Shop Mobile More Submit  Join Login
About Literature / Student Straw24/Female/United States Group :iconkhr-ocs: KHR-OCs
Suddenly Reborn OCs! Everywhere!
Recent Activity
Deviant for 4 Years
Needs Core Membership
Statistics 522 Deviations 1,007 Comments 19,572 Pageviews
×

Newest Deviations

Random Favourites

Activity


Once upon a time, in a tiny realm known as Midgard, there lived a girl. This girl, of course, was you, and you lived as many young women at the time did during that Age of Miracles. None of these miracles ever happened to you. There were no fish oil transformations on your horizon, nor were there any divine calls to adventure. Just like all New Yorkers, you grew use to your daily commute being interrupted by superheroes, to calling insurance companies to argue over their decision to not pay for alien invasion damage to your apartment, and even to carrying an umbrella around with you even on the driest of days in case certain Asgardians decided to visit. Life went on. You had stopped looking for a real miracle years ago.

As well you should have, because there was nothing miraculous about your wedding day. Outside, a seemingly endless of mass dark gray clouds let loose bucket after bucket of rain. Thunder rolled across the sky; lightning flashed—and that, really, was all you could see through the windowpane you had stationed yourself in front of to sulk. If you hadn't known any better, you’d have blamed the city’s resident Thunder God for the disastrous timing of this storm front. As it was, all you could blame was your string of bad luck.

Speaking of bad luck, the door to your parlor snapped open and in stepped the dripping figure of your best friend. Aliyah paused only long enough to shove some wet strands of hair back underneath her pink hijab before plopping soggily onto an overstuffed loveseat. “Well, the gazebo is flooded,” she announced. “The food is soaked through, and the caterer won’t bring more to replace it. Your flower arrangements are in pieces, and the band already ran off. I don’t think there’s anything left of your wedding ceremony.”

You did not bother to leave the window, though you did turn just far enough to throw your her a sour look. “Do you have any good news to impart?” you asked. Aliyah grinned.

“Your maid of honor hasn’t walked out yet. At least there will be one person here to witness this fiasco.”

“Gonna need a groom for anything to be witnessed.”

Most close friends would offer sympathy when their friend’s fiancé of a year and a half decided to just not show up for the actual wedding. Most acquaintances would feel bad enough when the carefully planned event got rained out. Not your Aliyah. She simply let out a sharp breath, and leaned her head back against the couch cushion.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said. You glared at her, which of course she didn’t see, having shut her eyes to listen to the water tumble from the roof to the street outside.

“Thank you. So much.”

“What?” she asked, forcing her eyes open again. “I told you Jared wasn’t good enough for you. Besides, you get to keep all the gifts even if he doesn’t stop by. I saw, like, nine blenders in that pile. You’re better off this way, if you ask me.”

“You’re just saying that because you want a free blender,” you said. Aliyah grinned.

“I wouldn’t say no. But, really, you should count your lucky stars. Free stuff, and free of your jackass boyfriend. What better start to a weekend?”

“I’d rather be married to my jackass boyfriend.”

Aliyah’s disdain for Jared was nothing new or surprising. He’d fallen from grace in her eyes when he’d got jealous over your fondness for an injured pigeon you’d rescued only a few months after you started dating Jared. Even releasing the bird hadn’t entirely put an end to his complaints about how you spent your free time. On the other hand, you knew one thing that neither Aliyah nor Jared did: Jared’s jealousy wasn’t entirely misplaced. But that was years ago. This was now. And that bird had always been bad news.

“Are you going to cry about it?” Aliyah asked, peering over at your perch by the parlor’s bay window. “Because if not, I’d hate to have dragged Habib all the way to America for nothing.”

At the mention of her long-distance boyfriend, you motioned for Aliyah to go on. You preferred to do your moping alone, and Aliyah knew it. She gave you a quick hug before she left without another word. Probably you did owe your maid of honor at a least a blender for all the trouble she’d been through on your behalf.

Sighing, you lifted one hand, dug your fingers into your hair, and tore out what was holding it in its elaborate design. Who cared what you looked like now? Even if stupid Jared had shown up, the storm would have ruined your appearance before you made it down the aisle. Now Aliyah had free rein to spend the rest of her afternoon cuddling with Habib and you had no one else to bother looking pretty for.

Outside your empty room, you could hear the indistinct muttering of your remaining guests. Family, mostly, who had already given up trying to convince you to let them in. What the rest of them were waiting for before they left, you couldn’t guess. Perhaps for you to come out and make an official announcement: The wedding has been called off. Party’s over. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. And thanks for all the blenders.

The shame of your situation suddenly threatened to crash down upon you. It would have, if you had remained sitting where you were. Instead, you stood, white dress rustling as you stalked across the room. A quiet shriek of rage was stifled only by your gloved hand pressed to your colored lips. Of all the pathetic, idiotic, insane things you had done in your life! Now you didn’t even have the courage to face your friends and family with the truth.

“Tap. Tap. Tap.”

