#i just don't want them to break up in typical blink fashion and then not talk to each other for five years. we did that twice already

[homosexual-having-tea]

You said u wanted fic prompts but what Fandom? Because I am requesting a sunny/gloom werewolves from no Fandom, just.... vibes

Thanks :)

I am going to steal this and make it Buckingham because my brain is constantly rotting from these goddamn lesbians <333 (also this was supposed to be a short HC answer and it turned into a whole mini-fic.......... anyways-)

Thinking about some random AU where Robin is a werewolf (at your request <3) and of course...

She hasn't told a soul about it because who would risk being around her then? When she asks Chrissy out, it is amazing! They're both happy and her girlfriend is so cute and Steve can't tease her for having no bitches anymore. The only problem is they started dating right after a full moon, and Robin's had a whole month to tell her... but she hasn't. Every time she curls up on Chrissy's lap, intent on telling her, the softness of it all stops Robin dead in her tracks– Chrissy's fingers drifting through her hair, a quilt wrapped around the both of them, music drifting on the air from the crackly stereo under Robin's desk. Every night, she promises herself that tonight is the night she tells Chrissy. She'll break the news after their ice cream date. She'll break the news after the movie ends. She'll break the news in time.

But in typical fashion, Robin waits until the moon is almost there, just a sliver away from full. Chrissy's hands are as warm in hers as they always are, but it doesn't distract her from the way her stomach is tying itself into the Eldredge knot she had to learn back in Girl Scouts. When the words finally come out, Robin more than fully expects Chrissy to rip her hands from hers, bolt down the stairs and out the front door to never return. But instead, she just smiles.

"Is that what you meant when you said you were a dog person on our first date?" she asks through barely-concealed giggles. Robin blinks for a moment. A pun that shitty has her name written all over it, and she can't help the smile that creeps onto her face.

"So, you're not like... ready to throw holy water in my face or stake me, or anything?"

Chrissy giggles again, kissing her on the cheek. There's a little pink lipstick mark left over Robin's freckles. "That's vampires, angel." She tilts her head for a moment. "Can I put bows in your hair when you change? Coconut never lets me, but it'd be so cute!"

Never in her life has Robin ever been so goddamn confused. "You know I'm a super scary creature of the night, right? Like... you do know what a werewolf is... don't you?"

Chrissy just nods, giving her hands a little squeeze. "You're not remotely scary, you know that right? I know you, and you couldn't scare me if you tried, babe. And, at least now I know why you can't stand walking past that one house on Teal with all the cats," she adds with another light laugh. Robin's face goes red, but she can't help the way her whole body feels just a little lighter. If she'd known telling Chrissy would've been this easy, she'd have done it sooner, and spent less time angsting herself to death over made-up break-up scenarios.

The next night, the full moon, is spent on Robin's bed. Chrissy spends most of the night putting the stray fluff on Robin's head up into awkward pigtails, and the rest of the night trying to keep her out of the neighbor's trash. Robin woke up from her change with her head in a fast-asleep Chrissy's lap, bows in her hair, and the biggest smile of her life wide across her face. She could get used to this.

[hellowkatey]

I refuse to believe the droid that blew up under tech's ass didn't cause more damage

3.9k words ~ depictions of violence ~ ao3 ~ a little whump for your troubles

"They're using live rounds!" Hunter hisses, and Tech's blood runs cold. Live rounds? The Kaminoans have never resorted to training with live rounds within the simulation chamber. Even at a low power, live rounds have 62% chance of causing extensive damage to the room's durasteel construction, as opposed to the 21% chance with stuns. That does not even account for the monetary loss if a soldier were to lose their life or require medical attention. All in all, it's a horribly irresponsible training tactic. Something has changed. But why? Tech does not have an answer for that.

He looks at Hunter and Echo crouched behind the barrier next to him. "Get Wrecker," Hunter commands, the flurry of bright red blaster shots zooming overhead. "We'll cover you."

Tech offers a single nod in confirmation and eyes the distance to his fallen brother. With cover from both Hunter and Echo, and if he approaches from the opposite side of his barrier, he should have a relatively high chance of success. Assuming he can keep his head down, of course.

Tech makes his way to the barrier closer to Wrecker without issue.

"Wrecker, are you alright?" He asks, his anxiety quelling at the sight of his brother crawling toward him. The shot did not seem to fully penetrate his armor, which is good news. Tech runs out to meet him, grabbing Wrecker by the shoulder to help him get out of the line of fire.

Just in time it seems. One of the trigger-happy droids notices their movement and leaves a trail of carbon scoring in their wake.

Tech and Wrecker collapse against a barrier just as Hunter, Echo, and Crosshair fall back from their previous positions. He can see them approximately eight meters away. Too far to hear any orders without Hunter alerting the droids to their potential plan.

Suddenly their barrier is getting pounded by blasters. The training droids have discovered their hiding place and are firing without mercy. Smoke from the live rounds curl from the other side of the barrier, fogging up Tech's goggles and filling the air with the horrendous scent of burnt plastoid.

Or perhaps that is the smell of Wrecker's melted chest plate. Difficult to tell. Tech is quickly inching toward overstimulation from the deafening shots, heavy footsteps, and smell of smoke assaulting his senses..

He peers around the corner of their hiding space to get an idea of how close the droids are when a shot slams against the corner— far too close to comfort. He recoils just in time, but the heat of the shot still warms the skin between his helmet and blacks. There seems to be no clear break as the line of their attackers moves forward. He and Wrecker are stuck unless the others can help.

A whistle cuts through the sounds of battle. Tech and Wrecker look at their sergeant who waits for their attention before going through a serious of hand signals.

Split up. Cover. Draw fire. Distract and manual take down. Reprogram. Tech nods along, recognizing this particular sequence.

"Oh!" Wrecker exclaims, collapsing dramatically from his crouched position. "I hate hand signals."

"Perhaps if you memorized them," Tech offers, though he knows there is no chance in hell that will ever happen.

"Why don't you memorize them?"

"I have." Tech is more surprised that Wrecker assumed he hadn't. "What we did on Felucia."

Wrecker is on his feet in an instant. "Why didn't you just say that?" He throws a thumbs up to Hunter and the others— the only hand signal they can ever trust Wrecker to remember— and crouches his way to the outskirts of the chamber.

Tech watches as Hunter and Crosshair lay down cover fire, splitting up to spread the attention of the droids. And Echo assumes his ARC trooper role of running head-on into the action. As the droids shoot at his quick run, Wrecker runs up from behind, tackling one of the training droids to the ground with a satisfied laugh.

Also in typical ARC trooper fashion, Echo jumps onto the back of the other droid as though it's an angry rancor he's attempting to ride. And the droid bucks as any rancor would-- until Echo slams his scomp link into its neck, deactivating it all together.

Now it's reprogramming time. Tech runs to meet them, catching Wrecker's eager arm as it moves to punch the fallen droid again.

"Reprogramming this thing will be pointless if you crush it."

Wrecker seems disappointed, but he resists the urge to wreck. "You better be right about this."

Tech ignores the doubt and gets to work in the droid's circuit board. He works as quickly as possible, acutely aware that Hunter and Crosshair are undoubtedly being swarmed by this point.

"Hurry up," Wrecker warns. It is a statement more of worry for their brothers than a critique of Tech's programming speed. With a quick glance at his vambrace monitor, he slams the circuit board shut.

"Done. Let him go."

Wrecker and Echo back off just as the other droids launch a new attack at the site of their droid field surgery. They run for cover. Tech, on the other hand, situates himself on the shoulders of his new pet droid.

If Echo is the rancor rider, then he is the rancor tamer in this analogy.

The droid stands at its full height, nearly throwing Tech off on the way up, but he manages to press his thighs against its head to balance his weight. Shots from the other droids are whizzing past him in growing frequency. He is an easy target at this height and visibility. He needs to work quickly.

Taking control of the droid's weapons, he fires the live rounds back at the combatant droids. While their training blasters were useless against the thick durasteel plated training droids— as they were meant to be in a simulation— the live rounds actually do sufficient damage. He breezes past Echo and Wrecker's battle stations. Instructs his droid to punch the other droids that managed to get past his initial rain of fire. And as he weakens their defenses his brothers move in with vibroblades, perfectly placed stun shots, and raw strength.

A little bit of pride swells in his chest. The tides appear to be turning in their favor. If they can keep up this pace, their outcome will be favorable.

With his vantage point, Tech spots a droid sneaking up on Wrecker, who is otherwise occupied by beating another droid into submission.

"Wrecker, look alive," he warns. Wrecker lets out a sound of confusion before whirring around to find his next victim. It only takes an impressive suplex and Echo jabbing the droid in the neck for the danger to be adverted. But a new danger has begun to emerge.

Warning signs start flashing across Tech's vambrace screen. His rewriting job had to be hasty, which means he did not get the chance to secure every single circuit. His rush may prove to be their downfall as the connection flickers in and out. The droid sways beneath him and he fights to remain on its shoulders.

"I can't sustain the connection," he says through grit teeth. But with two more enemies stalking toward him he has no choice but to hope he can hold on through the end. His droid manages a weak strike against one of the attacking bots, and a few point blank shots in the face of the other. The connection suddenly re-establishes with full strength, and he grins with glee.

But his success is only temporary. His ride jolts backward as a droid from the upper tier manages to shoot right though its chest— right into the main circuitboard, Tech realizes with dismay. He can't do anything but watch as the droid gets hit a few more times and explodes beneath him. The surge of the blast sends Tech flying backward with much more force than would have been a problem had he simply fallen off the droid. His body hits the ground back-first, ripping the air from his lungs. And then he bounces. When he hits it again, the back of his head slams into the durasteel floor and his vision swims with black dots. Tech tries to blink through the cloudiness of his vision, barely aware of somebody yelling his name through the ringing in his ears.

Everything suddenly hurts. The back of his legs are hot and the smell of burnt plastoid is even more putrid than earlier. Considering how long the droid had been engaging in active battle, and the numerous shots straight to the power source... the heat of combustion had to have been fairly significant. Perhaps even sufficient enough to melt his armor, he realizes with a deep groan.

"Tech!" his name reaches him this time. A little clearer. Definitely Wrecker. He tries to lift his head but only succeeds in lobbing it to the side. But it's enough to see Wrecker crouched a few meters away. "Hold tight, buddy."

Tech can see the consistent shower of blaster shots still thick in the air. It is a full-on battlefield tucked within the confines of Kamino's training facility.

"I'm..." he starts to say, attempting to assure Wrecker that he's okay, but even the act of raising his arm and head is enough to send a jolt of pain down his back and limbs. His vision blurs again and he suddenly is whipped by exhaustion. His adrenaline has finally dropped off and it is pulling him down with it. Tech collapses back on to the ground, letting out a shaky sigh. "...not going anywhere."

He wants to help. But he runs the numbers in his head even as the aura of a migraine starts to dance before his eyes. With the number of droids and taking into account their individual firepower abilities paired with handicaps that come from limited programming and movement, Tech calculates that they have a 46% chance of success without his help.

They've won on lesser odds.

And when he takes into consideration the alternate scenario of him pushing through his current injuries and attempting to aid them in completing the simulation, their chance of success actually reduces to 41%. He knows his presence would distract the rest of his squad, or introduce a number of uncertain variables he is too tired to take into account at the moment.

Well, the math does not lie, he thinks, and lets his eyes flutter shut.

Wrecker watches Tech's body go limp and he seriously considers running at that last droid and tearing its head clean off with his bare hands. His youngest brother mutters something he can't really hear— whatever it is, his voice is pinched with pain. Not a good sign.

This needs to end now.

As though Crosshair was reading his mind, the sniper appears out of nowhere with his rifle at the ready. (Sometimes Wrecker wonders if he really can read minds. It wouldn't surprise him.)

"Wrecker, knife!" he yells. He has no idea what Cross is gonna do, but he unsheathes his knife and throws it in the air with a backspin. Crosshair shoots and strikes his knife mid-air, sending it blade first straight between the eyes of the last droid.

"Wow," he says in amazement.

There's a moment of quiet after the droid falls. Wrecker stands at his full height, still in awe that Cross managed to actually get that shot! He knows his brother's aim is impressive but wow— sometimes it's just next level.

