#revelry & ruin wip

[helioscenic]

TAG GAME: PINTEREST NAME AESTHETIC

RULES: Search the name of your oc followed by the word,

1. Fashion

2. Pantone

3. Food

4. Mood

Then use the first pin (or second OR TENTH...) that comes up in your search.

Thanks for leaving this as an open tag @winglesswriter !!

- ALISTAIR

- MAGDALENE

- SORROW

TAGGING

@writingamongther0ses @cream-and-tea @serpentarii @wildswrites @strangerays

And of course anyone else who would like to play :)

[dustdeepsea]

WIP Wednesday

Edit: The story has been completed and posted here on AO3 :)

It's Wednesday here in the future :)

Working Title: Nine Lives (sequel to aqua vitae) Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Rating: Teen (non-explicit excerpt) Relationships: Rugan/Tav (Baldur’s Gate)

This is set post-game, so possible spoilers for the end of act 3.

Note: This is a work in progress and is subject to major changes in the final published version. It is not proof-read or edited; all typos are mine.

Falling feels like flying. Tumbling through the sky, you feel like a rag doll cast out of an angry child’s pram.

One final tantrum from the Netherbrain in its death throes.

So this is how I go, you think. You feel strangely at peace, watching the water below rush towards you, smooth and serene as glass from up high. You look around at your friends, your eyes watering as the wind streams past your face. 

One last image to hold in your mind.

Gale reaches out, his hands moving in desperate patterns, even though you know that by now he’s burnt through every scrap of his reserves. At the same time, Astarion breaks the wax seal on a scroll with both hands. His catlike grace makes him appear seated in mid-air, suspended. He was always the better rogue.

You feel the gentle tug of transmutation magic, as you are lifted up by the scruff of your neck. Featherfall sparkles around you in the sunlight. You are still descending rapidly, but floating upright now. Spread out before you is the ruined cityscape, the harbour, the grey ships and their sails. Everything and everyone you’ve fought so hard for. 

You draw your arms and legs in, and shut your eyes.

The spell gives out three metres above the water, and you splash into the river. The cold water is a shock to your aching, battle-worn body. Your limbs seize up. You feel bubbles rush over and around you.

It takes a moment before your survival instincts kick in and your lungs begin to scream.

I want to live. 

The thought animates your leaden legs, forces them to flutter and kick. Thrashing your way upwards, you break the surface and gasp for air.

The end of the world has come and gone. You’ve survived.

The doors to the Elfsong are thrown wide open, and everyone in the city seems to be either passing through the bar, or spilling out into the streets with their drinks and singing loudly. The cellars have been emptied, and every bard in town seems to be playing on the same stage tonight. Commerce is the lifeblood of Baldur’s Gate, you recall Wyll saying. There’s nothing better for business than a near brush with death.

At some point, someone cast Prestidigitation on you, and pressed a hot drink into your hand. You clutch it numbly, the cup long grown cold.

Tomorrow, there will be a reckoning. You think about your remaining companions, your time together already coming to an end. So many goodbyes were already said that afternoon on the pier—you shake your head to interrupt the dismal thoughts. For now, you’re alive and that’s all that matters.

You can’t fault the people of Baldur’s Gate for celebrating. You would do the same if you were in their shoes.

The noise and press of the people around you is driving you mad. You put down your cup and push your way to the doors. All around you, the cheer goes up, red faces saluting you with their drinks. They hoot and holler, and shout your name.

“Tav! Tav! Tav!”

You smile and wave to your adoring crowd, as you edge your way to the exit. The roar of the tavern crowd fades as you leave their field of vision and they turn back to their revelry. You slip away from the crowd milling near the entrance and out into the night.

Most of the buildings in the Lower City are still standing, minus a few spires. Further away, folks stand around scattered bonfires, drinking and speaking more quietly.

You take in a deep breath and wrinkle your nose. The air is crisp but smells of acrid woodsmoke and ozone. Piles of illithid bodies are being burnt and tossed into collapsed doorways. Still, it’s better than being trapped indoors.

You exhale, and lean against a nearby facade that's intact. It feels like you’ve been holding your breath since you landed in the river.

“Now, that doesn’t sound very festive.” A gently chiding voice drifts over from the street.

You lift your head and watch its owner approach you, open bottle in hand. Of course he would be here, sauntering up to you, after half the city had been destroyed. This man clearly has nine lives.

“Rugan,” you say, and a smile breaks over his face. Exhausted as you are, you feel your lips quirk upwards in response.