Hail began to hit the glass behind you, soft and hesitant. Since you had no plans to leave the building any time soon, you ignored this weather development.

Jared hadn’t even called to say he’d changed his mind. You should have known when he hadn’t come home after his stag party the night before. He was probably laughing it up over your stupidity with some blonde bikini babe by the beach that you were supposed to go to for your honeymoon. The thought caused you to kick out angrily at the coffee table, and you heard a quiet rip issue from your skirt in response when it caught on a corner. You swore.

”Tap. Tap. Tap.”

Really, the sound wasn’t regular enough to be hail. It wasn’t very hesitant anymore either. Still, you ignored the noise as you yanked off your veil, your gloves, and your garter. You were mentally preparing to rip them all to shreds with your fingernails when you heard it again:
“Tap. Tap. Tap.”

That time, you did not suppress your shriek. With it, you marched over to the window and shoved it open. The wind whistled through the empty space, sending anything in the room not tied down into the air, and splattering your face with water. If ever there was a time to reasonably expect an Asgardian thunder god to step inside, it was then. No one was there, though, save for a single bedraggled pigeon.

“Oh, hello,” you said when it hopped onto the sill, and automatically you held out your cupped hands toward it. The poor thing shivered once, then stepped onto your warm palms. Only when it looked up into your face did you see that it had bright green, very un-pigeon-ish eyes.

Before you could stuff the bird back outside, it lifted itself into the air to half-flutter, half-fly over to the loveseat Aliyah had been sitting on. A flash of light that had nothing to do with the lightning outside filled the room. When you had blinked and cleared your vision enough that you could see again, the pigeon was gone, and in its place reclined a tall, dark-haired, beautiful man, dressed to the nines in Asgardian fashion.

“Hello, darling,” said Loki Laufeyson. “Don’t you look ravishing?”

You were too shocked to contradict him. No mention of your torn dress, mussed hair, or smeared makeup escaped your lips. Instead, you said the only thing you could in that sort of situation: “What are you doing here?”

“Why, I’m here to offer you my congratulations, of course,” he answered, examining one perfectly manicured nail. “Or should it be my condolences?”

“Really?” Your tone dripped with enough sarcasm that it could be heard over the protesting window as you forced it shut. “You disappear for two years, never write, never visit, and then you just happen to pop by to celebrate my wedding to another man?”

“What kind of secret lover would I be if I did not?”

“We are not secret lovers.”

“Well, no, we haven’t been for quite some time. I see no reason why that should stop us from picking up right where we left off, however.”

“We were never secret lovers.”

Really?” he said, mocking the tone of your earlier question. “That’s not what it seemed like to me. Of course, I had the brain of a pigeon most of the time, but at night when your beau had to work and leave you so very alone—”

“You can’t just show up out of the blue and expect me to want you again,” you interrupted. “And on my wedding day to boot.”

To his credit, Loki looked genuine confused by your behavior—like he’d expected you to jump straight into his arms, marriage or no. Obviously, they did things differently in Asgard. You were not Asgardian. “Fine,” he said. “If that’s the way you want it. I was only trying to thank you for helping me, you know.”

“All I did was take in a pigeon that got injured when Thor threw a bunch of peanuts at a flock. It didn’t really deserve that sort of thanking.”

“Ah, but you enjoyed it anyway.” That wasn’t the point. He knew it wasn’t the point just as well as you did, because once he made it, he got fluidly up to his feet to and walked over to stand in front of you. “If you are that disinclined to see me, I suppose I had better get going. If you ever grow tired of being lonely again—oh, that’s right. You don’t know how to contact me.”

You opened your mouth to remind Loki that you didn’t want to contact him, but then something about Loki’s words rang strange. “Alone?” you echoed.

“Yes, alone. Or do you expect your prince charming to come riding up on a horse of white any second now? Better late than never?”

Without thinking, without warning, you slapped him straight across the face.

“Ow!” he snapped, pressing one of his hands to the mark on his face. “What was that for?”

“What did you do?” you demanded, lifting your hand for another blow. “What did you do to Jared?”

“Me? Do something to Jared? What should I have to do with that ponderous ass?”

“Did you kill him, Loki?” you asked, voice quavering. Loki could do it. Easily. He was a god, and Jared just…well, just a ponderous ass. Loki let out a single bark of laughter.

“Oh, please. I just got out of Asgardian prison. As if I’d risk going back over the murder of a petty moral such as he.”

That brought you up short. Frowning, you deigned to look at him again. “Prison?”

“Yes, prison. Did you think my absence was due to taking a pleasure cruise?”

“I thought you’d escaped prison when I found you the first time.”

“But you sent me back to Asgard when I started causing trouble," he reminded you. "Odin does not forget his son’s crimes easily, nor is he inclined to forgive them. Luckily my brother is far easier to manipulate."

He had not, you noticed, made any real move to leave. Loki still stood in front of you, looking down as the pink handprint faded from his cheek.

“So…you didn’t kill my fiancé?” you asked uncertainly. He shook his head.

