hot tea. You breathed and relaxed, and in his arms you fell asleep more deeply than you had since lying in your old bed at the foot of Mount Ebott.

Through a third story window in Fresco Community Regional Hospital, North Medical Plaza, sunlight dappled in rays through palms and the near branches of a flowering tree. Birds chirped and twittered in an array of calls, from mockingbirds to sparrows and goldfinches. The occasional roll of tires on concrete, a humming engine, or voices outside the door buzzed gently through the air. 

Sans smelled the sterile saline-and-lemon scent of the hospital room first, a human phenomenon he hadn’t come to terms with as a monster. It bit at his sinuses, tart and bitter. Next, he felt the warmth of sunlight gently burning against his skull, dying the vision behind his closed left eye red like rose-tinted glasses. Too optimistic, he thought. He inhaled and winced. 

A rustle of paper to his right forced him to open his eyes. 

His gaze slowly circled the room with equal parts confusion and amazement. This was the surface; he couldn’t deny it. Humans had such a recognizable way of adorning public spaces, and while bland, the sight glittered to him now like gold. 

His ribs had been sutured and bandaged with hospital grade healing cloth, and his right arm crossed his midriff in a taut sling. Behind the semi-upright angle of his bed, machines that integrated human and monster technologies monitored his health. A drip of magic fed down a tube to his very soul, which felt full and satisfied. Strange, he thought, but not nearly as strange as the stacks upon stacks of flowers, various plant arrangements, and other get-well pleasantries stuffed into his room. He glimpsed notes from Doggo, Grillby, MK and his family, Shyren, Alphys . . . he swallowed the bashful flush sneaking onto his face.

After traveling from these gifts to the open window curtains to the television screen airing rerun morning game shows, his eye light finally came to rest beside his white-sheeted hospital bed. 

Papyrus sat cross-legged in a small armchair, immersed in a book of advanced sudoku puzzles. He wore fairly ordinary if gaudy human clothing: a snap-back cap embroidered with the meant-to-be-ironic statement, “full of life,” under a cartoon skull; a short sleeve button up with meatballs patterned on the left half and spaghetti graphics swirling on the right; the baggiest sweatpants Sans had ever seen; and Crocs absolutely littered with Jibbitz. Sans had known Papyrus to wear this sort of outfit on the surface before, but it had taken years to develop this much coordination behind it—and hadn’t he been the one to introduce him to sudoku, at a much simpler level no less? His face compressed as if this information tasted how the air smelled.

“you missed a three,” he muttered hoarsely. “row two, box one.”

Papyrus narrowed his eyes searchingly at the puzzle blocks, and then sighed. “REALLY, SANS, HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I ASKED YOU NOT TO SOLVE MY PUZZLES FOR ME?  IT TAKES ALL THE FUN OUT OF IT!”

He nearly spasmed out of his seat, then, as if struck by lightning. His book slapped the ground, and his pencil rolled away under his seat. 

“SANS!” he shrieked.

Sans smiled back warmly, nervously, somewhat worried for the state of his chest if his brother decided to hug him. He quickly realized that, although Papyrus leapt forward and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, he had nothing to worry about. The hold was soft, considerate. He held him back with his left arm, even if the motion dug like a knife into his collarbone.

Toriel burst into the room not a moment later. She too wore a dress that could be found in a human department store, royal purple and patterned with large yellow flowers. 

“What is going on?” she demanded, nearly frantic.

Sans smiled gleefully over Papyrus’ shoulder. He sheepishly wriggled the phalanges of his left hand in greeting.

“heh, ain’t like you not to knock, tori,” he teased.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she breathed with a purity of relief that echoed like pleasant bells around his skull. She exhaled a long, long sigh, hand on her chest, then glided to his bedside as if carried on a feather. “Thank goodness, Sans.” She slipped her arms around both brothers and rested her cheek on his skull.

Silence drifted over them comfortably.  

“um,” Sans ventured as they finally set him free. “i like your new threads. heh . . . get attired o’ the old stuff?”

Toriel and Papyrus exchanged hesitant glances. Sans felt his soul twist into knots.

“IT SEEMS,” said Papyrus, “WHEN TIME, ER . . . REWOUND . . . IT ONLY HAPPENED FOR US.”

Sans’ eye sockets darkened into black pits, only in small part because Papyrus knew about time travel. “what.”

“We left the mountain to find we already had homes here,” said Toriel. She gestured to her clothing. “Belongings. Entire lives left behind, though we cannot remember them.”

“IT’S THE STRANGEST THING, LIKE OPENING A PRESENT TO YOURSELF FROM THE FUTURE!”