“Tav.” He’s standing right in front of you now, and your body remembers a different night in a small room, lit by dim lamplight. You hope it’s not written all across your face.

“I like the hair piece,” he says, gesturing with the bottle.

Puzzled, you reach up towards your head and your hands close around a braided flower crown. Someone must have placed it on you in the tavern without you noticing. You pull it off, slowly, the wildflowers scattering tiny yellow and white petals as they catch in your hair. 

It hangs from your hands, loosely, as you glance between it and his amused face. “It’s been a very long day,” you say, finally, and he laughs.

“Long is an understatement, lass.” He offers you the bottle and you readily accept.

“Word on the street is that we have you and your crew to thank for all of us still being alive,” he says, as you take a sip. It tastes green and medicinal on your tongue. “Let me buy you a proper drink inside.”

Highsun liqueur. You lick your lips and sigh. 

“I shouldn’t.” You rub at your face and suppress a shudder at the thought of the roiling crowd in the Elfsong. “Sorry—I haven’t dared to have a drink all evening. If I accept one, I will have to drink them all, and then I'll wake up passed out in the Chionthar.”

He nods sagely, like it’s a dilemma that he’s encountered many times before. “Well, what would you like to do instead?” he asks, placidly. There’s no hint of leering or suggestion in his voice.

You’re stunned for a moment. No one’s asked you that question in a kindly manner, for a very long while. Gods and devils and their emissaries have hounded you relentlessly for what feels like forever, spurring you from one wild task to the next, the tadpole in your head all the while a ticking time-bomb.

“What should we do, Tav?” used to mean—which awful choice do we make now? Who gets to live? Who dies next?

For the first time in a long time, you can answer without despairing.

“I have an idea. Come with me.” Impulsively, you drop the flower crown on the ground, and take his hand. It’s large and warm against yours. 

He looks surprised, but doesn’t protest as you tug him towards the side of the tavern building, where fewer people are about. You hand the bottle back to him, and let go of his hand to rummage around in your satchel. With a flourish, you pull out the scroll of Dimension Door. You’ve earned this, all hundred gold pieces worth of it. No more scrimping and saving for the next fight. 

Linking your arms, you look at Rugan and flash him a perfectly ordinary, non-crazed grin. “Hold onto me,” you say, and crack the seal, teleporting you both to the rooftop of the Elfsong.

[perfectlysunny02]

wip tag game

RULES: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WiPs.

tagged by: @actuallyitsellie @diazsdimples @shyaudacity @racerchix21 💙

guys, i have like 33 of these (it’s a big issue, makes me wanna cry) so you’re only getting like ten i’m sorry lol

so long cowboy you’re so cute (bucktommy dude ranch au)

try not to think about you but it ain’t working (bucktommy breakup/makeup)

if this was a movie you’d be here by now (buddie, secret breakup, pining eddie)

tell me how much hurt can a heart takes before it breaks (ed buck, buddie)

heal (single dad buck, buddie)

keep this love in a photograph (navy seal buck, bucktommy)

if i tried i’d know it’d feel like infinity (bucktommy)

swore on the bottle, baby, i’d never leave you (buddie rewrite, au)

clinging to the ruins of your broken home (tommy begins)

he was chaos, he was revelry (bucktommy different meeting au)

tagging: @between-two-fandoms @mintedwitcher @alilypea @desert--moonchild @whatisreggieshortfor @rebelrayne @tiltingheartand @tizniz @clandestine-j @twopercentboy

[poppypopp]

Word Game Wednesday (err... Friday)

I got tagged by the lovely and talented @cthu-boo to find the following words within my fic: redeem, open, thorough.

Redeem - Alas, I seem to have no fics with this word in it, bahaha

Open - From my Kotaniloy WIP Glitter and Gore

He turns. She’s standing at the vanity, her face reflected in the mirror and glowing in the warm light. He adjusts the stupid hat on his head as he approaches — it’s a little big. Aloy’s already dressed in her green lingerie, and she’s also been applying makeup and false eyelashes. She’s got a jar of something open, and he doesn’t realize what it is until it’s too late.

She whirls around, slapping both hands against his bare chest. There’s something gooey on her palms, and he yelps in dismay, batting her hands away. But it’s too late.

“Aloy, dammit!” he exclaims.

It’s body glitter gel.

She beams. “You’re going to be so pretty.”

“Oh my god, I hate you,” he groans.