Wrecker suddenly remembers Tech still lying next to the burnt leftovers of his pet droid. He and Echo rush to his side. Though Tech has pushed himself to a sitting position, Wrecker has enough experience with explosives and getting too close to them to notice how his brother refuses to let the back of his legs touch anything. On top of if, he saw the way his head bounced against the floor. Wrecker's no medic, but he knows a solid hit to the noggin when he sees one. Tech's usually sharp eyes are unfocused. The smears of carbon scoring across the lenses aren't helping, so he tries to wipe it away with his gloves. He only succeeds in making the smearing worse, but what worries him more is that his younger brother didn't react like he usually does when anyone tries to touch his goggles. Usually he jerks away, insists he can fix them himself. But now he's just... staring at nothing. It sends a spike of worry through Wrecker's large body.

As they attempt to pull him to his feet, he glances down at the state of Tech's armor. A shutter runs up his spine.

It's not good. He can't tell if the red that is dripping down Tech's boots and onto the floor is from his melted armor or blood... neither is a good sigh. And as soon as he and Echo get Tech to his feet, he immediately starts swaying to the side. Wrecker catches him under the arms, hearing a low hiss of pain and wondering if he should let him lie back again.

"Tech, are you okay?" Hunter asks as he and Crosshair make it to their position.

Tech's reply is very not-Tech like. A low groan. Not a single word. But he shifts his weight to his feet and gently pulls out of Wrecker's grasp to stand on his own.

"Techy you don't have to--"

"We're being watched," Crosshair interrupts. Wrecker looks up and realizes that Tarkin guy and Lama Su are still watching from the viewing gallery.

A part of him is glad they can't see the death stare on his face for shooting live rounds— live rounds!— at them.

Another part of him wants to give them a piece of his mind.

But as they disappear from sight, it becomes very obvious that Tech was only standing for their benefit. This time, his knees buckle and he falls forward. Hunter and Crosshair both lunge to catch him.

"He's out," Hunter says as they gently lower him to the ground. Now the overhead lights shine down on Tech's back and all of them freeze.

"Shit," Crosshair curses. The explosion melted his armor for sure. But what concerns them all is the mess of raw skin and melted blacks behind his knees and at his ankles. "Where the hell is medical?"

For some reason, when Tech awoke he expected to be staring at the ceiling of a med tent. It is a natural association to make in his newly conscious state. He suffered an injury due to an explosion, which is usually a scenario that is only possible in an active battlefield situation.

Hence, why seeing the sterile white ceiling of the Kamino ceiling sent him into a momentary panic. Did they cart me straight back to Kamino from the battlefield? Am I that injured? Does this mean I am being decommissioned?

He begins to try and sit up, but strong hands press down on his chest. It takes a few rounds of blinking to clear the tears that have welled up in his eyes. Echo and Crosshair stand on either side of his bed. Still in their armor. Both wide-eyed and looking quite exhausted as they attempt to calm him.

"Breathe, Tech," Echo says, demonstrating by drawing in his own large breath and slowly releasing it through his pursed lips. Tech imitates him until the tightness in his chest subsides. And he remembers.

A simulation. We were doing a training exercise. I was sitting atop the shoulders of a droid and... the droid combusted.

Right. Suddenly the numbness in his legs and the dull bite of a waning migraine make sense.

"Did we win at least?" Tech asks, looking between Crosshair and Echo.

"You don't remember?" The sniper asks carefully.

Tech remembers falling. A white hot pain. And then a lot of yelling and a lot of darkness.

"My current memory of the end of the exercise seems to be a bit... murky."

Echo and Crosshair exchange glances.

"We destroyed all the droids," Echo says finally.

"Wrecker was pleased about that part," the sniper mutters.

"So we won then. That's good." Both of them are silent for a long moment. Long enough that Tech replays their conversation up to that point wondering if he said something incorrect. From his point of view, there has been nothing that would offend either of them. So why they are acting so strange is beyond his understanding, unless they are withholding other context from while he was unconscious. "...isn't it?"

Finally Crosshair clears his throat. "None of us would consider you getting blown up a mission success, Tech."

"Well, technically, I didn't blow up, the droid—"

"Technically, nothing," Crosshair snaps at him. Echo glares at the sniper but doesn't exactly try to correct his outburst. "Either way, you got hurt."

Oh. So they are worried about his condition. For the first time since he's woken up, Tech cranes his head to look down at himself. He's in a thin, medical gown. No wonder he was feeling a bit of a draft. His bare legs are completely wrapped in thick bacta strips. That explains the numbness as well.

"How... bad?"

"Not as bad as it looks," Echo admits. "Mostly second-degree burns on your legs with a few small spots of third degree burns. No concussion and no grafts needed. Doc said after this round of bacta they'll rewrap and we can take you back to the barracks. It'll just feel like you have a bad sunburn for a few days."

That's good news at least. He does feel much better. Not in terrible pain like before, though Tech suspects the IV in his arm might have something to do with that.

"You passed out after the simulation," Crosshair says with a haunted stare.

"From the pain, I assume?"

"Also from the adrenaline dump." Echo shrugs. "We all came out of that with shaky legs."

"Speak for yourself," Crosshair mutters but Echo ignores him.

"None of us expected to fight for our lives today."

All of them can agree on that. Speaking of fighting for their lives, Tech realizes it's just the three of them. He looks to the beds at his left and right and find that they're empty. The memory of watching Wrecker's body crumble after getting shot flashes through Tech's mind and he tries to sit up again. This time Crosshair presses his hand against his back and helps him up.

"Where's Wrecker and Hunter? Are they alright?"

"Wrecker also had a burn on his chest, but they discharged him already. Hunter is with him," Echo smiles. "I think Wrecker said something about being hungry."

"Well, we didn't get much of a meal before this," Crosshair says bitterly.

Tech finally relaxes back into the pillow. His brothers are all safe, he's going to be discharged soon, and they completed their training exercise. It's a much better outcome than he expected from waking up in the med wing.

After his bacta is changed, Echo helps him into a fresh pair of blacks while Crosshair grabs his armor. The shirt is no problem, but the tight-fitting pants prove to be a more difficult feat.

"Maybe we can go get you a looser pair," Echo suggests as Tech has to literally bite down on his own lip to distract himself from the discomfort. Even with the barrier of bandages, the thick material feels scratchy against his sensitive skin. So bad that shivers run up his spine and he begins to feel a little nauseous.

"No," Tech pushes Echo's hand away. Honestly, the very thought of the pants having to peel back down his leg is worse than the idea of keeping them on. "I'll adjust." Echo seems hesitant but he doesn't fight him further. Tech gets his armor on-- sans the pieces that were melted in the explosion, of course. Those will require a trip to the armory to replace. (But he is not exactly jumping at the idea of restraining his swollen legs right now, anyway.)

"Ready?" Crosshair asks, though his facial expression looks as though he won't believe a word that comes out of Tech's mouth no matter what.

"Indeed."

They walk slowly back to the barracks, taking the long route to pick up Hunter and Wrecker from the caf. For the first few corridors, the scratchy feeling is agonizing. He has to walk with stiff legs to avoid bending his knees too much. It earns him his fair share of strange looks from the regs that pass, though they usually look at him like he was some sort of abomination, so it doesn't bother him. (Tech hypothesizes it has something to do with his goggles and how they stick out of his helmet. Makes him look quite different from even his own squad.)

But as they reach the caf, the stinging has begun to fade. His body is adjusting, as he predicted. The pain receptors in his legs are finally recognizing that it isn't a stimulus worth the trouble to continue griping about. He manages to bend his knees just enough that his stiffness isn't so obvious, more of a limp.

Wrecker's joyful tone rings out as soon as they grow near to the cafeteria. The largest of their brothers appears around the corner, his face brightening as he breaks into a run. "Tech!" Echo and Crosshair are quick to jump in and stop him from body slamming Tech.

"Easy, Wrecker, you know better than any of us how it feels to get blown up," Crosshair says before stepping aside for Wrecker to pull Tech into a bear hug. He sees Cross glance at Echo and then smirk. "Well, maybe that's not true. Echo here might have us all beat."

The former ARC trooper rolls his eyes. "Very funny."

Wrecker releases Tech. Somehow without aggravating his burns too badly. He is glad he opted to wear his helmet instead of carrying it. The mask hides his wince as pain shoots up his legs when Wrecker drops him back on the floor.  "I'm so glad you're okay!"

"As am I," he replies sheepishly. They start to make their way back toward their barracks. "Though I hardly blew up, it was merely a droid overheating."

"Did it have smoke and fire?" Wrecker asks.

"Minimal, but yes."

"Did it make a boom sound?"

"Well I'm not sure I would classify--"

"And did you get thrown really hard and burn your butt off?"

Tech sighs. "Perhaps."

Wrecker shrugs with a smug grin, looking around at the others. "You may be the expert on most things, Tech, but I know explosions. And that sounds a lot like an explosion to me."

Crosshair chuckles, his face in its usual sneer as he pats Tech's shoulder pauldron.

"It's alright," Echo whispers to him as Wrecker starts a loud tangent about getting shot at. "Means you get to be a part of the Got Blown Up Club. Meetings are bimonthly."

Not exactly a club Tech expected to be joining at a battle simulation. But then again, when do things ever go right for their squad in normal circumstances? He is curious to see what justification they had for such an irresponsible stunt. Tech has a sinking feeling Tarkin and Echo's claim that he hates clones has something to do with it.

[eloquent-vowel]

Part 4 "Type of" Bucky x OFC (#043)

Description: After two years of upgrades, #043 is finally woken up permanently. Just in time for her fight with the Winter Soldier.

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Slow burn, very much a slow burn. Bucky Barnes x OFC, Winter Soldier X OFC

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoy the first meeting between #043 and the Winter Soldier. <3

Part 3

The lights were bright. Too bright, the ceiling was blindingly white and it burned. The light burned. Her eyes were dry, so dry, blinking hurt but having her eyes open hurt.

Everything was loud, not everything, some things were quiet, the things that were loud were meant to be quiet. The buzzing of the air conditioner, the static sound of electricity, footsteps that sounded close but felt far away. It was overwhelming but she couldn't speak, there was something in her mouth.

A high pitched whine filled her ears, they began to ring, louder and louder, until it drowned out the buzzing.

"#043, you have finally woken up."

The ringing in her ears ceased and she could now hear the chatter in the room. A face blocked the light from her eyes, a familiar one.

"It is likely you don't remember but you have been up before." Dr. Leeb began to fiddle with some restraints on her wrists. "We had to wake you up to test if the enhancements worked. It may have taken two years but I believe we have made the latest breakthrough in mechanical enhancements."

#043 was finally able to sit up, disorientated and confused. She had never seen the room she was in yet it felt familiar. White walls and medical equipment surrounded her, there were a couple of men in white coats chatting by the door.

"You are a stunning success #043, almost enough to atone for your previous mistakes." Dr. Leeb undid the restraints on her ankles, as #043 sat up to face him. "Now I want you to do something for me. Listen to the men over there." He pointed to the men in lab coats. "You can't hear them now but perhaps if you just focused, you may be able to."

#043 didn't quite know what focusing your hearing felt like but she did was Dr. Leeb said and focused. Her ear began to burn slightly as she focused in but eventually she could hear the two men talking as clear as day.

"... chip in the Occipital and Frontal lobes, replacement of the Stapes, enhanced prosthetics and enhanced senses, what type of monster is..."

#043 tuned out, before nodding at Dr. Leeb.

"What were they talking about, dear?"

"Me." She paused before staring right at the Doctor. "What did you do to me?"

"We have simply made you better now! Enhanced sight and hearing. I upgraded you prosthetics to fit your fully grown form and added some extra bonuses in them! #043, click your heels together."

#043 slowly stood up from the bed, Dr. Leeb seemed much smaller than she remembered. Her knees almost gave out when she put her full weight on them but she caught herself on the IV pole beside her.

"We haven't got all day!"

Struggling, #043 balanced herself the clicked her heels together. There was a slight hissing noise and two small blades perturbed from her feet, from the heel on her left leg and the toe of the right. She clicked her heels again and they retracted.

"Brilliant aren't they. Come on now, its time for you to get used to these new legs and then it is time for you to fully atone."

Although he wasn't mentioned by name #043 knew that her atonement was in the hands of The Winter Soldier.

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

The Soldier stood on the edge of the fighting ring. It was a large concrete circle with walls built up around it, high enough to prevent escape but low enough to allow scientists to stare at him from above. He knew little of why he was here, other than to fight yet another contender. He was tired, tired of the endless fighting, he always won in the end and those who would lose to him would be taken away for more enhancements or to be disposed of.

For this fight, however, there was a palpable tension in the air as the men above him whispered to each other. He was unarmed, except for a small knife which he was currently flipping between his hands. He was unsure how long it had been, how long he had been waiting for but just has the knife in his hands flipped at the fastest it could the doors on the other side of the chamber opened.