The statement, while optimistic, settled heavy like lead on Sans’ soul. “you don’t remember any of it?” he asked slowly. “nothing new at all?”

“THINGS ARE . . . FAMILIAR,” said Papyrus. A puzzled look crossed his face. “IS THERE SOMETHING IN PARTICULAR YOU WANT ME TO REMEMBER?”

Sans’ heart sank. He became acutely aware of Toriel’s hand petting his arm and his brother’s hand in his. He watched Papyrus’ happy yet somehow somber expression and harkened back to a day so similar, when he had awakened in a hospital bed underground one brother fewer. Papyrus had been at his side then as he was now, blissfully unaware of what he had lost. 

“no,” he muttered. “suppose not.”

“The humans never forgot,” said Toriel gently. “From their perspective, we had quite literally vanished. Our homes remained empty for over six months, as if we had simply slipped away in the night without packing any bags. Some of us outright disappeared before their eyes.”

“the fuck,” Sans whispered. 

“LANGUAGE.” 

“how’d they deal with that?”

“Many moved on,” said Toriel. "I would have expected the rest to celebrate, but . . . they tried to find us. They scoured the city and the Underground for clues, but from their side it was abandoned. Strange, is it not?”

“I FOUND IT QUITE TOUCHING!” Papyrus said. “THEY EVEN FORMED A TASK FORCE! SOUL: SEARCH OPERATION FOR THE UNDERGROUND LOST.”

“heh, really?” Sans asked, beginning to find his humor again.

“YES, REALLY!”

“Everything is exactly as we left it,” said Toriel with a sad smile. “Likely a little dustier but . . . the activists were quite adamant about keeping our homes intact, and for that I am grateful.”

For a moment, he couldn’t think let alone respond. His left hand felt around the blankets as if searching out an emotion.

“it’s . . . exactly as we left it,” he echoed quietly. “time here . . . didn’t turn back.”

If he hadn’t been so stunned, Sans might have laughed. After all his hopelessness and despair, he wouldn’t have to rebuild his life from the ground up. He wouldn’t have to struggle as hard as he had before, and neither would anyone else. His heart pounded behind his battered ribs to know soon he would be going home, back to the small house in True Home, back to his porch swing with its perfect view of the forests and rivers below a range of mountains threatening to tear the sky in half, back to nights sandwiched on their maneater of a couch between Papyrus and . . . His joy stuttered.

“where’s Frisk?” he asked.

As if summoned, you appeared in the doorway, hobbling between a pair of children’s crutches. Your left leg had been set and wrapped in a bright blue cast from thigh to foot. Nearly every monster must have signed and graffitied its mold with paint pens and permanent ink. Above that, you wore a pale blue hospital gown and a scowl. 

“What’s going on?” you demanded. “Is Sans okay?” 

“Frisk, my child, what are you doing here?” Toriel admonished, albeit patiently. She hurried to you as if you might fall. “I requested that you stay behind and rest.”

“Yeah, fuck that.”

“My child!” Toriel gasped, and Papyrus’ jaw nearly dropped off his face.

Sans laughed, then, a grateful sound that had tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. His smile was so genuine that, if you hadn’t been so feisty and relieved, your heart might have fluttered away in its wind. 

“i’m better than okay, now that you’re here, kiddo,” he said fondly. 

Your steps were awkward, but you were determined to reach him. Nothing could stop you, not Toriel or those stupid crutches you had yet to master. At the bedside, Toriel finally relented and helped you sit on the mattress beside him. She squeezed your shoulder gently, reassuringly.

“THIS CHILD’S INAPPROPRIATE LANGUAGE IS YOUR FAULT, ISN’T IT?” Papyrus whispered, leering at his brother.

Sans attempted a sly shrug, but hissed an expletive when a stab of pain cut his collarbone. 

“CASE. IN. POINT.”

“Come, Papyrus. Let us give them some privacy,” Toriel said. “They have much to discuss, of that I am certain.”

Papyrus hesitated, but when Sans smiled and pressed his hand, he agreed to follow her out. The door shut behind them with a gentle snap. 

In the ensuing silence, the two of you simply took in each other’s faces, beaming like the sun you had unveiled once more. The daylight reddened your hair and yellowed the wall above Sans’ head in a steady shaft, as if to mark you both as its own. It would never let you leave again.

“you did it, kiddo,” he said as warmly as that nearest star. 

The congratulations prickled color into your cheeks, and though you smiled, you shook your head. “No, you did.”

“heh, you first.”

“I think last is what matters most.”