Thorough - From my completed Niloyakka fic, Don't Say You Don't Love Me

Nil hides his discomfort well in front of the kids when they make it to the crowded ruin of Hidden Ember, but every now and then, when none of them are looking, he reaches for Drakka, slinging an arm around his broad shoulders. Drakka plays along, clinking their mugs together and talking a little louder than normal, like he’s drunk and he’s the one leaning on Nil. But he feels the tension in Nil’s back, hears the thready exhalation when he gets a moment of relief.

When the sun begins to set and the kids are thoroughly distracted gambling their daily earnings away, Drakka nudges Aloy and jerks his head for her to follow. Then he slips under Nil’s arm and tugs the taller man away from the revelry.

They wind up at the same campfire behind the ruin. Nil goes down rather gracelessly, dragging Drakka right down with him. Drakka sputters out a laugh, ale sloshing out of his mug.

Let's see, I'll tag @retrowhatever, @theyoftenwhisper, and @unstablegrad and I'll use the words blade, whisper, glow.

[mysdrymmumbles]

Word Find

Thank you muchly to @zmwrites for tagging me!

Rule: Search your current WIP for the words given.

My words: Static, gentle, frame, crunch

None of these were in my current chapter (it’s only like 2 pages, though, so), so I just went to the body of Of a Feather. 

Static

“This is what I’ve been working on,” Nebi begins, and he recognizes a few of the scrolls from when she recruited him to give information to Thenios. She goes over the basics of it, the different places that souls are being dropped off instead of the Maw. Adrestes scans the information, watches as the scrolls update with new names every couple minutes, showing where souls are being sent to stay while they await judgment.

Then, she turns to a few other scrolls. They are static, unchanging.

“These are the ones Thenios gave me,” she says, speaking tentatively. “They’re not…”

“Working,” says another forsworn. Achillon. He has his arms crossed, a heavy frown in place. “We want to work with the ascended, but we can’t very well do that if you won’t work with us.”

Gentle

Adrestes stands near the edge of the group, arms crossed, though the traces of a rare smile tug the corners of his mouth up as he watches the revelry before him. Kleia and Nebi flank him. Adrestes pauses to give Nikolon and Kosmas a nod before turning to Nebi to see whatever report she has in hand. Kleia smiles warmly when she catches Pelagos’ eye, and there is pride curling in her. Pride in Nikolon and Kosmas for their dedication and hard work. For their breakthrough.

She starts toward Pelagos, but pauses when someone calls her name. A worried aspirant hurries up to her, speaking quickly, though she is too far away for Pelagos to hear what is being said. Kliea gives him a sympathetic look, and he makes a gentle shooing motion as he nods to her, returning her smile.

Frame

“I ruined it, I’ll make amends,” the Maw Walker insists.

“There really is no need,” Adrestes assures her.

She is looking around, inspecting her surroundings as though she’s not quite sure where she is. He’s not sure why, but he sits beside her. That makes her pause, and she looks up at him. For a second, he can swear he sees fear in her eyes when she meets his gaze. It’s gone quickly, as she looks away, out at the water. She rubs her neck.

“I’m sorry—”

“If you apologize again, I’ll toss you in the lake,” he says, hoping that something so ridiculous will ease some of the tension in her small frame.

She does let out a dry laugh, so he considers it a partial victory.

Crunch

“May I stay here a moment?” Thales asks. “Like you said, I could use the fresh air.”

Mevix pauses a moment, and then says, “I’ll be right back.”

His boots crunch across the stones and then Thales is alone.

Alone with a million eerie noises, that oddly fleshy smell, an unsettling taste in his mouth when he lets the air touch his tongue.

He wishes he could see.

He feels like if he could, the rest of it wouldn’t be as upsetting, wouldn’t be as unknowable—

I’m tagging @myinventoryisfull, @ellenembee, @wikdsushi-v2 and @rederiswrites. Your words are due, because, said, never

[its-sixxers]

Swan Song

Ulfric Stormcloak is dead. The civil war is halted - for now. Alduin awaits. Idunn and Tandreth are all too aware of the fate of heroes.

(borderline wip but a snippet in apology for my absence <3)

Despite centuries living, Tandreth had at last discovered something he’d never witnessed before.

What it felt like to be a hero.