The doors parted to reveal a tall figure, probably as tall as him. She was dressed in a similar fashion to him, black vest and her hair pushed out of her face. The Soldier analysed his opponent. She rivalled him in stature, and her eyes were just as sharp as his as he saw her sizing him up as well.

His eyes flicked down to her legs, he felt his arm whirr slightly as he recognised the same mechanics used in both her legs. They were made of interlocking metal parts that glinted in the florescent lights, with every step she took there was a slight whirring as the metallic joints folded over each other.. Her right leg still had her own knee and was made of metal from there down in contrast her left has an artificial knee joint that clacked slightly when she straightened it, the metal plates going far enough up to just brush her hip.

He walked towards her until they met in the middle. He was right, she was the same height as him and almost as broad. Once she was closer to him, he saw that her shoulder's were littered with scars. They were uniform and regular in their placement, perhaps they were a weak spot of hers? He followed her arms down to see the knuckle dusters clasped in her fists. He looked down at his small knife, this was to be a game of wits as well as strength.

All in all he saw her as a threat, he knew he would have to avoid her legs. Now that she was close enough he looked right into her eyes. They were empty. While her eyes moved over him in a clearly assessing way there was nothing behind them. She was devoid of emotion, his heart beat loudly in his ears as he felt pity. Pity and sympathy. A voice came over the intercom

"#043 meet the Winter Soldier, Soldier meet #043."

They nodded at one another.

"#043, you are to defeat the Winter Soldier. This is the only way you may become Eris. Make me proud, my dear, destroy him."

The Soldier looked as the empty eyes of #043 turned from emotionless to anger, she gave no warning before she attacked.

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

It wasn't personal, the Soldier was just a target. #043 thought as she launched forwards. Despite not remembering the past two years her movements were the same as always. Chaotic and destructive. She felt her arms moving before her brain and watched as the Soldier jumped to block her.

The two super soldiers battered at each other. #043 felt her arm getting bruised each time she countered the metallic arm. She stared into the eyes of the soldier and he stared back each trying to predict the others moves. They danced around each other. Exchanging pummel after pummel, the brass knuckles caught the Soldier's temple, tearing it. In retort the knife caught #043's cheek. Blood flowed down her cheekbone and she paused.

The Soldier paused too.

They stood for a moment, fists still raised, eyes still locked. There was a hint of recognition that passed between them. A familiarity of shared experience, a moment of finding someone who could finally understand.

"Do I need to remind you what will happen if you lose this #043."

It was enough for #043 to be spurred into action once more. The Soldier was immediately back on the defensive as she attacked him continuously. He couldn't predict a pattern in her blows. She seemed to move with no thought, no direction other than to harm. Her legs kicked out with shattering force and he soon learned it was better to dodge than block. She was unrelenting, while his body was not as tired as hers his mind was beginning to lag. He had to focus, he had no time to switch to the offensive. He had to wait, to wait for her to get tired, for her to slip up.

She punched, he parried. She kicked to his chest, he sidestepped, His eyes narrowed. She was going to kick, with her left, no RIGHT. A deafening clang rang out as he blocked her leg with his arm. Her foot was an inch away from his head. They were both breathing heavily, neither of them having fought someone as similar to the other. Once more their eyes met, the Soldier hesitated- under all the anger and hatred in her eyes was a desperation- fear. She was scared. Not of him. Of consequence, of losing.

She began to push against his arm. The scrape of metal against metal sent shiver's down #043's spine. But she kept pushing, she couldn't lose, she refused to. She grunted out at the effort it took to break the Soldier's guard. She gritted her teeth, she felt his arm give way, she relaxed and was swiftly thrown off balance by the Soldier throwing her leg away. He took the opportunity to run at her.

She was now on the defensive. Using her arms to block in coming knife swipes. Using her legs to parry his own kicks. She tried to get a jab in. Only to have the knife slash across her knuckles, causing her to drop on of her brass knuckles. They clanged against the floor, forgotten as she had to double her efforts to concentrate. She ignored the shooting pain over her hand and continued to block punch after punch.

#043 was tiring. She knew this. He knew it. She felt him doubling his efforts to trap her. Sweat was dripping down her brow. Her usual ability to predict her opponents movements was gone, her brain too focused on surviving. The Soldier drew closer. She blocked a final jab with the knife but he grabbed her. He grabbed her wrists and twisted. She dropped the other brass knuckle. He pulled her close, twisted so that her back was to his chest, and placed his metal arm around her throat. He squeezed.

"Yield." His voice was quiet in her ear, low enough so that Dr. Leeb would not hear.

She struggled, clawing at his arm. She thought of Dr. Leeb, of the chair, of consequences. Black spots began to dance around her vision. She would not go out like this. She focused on her left leg. The chip in her brain that lead directly to her left leg. She really did not want to be disposed of.

Dr. Leeb watched with barely veiled excitement as #043 let out a guttural scream. He watched as her left leg began to twist, it rotated against her skin until it was facing backwards, the foot facing the Winter Soldier. The leg reared back, unnoticed and kicked. Dr. Leeb laughed as that single kick dislocated the soldier's knee. The Soldier loosened his grip and she escaped. They faced each other once again.

The ache in her leg was almost impossible to ignore as it twisted back to the right place. Much to her annoyance the soldier was still standing. They were both breathless, bloody and bruised.

The Soldier grimaced before snapping his knee back into place, he had given enough for it to be considered a fair fight. It was time to end this fight.

They both moved at once. Their dance resumed. This time they were both switching from attacking and defending every other hit. #043 began to launch a series of kicks. The Soldier kept deflecting them. She knew she was becoming predictable but every inch of her hurt. Her knuckles were bleeding. Spraying red droplets everywhere as she continued to punch. In desperation she began to launch a final switch kick. It felt obvious, she saw the soldier's eyes flick to her feet. He knew what she was going to do. It was too late to change. She launched her right leg towards the Solder's temple. He raised his arm.

There was a thud as the Soldier hit the floor. Unconscious.

#043 blinked. He had seen it coming. He had raised to block it. Had he been tired? Was he too slow? Her win felt wrong. She stood frozen over his form. She had won. She was Free. She was Eris. So why wasn't she happy?

"What type of monster have you created Dr. Leeb?"

Dr. Leeb turned to face the General, a joyous smile on his face.

"I have created an unstoppable tide of chaos, General. I have created Eris."

Part 5

[ff15trashgoldenslumbers]

If requests are open right now, could we get the Chocobros dealing with S/O's ex. Like they won't leave S/O alone no matter how many times they've told the ex that they have a lover now and they don't want to get back together. If requests are not open just ignore this entirely. Thank you and have a wonderful day.❤❤❤

Ohhhh the drama in me loves this! but the anger in me makes me wanna punch ex’s like this! All in all good fuel! Kinda slight NSFW with Gladio here, hope that’s okay…

~~~~~

Noctis

You shifted your head slightly, trying to hide your face. Granted being a Princess was still new to you in hundreds of ways but that didn’t make what was happening any stranger.

When you and Noctis became public in your last year of being in school you immediately were thrown into a completely different life than the one you grew up in. You had to quit your job, move twice, and learned that being online you had to become very vague about a lot of stuff.

Before Noctis, you dated this guy that was kinda of…well full of himself. He was always posting selfies and talked himself up as if he himself were a god. After requesting to be in at least one selfie with him on his page after dating for a while and then him getting pissed at you when you posted a picture of the two of you with some friends and him thinking it would make him lose his fanbase you realized that you just wasted a good two months of your life.

So off the idiot in foil armor went and in strolled your Prince on a White Chocobo. You couldn’t exactly post selfies with him, but Noctis always made certain that you were by his side in any tabloid, magazine, fashion shoot, anytime there was a couple opportunity he was certain to take it and show you off!

But it still didn’t excuse the fact that your annoying two-month ex was everywhere! All the damn time! Some gossip column was all over it when you gave the vague question about kissing a few frogs to get your prince and tried digging up your nonexistent love life before Noctis and found that mistake, and this asshole figured he’d ride on your coattails to boost himself.

Nearly every magazine for a year was all about your previous relationship with the guy: Prince Noctis’s New Girlfriend EX Spills All. There were so many false columns and info this guy was giving about you that Prompto last year gave you a red thread board of him trying to solve who this guy was actually talking about and the only idiot he came up with was aliens. 

You still laugh at it whenever you have a bad day.

So to see this asshole now at this charity event for animals was just so annoying! He must have volunteered at the shelter when it broke news a few weeks ago that the royal family was going to help raise money. Gladiolus noticed him before you, and the big guy was itching to throw him out since the last time the guy tried to break into a ball. 

“You want me to toss him?”

“Nah, just keep an eye on him.” You replied to the big guy, only to feel Noctis take your hand.

“You sure?”

You could only nod, the guy just talked a lot, and as long as Noctis thought you were cool, you didn’t give a damn what any tabloid said about you.

So while Noctis was talking with the charity people and getting everything ready for you all to leave, you had stepped away to take a few selfies with the volunteers of the event with some of the dogs, cats, and Chocobo’s they had brought out to do photoshoot earlier.

“Y/N.”

You turned, only to be greeted by your ex standing there, you could be civil for Noctis’s sake, “Hello.”

He chuckled softly, “That’s all you’ve got to say to me?”

You blinked, “Do I know you?”

“Oh, you don’t remember me?” 

You smiled, “I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Princess Y/N, Are you ready?”  Prompto called, he was at your side with the selfies so you weren’t left alone. The blonde leaning in to whisper in your ear, “You okay?”

“Yes, thank you Prompto.” You cooed, taking his arm as he moved you over to Noctis. You gasped as you felt something snag the sleeve of your dress, expecting it to be one of the Chocobo’s, but quickly found yourself in a whirlwind.

You recalled a cracking sound, quickly followed by being pushed behind Gladiolus, only to find your ex on the ground, Ignis, and Prompto holding him down. You were only able to piece it together a few moments after it happened and both yourself and Noctis were quickly escorted to the car by Gladiolus.

Apparently, everyone was so focused on Prompto decking the guy the hadn’t noticed Noctis was keeping an eye on the guy so when your ex  grabbed you, Noctis had tossed a pen over towards your feet warping after it. Gladiolus jumped before the two of you, while Ignis and Prompto subdued the guy.

You honestly had to admit that you loved that Noctis was so protective of you and wanted to always do best by you, but the fact that your ex was still in the news was a little icing on the cake, but now instead of being labeled as the “Ex of the new Princess” he had a lovely new nickname of “Stalker.” or even better year, “Inmate.” 

~~~~~

Prompto

When you both started dating Prompto had already known that he was going to take everything you had to offer. He just wished that your Ex wasn’t a part of it, he wouldn’t give you up for anything in the world, but your Ex he’d give that jerk up for a plate of stinky tofu.

From what you had told him, you had broken up with your Ex after quite a bit of time of him comparing you to other women. Time and again, why weren’t you thinner, why weren’t your boobs bigger, why don’t you were makeup more often, why don’t you dress better. 

Prompto honestly didn’t see what the guys deal was, to him you were those most perfect of perfect! No one could compare to you, and it seems that your Ex realized it way too late. He had overheard from your friend’s hundreds of times that you seemed to glow so much more in a relationship with Prompto.

It was only when he saw it first hand that he realized just what a scumbag this asshole was. 

It was date night, you had both decided to go hang out at the little carnival in the park the two of you would often jog through. You had left him holding your purse and a stuff Chocobo he had won you at a shooting game to head to the bathroom. He was waiting on a bench just outside the restrooms, messing around on his phone, waiting for you to come out.

When you appeared he stood to go get you, when he noticed a guy quickly approach you. The look across your face was one that he wasn’t familiar seeing on you but he immediately knew that it was of distress, so he quickly moved over to you.

“…come on Y/N, let’s just go somewhere and talk.”

“I’m here with my boyfriend.”

“I know that I’ll…”

Prompto had only heard a part of it, but that was more than enough, “There you are, figured you fell in.” He laughed, his arm going around your shoulders, as he pressed a kiss to your temple, turning those violet eyes to your ex. “Is this a friend of yours?”

The sneer on your ex’s face didn’t go unnoticed, the guy wouldn’t even look at Prompto, “Y/N, come on we can go somewhere private and…”

“Sorry buddy, date night,” Prompto called, as he handed you the stuff Chocobo, before turning you around. “You understand right.”

He didn’t even wait for a reply before whisking you away. Only when he made certain that you both weren’t being followed by the jerk he turned to you making sure that you were all right, but instead found you holding tightly to the plush. 

Moving the both of you besides a candy apple stand, he turned to face you, “Y/N, are you okay, we can go home if you want.”