“coming in last does sound like me,” he mused playfully. The light of his left eye twinkled and he took your hand. “let’s compromise on a good old fashioned ‘we,’ then. we did it. how’s that?” 

You nodded brightly. 

He sighed, resting back comfortably into the sitting angle of his mattress. That truly lazy smile, the one he had faked for so long, now pulled at his cheekbones genuine and unprompted. Oh, how you had missed it. 

“get the sense i’ve been out a while,” he said. “what all have i snoozed on?”

Much had unfolded since waking nearly a week before him, and even more in the time preceding. After the barrier had broken and the rift had run rampant, the underground almost entirely collapsed. Thankfully, most monsters had already assembled in the capital to aid you. Among those trembling walls, Asgore needed no explanation to evacuate them. Meanwhile, Alphys had sent an alert to all else remaining, and monsterkind heeded her. 

Not everyone made it out in time. After unpacking what Toriel and Papyrus already explained, many humans had offered their unconditional help to find you. Alongside SOUL, Asgore established HEART, the Home Excavation and Recovery Team, which worked through the ruins to rescue anyone left behind. No one would be left unaccounted for.

“There are still people they can’t find,” you said somberly, and then a happy glimmer lit your eyes, “but a few more monsters showed up that no one expected. People that had been . . . forgotten.” 

Sans dared to let hope spark blue in his left eye. Through bated breath, he asked, “like . . . who?” 

You wracked your brain. “I don’t know their names,” you said. “A few scientists, a businessman . . . MK’s twin sister.”

Goner Kid. The machine beside him beeped when his magic pulsed faster than it should. 

“shut up, i’m fine,” he hissed and sat up straighter. “is that . . .” He hesitated, eyelight dimming. “did they find . . . anyone else?”

Your auburn eyes deepened, and it was enough of an answer. A resigned nod bobbed his head.

“They’re still looking,” you said. “I talked to dad—Asgore. He remembers now about your brother. I told him everything you did for me, and for Asriel. What you did for everyone, really. He’s grateful, Sans, like . . . tears in his eyes happy.” You tittered at your next thought. “I think he wants to knight you or something.” 

Sans snorted. “no way,” he said enthusiastically. “absolutely not. he damn well pressured me enough into the old man’s judge gig; i do not have the shoulders for another title.”

“What, ‘Sir Sans’ doesn’t have a nice ring to it?”

“i am a fan of alliteration,” he answered pensively. “maybe if he can tack on an adjective, like ‘sir sans the sedentary’ or . . . ‘sir sans the science man . . . s.’” 

“Sir Sans the Sensational?” 

“sir sans the slam.” He threw you a finger gun. “dunk on that, kid.”

You snickered. “You know how dad gets, though,” you went on. “He’s on a mission now. There’s still hope we’ll find him.”

Sans nodded, and for once he allowed himself to feel that hope. It was timid, and it was terrifying, but he had already reached the light at the end of this long tunnel. Only one more step and it would consume him fully.

As you brushed your thumb across his phalanges, your smile slowly fell.

“Sans,” you said, “there’s something really important I need to ask you.”

The skeleton searched you uncertainly. His mind dashed to the machine, to the final confrontation with Asriel, how he had come to retrieve his soul, how he had escaped the void with a task. If you accused him of manipulating you, it would not be unfounded, regardless of his motivations, regardless of the outcome. His eye lights dimmed. 

“well, shoot, kid,” he responded. “go for it.”

Your brow furrowed as if the thought were painful. Then, you gripped your broken leg and swung it around to rest across his lap.

“Will you sign my cast?” you burst.

Sans froze as if an error message had shorted his brain. Then, he chuckled from that place deep inside him, the laugh you liked most, the one that only happened when you had subverted his expectations beyond the bar. He grimaced past it and chortled, “ouch, kid; you’re breakin’ my funny bones, here.”

You held out a marker.

“permanent ink,” he noted. “dunno if i can handle that kind of responsibility.”

Once he had caught his breath, he eyed the wild graffiti incredulously. Where on earth would he sign it? Undyne had already carved her name across one half and Papyrus the other. Every other inch had been filled with good luck wishes, drawings, and signatures, from King Asgore himself to the humblest Froggit.

“eh, that’s okay,” he said with an easy smirk. “i think i’ve left enough of a mark on ya already.”

“But I saved you a spot!”

You had to search for a moment but finally you pointed out a tiny box by your knee with the small acronym “VIP” written just above it. 

His grin widened. 

“‘kay,” he said. 