“If he isn’t here, it is because he is a dunce, not because I tricked him in any way.”

“Oh.” All the problems of your appearance seemed at once apparent and embarrassing. To think that this man would see you in such a state, and only because he’d wanted to see you after his release from jail. “Why did you really come, then? Since you knew he wasn’t here. To gloat?”

“The thought did occur to me,” Loki confessed. “I am not often in the position of being the more desirable choice. But,” here his voice turned oddly sincere, “I actually came to ask you to come with me.”

Your mouth fell open. Some of Loki’s usual acerbic amusement returned as he watched you flounder; you could see the faint outlines of his familiar smirk at the corners of his mouth. Finally, you managed a short, “go with you where?”

He shrugged, and started to twist the curtain in between his long, pale fingers. “I don’t know, really.”

“You want me to go somewhere with you without anywhere in mind?”

“I thought we’d figure it out as we went along,” he said. “Travel the galaxies. I cannot return to Asgard and Midgard, of course, is out of the question so long as I do not rule it.”

“You want me to follow you into outerspace?” Only his silence could tip you off that Loki was actually nervous. He clearly had no idea how you would respond to his suggestion—which was by falling into a nearby chair to gape at him. “You want me to leave my family?”

“They live far away and hardly talk to you.”

“And my job?”

“That you’ve never liked. We’re both aware.”

And my best friend?”

“She spends most of her time visiting mosques in India with her boyfriend,” Loki said with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Besides, there’s no rule to say we can’t come back to visit her every so often. I have no objection. She seems a sensible enough woman.”

“And you want me to leave them all,” you went on as though you couldn’t hear him, “for you, a man I haven’t seen in years because he was in prison.”

Once more, Loki said nothing. His green eyes peered into yours with unreadable depths, just as they had the unfortunate day you had returned home after to work to find your injured pigeon friend gone and a strange man eating all of the meat out of your fridge in its place. You could remember, too, the feel of that man’s skin against yours, the heat of his lips on your neck, the sound of his low voice in your ear—and Jared complaining, always complaining, about how much time you spent with that damn bird.

You buried your face in your hands. “I can’t do it, Loki. I can’t.”

You waited to hear him leave again, to hear the glass move and the rush of the storm and the flutter of wings. None came. All that did was one soft word: “Please.”

“Huh?”

When you looked up, Loki was right above you. His hands gripped the chair arms at your sides with enough force to make them whiter than ever—but his eyes were not on yours anymore. “Please,” he said, “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

Another move without thinking or warning: you gently touched his other cheek. Loki’s eyes closed for a half second before he moved one hand to hold your wrist there. “I have already lost my father, my mother, my home. My own brother has thrust me unceremoniously from both realms I sought to rule. And then to hear that I would lose you, too, to an oaf like that Jared.”

No one could say that Loki losing all of this wasn’t entirely his fault. He had decided to lead an alien invasion into Earth, to try murdering several members of his mentioned family, and to seduce young Earth women under the guise of hurt animals. But part of Loki’s charm was that he never failed to make one doubt that he could be better, maybe, if you only let him try.

“I’m sorry,” you said sincerely. A sincere apology didn’t mean your mind was changed, however, and this, also, Loki knew.

“Do you want me to beg?” he asked. “I am no longer a stranger to begging.”

With that, Loki slid to the wooden floor before you. Stranger or no, it was positive it wasn't a position relished being in, what with how stiff his hands were around yours when he made to hold them. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and began:

“I know I am asking a lot. But I, too, have lost a family, a job, and my closest friends. I would not ask you to come with me if I did not intend on paying you pack ten times in kind. If you will allow me to take you with me, I know I can make you happier than you would be here. Together we will find some place to call our own, and you shall be my queen. So please,” he said, “please let me keep one last thing that I love. Don’t make me leave you behind, too.”

It wasn’t the prettiest speech you had ever heard come out of his mouth, but it was probably the most honest. You gave him a tiny smile as you squeezed his hands in return. “A queen, huh?”

Loki smirked. “Or a comfortable, quiet living. Depending on what we find, and how thorough Thor is in seeking me out. At least, we could be comfortable and quiet for a little while.”

“Can’t imagine that’s going to last long with you around,” you observed.

“With you around to look after me, though…”

That got you to laugh. “Oh, yes, I’m sure I’d do a wonderful job making sure you didn’t get into any trouble. I did such a good job before.”

Some of the color returned to Loki’s features. He was starting to hope. Against your better judgement, so were you. A couple of things, however, remained to bother you: “What if you came here and Jared and I were married?” you asked.

“Then I would have had to resort to kidnapping.”

“And how did you even know I was getting married today to begin with?”

He smiled his Cheshire smile, and that was when you knew you were truly lost. “You really ought to stop talking to the birds on your fire escape. You never know which one would be willing to pass information off in exchange for a couple of peanuts.”

“Oh, and you stalk me. What part of this deal doesn’t sound good?”