Amidst the ruin Whiterun rose from the ashes like a phoenix to celebrate - the dead were buried, injuries nursed, grudges put to bed. Tandreth still felt the sting of where the Ulfric’s blade had bit into his ribs, but the mead of Jarl Balgruuf had quelled his pain. Throughout the night toasts had been made even when the scent of burned flesh still lingered even in Dragonsreach - the Companions often the source of uproarious laughter, the local bard testing out a few new verses in his attempt to give the event justice.

Tandreth had been fawned over, and if it were only a few years ago he’d have been happy to take to bed a train of admirers. As he sat at the feast table, however, he was only all too aware that his fame was based solely on his proximity to others - and for the first time, he was content in that knowledge.

Azuraansi sat near the Jarl himself, nursing her single goblet of wine and leaning in conspiratorially between Balgruuf and Irileth, discussing matters he couldn’t imagine. Whatever they were, it brought a smile to her usually icy features - though colored with a hearty dose of exhaustion.  Tandreth smiled in turn to see his twin sister flattered and content, to be recognized for her ability and to, for once, not have her victory turn to ashes in her hands.

Most of his attention was diverted to the guest of honor, however.

Idunn - Dragonborn, who’d come to Whiterun’s aid on a dragon with he and his sister in tow, who’d engaged Ulfric Stormcloak in single combat, whose Shouts had caused lighting to crack across the sky and who sang with every sweep of her warhammer. She’d been like Ysgramor himself, like Talos, like any other figure of legend - auburn hair blazing, so young, and yet she could not mirror the smiles and cheers offered her. Instead she let Raansi engage with the Jarl and the excited elite of Whiterun, preferring to stare into her goblet of mead. 

Ulfric Stormcloak was dead. It was cause for celebration for many - it should have been cause for celebration for her.

Yet despite the man’s many sins, Idunn was no executioner.

By the time Tandreth finally managed to gain an opportunity to politely excuse himself from the feast table, she was absent. Unmissed - Talos was charismatic, Ysgramor larger than life. Idunn always seemed to try her best to fade into the background, to bore any who tried to engage with her. 

Slipping into the shadows was second nature, and all the easier with most of the Great Hall too inebriated to perceive anything but their own joy. Tandreth slipped away from the celebratory feast and into Dragonsreach’s state quarters, all revelry muffled by the thick oak doors closing behind him.

Moonlight trickled in through the windows of the back hall high above. The place was unguarded - whether those assigned to their posts were dead or excused was beyond Tandreth’s knowledge, but the thought of the keep’s inhabitants unguarded as they slept unsettled him. Quickly he made haste to the quarters that had been granted to Idunn - those that used to belong to the Jarl’s wife, at the pinnacle of Dragonsreach’s many steps. His own were at a lower level, and were it not for Irileth’s own status he’d wonder if it was a slight.

The carved door to Idunn’s chambers was unlocked, not that it’d be a concern for him if it wasn’t - and quietly he cracked it open to peer inside.

Idunn wasn’t in her bed. He knew it the moment the sound of snoring didn’t meet his ears, and quietly he slipped inside. The curtains shifted from an incoming draft, and he knew where to go.

Beyond the solar was the bedroom, whose north wall possessed a great stone arch framed by woven linen curtains that led to a stone balcony beyond. Multicolored lights spilled through the windows onto the four poster bed.

A familiar figure stood on the balcony, backlit by the aurora.

Whiterun’s tundra stretched for miles below, the night sky above splashed with the watercolor of numerous shifting lights. Idunn leaned against the banister wearing nothing but a man’s undershirt, hem laying across the middle of her powerful thighs. Tandreth could see numerous bruises blooming upon her pale skin, as varied in color as the night sky above.

“It’s your night, you know. You should enjoy it.” Tandreth said gently, announcing his presence. Idunn only turned her head a fraction to acknowledge him, her cheeks shining with what he knew were shed tears. Slowly he approached, coming to her side by the banister. 

“There’s nothing to celebrate.” she answered, voice thin. Yes, she’d been crying. “The Plains District is ashes. Good people are dead.”

“Yes.” Tandreth agreed, watching her white-knuckle grip on the banister. “But more would have perished if it wasn’t for you. The day’s won. Now’s for drinking, to forget the bloodshed, to relish being alive.”

Idunn dropped her gaze to him, looking more afraid than he’d ever seen her. It made something in his chest clench to see it - the whites of her eyes in the dark. “For how long?”

He offered his best smile in an effort to reassure her. “For eternity, if we’re lucky. Maybe Nine will become Ten. Say hello to Dibella for me if that’s the case, she’s always sounded like a fun time.”