He was wise enough to shrug with one shoulder now before popping the cap off the marker and lazily sketching a skeletal smiley face in the enclosure. You giggled with satisfaction. Then, perhaps hesitantly, he took your wrist in his hand. The breath in your lungs lingered as a circle appeared in black on the soft skin below your palm. Zero.

Your fingers traced the new counter to replace your old one. Maybe one day when you were older, you would have it tattooed there. For now, the gesture spoke more than words could. You returned the gentle smile in his eyes.

“gonna be a real treat teleporting you to your room and back when we get home,” he mused dryly. He punctuated his statement with the sealing click of your marker cap. “ain’t nothin’ handicap-accessible about those stairs.”

As he handed it back to you, your face sobered again in earnest. You slid the pen into the pocket in your hospital gown, stalling. 

“I do have something I want to tell you,” you said.

Sans eyed you expectantly. The sun had shifted down to highlight his bandaged chest and captive arm. Everything you had put him through, all he had done for you, only further embittered the taste of your next words.

“I think,” you said slowly, “I’m going to move in with mom . . . this time.”

“oh.” 

An invisible weight dragged down on his shoulders, heavy with too many emotions to place. Confusion, sadness, regret. Heartache. He failed to answer why the decision had caught him off guard when the reasons seemed so obvious now. He pondered his response, struggling to hide the painful disappointment that crawled through his marrow. 

“that . . . would be good for her,” he said hoarsely at long last. He cleared his throat. “yeah. makes sense. especially now, with your memories and all.” He avoided your eyes another pensive moment. “you’ll probably want your stuff, then. heh, clothes won’t fit for a while, though—”

Suddenly you were hanging off him, your chin tucked into the nape of his neck, your arms around his shoulders. 

Sans didn’t understand why he was crying. You weren’t leaving him forever. You would be living right down the road. He would still see you. He would still take you out for burgers and stargazing and summer nicecream beach trips. You would still have movie marathons and sit on the porch swing to watch the sunset. You would still be his kid . . . wouldn’t you? 

He wrapped both arms around you, sling and all. Even though it hurt like hell, the alternative would have broken him.

“you come over or spend the night whenever you want, okay?” he wept. “call me if you get nightmares. heck, call me if you just want to talk. i don’t give a damn what time it is. and . . . and be nice to your mom, okay? don’t give her that attitude i saw earlier. you can be a real piece of work when you’re upset and she doesn’t deserve that. a-and . . .” He choked on his next words. “don’t . . . don’t forget i love you. please. i might be a cynical bastard but i love you so much it hurts. i really do.”

Now you were crying. You could hear the plea in his voice not to leave him and most of you answered in kind. After everything you had been through together, leaving his side—even for a moment—had become almost unthinkable. 

It couldn’t be helped. You knew that and you hated it but it would be for the best. Your adopted mother and father, though separated, recognized who you really were now. Asriel had finally come home. Choosing to live with Sans over Toriel now would be a crime far more cruel.

You agreed to his terms a hundred times over.

The two of you sobbed into a wet mess in each other’s arms. Finally, finally, after ages resisting, he couldn’t handle the teeth in his chest any longer. You helped him reposition the sling, and he held your hand instead. From inside his blue-flushed eye sockets, those bright lights peered through the tears in your own red-rimmed eyes.

“hey,” he said gently with a voice like gravel. “we’re gonna be okay. all right?”

You nodded.

He reached out a thumb and wiped the remaining saltwater from your eyelashes.

“i’m here for you,” he said. “i’ll always be here for you. where you live won’t ever change that.” He swallowed back another surge of tears and hissed, “heck if i’m not gonna miss you, though.”

“Me too,” you breathed.

“Frisk?” called Toriel. She popped her head cautiously into the room. “Come, now; let me take you back to your room. You should be resting, and so should Sans.”

“Okay, mom,” you answered shakily.

You bent in for another terribly long, though bitterly short embrace. He held you to his heart with the intent to keep you there forever if he could . . . but he could not. So instead, he settled for your shoulders at arm’s length and smiled a loose, endearing scrawl of a grin. He cupped your face in his hand. 

“you’ll always be my kid, right?” he asked through a stone in his throat.

You nodded and melted your cheek into his bony palm. You remembered the first time he had done this, when you were small enough in age to match your stature, how it had been frightening and surprising and heartwarming in one. Now, you could only describe the feeling as “home.” 

“I love you, Sans,” you finally told him, and you realized all at once you never had.

“i love you too, frisk.”

For the first time since falling down, you allowed yourself to believe it.

NOTES

YAY, resolution! Next is the epilogue. <3

I hope you enjoyed! If you have thoughts, I love hearing them.

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