“None of it, I should hope.” Standing, Loki kept one hand firmly around one of yours. “We should go, you realize. Unless you want to say your goodbyes?”

You thought of your parents blustering about how you dared to invite both of them to your wedding. You thought of the forlorn apartment you shared with a man that had never really loved you enough. You thought of Aliyah and her instance that Jared would never be good enough for you. You thought of the awkward explanation that would be expected as soon you set foot outside that door—and you grinned. “Not a chance.”

“Then I believe,” he said, and abruptly pulled you into his arms in an obvious parody of carrying a bride before pushing the window open with his boot, “we have a few errands to go on before we get on our way.”

“Like what?”

“Unless you plan to live the rest of our lives with nothing but multiple blenders,” he began, but was not able to finish over your sudden laughter and the return of the torrent outside. You latched your hands behind his neck as he dove back into the rain. There were stars somewhere above those clouds, and you would be visiting them soon enough—them, and endless other realms. Maybe eloping with a man that could turn into a pigeon wasn’t the best miracle there ever was on Midgard, but it pulled off the most important trick of them all: against all odds, you lived happily ever after.

Loki LaufeysonxReader: A Bird in the Hand
Written for the March 2016 fic trade for Lunaescence Archives.

Recipient: Symphonic Fantasia
Prompt: "Please, I don't want to lose you, too."
Word count: 1000-2000+ 
Pairing: Loki LaufeysonxReader

I feel like I have written everything I could write about Loki for this prompt. Everything. That is why this took me so long to write: I was trying to think of something creative. Originally it was going to be a full-length fairy tale, but given that the last chapter fic trade response I did still isn't finished yet, this got cut down for time. Which means you get to miss my (not) hilarious reference to the comic panel that gave me the inspiration for this. It's probably more uniform tone-wise without it, but boy howdy that comic makes me chuckle. 

Anyway, here's to hoping this is decent. Hope you enjoy!
Loading...

Keyblade Knighthood sounded pretty magical to young girls on distant worlds, visited suddenly by men in white to tell these children that they were destined for greater things. Your head was sill spinning with dreams and ideas by the time your parents had you packed up and shipped off to the Land of Departure. As it turned out, magic was a part of Keyblade Knighthood, but so were sweat and tears and a whole lot of lectures about the nature of light and dark.

At the age of sixteen, all of those things seemed commonplace. Your visions of traversing galaxies and saving the day no longer plagued you—at least, nearly not as often or as badly as your many nights of cramming for surprise tests on spells. As it turned out, being a knight was about as tedious as any other occupation might have been back on your home world, with the one exception of a certain someone you wouldn’t have met if you had stayed on your home world.

“Oi, [Name]! What’re you doing?” called a masculine voice from behind you. You turned quickly away from the courtyard fountain to glare at the owner of the voice. How had Terra even found you here? Ignoring the fact that the Land of Departure was the size of a flea, you meant.

“I’m taking a break,” you answered as he approached. The look on his face did not bode well for said break, you could tell that already. It had not been all that long ago that you’d finally managed to escape Terra and now here he was all over again. Sure enough, his smile only grew when he got to the space in front of you to grab your hand.

“You can’t take a break yet,” he said. “We’re not finished.”

A groan escaped you before you could stop it. Since the cat of your lack of enthusiasm was out of the bag (if it had ever been in the bag to begin with), you tugged your hand free of Terra’s to sink onto the fountain’s rim. You pressed your face into your palms, then said in a muffled voice, “I’m done, Terra.”

As usual, he was prompt with his rebuttal: “Come on. Don’t be like that.”

With a snort, you forced your head up to look at him. The battle was lost the second your eyes met his, but it would be better for everyone involved if Terra didn’t find that out. His ego was huge enough as it was. “Don’t be like what?” you sighed. This was one of your many mistakes. Maybe if you hadn't asked, you would have been permitted to spend the rest of the day alone. Terra grinned before plopping down next to you, careful to shove you over as he did so. Needless to say, this did not improve your mood. Neither did his answer:

“Like you always are.” He must have been able to feel your annoyance because he bumped his shoulder against yours as he went on, “Aqua, Ven, and Master Eraqus won’t be home for another few hours. Don’t you want to have something to show for our time when they get back?”

“Honestly? I’d rather sleep while Master isn’t around to wake me up with reminders about how the Darkness is lazy. Don’t you ever get tired?” After all, he’d woken you up at the crack of dawn not for breakfast, not to watch the sunrise, but to declare that you would be spending all day together…training. Not exactly the most romantic day alone with Terra you could imagine.

“How can I?” he asked. “Our Mark of Mastery exam is coming up! Just two more weeks. I don’t understand how you can sleep at all.”

Unfortunately, the due date was accurate. Finally, you were close enough to visiting home that you could practically taste it—if you could pass your test, that was. “I’m trying not to think about it,” you said tersely. This only caused Terra to turn the force of his encouragement up another dozen notches. He was on his feet again quicker than you could blink, and smiling like the sun once more.