You shook your head, before turning to Prompto with a large smile, “You were so cool, Prompto.” 

He honestly didn’t know if the apples or his face was redder.

~~~~~

Gladiolus

At least twice a month, you would get these annoying text messages. It was never during the day typically anytime from 9 at night to 6 in the morning. Most of the time it wasn’t too big a deal, they would start, and either you or Gladiolus was mute the phone or turn it off should neither of you have any duties for the evening.

The issue was they there were coming from an ex, an annoying ex! Despite the fact that you had been the one to break up with the asshole after finding him in bed with not one but two other people. Granted your break up was you grabbing the guy and tossing him out, you let the other two get dressed as they both seemed just as equally confused to see you. You then did a little therapy by selling all the clothes and items you had bought him and smashing the game station you had brought him that he left at your place with your battle axe.

Noctis claimed that he still had nightmares about it.

He tried stating you were a crazy bitch, and that you destroyed his stuff, but all receipts showed that you purchased them and they were in your home and were yours. You gave him back anything he left at your place in boxes he had bought, but seeing that he was jobless and mooching off of you that was enough to fill one box. But if you bought it with your hard-earned money, and it sat in your house, and you had no need for it, it was getting sold, tossed, or smashed. 

So with 3 years gone, and a new love of your life that you’ve been sharing a bed and new home with for the last 2.5 years you had hoped all of this would be over. But nope like clockwork, you’d got these texts, even after changing your phone number 3 times and endless blocked numbers.

They started off angry, calling you every name under the sun, then to saying you should both talk it out, then the crying, then the pictures of him crying, or cuddling up to his new flavor of the month. Followed by texts of him reinstating time and time again that he was over you come the morning after. You never responded and after a bit, it became a running joke between yourself and Gladiolus.

The guy was too afraid of the both of you to ever try anything physical considering you both could destroy him with one hand alone, so he tried mental warfare which wasn’t his strong suit.

So when you went to open this month’s messages to stop getting the notifications from your phone you couldn’t stop the shriek of disgust.

“What he do this time?” Gladiolus asked sitting on the couch beside you.

You turned the phone, showing Glaidolus a dick picture.

“Really? Just send him one back.” Gladiolus chuckled, only to notice that you were suddenly scrolling through your phone. “What are you doing?”

“I thought about yours but that’s for my eyes only.” You responded, before finding whatever it was you were looking before hitting send.

It was honestly nice to have your phone silent for the last few months.

~~~~~

Ignis

You receiving undying support from Ignis, it was one of the things that you adored so much about the man. There were a few things that he didn’t support you on, but that typically was for your own good, like when you wanted nine espresso shots in your ebony.

A  wonderful welcome compared to your ex who thought a woman’s place was in the homestead and as he so delicately put it: Popping out babies, and only standing there to look pretty, to be seen and never heard. Not to mention he had often referred to you as his own personal Oracle, while he was the god you were to serve.

You weren’t even certain if you could call him an ex, considering that it was a pre-betrothal situation by your parents from years ago as a teenager and that after the third meeting with this asshole and a nice glass of wine tossed in his face you were determined to do all you could prove this man wrong. Pettiness was always a good motivator.

The only problem being, he was just elite enough to have a way into most of the royal invites, and being Ignis’s forever plus one and The Citadel’s head Historian you would often get put in lovely situations where you needed to be civil to this overgrown child again and again.

You couldn’t even count how many times he would try to act as if you were both an item, and would often try to joke around with Ignis about how the other must-have you under his boot and that he would take you off of Ignis’s hands should he get sick of you, knowing how much of a handful you were with these crazy ideas of yours.

Thing being, Ignis would have none of it! 

If there was anyone who hated your ex more than you it was Ignis, and Ignis could be so much more petty than you.

So tonight when you found yourself, being trailed around the party by him, you attempted to put on a pleasant face and excuse yourself, but this asshole somehow found a way to keep finding you around the party. Attempting to talk his way back into your life and constantly bring up to anyone who would listen to him that you both were once betrothed.

As you were contemplating on either giving him a black eye or bruise rib, you were surprised to instead find Ignis had shoved his way between the two of you, a protective arm around your waist pulling you close. 

“Kind Sir, I would say it was a pleasure to see you again, but we mustn’t tell lies. I’ve noticed something this evening…”

“What…”

“Do not interrupt me, as it make you appear, even more, the fool. I would appreciate it that you refine from speaking with or about Y/N for the rest of your meaningless existence, should you not, I will see it that not only yourself but also you family are stripped of any such titles that allow you to grease your way into any social standing, do I make myself clear?” Ignis inquired, he had mastered the look of a pleasant face, to everyone else in the room it must have looked like Ignis was simply have a pleasant conversation with the other man.

“I…”

“It is a yes or no question,” Ignis replied, that tight smile appearing even more so, those green eyes appearing to glow.

A slight nod of the head from the other man was the answer.

“Wonderful!” Ignis perked up an actual genuine smile appearing on his face. “Do have a pleasant evening.”

You allowed Ignis to whisk you away to the other side of the room, “Can…can you do that?” You had already known the answer but you just wanted to confirm.

“Of course, My Dear. Now I have been dying to dance with you all evening, shall we?”

Gods! You loved that man!

[emerald-amidst-gold]

if I'm not too late maybe "putting a blanket on them" from the casual affections prompt list? :3

*sings* It's not too late, it's never too late~! *clears throat* As you can see, it's never too late to prompt me! I find my motivation to write is bolstered when prompted, or ideas that I've been struggling with tend to come out more easily!

So! We want some SOMFT this day? Oh, I can most certainly oblige! >:3

Cue an utterly exhausted Fane, an incredibly soft Solas, and a dash of angst! *chef's kiss* Bon appetit!

--

Fane was tired. Exhausted, even. Solas could see it from where he was situated at his desk, having glanced up from a material of research he had been pondering when the aforementioned person had walked through the adjacent door with no more than a gravelly, 'Hey'. It wasn't an unusual greeting, Fane rarely made a grand entrance with his voice, but it was the tone, tight and defeated, that switched Solas' mind from curious to concerned. He straightened his posture, head tilting as his dragon only seemed to...stare through and not in like usual.

Yes, Fane was exhausted--horribly so.

"Hello, vhenan," Solas greeted in the tone he typically used, quiet, but tender. and with a small smile. When Fane still only continued to stare with a dimness in flecks of gold and no responding smile of his own, he frowned a bit, "...Fane?"

Fane finally seemed to reconnect at that, blinking before sucking in a deep breath and letting it out in a heavy, heavy fashion. That only made Solas more worried, as did the deep set circles marring ivory skin and muting brilliant eyes to where emerald looked like moss. Dark circles were also not unusual for his dragon to bear, nightmares lurked around every corner, waking or not, but the ones Solas saw now were horrid. Fane utterly looked as if he were about to fall to the ground at any moment.

He watched the other man lift a gloved hand and rub vigorously at lax cheeks, tiredness banishing the elasticity of youth with ease.

"Sorry," Fane muttered out an apology, though it was somewhat muffled by his hand. It didn't take much for Solas to hear it, however. And he had been right in assuming that it was not the tone he was accustomed to; there was not even an inherent growl in its depth. "I zoned out for a minute..."

Solas bit into his cheek slightly, thinking on his next words before he found them. It was best to simply breach this topic and lay it to rest.

Just as it was best to lay a dragon to rest. Fane needed to sleep, and Solas would see that he did, whether it be a struggle or not.

He let out a quiet sigh, "Vhenan, how much sleep did you manage to get last night?"

He knew Fane's routine by now, had been helping to fix its unhealthier parts in fact, but some habits were hard to break when the Fade offered no more respite than reality. Most nights, Solas would wake to an empty bed or when his dragon was just coming back from a walk, a heavy-lidded eyes seeking sand filled with guilt or self-loathing as they found his.

Fane's eyes took on that glassy, far-away look again before his head jolted, a sleepy snort sounding before that same gloved hand from before scrubbed and scrubbed. Solas had to restrain himself from letting out a 'tsk'. It wasn't Fane's fault for this occurrence, not entirely, and it would be wrong of him to place blame. He knew his dragon tried to sleep, tried to rest, but again, some habits were etched in stone from scars and memories. Even so, it hurt to see this battle. A battle Fane constantly attempted to fight on his own.

Fane stifled a yawn with the back of his rubbing hand before he mumbled around it, "...Half an hour? Twenty minutes, maybe? I don't fucking know.."

Solas' eyes went wide, "Twenty min--?! Fane!", he practically snapped, but Fane only responded with a shrug and a tired sniffle, seeming too tired to even put up a defense.

He couldn't stop the 'tsk' this time as he skirted around the desk and made his way over to the wall of muscle and duality literally beginning to sway from sheer exhaustion. This would not continue today. Fane would rest and he would rest now.

"Lie down," Solas commanded, trying to keep the edge out of his voice as he motioned to the couch a few feet away. He stood before Fane now, peering up into deep set eyes and frowned when he received only a minor grimace and slow aversion of pupils, "Ma'isenatha, please. I do not wish to see you collapse from exhaustion. A few minutes of rest is all I ask."

Fane's grimace turned into a scowl, "...I have a meeting in the war room in thirty minutes," he said before letting out a growl, its usual vibrato weak, however, "...since Cullen decided that the dragon 'savagely' attacking Crestwood needs to be dealt with within the next month."

Solas blinked before he felt his brow furrow. The dragon in Crestwood? They had driven it away no more than two months ago, last he remembered...

"That was the dragon you managed to communicate with, was it not?", he inquired, watching as Fane's face hardened like stone, dark eyes darkening further. "I thought you had persuaded her to seek asylum in the mountains?"

"I did, and that's where she was. Your agents in the Inquisition have been keeping me updated on her," Fane explained, voice pitching down lower and lower as his eyelids drooped and drooped. There was an ember in depths of emerald however, a spark of fiery gold as venomous words came out in a hiss, "...And they told me she left her den not even two weeks ago."

Solas blinked, "She left?", he asked with air of incredulity.

Fane nodded, tired face grim, "...Yeah," he muttered, appearing even more exhausted than before.

"Do you know why?"

A pause and then a heavy sigh, "...I do."

"The reason, then?" Solas inquired, absently taking a step closer to Fane's slouched form. He could tell his dragon's exhaustion was not purely physical, but mental; Fane was worried and angry, but seemingly not towards his kin. After all, there were a number of reasons as to why a dragon would leave its den, he knew. Improper climate, lack of food, external threats moving inwards, or...!

Solas' eyes widened, immediately reaching up and cupping Fane's face. The other responded instantaneously, leaning forward, closing dark eyes from view, and biting into a pale bottom lip. Yes, this was not just physical exhaustion...

"She is nesting?" Solas whispered out brokenly, stroking dark circles in an attempt to soothe the troubled being before him. He should have known this was more than merely Fane refusing to sleep due to his nightmares...

Fane nodded a bit, "She's seeking food, bedding, maybe even a more comfortable den to lay," he whispered back before sucking in a shuddering breath, "And--And that disgusting creature, that 'Commander', wants to...to...to..."

Solas tightened his hold on Fane's face, spurring heavy eyelids to slowly open. Their eyes connected and he kept his face firm, unrelenting. This path troubled him as well, but rage would do no good towards a better solution.

"They do not know the truth, Fane. It is up to us to intervene, silently, with it. She will not be killed as long as you are at the helm," Solas vowed, pulling Fane's face closer and resting their foreheads together lightly, staring directly into pained, tired eyes, "I promise you. What happened centuries ago will not happen again."

As those words passed, silence pervaded it. Fane's eyes were trained on his own, still, dark, but searching. Solas knew the look in them, the need. His dragon was seeking the truth of his words in the color of his eyes, and within minutes, Fane seemed to find it, some gold lighting up in emerald depths and expression melting with relief, even if exhaustion was set into every sharp angel, every contour.

"You're right. It won't," Fane said darkly, agreeing with his vow with utter conviction.

Such determination, such will had Solas leaning up and laying a chaste kiss against flat lips, actually smiling a bit when that line twitched and sleepy eyes softened with purest love. No matter the trials thrust their way, they would always find a way to stay true. At least, that was what Solas hoped.

Just as he hoped Fane would listen to reason and sleep. Salvation required one's full abilities, and for such abilities to be available, one's mind needed to be sharper than any sword.

"Now," Solas murmured as he pulled back, giving Fane's face a loving stroke with both of his thumbs, "--you need to rest, vhenan."

Fane blinked at him before his face turned downwards. Solas stifled a sigh. This would take a bit more work, wouldn't it?