The effort fell flat, for Idunn made a choked noise in her throat and looked back to the tundra below - to the embers that yet burned, further evidence of battle hidden by the dark. “There’s only one thing left, now.”

Alduin. A fear marked by the panic in her face whenever a shadow crossed the sky. A god. How could anyone kill a god?

Unbidden Tandreth’s hand settled upon her own, his dark skin a stark contrast to hers. The action stilled her ragged breathing, granting him some relief. “You’ve succeeded in everything. You can do this. I’m with you, for what little it helps. I believe in you.” The expected words. The words he was supposed to say.

Again she shook her head. “That’s not what I’m worried about.” she whispered. “It’s what happens after.”

“After?” Tandreth looked up at her quizzically, his traitorous hand gently stroking her knuckles with his thumb. “Whatever you want. No one can stop you. I’m certain the Empire will give you enough coin to buy anything you please for Ulfric’s head-”

“No.” Idunn said emphatically, suddenly pulling her hand away from his. Tandreth’s palm burned from the absence. “All of the stories. All the heroes die. Ulfric was a hero, to the Stormcloaks. They never… They never…”

“Happily ever afters are boring.” Tandreth replied, anxiety building in his chest from this line of conversation. Ulfric’s death had rattled her, and he knew it was for more reasons than the man’s status as hero. This battle was beyond him, something scum like him had no hope of fighting. “And those are just stories, Idunn, they aren’t-”

“You said so yourself.” she interrupted. “Heroes don’t get happy endings. It’s a lie.”

It caused his cheeks to flush, bile to rise in his throat. Yes, he’d told her as much - told her in as few words as he could manage what happened to his mother, the Nerevarine. How he and his sister had as good as grown up on their own, never to have closure until he saw his mother’s ghost. How the last Dragonborn emperor had martyred himself, how the hero who’d brought him to the Imperial City scorned all glory and disappeared from history soon after. How all of Idunn’s efforts to do right were fruitless, how none would appreciate her and her name would disappear after she died trying to protect people who didn’t care for her - and now Tandreth saw the effects of his poisonous words. Self hatred flooded his system. Vile, venomous coward, who’d tried to drag her down with him.

“Idunn.” he whispered, and she winced at the sound of her own name from his lips. “I was saying whatever I could to dissuade you, then. It was cruel.”

“Was it false?” she questioned, words piercing something else in his chest. She looked him in the eye, her own, wide and green and so guileless, beseeching him for the truth.

Tandreth’s shoulders fell, staring up at her - at the aurora reflected in her eyes, unable to bring light to them. Honesty burned his tongue, but he offered it nonetheless. “No.”

Idunn took a deep breath and turned away from him. “I always knew it.” she murmured. “At the heart of it, all along. I’m going to succeed. Destiny, fate, the Divines - they’ll carry me that far. But after…” He watched her throat ripple as she swallowed. “... I’m not coming back from this.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I feel it.” Idunn shook her head. “In my bones. My heart. The air. It makes sense. This was my purpose, all along. I have no -” A pause and another wince, as she dared a glance back at him. Correcting herself, to a flutter in his lungs. “ - few friends. No family. I was destined to die before fate called on me. It was just a stay of execution. This is my purpose, what I’ve been chosen for, what I’ve been born for. There’s nothing after.”

A cold feeling pooled in his gut, and Tandreth felt the overwhelming urge to run at her words. To save himself. Idunn was convinced, and it was enough to convince him in turn. In his travels with her he’d seen things he’d never believe, proof of divinity, every odd defied. It was only a matter of time before her luck ran out. He’d seen it all happen before.

Yet beneath the cold an ember burned, fanned into a flame. No. He’d seen it before, but he wouldn’t let it happen again. He’d tried to persuade her out of destiny, thrashed and raged against it. He’d tried to run from it already. The conclusion he’d come to was one constant as the rising sun.

Whatever would come, he couldn’t leave her. Even if he had to watch her die.

No.

Could he change fate? Change a certain path?

Of course not. He was a child, tantruming against the inevitable. Instinctively wanting to smash what he could before running away, furious at his own powerlessness.

Yet if there was one thing he could change - one thing in his blighted life he could do again, it was to say something. He’d left his mother with bitter words.

Idunn stared out at the tundra in silence. Could he leave her with the same?