“Nothing for you to be worried about,” he said. “Not if you help with me sparring this afternoon, anyway. What if I fail because I didn’t get enough practice? Do you really want that on your conscious?”

Another dramatic groan was your reply, but you also stuck both your arms out in front of you. “Fine, but only until the others come home for dinner. I’m not staying up until midnight stabbing at you with a stick again.”

“Deal.”

Terra grabbed your hands with no further prompting, and soon you were flying after him, laughing as you raced back toward the training field and away from the cobblestone fountain where you had gone to avoid him in the first place. After a morning of mock fighting, you were already scraped up, singed, and in dire need of a cure spell. If there was one person in the multiverse that you would willing go another round with in this condition, it was Terra. No one else could get you to enjoy all the dodging and ducking and lunging. Only him.

“Don’t go easy on me,” he reminded you as you both took up your positions for what felt like the hundredth time that day alone.

“I never do,” you said, picking up your lovingly-crafted wooden keyblade, then swinging at him without warning. The sparring session started up just where the last one ended.

Aqua, Terra, and Ventus were your three closest friends. They had to be; there were no other children in the Land of Departure, and you had left those of your childhood on your home world years ago. Between you and Terra, though, things were different. You didn’t quite understand how. All you did know was that you didn’t hold hands, sit close, or fall asleep on the floor together after a long night of studying with Aqua or Ven—and you were pretty sure Terra didn’t either. Whatever you had with him, it wasn’t easily defined, perhaps because you had a sinking suspicion Master Eraqus wouldn’t be happy if you tried.

But that was what you were working toward, wasn’t it? Just a few more days, and you could leave, see your parents again, travel the world with Terra at your side, and never hear another lecture on emotions from your master. If that was your reward, then a handful of hours more of Terra and you beating each other black and blue didn’t seem so bad.

“Ah!”

You froze as Terra dropped to the grassy ground, clutching at his own wrist.

“Terra!” Your practice blade was tossed aside with little ceremony as you crouched next to your partner. He shot you a thin smile, which only served to make you frown before gently helping him to his feet. “You okay?”

“Fine.” He laughed at look on your face. “Really, [Name]. I think you sprained my wrist.”

When he lifted his arm, you saw that Terra’s wrist was indeed swollen and red. Maybe the right reaction would have been to fuss over his injury. Instead, you let go with a scowl. “Me? You sprained your wrist, you big baby. I didn’t ask to have another go.”

“Baby,” Terra repeated indignantly. You stuck your nose in the air and turned your back on him.

“I thought you’d been seriously hurt,” you said. “How do you expect to earn your Mark of Mastery if you fall over crying because you hurt your wrist?”

The thing was, you knew Terra was teasing you. Much to Master Eraqus’ chagrin, you had never grown into the ideal, serene keyblade-wielder that Aqua had. No one knew that better than Terra. He loved to get a rise out of you, especially when your instructor wasn’t around to correct either of your behaviors. You really had been worried about hurting him, though, so when he sighed and put his uninjured hand on your shoulder, you still weren’t in any hurry to forgive him.

“Okay, okay. It did hurt, but look. All I need is you to cure me, and I’ll be good as new.”

This you pretended to consider and reject in due course. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” you said again, twisting around to face him. He looked just as shocked as you had expected him to, which was something of a thrill. As tempting as it was to crack a smile, however, you decided to continue teasing him for just a little while longer.

“But how can I train with a sprained wrist?” he protested.

“Heal it yourself.”

“I can’t even hold my keyblade!”

“Good. Maybe I can get a break from fighting you for a few days.”

“[Name]!”

Finally, a smile broke out wide across your face. Now Terra simply looked bewildered as he watched you double over with laughter. “I’m kidding, Ter!” This confession appeared to do little to impress him. Still grinning, you held out one hand. “Give me your arm.”

“I don’t think I want to anymore.”

“Terra.”

“Fine.” Sure, he frowned when he gently plopped his arm back into your grip, but you could tell he was just playing, too. But his playing had never brought him quite so close to you before—at least, not his face. Summoning your keyblade forgotten, you stared up at him, into those familiar blue eyes. Terra cocked his head slightly to the side, obviously confused by your lack of action. You opened your mouth to say something, but you were thinking too hard to actually speak.

Without actively making the decision, you made the decision. It must have been pure instinct driving you to jump forward to get your lips against his, since you certainly didn’t have anyone else around to teach you the finer points of kissing. You figured it couldn’t be too difficult a skill to master—no more difficult than Aero, surely—when you felt Terra’s soft lips meet yours. Unfortunately, you misjudged how much power to put behind your leap. The next thing you felt was a sharp pain on your mouth.

“Augh!”

It was not just Terra that collapsed to the ground this time. Tears streaming down your cheeks, you clutched at your bleeding lips…and heard, from somewhere behind you, the distinct sound of Terra’s laughter. You whirled around to see him laughing. Laughing! At your first kiss! He only laughed harder at your expression of horror.

“I think—I think you sprained my lips!” he managed to choke out between guffaws.