"But, I have a--"

Solas shook his head, cutting Fane off deftly, "A war meeting. I am aware," he said before taking a step back, but laced the fingers of one of his hands with Fane's. "However, I doubt you wish to walk into the room looking like death, or losing your temper when the Commander attempts to rally you against your kin." He paused, raising an eyebrow, "Or am I mistaken?"

It was a push, he knew. However, he had pledged to guide Fane to rest and he was nothing if not steadfast in his promises.

...Domestic or otherwise. The Commander was a good man, a man that had seen the best and worst of many things, but even the best intentions could prove detrimental. Another dragon would not be killed, would not be erased from the world. He would be having a chat with the man once Fane's mind was safely nestled in the Fade.

Fane stared at him, mouth gaping a bit before letting out a defeated sigh and shaking his head. Solas knew the battle was his with that and he gingerly gave the hand he was holding a tug.

"Come," he beckoned gently and was relieved when Fane followed him towards the couch without a fight, without a word, "An hour or two of rest. No more unless you wish it to be. I can take care of matters until then."

The fact that Fane had relinquished control so easily, following slowly but steadily and practically flopping down into the cushions with no more than heavy sigh and the shutting of his eyes, made Solas a tad worried, but he knew it was only because of just how exhausted Fane was. There was only so much a tenacious mind could bear before it accepted defeat.

A snowy head rolled back and to the side, lodging itself comfortably between two cushions. Solas could only smile as he recovered a blanket from the other end of the couch, keeping an eye on his drifting dragon from his peripheral. He knew Fane wouldn't change his mind now, but it was always good to be cautious. Dragons could be endearingly unpredictable.

"See? Not such a terrible idea to rest, is it?" Solas teased, unfolding the blanket and fluttering it out only to guide it to rest over Fane's form.

His dragon only let out a snort, steadily becoming too tired to formulate words, and barely reacting to the blanket, shifting a bit to get more comfortable and letting his head lull back further. The sight made Solas chuckle as he carefully tucked bits of fabric neatly around, making sure not to make the wrap too tight. Fane would end up getting increasingly too warm otherwise. When that was finished, he stood up straight and could only smile fondly as he saw that Fane was utterly dead to the world, breathing deeply and face bearing no crease or frown. Dragon could also be plain endearing, evidently.

Solas leaned in once more, hovering over Fane's body and steadying himself with a hand against the arm of the couch.

"Rest, ma'isenatha," Solas murmured as he lay a gentle kiss against the crown of Fane's head, nuzzling the silky strands that adorned it soon after, "You will not be disturbed. I promise you..."

And he was a man who took his promises, his convictions, seriously. He would make a thousand of them, even if it were foolish, if only to allow his heart, his dragon a chance to rest. Both in the Fade and the waking world.

For nothing was stronger than a promised kept.

--

And there we have it! It ran away from me a bit and wasn't expecting it this scene to go as it did, but I'm happy with it! This is why I enjoy doing prompts! I envision the same scenarios going a thousand different ways! X'D

Thank you so much, friend! I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

The Truths Found On Petram Viridios IV (5/5)

A/N: The last chapter to this fic. It's a long one and I gotta say that I've had a lot of fun with this one. After I post this chapter, I'll be sure to post the masterpost for this fic. And of course it'll be available on ao3 soon enough.

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

__________

Chapter 5: Adore You

If you had to draw a map to find the way home once you were captivated by the gaze of those trustworthy, soft eyes of his, you would surely run out of ink; pools of blue, unwavering in their affection, drew you in, and you were willing to drown in them. There were facets about them that fascinated you as much as the scales of a butterfly did; they did not shimmer, but they gleamed and sparkled; it's what made you pause and search for a wisp of an acquaintance that very first time you saw him; finding a familiarity that threatened to sweep you away. Why you even found fire in those eyes; it was there in his moments of determination and passion. Oh, how their color shifted with his moods was a type of magic you wanted to spend the rest of your life being mesmerized by. To be sure he wasn't mistaken, he dare not blink; exhibiting the full spectrum of what Billie Eilish described as ocean eyes; he had to be sure. "Y-you do?"

"Yes," you giggled. "I do."

It wouldn't occur to you till later, that he had given you a choice. For instead of the typical proposal question, where it was more asserted, Rick asked in a manner in which there was equal footing; it spoke volumes of the respect he had for you. With shaky hands, he slipped a ring whose stone was as clear and blue as his eyes and cut perfectly like a rose, the band covered in gold vines and silver leaves which weaved together; he made it himself, and if you thought back far enough, you could remember when he was ambiguous about his plans to create a new type of stone. Honestly, you didn't realize it would be for this.

"Gosh," he sniffled. "I-I promised myself that I w-wouldn't cry."

But cry he would; fat, sloppy tears that blinded one's vision. He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater, and fought to regain composure, but lost to the new wave which followed. You gently pried his hands away from his face, softening at his tear-stained cheeks. "It's okay, you can cry if you want to. I already know how tender you are."

Goodness, how long had he wanted to do this? For while it had almost been two years in which he had last attempted to, it might've been on his mind for much longer than that; eating away at his clarity; at the self-confidence that was torn down and repaired daily. You were grateful and proud that this man wanted you; that he finally gathered the courage to ask and do as he intended and wanted. You….you had wanted this to happen, but did he know that? Your ocean of inquisitions thought otherwise.

However, it was time to quiet and quell his despondent thoughts. Your fingers dug into the collar of his sweater; the tang of nervous sweat and something so him which wafted off him made you yearn to bring him closer. The puffiness about his eyes didn't discourage you from pressing a kiss at the corner of them and from his throat came a choked sob and you were surrounded by the sounds of his disbelief; this cacophony was breaking your heart. There had to be something you could do to ease him. "Ricardo," you started, "considering the suddenness of the occasion, should we, in like fashion…my dear honey man, would you like to get married today?"

This new tidbit caught him off guard; so much so that he stopped crying; good. Now, he was the one who was unsure of whether this was real life or a simulation. He ran his fingers through his hair, double-checked his equipment, sprayed himself with water, and completed equations that had taken this earth dimension's leading mathematicians decades to understand. What you thought was odd was when he caught a pigeon, scanned its anatomy, and found it was sound; you were going to have to ask him about it later. "Rick, did you hear me?"

"Y-yes," he focused, "but what d-do you mean today? How?"

You figured he would have easily come to a conclusion, but then again, what do spacemen have to do with the price of bread?

"I mean that we don't have to wait if you don't want to." You slid your palm over his tattoo, memorizing with your fingertips where his skin was slightly raised. "We can just go down to the justice of the peace if you'd like."

"And y-you would be my wife today?"

"Yes," you giggled. "I think that's how it works."

"But what about a-a…"

"A wedding ceremony?" you interrupted. "Well, we can have one later. We can plan it however you want, and invite all our friends. There can be so much celebration that we'll be knocked out for a week. Until then, I just want to make you happy, and I believe the sooner the better. Okay? So, if we're going to do this, just tell me now and I'll go get the proper paperwork."

It never ceased to amaze you how easily he flitted through emotions as though it were the weather, and with vigor, he lifted you up and vibrated with joy. "Boy, golly gee…this really - this really razzes my b-berries! This is…wow, I-I can't believe it."

You couldn't believe his word choice either. "Oh, you better believe it, because now you're stuck with me and I have you all to myself. However, you're going to have to put me down now because the office closes at five. There are a few things I need to do before then."

Letting you down, he happily waved goodbye despite the fact that it wouldn't take long to get what you needed for this impromptu occasion. Though, when you entered your house, you took a moment to think about your father. There were things you still didn't understand, like why he never told you about his friendship with Rick, or why you two never really discussed what he'd do if you got married; if he had been here, maybe you two would have talked about which flowers would look best as centerpieces; like whether roses or mums were cheerful enough or if this really was a good idea; if such an age gap was surmountable. Yet, in a way you felt as though you were honoring him; for your father and your mother had been unconventional and had gotten married without all the showy displays then road tripped a bit before settling here; you were simply following tradition.

Maybe, you didn't have to know about the why's and what-ifs, but focusing on what you could do seemed a whole lot easier to do. You kicked off your sneakers and dashed upstairs. You knew where your important documents were, but you thought that choosing a cute outfit would take a little longer. You wanted a certain vibe, one that would make things easier on him and then it came to you; why not revisit an old favorite; one that reminded you of his eyes; always, forever blue.

When you returned, you found him pacing around. He was deep in thought, and it took a moment for him to notice that you had returned. Almost comically, his eyes widened as he took in your appearance, and he started to cry again. "That's th-the dress. From that one time."

"It sure is."

With a twirl, you flaunted the blue chiffon dress, and felt like a dream; his visible adoration was not lost on you. It was a relief that this time you hadn't taken an hour to fuss or worry that you weren't dressed for the part, and you weren't wearing shoes which would kill your feet, but instead rocked some converse. "These shoes are made for walking and that's just what I'll do."

Unlike you, Zeta-7 wanted to fuss and choose something dressier, but you somehow managed to convince him that his blue button-up would be fine, and no tie was necessary; hidden ray guns were allowed just in case this happened to be the day that the Gromflomites attacked; not even Earth-based military scanners would be able to detect them. Though, you did allow him to fix up his hair, because one, you thought he was quite handsome with it combed back, and two, it's what he felt he needed to do to look the part. "How do I-I look?"

"Like the man I'm going to marry. Are you ready handsome?"

With a nod, he grabbed the folder with all the documents he needed. "Y-you bet."

______________

At the courthouse, the entire security staff grouped together and teased you about your keys; you should've known that you'd face trouble once you went through the metal detector; you had a lot of keychains; they were from the days when you and your father would go shopping together. Like Rick, he liked yard sales and thrift stores; sometimes he'd get grab bags and there would be vintage keychains, and he'd give them to you knowing you'd like them. You were told by one of the older guards that it wasn't natural for a grown woman to have a set of keys that weighed five pounds. Zeta-7 began to worry, but you told him you could handle it, and you figured the guards were bored and had nothing else to do. What you didn't tell them was that the main reason your keys were heavy was that you were carrying two sets; yours and your father's old keys; Rick knew, but he respected your wishes to leave it be.

Despite this, you two made your way to the right office; it only took fifteen minutes of going to lobby after lobby, free coffee, and endless rugs in all this indoor nothingness. And nobody knew better than Rick when it came to how much you hated paperwork, but nonetheless, you went through the painstaking process of signing this and that, wondering why they didn't make it easier for people by asking yes or no questions; this better not become someone's confetti. Rick breezed through it all, and you were slightly jealous that he knew what he was doing, but it was due to the fact that citadel paperwork was a lot more frustrating and difficult; he had to go through stacks of it weekly; poor man. While he sat quietly, you were in-between forms that had to be signed in triplicate and heard the gossip coming from the people who were working in the back of the office. What they didn't know was that their ignorance made you more determined; you'd fought your own expectations, that of others, as well as what seemed right to do long enough and no one, not even death itself was going to stop you from doing this; it was the best thing you could ever do for yourself and for him as well. You breathed a sigh of relief when you and Rick finally signed the marriage certificate; finally, it was done, and he watched rapturously as you set down the pen so that he could kiss you without refrain.

If you hadn't known better, you'd say the world shied away; dissolving into a plane of nothingness as he enveloped you with a strength that was deceptive for a man of his years; he had become a little more confident; it might've taken a few years, but all you knew was that it suited him. Being nurtured and cared for, as well as loved in the right sort of environment did wonders on Zeta-7; so much so, that he could hold the world in the palm of his hand and still manage not to damage it. It wasn't shocking that some found this outward display sweet, and you almost had hope for humankind, but then there was a laugh or two from the back; you made a mental note to consider moving off Earth. No one was going to ruin this moment for him, and relishing the moment, you chased his mouth for a second kiss; you know, to prove your point.

And if you hadn't already been proud of him, what made you even prouder was what he said on the way out. "Please stop laughing at m-my wife. Th-that's very rude."

His wife? Yes, you were his wife now. It's strange how you could wake up and wonder what you should have for breakfast and be here where you were now; in a whole new chapter of your life; wondering what will come next. Confusing yes, but not something to be afraid of; you welcomed this happy transition.

Back at the car, you were still recovering from his earlier outburst; the like which was almost out of character. "Did you see the look on her face? I thought it was going to fall off with how far her jaw dropped. Wasn't it a sight?"

Though, he was busy staring at the ring on his own hand which you had picked out when you two made a stop at a consignment shop earlier. It wasn't that complex like yours, but he loved it. "All I could see was - was you."

"You flirt."