Tandreth’s tongue suddenly felt thick, a wave of heat flowing over his body as if a fever. Nausea twisted his stomach. Suddenly all words failed him - he’d never had trouble with them before, always had a quick remark, but now this was important, now this was perhaps the last calm they’d ever have.

“Maybe.” he admitted, forcing himself to face the truth of it all. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe these are the last weeks.” His body was betraying him, vision clouding with blasted tears, his voice wavering. He could still run - Azura, how he longed to - but Tandreth clutched the stone banister as if it could keep him from being ripped away from it. He’d lived centuries, but a couple dozen months had given him a light he’d long thought lost and the idea that it was going to be snuffed out again was too much to comprehend.

Idunn managed to look at him again, pain diffused with confusion on her part. She wasn’t used to seeing him like this, he was well aware - knew that the little wrinkle between her brow was one of concern. Knew everything, and tried not to think of how every scrap of knowledge of her might come to haunt him. “You don’t have to stay.” Her voice was tender as a kiss. “It’ll be safer.”

It was his turn to make a choked noise, and he tore his hands from the banister to settle on her biceps, so firm beneath his touch he nearly took comfort in it. Tandreth forced her to face him, to look him in the face. “No. Listen to me, Idunn. I’ve spent my life running. From everything. From living. Were this a few years ago I’d be happy to throw myself into the void alongside you - but I’ve met you now. In you I’ve seen that maybe this cursed plane is worth something after all, that I could be worth something. I want to live. I want to see what the future holds.” In spite of himself, he let his hands drift down her bicep, stroking her skin - took a step forward. “With you. Whatever time you have left. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Her lips fell open, and he almost cried at how it took her a few moments to process it all - dear, sweet, simple Idunn - and he knew she had when she couldn’t keep the water from spilling from her eyes, collecting on her lower lashes like dew. “But you - you hate it. Hate this.”

Tandreth laughed bitterly. “Yes. I hate fate, I hate the work of Divines and Daedra. I hate to be helpless. But not you. Not…” His right hand moved up to her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Not this. Never this.”

Uncertainty now overrode all of Idunn’s fear, calming the maelstrom in his own mind. “I won’t let you die on my account.”

“You’re not listening. I want to live.” Tandreth repeated. “And if… if you’re right, I’m going to try my damndest to make sure meeting you meant something. To make sure the world doesn’t forget. Not just the hero, but the woman.”

“The woman isn’t anything.” Idunn said with a watery smile. “You’ll bore them all to pieces.”

“I’ll fight Akatosh himself if I can keep the woman on this world with me for one moment longer.” Tandreth nearly shook her, desperate for her to understand him, choking on the words he needed to say, before the end, before she was another one of his ghosts.

The fear in her returned, but it was a different fear - one he knew in himself. The caution, the hesitance, the disbelief - she was worried she’d misheard him, that she’d read too much into things. She started to pull away from him - she’d decided what he was trying to tell her was all in her head, and in response he pulled her closer.

“I love you.” he whispered - feeling as if he’d doomed them both.

[whiskeytangofrogman]

mad genius’s love song

So here’s the first part of a FrostIron fic I started almost five years ago, for @wipweek . Today's prompt was "Oldest WIP," and while that's not technically true, I did start this almost five years ago, so it's close enough. I don't know when I'll have the next part up.

This fic is working with Avenger's era material and nothing past that, and Coulson is alive and well because they should have never let him die in the first place. Eat me, Joss Whedon.

Anyway, please excuse any weird stuff, as this first chapter is an edit of the old fic. Subsequent ones will be better. Bare with me.

Title is based on "Mad Girl's Love Song" by Sylvia Plath. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own.

Tony/Loki, 1.5k, Chapter 1/?

Also on ao3

0 Months, 0 Days

Asgard was warm, and smelled like home, like his childhood home, wherever he went, which Tony figures is some yet-unknown to him technology here. He’s standing against the wall next to Cap, mug of some sort of cinnamon smelling alcohol in his hand. No one seemed unhappy in Asgard, men and women flocking together, flirting, chatting, and generally enjoying themselves. It makes sense for gods, he supposed. Asgard was like the myths he had heard about Olympus, only tangible, real.

Thor had tugged all of the Avengers along, as some sort of diplomatic mission between his team and his kingdom-to-be’s subjects. Tony was all for getting drunk with a bunch of gods, but he was under strict orders not to just that, and to always have either Cap or Coulson by his side just in case he ran his mouth too much, or offended one of the Asgardians. Tony’s drinking wasn’t a problem, until it was, and the team was determined to make sure that didn’t happen tonight, not for something so important and so easily ruined by one off-color comment.