Sure enough, your life was so un-magical that even your first kiss had to turn out to be a dud. Hadn’t Master Eraqus seen to that the first day he met you? And your master didn’t stop his attempts at life ruining there. Upon arriving home and finding you and Terra in such a condition, he set Aqua and Ven to healing up Terra while you accompanied your teacher to an empty classroom for a long talk on “the birds and the bees.” If Terra thought he’d be getting another try at kissing you after he managed to dodge that bullet, well…he had another think coming.

TerraxReader: Sprain
Part 44 of 160 of The Space Between Stars, my reader-insert one shot request booklet. 

I tried to make the reader different than the one in the other TerraxReader one shot I wrote way back when. I haven't played the game in like four years, though, so my memory is a little hazy...

I'm going to level with you folks: I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up. Writing several thousand words a week for a paltry one review per chapter (if that) for anything I attempt to update just isn't worth it. I've tried really hard not to be one of those authors that complains about reviews my entire 12 years of writing fan fic, but it is starting to get really disheartening. I know I have a lot to work on, but I also know I'm a good writer. It might just be time for me to give up the ghost and try writing another novel and seeing if I can't go somewhere with my skill. I thought I could at least try to finish my current projects first. I'm not so sure at this rate. I think it's really starting to show in the lackluster one shots here lately that I just cannot bring myself to expend extra time rewriting anymore.

And it wouldn't be to punish people; it might just be that what I write isn't in vogue like it used to be. I've never been a big name writer even on Lunaescence, but I still used to at least do steady business. It's also something I've been thinking about for quite some time now, several months at least. Just, you know, if I disappear, then at least some people know where I went (if indeed anyone reads this author's note or one shot at all). 

Terra was requested by Heather Wilmoth on Quotev.

Next up is Kyouya Otori. Maybe.
Loading...

Any Hobbit worth their salt could recite upon command any number of stories about far-off lands and daring adventures. Children might shudder in their beds thinking of shadowy forests filled with creeping spiders; even adults could blanch over news of wolves spotted near Buckland. But that was all such tales were in the end: distant news and exciting fiction, meant to entertain and never touch the listeners. Nothing could ever really involve the Shire. The people of Hobbiton were free to continue their vicarious quests—until one day such a quest did involve the Shire.

“I already told you, Otho, I don’t have a mountain of gold hidden away to give to you. I’m certain that if I did, there would be nothing left after I was forced to buy back my home and all my possessions.”

You looked up from your work behind the counter to see one Bilbo Baggins sitting at a table across the room. He had a mug of ale clutched in one hand, and a look of polite distaste upon his face. Getting a good look at his drinking companions, you couldn’t say you blamed him. Otho and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins were not your favorite customers when they were minding their own business. Throw in harassing other patrons, and you couldn’t help but shoot them an ugly look of your behind their backs.

Normally, you would have tried to throw them out. Now that you were in serious competition with your younger brother over the inheritance of the inn, however, you decided it would be better not to make a scene. ‘A patron is a patron, so long as they’ve got gold to spend,’ as your father had reminded you since you’d started working at The Green Dragon in your tweens. Apparently your brother had no trouble remembering this, though you suspected his good memory was because he didn’t spend much of his time on the clock doing any work, and not because he lacked any hint of your admirable temper.

“[Name], quit lollygagging. Table 8 wanted supper fifteen minutes ago,” your father called over the usual evening hubbub preventing you from eavesdropping further on Bilbo and his guests. You flashed your haggard father a grin, picked up a waiting tray of food, and dove back into the throng.

The Green Dragon had been owned by your family since it had been built several generations ago. Sometimes you got the feeling your father would have gladly given up five square meals a day to be rid of the responsibility of running the place. Not so you. Working at the inn made you come alive more than any other place in the whole of the Shire. You had been hanging around it since were old enough to follow your father to work as a youth, and working there since you were bold enough to convince your father to give you a job. By necessity, you knew every nook and cranny, every regular’s name, and every story ever told by the fireplace.

Except, that was, for Bilbo’s. Even knowing that the mere sight of Otho and Lobelia would anger you, you sneaked another peek over at their table as you set the food down on a table surrounded by ravenous tweens. Sure enough, the trio was still there. Bilbo’s polite façade appeared to be fading quickly as he listened to whatever Lobelia was ranting about this time.

“[Name],” whined one of the tween boys, “you’re in the way.”

You hastily removed your hand before any of them could mistake it for part of their meal. Your constantly hungry youth wasn’t so far behind you that you had forgotten what it felt like.

“Make sure to pay before you leave this time,” you scolded. “Don’t want me to have to talk to your parents again, do you?”

None of them replied. With a deep breath and a roll of your eyes, you turned away. Before you lay a buzzing dining hall. Hobbits laughed and ate and drank in seemingly every inch of the building. It warmed your heart to see so many happy people enjoying your family’s business. All except for Bilbo, of course, who had dismissed faking politeness entirely and was now staring grumpily into the space about his relatives’ heads as they prattled on about whatever it was they had a bone to pick about that night.