You gave his shoulder a playful shove, and in turn, he laughed a full-on belly laugh; this happy noise was music to your ears. "Gosh, I-I mean it. Y-you, look so pretty today." A bit shyly, he commented. "Blue looks very good on you."

"Thank you. So, how should we celebrate? A trip to the moon perhaps? Going across the universe? Maybe a kaiju fight with Matango? Or watching Spiderman 2? Honestly, I'm game for anything."

You had decent shoes on and didn't care what he wanted to do because you were happy if he was happy. And as though it were just another afternoon, he glowed with happiness when he asked. "Mrs. Sanchez, do you - do you want to go get some ice cream?"

Some things will never change and you didn't mind that. "I'd love to. As the author, L.M. Montgomery once said, 'I guess ice cream is one of those things that are beyond imagination.' And, you know, it's so true. I intend to go all out with the toppings today. It's certainly that kind of occasion."

______

He couldn't seem to want to let go of your hand; as though the world would fall away if he didn't and that this would turn out to be a cruel dream. Still, you humored and spoiled him. As intended, you got all the toppings; Rick thought it was a kids dream come true with the amount of candy you had in your waffle bowl. And since you had enough to share, you took the liberty to feed him. He chatted on; offering charming stories from his band days; unlike other Ricks who were in a rock band called Flesh Curtains, his band had been a jazz and bossa nova trio; the band name had been comprised of a numerical equation; if you had named them you would've called them the Zeta Bytes.

Now, Rick wasn't a messy eater, but during one of his more excitable stories, he spilled a bit on the corner of his mouth. Ready with a napkin, you wiped it away, and couldn't help but laugh at how boyish it was. Giving your hand a squeeze, he absentmindedly brushed his thumb on the back of your hand; adoration coloring his voice. “You're t-t-too good to me.”

"There's no such thing. If anything, I gotta spoil you rotten."

You found no hindrance in his mood and this time he didn't think twice about kissing you then and there as he liked while you were still holding the napkin; fear and shame of public displays of affection being one less thing to worry about now. Who cared if your ice cream was melting, because your heart was melting; his mouth tasted of chocolate and promises. A soft chuckle escaped him as he pulled away; his promise whispered against your lips. "I-I promise I'll be good t-t-to you."

Being loved suited him; it really, really did wonders on his countenance and it made you wonder what else he could now do.

_________

By now you were a little tired, but Ricks contagious energy invigorated your spirits; you bet he could've come up with an invention and completed it today if he stayed this hyped up. Instead, he used that energy to make fresh rolls to go with the leftover acorn squash soup; you hadn't been that hungry, but you enjoyed it nonetheless. And when dinner had been eaten, you helped him with the dishes; nothing you hadn't done before, but his spirit was lighter and more at ease; he even bumped your hip with his as a gesture of playfulness. After cleaning up the kitchen, he decided that he'd like to take a shower and refresh himself and in the meantime, you stepped out into the backyard to enjoy the beauty of the night. In this part of town, despite the light pollution, you could see a fair amount of stars.

You had never studied astronomy, but Rick had shown you in diagrams and in textbooks of their names and explained how they were formed; to him, their complexity was like poetry, and it made them beautiful. You couldn't recite it by memory, but you had a feeling that beyond your current comprehension perhaps there was life amongst those heavenly bodies, despite the heat or deadly gases; if you had learned anything about space, it was that worlds were more along the lines of art and beauty than fields of science which were easily explained. Yet, in the air, where there was a sweet perfume, thick, but intoxicating, only where you were currently mattered; you saw that in the leftmost part of the yard there was jasmine which was currently in bloom; its blanket of flowers reminding you of snow. Hadn't you read of this somewhere before? Maybe.

In the grass near your feet, grasshoppers leaped away, and crickets chirped their songs. And you relished the strong breezes and the song of the night which may consume a melancholic heart if it were searching for tragedies instead of sweet dreams. And it had only been a few hours ago when you had thought that all of which transpired might've been a dream. Though, whatever truths that had come to light in the hours after the simulation, you were glad of them.

In the dark, sights and sounds were heightened and mesmerizing, albeit curious in its own right; if it hadn't been for the sound barrier Rick had on his property, you would've heard the obnoxious sound of the next-door neighbor's TV as they watched infomercials. Still, it was a beautiful night. Sitting on the bench which overlooked the whole yard, you thought of what wonderful things you'd like to share with Rick, and then he found you. For his part, he had changed into something more relaxed; into a light blue button-down that was similar to the one he was wearing earlier, but this one was softer, and it was paired with navy pants; it reminded you of blue pants Rick with his attire, but it was cute and suited him. With him, he had brought over a tray of goodies and you two ate cookies and cakes and drank earl grey under the moonlit night.

The pause in conversation gave allowances for observations. For example, you took a good long look at him as he sipped his tea; admiring how casual he appeared tonight. Without his labcoat or sweater, his identity seemed separate from that of his dimension jumping, scientist self; making way for the person deep inside; the friendly neighbor who won your heart without even trying. He noticed eventually that you had been staring at him, and he broke the silence with his inquiry. "What are y-you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking about you cutie. You um….you look really good in those blue pants of yours. Thinking of taking up modeling anytime soon?"

"N-no," he answered with an air of obliviousness that you found endearing. "not unless my next work assignment requires it. Gee, why do you ask?"

"Hmm, it's because you wear your clothes well. I always thought you did, but I don't believe I ever mentioned it."

He ruminated on what you said for a few minutes, before setting down his cup. "Did you - did you always find me attractive?"

"No," you confessed. "but you're the only person I've ever really been attracted to. I…..I always liked the fact that our relationship was built on something more substantial. You see, the more I got to know you, the more irresistible I found you. Though," you winked. "those teeth of yours were always too cute to resist."

This truth of yours made him comfortable enough to relinquish one of his own. "C-can I tell you a secret?"

"It's not much of a secret if you tell me dear, but you can tell me anyway."

Wringing his hands together, he confessed solemnly. "That day y-you tripped on the sidewalk nearby my house, I-I almost decided not to cross the road."

Not cross the road? Hmm, it had been an option. In your mind's eye, you could imagine it; the tall, lanky figure of a man debating against his better judgment on what he ought to do; so close but so far; knowing that he was altering the course of his future and putting yours at risk. Poor man, having to wallow over a moral dilemma like that. "Why is that?"

"Gosh, y-you….I didn't want to take advantage of the situation."

It could've been taken that way, but you never thought so. "So what changed your mind?"

"I thought you were going to cry, and I-I didn't… I didn't want you to suffer anymore. I thought t-to myself, that if I got t-t-to know you, then you wouldn't have to be lonely anymore."

When he said this, you nearly couldn't look at him; not because he knew more than he let on, but because who knows what paths you two would've taken if he hadn't shown up that day. Tears bit at the back of your eyes, and your nails bit into your palms. "Dear, love isn't always a cure for heartache," He tensed up at this, but you knew you had to tell him. You weren't upset because you had guessed as much, but being assured of it cemented the fact. "but I'm sure that without you, without your friendship, I might not be here right now. I think I was depressed, and from time to time I still feel that way. I…I have thought of ways to make my troubles end, ways you might not have been proud of, but you've shown me a better way to live. I think…no, I know that by expanding my horizons, I understand now that there's so much to look forward to, and not to take life for granted. Why," you paused, fighting the tears which threatened to fall. "you reminded me that I gotta make the most of this crazy, unpredictable life, and I'm happy that I'll get to do that with you."

He understood and accepted this answer and gave you a look of adoration and pride; the like that you hoped you'd always remember. And when you two were done with tea, you both took a walk about the garden. The sweet perfume of jasmine intermingled with that of the scent of his soap, and combined with the candor of his speech made this place feel like a well of comfort. He followed behind you as you two spoke, and you were conscious of the fact that with his freshly washed hair brushed back, it made him more appealing. His hands were in want of yours as he matched your pace, and you felt slightly mischievous as you'd skip or teased him to catch you; it wasn't long until he gathered you in his arms and laughed, and you asked without much seriousness for him to let you go, but while he loosened his grip, he didn't let go entirely. "Gosh, y-you make me feel so young. It - it feels so good to have you in my arms."

"Oh, really?" you giggled. "That's great to hear."

Pressing a kiss to your temple, he sighed. "It's unfortunate that I'm so old."

"That's okay. I like you as you are. It goes well with your personality."

"Thank you mi corazón. It feels good to hear that. However, can I-I ask you something?"

"Mhm."

"¿Si hubiera s-sido más joven, habría marcado la diferencia?"

"If you had been younger? I don't know. Possibly," you admitted. "I might've been less reluctant about my feelings at the beginning, but I truly don't know. I'd like to think that I'd still would've fallen for you anyway. You're a wonderful man Ricardo, you don't have to doubt that, anyone can see that. It doesn't matter how old you are, but it's who you are."

"Y-you're right." With reluctance, he allowed his arms to drop to his sides, and he wondered. "It um - it's getting late. Should I-I walk you home?"

Was he forgetting that he didn't have to? Maybe not. Perhaps he needed a sign; one that said that any suggestion of further intimacy was alright. "I thought I was home." you answered, "Don't you want me to stay?"

Scratching the back of his neck, he nodded. "Yes, I-I-I-I do."

"Then it's settled. We'll have a big sleepover," you brightened. "and it'll never have to end. I'll borrow a pair of your pj's and hog all the blankets because I'll get cold."

"And in - in the morning," he added warmly, "w-we can have pancakes."

"Yeah, and watch enough interdimensional cable to make us go blind."

"But I-I might have to work tomorrow."

"Oh. Well, then I guess I'll just have to eat all your snacks until you come back. We might have to take a trip to Costco at some point because they sell these mushroom crisps that are to die for."

Standing under the persimmon tree, he stepped forward and gave your shoulder a squeeze. "Y-you can have whatever you want," With a strong arm slipping around your waist, you felt almost shy at the way he smiled protectingly down at you. His warm breath ghosted about your ear, and his voice was above a whisper as he confessed. “because I-I-I finally got you princess and I'm not - I'm not going t-to let you go.”

At the sound of this pet name, you felt a slight warmth rush to your cheeks, but you didn't laugh it off as you had once but agreed with warmth. “You may do as you please, Mr. Sanchez.”

And so he did. Without hesitation, he lifted your chin and brushed your lips with his thumb. His eyes sparkling with humor, promise, and a confidence that was somehow so very appropriate on his face. "I love you. I-I-I always have. From the time I first held your hand, I knew it had to be you. I would've been a fool if I - if I hadn't tried. Even now, it's hard to believe, but it's starting to sink in."

"Me too. It's unbelievable, but it's true and we have the paperwork to prove it."

Leaning down, he pressed a sweet kiss onto your lips. It was so gentle, it was as though you might break if he tried otherwise. Kissing you again, he sighed against your lips. "It's beautiful out t-tonight."

"It is."

Pressing a hand to his cheek, you softened. "But I think I'm ready to call it a night. Why don't we go in?"

Weaving his fingers with yours, he softened. "Okay."

You used to think to yourself and wonder if his house would ever be ready to receive you, but what you now realized was that it had always been ready, and only you had been waiting for it all to catch up; for him to know what he wanted and to be courageous and say; for you to know what you needed, and to accept that being yourself didn't make you any less attractive or unique and that you weren't alone; you had never been alone, for he had always been waiting. His home, why it was always home, but it was always home because he was what grounded you and you were what grounded him. And you felt so married to him then, and everything felt as it should. Nothing had really changed, except for a title, and a promise; for you two were friends as you had always been; him the happy go lucky old man, and you the silly neighbor who met him by accident, but you couldn't deny that you loved him with your entire being and so did he. As promised, he intended to do everything in his power to protect you, even as you two were getting ready for bed. His body seemed to curl around you as to shield you from whatever monsters could be hiding in the dark.

So, when it happened that you rested your head upon his chest and felt the temptation of sleep washing over you, you pressed a light kiss to his cheek and confessed softly. "I can't wait to wake up next to you."

Fin

[cagestark]

Hi I saw you wanted some prompts and how about Hades!Tony and Nature God! Peter fluff. Them Meeting for the first time and falling in love. Them in Tonys Dark castle having dinner. And Then Tony Not going to be so Peter has to make him. Maybe even some smut ;) ALL OF DIS IN ONE. ( Some Daddy Kink. ) P.S I saw you dont write Dark!Tony so just make Tony normal but he's still Hades. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ cause you don't need to be dark and mean to be the king of hell.