So there he was, standing against a wall, barely even buzzed, and bored. Cap and Coulson both had decided it was better just to keep Tony away from the main fray of people, which, if you asked Tony (no one ever did), made him look standoffish and rude. Better that then pissing off an immortal with superpowers who had no qualms about banging around a puny human, Coulson had said, cool and businesslike in typical Coulson fashion.

Except Clint was allowed to talk to the Asgardians, and he was just as obnoxious as Tony, only less drunk. It had to be punishment for their last mission, for Tony running away from the medbay and blowing up a building to take down their latest problem. No one had been hurt, and Stark Industries repaid the owner of the building plus some for damages, and he’d single-handedly saved the day, so Tony wasn’t quite sure what gave. Something about following orders and teamwork, most likely. Stuff Tony shouldn’t have to care about when he was funding the Avengers and had billions of dollars in tech at his fingertips to keep him and his teammates safe.

Way more than some fuckin’ shield, that was for sure.

Tony sighed, and set his mug down on the ground. “I’m gonna go locate a bathroom Cap, gotta take a piss.” He pushed off from the wall, and shoved his hands in his pocket, trying to unsaddle the discomfort from his shoulders.

Steve hooked Tony’s arm with a large hand, stopping him from moving any further. “Come straight back. Don’t make any trouble.” He said, giving Tony one of his patented “I’m-Already-Disappointed-In-You” frowns, that only ever seemed to be directed at him.

Tony rolled his eyes. “I will. Stop worrying. I’m on my best behavior.” He tried to look as innocent as possible as he stared up at Cap.

Steve sighed a sigh of the long-suffering, and relinquished his grip on Tony’s arm. “Straight back. No detours.” He repeated, and Tony nodded.

Finding a bathroom, however, was not what Tony intended to do at all. Explore Asgard’s halls, yes. Come back in a timely manner? No. He figured he could avoid any interdimensional relations by avoiding any of the party-goers. He just wanted to look around the castle, palace, whatever Thor called it, a bit, and maybe figure out how their science worked here. Engineer stuff.

He wandered around for a bit, admiring the architecture of the place. It was beautiful, really. All curved angles and shining pillars looped in fine, golden filigree. Before long though, he realised that a significant amount of time had passed, far more than it would take to find a bathroom in this place and use it. Cap was going to be pissed.

This wasn’t as concerning as what he realized next, which was that he had absolutely no idea where he was. All the halls looked similar, and he’d wandered a bit too far away to even catch the barest hints of party sounds.

Twenty minutes or so later,, he was even more lost than before, and the warm marble flooring had turned into cold stone. He was so, so screwed. Cap would scold him, and Coulson would give him the look, and they would both sigh and someone would tell Fury, and he’d be given an even shorter leash next time for “wandering off” or being a possible “PR nightmare.”

In the midst of his own thoughts and his inner monologue that was always running, no matter what, he bumped into something. And that something was not something, but in fact someone.

And that someone was tall, far taller than himself, by like, four inches at least, and he looked… Intense? Frightening? Confused, too, he thought, if the deep furrow of his brow was anything to go by.

“Hi there. Stark, Tony Stark.” He stuck out a hand, and the stranger took it with a cautious arch of an eyebrow. He was definitely Asgardian, judging by his clothing and his demeanor, but Tony figured he must have been a servant or a worker here. His clothes, not gold and bronze like the rest of the Asgardians Tony had seen, but instead deep green and grays, were fine. A servant to the king himself, perhaps. “I must have gotten a little lost on the way to the bathroom.” He looked around the stranger, and at the floating board behind him, on which was scrawled what looked like calculations.

“Loki.” The man, Loki, dropped his hand. “Do you need help finding your way back?” His voice was tinged with the British-esque sounding accent that was common in Asgard.

Tony shrugged. “Eventually.” He stepped around Loki, and took in the full brunt of the equation, or at least what he could. For the first time in a long time, he was looking at something he didn’t fully understand. “What is this?”

“An equation.” Loki looked uncomfortable, and slightly tense. “I’m… working on some things for the doctors here.”

Tony nodded. “Interesting.” He turned back to Loki. “Explain it to me.”

Loki stared at him, and then sighed. “Alright, see here?”

By the end of an hour, Tony found he still was confused about the math, but slightly less so. It was advanced, and Asgardian physics was slightly different than that of Earth, so the equation was harder that it would have been otherwise.