Before you could even attempt to interrupt the conversation, your father caught your eye and motioned impatiently at the growing assortment of food and drink waiting to be delivered. Sighing, you picked your way back to the bar, progress hindered by the many customers that stopped you to say hello. The conversation at Bilbo’s table had grown quite lively by the time you arrived at the bar to pick up another order.

Truth be told, Bilbo’s fascinating disappearance and reappearance were not the only things about him that kept you looking at him. Neither were his rumored riches; you planned to take over the Dragon and raise your own small fortune, after all. Bilbo had, in fact, always interested you. He had had his own schedule before he’d left the Shire, coming in once a week to drink and listen to the same old stories you did day after day. Always polite, that Bilbo, if admittedly not forcibly friendly like most of the others. You had never had to throw him out for poor behavior, at any rate.

That night was the first night he’d been back to the inn after all his time away. You’d been dying to talk to him since the minute you saw him walk through the door. Between your job and the Sackville-Bagginses, you hadn’t had a chance.

Then an idea occurred to you—a wonderful, terrible, perfect idea. Before any of your fellow workers could guess that you were up to something, you filled your tray with the waiting glasses of ale. Your plan might not have had the best timing, considering the dinner rush and how flustered your father had already become, but he would have to do without you. You were only one hobbit, and if your father truly believed passing the Green Dragon onto your brother (who was, as usual, suspiciously absent that evening), then what good was your working your fingers to the bone to please people?

You turned and marched purposely toward the table at which Bilbo, Lobelia, and Otho sat. As you drew nearer, you could understand why Bilbo looked as pained as he did.

“As far as I’m concerned, you forfeited your right to Bag End when you left without saying a word and without electing an heir. The hole is ours,” Otho was saying.

“Is it,” said Bilbo. Lobelia gave him a very nasty, almost un-hobbotish look.

“You clearly aren’t right in the head anymore. Dragons? Dwarves? Why don’t you just admit you got into some messy business with that Gandalf fellow and step aside for Otho to be head of the family?”

“Difficult to do when I’m not at all mad, my dear Lobelia. For why should you think I had gold to spare if I never had my grand adventure?”

“You’re a fool,” she said, “a fool and perhaps even a criminal. We could go over your head, Bilbo. Mark my words.”

“Consider them marked. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“We aren’t done here,” Otho growled, getting up to follow Bilbo away from the table.

’Oh, yes you are,’ you thought. Just as Otho reached over to pull Bilbo back into his seat, you arrived along with half the dining hall’s drinks. Otho standing up actually provided you with the perfect opportunity. All you had to do was angle your feet just right, and—

Lobelia’s scream was what told you that you had succeeded. Your staged trip and fall had managed to tip all the ale over to spill over the Sackville-Baggginses heads. There they sat, dripping in abject shock, as Bilbo stood staring on in astonishment.

“Oh no!” you squealed dramatically. “Did I do that? I’m ever so sorry. I’m such a klutz!”

With a lurch toward Lobelia, you made to press a towel to her sopping hair. She, however, flinched away, before turning the full brunt of her wrath on you.

“You-You-You,” she said. Apparently, your act had rendered her unable to form complete sentences. This unforeseen bonus didn’t last long; before you could so much as attempt to offer a fake apology, Otho got in your face.

“I’ll have your job for this, girl,” he said, and any desire to apologize, falsely or otherwise, vanished. You hooked a thumb over your shoulder toward where you’d last seen your father running around like a chicken with his head cut off.

“Boss is that way,” you said.

The two left without more than several stolid glares in your direction. You watched only long enough to see your father shoot you a knowing, aggrieved look when the Sackville-Bagginses approached him. Shrugging, you turned away. Well, it was difficult to feel sorry for him. If he really wanted a supper rush without incident, he really ought to have forced your brother to show up for his shifts every once and awhile, especially if you were expected to give up your inheritance without a fight.

All the same, you knew better than to leave a mess behind. You began to pick up the (thankfully unbroken) glasses littering the table and were almost finished by the time Bilbo spoke:

“Thank you.”

You had assumed Bilbo had taken the opportunity to escape your inn entirely, actually. His voice surprised you, and even more so that he was standing exactly where you’d left him. “You don’t need to thank me for being clumsy,” you answered, then smiled mischievously at his blank expression. “It looked like you could use a rescue. Those two shouldn’t bother you again tonight.”

Thank you,” he said with more feeling. You smiled again.

“It’s your first time back since your adventure. Wouldn’t want you spooked off forever.”

Much to your confusion, Bilbo hesitated before he replied. His eyes slid toward the door and back to you, and then he took a wide step backward. “Right,” he said. “All the same, I think I had better get going.”

As you looked on, Bilbo began to shuffle toward the front door. You realized with a jolt exactly what he thought: Bilbo believed you, too, were after his gold. He didn’t exactly look less nervous when you followed after him either.