You asked for *some* smut and *some* daddy kink but it really just…jumped right out. It got carried away with itself, I was just stuck along for the ride. I hope this is remotely something that you asked for and that you enjoy! Leave a prompt anytime, this was a joy. And it definitely needs a pt. 2… 

Hades!Tony is dying. He picks up Dionysus!Peter, because that’s the perfect cure. Or at least, the best way to die. Some notes here: I know little about Greek mythology, but I do know that everybody is everybody’s relative. Not in this. Consider familial relationships to be explicitly stated, and if not stated, then non-existent. No incest here. Peter is, like, ancient too. Probably still too young for the antis. I really made the mythology my own too lmao. Sorry.

Read here on AO3.

5k. Daddy Kink, ahoy!

-

Everything comes to an end, and thinking that he would be the exception had been a very mortal move.

Tony, who is sometimes called Hades, stands looking into an ornate mirror. The room is dimly lit, but the evidence is impossible to overlook: there is gray in his beard and at his temples. He turns his head this way and that to see it from every angle, frowning deeply. When had those lines begun to bracket his mouth when he smiled or frowned? It must have happened gradually for him to have not noticed before, subtle like sands slipping down an hourglass.

He’s been in this general form for five decades now. Being nearly as old as time itself can get dreadfully droll if stuck with the same appearance. Like most of his divine kin, he likes to switch it up every century or so. Illusions can help, but even without the extra influence, a deity’s appearance changes over time. Humans evolve in that way, their brow bones receding, noses thinning and figures lengthening. In many way, the gods evolve too.

This carefully cultivated visage contains no illusions and was the result of centuries of time leaving their influence on him, an amalgamation of his preferences and his personality. The eyes, dark, as he prefers. The hair, soft and thick and (previously) black. His lips are full, fit for seductive smiles and sinister snarls. And even if, as the years had past, this face had grown—not older, he won’t say older, let’s say more mature—it was just a reflection of his changing disposition. Even the god of the Underworld had to put away childish things sometime, he told himself.

Except now, something about his disposition is turning him gray. It’s giving him crow’s feet and joints that ache. Some part of him, even if subconscious, is getting old.

He is dying.

-

When he steps out of the ground at the base of Mt. Olympus, it is hot and dry and so fucking bright. The tinted glasses he wears do nothing to diminish the sunlight that blinds him for several long moments, no matter how he tries to blink himself used to it. Illusions are firmly in place to disguise his aging appearance.

The acropolis is visible once his eyes have stopped stinging: it’s large and ugly, and the stables smell like shit because even immortal horses defecate. The horses in the Underworld don’t—they’re dead and lovely.

Everywhere he goes in the palace, someone tries to stop him. Seeing his brother in the flesh is an entire affair, and he hasn’t sent any message announcing his arrival. It’s been centuries since he’s even set foot above ground, so he tries not to sniff indignantly that no one recognizes him. Sick of being interrogated, he makes himself invisible (it’s a crime though—he looks so cut and handsome in his three-piece suit) and strolls leisurely all the way to Zeus’s chambers.

Zeus has a handsome mortal man in his bed, as he is wont to do. They make a lovely picture, both muscled but one blond and the other dark and long-haired like mortal women prefer. Tony is jealous, standing over their naked, entwined forms while they slumber. It looks comfortable. But how ever do they keep from sweating all over each other?

The snap of his fingers ends his invisibility and startles Zeus into wakefulness. The last time he saw his brother, the god looked nothing like this. Now he is the picture of mortal desirability: blond with cornflower blue eyes, a well-shaped face. Is it an illusion he wonders—but no, not possibly. They can’t maintain illusions while they sleep or lose focus.

“Must you break in every time you visit?” Zeus asks. He stands to dress himself, and Tony gives him the privacy by seating himself on a solid-gold armchair and unashamedly ogling the brunet still sleeping in his brother’s bed.

“Did I break in last time? I distinctly remember knocking—”

“You knocked the door off the hinges.”

Tony scoffs. Nearby is a golden platter of grapes. He knocks the grapes to the floor and tucks the platter into his suit jacket, all while Zeus’s back is turned.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? I like the facial hair, by the way. You always were a quirky one.”

He waves away his illusion. Zeus flinches as if instead of a middle-aged mortal there is now an ancient hag sitting in his bedroom. Tony hates this. Hates the blow to his ego and vanity. He attempts to conceal his embarrassment with sensationalism: “I am dying.”

They sit together, knees nearly touching. The room is quiet though all the windows are open letting in a breeze and endless sunlight that is beginning to give him a headache. Despite all they have been through together (and trust him, it is a very long and sordid history rife with jealousy and violence), they are brothers. This is familiar. It is comfortable.

“Why, Hades?”

“It’s Tony. I go by Tony.”

“You and your aliases. Tony is positively mortal.”

“You should try it. Shall I call you Steve?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. Quit avoiding my question.”

Tony sighs. He uses a trembling hand to rub at his eye beneath the glasses, trying to stave off the growing headache. There isn’t any clever quip he can give, so he just tells the truth. “I have no idea.”

“No idea,” Zeus mocks flatly. “The only way we can die is by choice.”

“I am aware.”

“You are killing yourself then. Slowly. Dramatically—though I’d never expect you to do anything expected. So tell me why you want to die.”

“To my knowledge…I don’t know. Whatever this is, it goes deep. I haven’t made any conscious decision. I have of course been bored. Doing anything for a millennium could take the joy out of it. It’s not necessarily a happy job, the one that I have. But I don’t—I don’t think I want to die. And yet,” he waves a hand at himself.

“We have healers here, well versed in magic too. Maybe you’ve been cursed. Spend some time here, we will get to the bottom of this.”

“I’d rather not spend a moment more in this sunlight than I have to,” Tony says honestly. “But it seemed responsible, to tell someone. To get my affairs in order. Someone else will have to rule the Underworld when I’m gone.” The thought gives him a strange relief.

And maybe that is why he’s dying.

When he goes to leave, Zeus catches his arm. Despite his own reputation as the drama queen of the family, Tony can testify that Zeus is a close second, proficient in tortured expressions. “Brother. Please stay.”

“No. But thank you for asking.”

“Then—take some time off. Something!” Zeus calls after him.

On his way out, he doesn’t bother turning himself invisible again, only replacing the illusion of youth—let the guards know that he slipped past them. It’s good for their egos to be taken down a notch. Just as he’s passing the stables, he nearly collides with a smaller figure. Looking up at him, nearly drowned out by the sunlight, is a lovely mortal-looking boy with a wreath of gold curls, skin golden and freckled. He’s dressed in typical Olympus fashion, a light and loose tunic secured by a belt around his trim waist.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry—” the boy says, turning red as a pomegranate. His voice is fragile and cracking. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”  

“A bad habit,” says Tony. He licks his lips. “Tell me you aren’t on your way to my brother’s bed. He’s already got a lovely little cock warmer up there, and I’d hate for your feelings to be hurt.”

The boy’s mouth opens and closes several times like a fish. “Your—brother?”

“Tall, blond god? Always looks to be on the verge of tears?”

“You’re—Hades.”

“Tony.”

“That’s a mortal name.”

“Nothing about me is mortal kid.”

“Oh—I didn’t mean to insult you,” he says. “I quite like it. To be—well, honest. I like the name Peter. It’s much less of a mouthful than Dionysus.”

Tony nearly removes his sunglasses. This sweet, soft little creature hardly looks like the god of nature—but to be fair, they have run in different circles for, well, ever. “My apologies, Peter. I mistook you for a mortal.”

Peter’s smile is beatific, bright as the sun. “That’s alright. It’s the curls, isn’t it? I can’t quite get rid of them. I’m not very practiced at illusions, really. I spend most of my time alone or with the animals, and they don’t quite care what I look like. To be honest, I’m just glad to be rid of the horns I had eight hundred years ago.”

“Horns are so twelfth-century.”

Peter laughs, and no wonder this boy is in charge of all the cute woodland creatures. Tony’s pretty sure that there are butterflies—at least, a particularly large species of moth, something with wings—fluttering around in his gut just as the sight of him. In the back of his mind, he still sees Zeus and his lover, pressed chest-to-back, sleeping peacefully. Peter looks like he’d be easy to hold: a head smaller, thin and willowy.

“Peter, not to be annoyingly cryptic, but I’m a little short on time to properly woo you. How would you like to slip through a nice cozy hole in the ground and come home with me to warm my bed?”

The young-looking god looks aghast. One finely-boned hand clutches at the neck of his tunic. “You mean—to the Underworld?”

“That’s the one. Great garish gates, lots of unworthy souls lying about. Not in my castle though, I keep a clean place for a bachelor—”

“I. Well. Yes. I’ve seen nearly all there is to see above ground. Are there plants, there? What is the geography like?”

They link arms. Peter’s skin is warm from the sunlight even through Tony’s suit. They could not look more unalike in dress, and the looks they receive from other patrons and deities as they leave Olympus are wary at best and malicious at worst. Tony isn’t fazed: most creatures hate him. Animals. Mortals. Gods. It’s a tough line of work.

And he feels so tired.

The kindness of Peter’s touch rejuvenates him though. They make small talk that Tony can barely concentrate on. He’s too busy contemplating the positions he might bend Peter into, the noises he might make, how Tony might spread him out over the massive bed in his estate and worship him. Pun intended.

They reach the hole Tony sprung from. Here is where Peter gets nervous, trepidation naked on his face. The boy bites his lip rosy, crossing his arms like he is cold in the sunshine.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Tony says. He winks. “Bit of a tight fit though. Might have to hold on to me.”

They wrap their arms around each other. Peter is nearly the perfect height for Tony to rest his chin on the boy’s crown on curls, and up this close he sees its absolutely threaded with flowers and clovers. The pollen makes him sneeze, but he hardly minds when there is an attractive body pressed against him from chin to chest to hip. He can’t even remember the last time he was touched—when Zeus grabbed his arm in passing, but before then? Ages. Lost in his thoughts, he hears Peter muffle his gasp against Tony’s suit as they sink underground.

It is much cooler here, where the sunlight doesn’t reach. All light is dim and flickering. From the earthen ceiling hang a myriad of roots reaching their tendrils down towards the sprawling domain of the damned. They are just outside of Tony’s castle—more of a mansion really, much more modern and stylish than those gaudy human monuments of stone. A river, water like ink, runs around the perimeter, silent.

Peter stands looking all around. He is very handsome when lit by flame, skin even more golden, eyes so dark they look black. The roots from above absolutely tickle him and he reaches a hand up absently as if he could grow tall enough to reach them. The flesh on his bare arms and legs prickles from the cool temperature, nipples pebbling under his thin tunic.

“Is this the Styx River?” Peter asks, mouth agape.

“Sure.”

“Really?”

“No. This is actually the Lethe—don’t touch the water.” His stern voice has Peter snatching his hand from the surface of the river, clutching it to his chest. Tony softens. “I’m sorry. But while you’re here, it’s safe to say that most things aren’t good for you to touch. Or drink. Or eat. When in doubt, just ask me.”

“As you wish,” Peter says. Even in the flickering light, Tony can see he is blushing, head hanging like a scolded child.

“Would you like to go inside?”

-

If Peter was awed outside, he seems even more floored by the interior. The ceilings are vaulted. There is artwork from every era in solid gold frames to decorate the walls, because Tony considers himself a patron of very nice things. The floor is of black marble that glistens in the candlelight. The general opulence is probably excessive, Tony thinks, especially to a god who lives simply in nature.

“This is incredible,” Peter breathes. “It’s nothing how I thought it would be. There are stories, you know. About how the Underworld is a terrible place and Zeus will banish you here if you misbehave.”

“To be fair,” Tony says, guiding Peter up the winding staircase. “You’ve only seen a fraction of the domain. It is probably just as terrible as all the stiffs up-top make it out to be. But—to be honest—”

The words catch in his throat. He’s never found himself wanting to be so honest before.

“Yes?” Peter prompts.

They are stopped outside Tony’s bedroom door. He decides he has nothing to lose by opening up to the other god, and if he doesn’t, it’s entirely liable that when he dies, no one will ever have known him. “To be honest, I try to avoid it. Tartarus, the Mourning Fields. Places where the souls suffer. It gives me no pleasure. I guess I’m a poor excuse for a god, here.”

“Not enjoying someone else’s suffering—that doesn’t sound like a bad thing to me,” Peter says. They are standing nearly chest to chest, Peter staring up at him with huge, naïve eyes. His thin lips curve into a soft smile. When Tony reaches up to tuck some curls behind his ears, the ears are just barely pointed at the tips. Peter shivers, like it tickles.

“You’re wrong,” Tony says lowly, turning the doorknob and throwing open the door. “But I appreciate you saying it anyway.”