“Okay, okay.” Tony looked at his pocket watch, analog since there was something about digital watches that went a little bit screwy is Asgard according to Jane, and sighed. “I need to find my way back to the party. We’re probably leaving soon, and I don’t want to portal away without the rest of my squad.”

Loki, whose shoulders had loosened over the course of their conversation, nodded once. “I can lead you back.”

The walk back was short, and they traded ideas about Loki’s equation. Tony wished he could stay more, figure out this dimension’s science. But, it was unlikely he’d be back for awhile, or at all considering the length of time he was gone.

Cap was fuming when he stepped into the hall, trailing behind Loki. At their appearance, the hall quieted for a second, and then the sounds of revelry resumed, albeit more muted and cautious. Loki looked out of his league, and more than uncomfortable.

Thor stepped over right as Cap was opening his mouth, probably to chastise him, and clapped a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Ah, Man of Iron, I see you’ve found my brother.”

Tony looked sharply up at Loki, and then back at Thor. They were as similar as the sun and moon. “Adopted,” Loki supplied, his jaw tight and shoulders hunched. “If I may-”

Thor waved a hand at him. “Back to your studies as always, my brother.” They watched Loki walk briskly from the hall, the door shutting with a loud thump behind him.

“Where were you, Tony?” Cap still looked pissed. “If you said anything to offend him-”

Tony sighed. “Cap, I’m not a kid. I’m smart enough to keep my mouth shut when I need to.” Cap snorted. “He was showing me math.”

Cap looked confused now. “Math?”

Thor chimed in. “My brother is an esteemed arithmetist. I’m sure he welcomed the company.”

Tony shrugged. “He seemed nice.”

Thor smiled, a myriad of emotions mixed across his expression. “Nice, Man of Iron, is not the word I would use.”

Tony was stopped from asking what that meant by Cap telling both of them they needed to get a move on, as SHIELD had their next mission planned for early the next morning, and they still needed to gather the rest of the team. He followed orders, and they were back with the Asgardian Heimdall in the Bifrost room outside of the palace within the hour, his earlier transgression seemingly forgotten since no trouble had come of it.

He resisted the urge to ask Thor more about Loki, and Asgard, and his confusion about the connection between the two, and let the Bifrost take them back to New York.

[helioscenic]

When you do everything you can not to be your biological parental figure so you model your behaviour after your steadfast and logical adoptive parental figure but you end up being most like his bloodthirsty, ruthless lover instead...

[helioscenic]

WRITEBLR INTRODUCTION ||

Hello! My name is August, I'm 23, nonbinary and gay as hell. I work retail irl (someone save me pls) and write in my spare time, I'm hoping this blog will help keep me accountable with my writing as I tend to procrastinate.

MY WRITING ||

I write queer fantasy with a focus on exploring themes of monstrosity, family and identity. (If you notice an abundance of snarky, dark haired protagonists then shhh, no you don't)

This is not my main, I'll probably tag any asks I send with this url just so you know it's me because my main is a retired blog from an old and embarrassing fandom lmao.

I would love to participate in ask and tag games, feel free to tag me if you're stuck for blogs! Also feel free to tag me in any fantasy wips taglists because I guaranteed will love it.

Anyway, thanks for checking in on my blog! I hope you find something you like 😊

(wips under the cut)

MY WIPS ||

EYE OF LEVIATHAN WIP

(working titles subject to change)

THE ROSEBLIGHT KINGDOM WIP

High fantasy, Fairytale Inspired

Nobody knows when the curse started, just that one day, the roses stopped dying. That's why they call it the roseblight curse, they were the first to be corrupted.

High Fantasy, Exploration of the 'Chosen One' Trope

When a man intent on finding redemption in the small mundanity of life is forced back onto the gameboard of dragons and kingdoms and war, will his past be the thing that saves them all or damns them?

REVELRY & RUIN WIP

Fantasy Folklore, Urban Fantasy

In Faerie, a gathering of Seelie is called a revelry. But do you know what a gathering of the Unseelie Court is called? A ruin

TWICE CURSED WIP / GOTHIC WIP

Mid Fantasy, Folkloric

A romance between a girl who is not a damsel and a girl who is not a monster

TAGLISTS ||

E0L WIP; @serpentarii

R&R; @cream-and-tea

GENERAL; @wildswrites @strangerays

Let me know if you want me to add you to the taglists for my wips!