Tony’s bedroom is befitting a dark prince. The bed instead is a huge four-poster, golden, with silks and a canopy so fine and sheer it looks like black spider silk. When Peter sits there in his tunic, flowers in his hair, he could not look more like a lamb being willingly led to slaughter. He looks fit for debauching.

Underneath is there is a sense of urgency for Tony. He thought he had all the time in the world, but now he knows he doesn’t. If things were different, he could take his time. Woo the nature god, win his affection and then his body. But now things are different. It calls for boldness. “Are you interested in sex with me, kid?”

Face red: “You keep calling me that. I’m thousands and thousands of years old, Tony.”

“You’re right—would you like to have sex with me, Peter?”

Peter’s blush deepens but he nods, already half-hard. Divine libidos.

Tony loosens his tie. His honey eyes track the dark god’s every movement. “Can I tell you how this is playing out in my head?”

Peter nods again.

Tony removes the tie and folds it gently over an armchair with four chimera feet sculpted out of onyx as the legs. “I want to take my time and take you apart. I want to taste you, suck on your hot little tongue, leave bruises on your neck. I’ll kiss and mouth every last inch of you except for your cock. Then I’ll put you on your elbows and knees and eat your little ass.”

Peter is panting silently, eyes half shut while he examines every inch of skin exposed as Tony unbuttons his shirt. The tunic does nothing to disguise how hard he is, and one soft hand reaches down to palm himself, to Tony’s immense pleasure. He undoes his cufflinks, tony gold seeds, sitting them aside. “I want to tongue you open until you’re wet and soft, until your cock aches so much it’s fit to burst. I’m going to worship you. Destroy you. I will be your god, all before I even get my cock inside you. How does this sound so far, Peter?”

“Goooood,” he breathes, tilting his head back. His eyes close but then open, wider, like he’s afraid to miss a single moment of what’s in front of him. So fucking adorable.

“Then I’ll open you up with my fingers, very carefully. Slowly. I won’t lie to you Peter, it will be very hard. For me. Having my fingers inside your tight little ass will probably have me wanting to blow my load as it is. It’s going to take incredible self-restraint, but don’t worry,” Tony says, unbuckling his belt. “I think I’m up for the challenge.”

Peter groans, dropping down to recline back on one elbow. His other hand is no longer jerking himself off through his tunic, is instead just clutching at himself, face twisted in the sweetest pain. “Please don’t stop,” he begs so sweetly.

“The same goes for you. Keep touching yourself, Pete. It’s turning me on.” Like it pains him, Peter whines as he resumes, much slower than before. The sound Tony’s belt makes as it comes free from the loops is almost sensual and then he sets it aside. “Once you’re ready—past ready—I’ll put my cock in you. Maybe I’ll let you decide how you take it, whether it will be on your hands and knees or maybe on your back, pressed in half, nowhere to run or hide from me. Maybe you’d like to ride me. Could you be brave, darling? Could you sit on my cock?”

Peter says something unintelligible. Tears slip from his eyes, glinting in the candlelight.

“What is it?” Tony asks, tender.

“Can—May I please cum?”

Tony coos. “You sweet boy, asking daddy for permission. Lift your tunic, rose. Let me watch you.”

Face burning, Peter lifts his tunic. Beneath is his cock, of decent girth and length, flushed and wet, the head nearly purple with desperation. One soft hand reaches down to cradle his balls, and the other resumes jerking himself off, moaning unreservedly at the first touch of skin-on-skin.

“Go on. Cum on yourself.”

Peter does, reclining flat on the bed, back arching into a lovely bow. His cock spurts endlessly, the god’s mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy, toes barely long enough to touch the floor and scrabbling to find purchase as he shakes and shivers.

It’s the most beautiful thing Tony can remember seeing, and he’s seen almost everything. By the way the boy is panting, Tony wishes he had some water to offer him; however, he knows that anything he eats or drinks will tether him here to this dark world. And if there’s any other thing he knows besides, it’s that Peter belongs above in the sunlight.

“I’ll never tell you no,” Tony admits, shedding the last of his clothes as the boy recovers, body jerking belatedly. “But I have to admit, I do enjoy the way you ask to cum so prettily. Can you ask me in confidence, darling? Could you ask your daddy, your god, to let you cum?”

“Anything,” Peter pants. His long fingers scramble to undo the belt at his waist and then he sheds his clothing in one fell swoop. Underneath he is all golden skin and tight muscles. His cock is half hard, cum glistening on his abs like the tears on his face.

“A terrible thing to promise,” Tony says, kneeling up into the bed. Hand flat on Peter’s chest, he ducks down to lick a flat line through the cum on his abs, groaning at the taste and the way Peter’s cock twitches. “Where did I say we would start, little rose?”

Peter doesn’t even blush, eyes half lidded with pleasure. He rises up onto his elbows, mouth open and ready.

The kiss is absolutely filthy, tongues entwining, the taste of cum between them. Tony licks into the softest, sweetest mouth he’s ever known, tangling his fingers in dark curls. He tugs a little and Peter’s head tips back with a soft whispered groan, the pliancy going straight to the dark god’s cock. It’s like all the strength is sapped from the boy who just holds his mouth open obediently while Tony explores it with his tongue, running it along the teeth, pulling back to suckle and nip at his lips.

Tony takes his time, as promised. He kisses and sucks at every inch of Peter’s golden body, tonguing the nipples into tight, pleasurable points and sucking at each abdominal that appears when the boy tenses. Lovingly, he cleans the stiff cock of its previous load of cum, perfunctory, before moving on. He sucks bruises onto the tanned thighs and kisses the delicate inside of his wrists.

“Roll over, darling,” Tony says. “Up on your knees and down on your elbows, for me. Spread your legs—a little more—yes just like that. Show me that pretty ass.”

Peter rolls at the first spoken word, movements languid. The expression on his face is blissful, and Tony might mistake it for sleepiness if the hard cock hanging between his thighs wasn’t dripping down onto the black sheets. His submission is so lovely and complete, Tony falls in love with him a little.

Then he spreads the god open and licks a broad stripe over his opening, letting the saliva pool in his mouth to lubricate his journey while he tongues at the tight little opening, coaxing it to submit as sweetly as its owner. The noises Peter makes go straight to Tony’s cock: whimpers and whines and breathy exhalations. Tony lets one thumb rub at the boy’s hole, barely slipping in while he ducks down further to mouth at the sensitive balls. He lets his thumb massage and catch on the rim, tugging gently, while he pulls back briefly. The puddle beneath the god is obscene. Peter’s cock looks downright painful.

“Why aren’t you touching yourself, little rose?” Tony asks. “Your little cock looks like it hurts.”

“I—May I?” Peter asks, turning his neck so that he could flash his dark eyes towards Tony’s.

“It’s your cock, Peter, you don’t need to ask me. Or is it mine now? Does your cock belong to daddy?”

Peter rocks back, fisting at the sheets. “Yes,” he groans. “Yours, daddy. May I touch it? Please?”

Tony shuts his eyes. He has never been lucky. In his first game of chance, he got the losing lot, receiving domain of the Underworld. But what luck he must have had today, to bump into this sweet doe. He can hardly believe it to be true. “Please, touch yourself. As fast or slow as you like.”

Peter chooses fast as Tony’s goes back to licking him open. His hips don’t know what to do—fuck into his fist or press back towards the hot tongue inside of him. Tony sinks a finger inside, and it slips in easily. The god under him keens high in his throat, deciding yes to arch his back more and give the dark one more access, content to just grind into his own palm.

The second finger doesn’t go in as easily, but it seems that Peter enjoys it more. Perhaps he likes the burn of being stretched open. One soft crook of those fingers has him nearly shrieking, asking for permission.

“Of course,” Tony says. He wants to shut his eyes, it all feels so good, so overwhelming—but he doesn’t want to miss an instant of the boy beneath him. He leans back to watch Peter’s mouth slacken in ecstasy, breaths stuttering as he grinds to completion against his own hand, hot cum slipping through his fingers. “Beautiful,” Tony says, pressing a kiss to the boy’s back. “Absolutely beautiful.”

This time, Peter draws his own hand to his mouth and licks the cum away, humming contentedly. Tony’s own cock aches, desperate for the slightest pressure, but he ignores it, softly fucking his fingers into Peter, drawing them apart to prepare him for a third. When he presses in, Peter sighs joyfully, looking absolutely fucked out, smiling at nothing and no one.

“How do you want me, Peter?” asks Tony. “I promised you that it would be your choice.”

“Let me ride you,” Peter mumbles. Tony’s cock jumps—just the answer he wanted to hear. He’s not sure however that Peter has the strength; he’s looking more asleep than he is awake.

“Are you sure? We can rest now.”

Peter perks up, a little alarmed. “What? No—please. Please, may I ride you?”

Tony groans, smiling. His heart feels soft, like a fruit left to rot. That gentle, cracking voice could ask anything from him, and he might be obliged to agree to it. As it is, he lays prostrate, watching with greedy eyes as Peter climbs above him. The god’s golden thighs are shaking already, but his expression is still blissful as he kneels up, reaching down for Tony’s cock. The first touch after such lengthy neglect has him hissing, pressing his head back into the pillow. Then he feels the unbearable warmth, the wet pressure as Peter lowers himself.

The nature god’s face looks wrecked, mouth open, eyes squinted shut. He presses down but then rises up, chest hitching with breaths before lowering himself again, taking just a little more at a time. By the time his ass touches Tony’s thighs, Tony feels liable to burst, and Peter is hard again.

Then he begins to move, thighs flexing. From his mouth come the most pitiable little sounds: breathy gasps, chants of yes, yes, yes daddy, thank you—please!

“So polite,” Tony says through gritted teeth, trying to prolong the moment. The sleeve around him is so tight it borders painful, but it is a line that Tony loves to skip along. Most arousing is Peter, the obvious pleasure he’s experiencing, the openness in his face and body. He is beyond censorship, beyond self-doubt, and it is the most beautiful and honest thing the dark god has ever seen.

It is exactly what drives him to the edge, and he barely has breath in his lungs to give Peter a warning before he is cumming, head pressed back into the pillow, groaning deep in his chest. Peter makes a wrecked noise, like Tony’s orgasm feels good as his own, pressing a palm on the other god’s chest to give himself more leverage while he rides the cock inside him.

“May I?” Peter pants, legs shaking.

“Yes,” Tony breathes, his eyes closed. This way, he focuses on the sensation: the warmth and wetness around his cock as it pulses with Peter’s orgasm, the hot splatter of cum on his abs, the way he feels warmer in this bed than he ever has before.

He never wants Peter to leave.

He wants to leave with Peter, and never return.

He does not want to die—

And then, Peter is gasping, a sound that can’t be mistaken for pleasure. The warm body on top of him moves away swiftly, and when his eyes crack open, he sees the horror on Peter’s face. Tony sits up, chest tight. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“You—you’re—” A golden hand comes up to stroke beside one of Tony’s eyes, fingertips brushing his temples. And oh.

Oh. His illusions must have fallen when he came.

The younger, more attractive persona is gone. Instead, his true form is left: hairs turning gray, face lined. It’s obvious why Peter is horrified. It can’t be pleasant to go to bed with someone and have them turn into—well, the same person, only twenty years older. Surely, Tony must be a terrifying sight. Or at least ugly.

“Tony, you’re older,” Peter says. His face is softer now without the fear.

“I’m—dying.”

“That—no. You can’t be. You’re—like my god.” The large brown eyes fill with tears that balance there only for a moment before tripping down his cheeks. The sight makes him feel like Charon has taken his ferryman’s pole to Tony’s chest, striking him as he is wont to do with leisurely souls. The tears are white hot when he brushes them away. “Tony, I don’t want you to die.”

He swallows, gathering the smaller god into his arms where he curls and weeps against Tony’s bare chest. Tony runs his fingers through the curls, flicking away a clover with far too many leaves that clings to him. There is a lump in his throat, like he might cry as well—only he knows it’s honesty.  “I don’t want me to die either. Except for when I’m here.. The Underworld is no place to spend eternity. I feel—like one of the damned.”

“Then come away with me,” Peter cries. “You don’t need to stay here. The whole earth is my domain, and I say that you are welcome there. Please, Tony. Come and stay with me.”

His hand pauses its ministrations while the cogs in his mind whir. What would they do…what would anyone do if he disappeared? The souls would continue to filter in—but Tony isn’t the one who decides the unworthy from the worthy, and he isn’t the one who determines punishment or delivers it. Without him there, the Underworld is likely to continue on just as it has since the beginning of time.

And maybe he can continue on, too. Elsewhere.

“You know,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to those curls. “My brother did say I should take a sabbatical.”