“That’s a shame,” you said, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear with your hand not carrying a heavy tray of empty cups. “I really was hoping to hear your story.”

That got him to pause as well. “You…were?”

“Sure. Dwarves and dragons and spiders and elves. Sounds better than half of the stories the rest of them have been telling all week. I'm getting a little tired of the time the creek froze over and let the wolves in, personally. ”

“Mine is a rather exciting tale,” Bilbo confessed, then seemed to decide you weren’t so frightening that he couldn’t size you up. “And you are?” he asked.

“[Name],” you said. “My dad owns the place.”

At that, a look of slight disappointment crossed his face. You didn’t understand it, not until he went on, “Then I suppose you wouldn’t be able to join me at my hole for a cup of coffee and a chat? I'm getting a bit tired of the atmosphere here, but I could do with some company still.”

The words no, not tonight were right on your lips. You couldn’t just abandon the inn, or your father for that matter. But on second thought, why couldn’t you? Really, your brother ought to have been there by now to take over and there were other servers, too, picking their slow ways from table to table. Besides, when was the last time you’d been given a time off, or even a break, for that matter?

“You know what?” you said. “I’d love to.”

“Delightful!” cried Bilbo, and he held out his arm. It took you less than half a second to place your tray on one of the other server’s trays as she passed by. She gave you a wild-eyed, panicked looked, but you did not explain. You’d hear all about your lack of responsibility in the morning once your father discovered you had slipped away. For the time being, you were just like any other hobbit: who cared about work, the inheritance, or the inn when there was such a fine story to hear and such a fine hobbit to tell it? Even as you thought about the lecture you were in for, you couldn't find yourself regretting your decision. Years later while you helped Bilbo pack? You wouldn't regret it then either.

Bilbo BagginsxReader: Save
Part 43 of 160 of The Space Between Stars, my reader-insert one shot request booklet.

All prompts come from the 160 Collective Drabbles challenge by Elsaa on Lunaescence.

First off, I would just like to say that I have nothing personal against Martin Freeman. I'm sure he's a lovely person. It's not his fault I shall soon be inundated with MCU "Johnlock."

This is another one of those one shots that looked super cute in my head, but didn't turn out so cute on paper. Too much backstory! D; But I no longer have blood running through my veins, and instead have 100% pure anxiety, so this one shot is what you get. Otherwise I would never publish anything because I feel like everything I write is completely garbage these days.

Bilbo was requested by lacrimosa on Quotev.

Next up is Terra.
Loading...

Phil Coulson had seen S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters under innumerable moments of distress over his years working there. Certainly sometimes distress could bring out the best in agents, sometimes even the best in humanity. This time, not so much. The even itself had concluded hours ago, but the entire Hub still rang with the odd silence that had started it. No one moved except for him, and no one spoke but May beside him.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

She said this because she believed it. That Phil knew. Normally, he would have listened. He respected May a good deal; she was intelligent, strong, and unafraid of saying what needed to be said. If anyone had a handle on the situation, it was her. This, unfortunately, was the one time he had no choice but to ignore her advice.

“You don’t have to stay,” he answered mildly. May snorted.

“Like hell I don’t have to. You think I’m going to trust Bobbi to watch your back on this one?”

“My back is going to be fine.”

“You say that,” said May, “but I’ll only believe it when I see it.”

“She won’t hurt me.”

May’s eyebrows rose, and for good reason. Two good agent had died that day. Mack would make a full recovery, but only because he was tough. Phil hadn’t been out in the field much before making the decision to go toe to toe with the person who had killed and hurt his team. His companion did not bring any of this up, however. She was well aware that Phil already knew. Instead, May simply allowed him to move forward.

“I’ve got the door,” she said, and added, “be careful in there.”

“You know me. Careful is my middle name.”

He watched just long enough to see her roll her eyes, then turned his attention to the task at hand. Said task was opening a door—a solid, latched door keeping danger away from the rest of the team. Phil knew what lay behind it: a shaking, sobbing, unsettled young woman. He knew because there were about two dozen security cameras trained on her at every minute, and agents whose only task was to watch the video feeds and make an immediate report if anything inside the room changed. He also knew because he knew [F Name] [L Name], perhaps better than he knew anyone else in the entire galaxy.

Already he had put things off too long. With a last steady breath, he pressed his hand to the flat expanse in front of him, approximately where a knob should have been. A line of blue light slid up his palm, then the whole door flashed and dissolved. Phil stepped through the space left behind just before the door rematerialized behind him. He was sealed inside with a woman most people were now calling a monster.

You didn’t look like a monster just then, though. In fact, you didn’t seem as though you noticed Phil was there at all. Your eyes stared unblinkingly at the feet you had pulled up onto the cot. Every few seconds, an agonizingly tremulous breath would shudder out from your lips. Your hair was a mess, your fingernails bloodied, and your cheeks streaked with tears.

Phil cleared his throat. You jumped about a foot in the air. When you had composed yourself enough to look over at him, said composure did not last long. Your face crumpled immediately. Despite how quickly you hid it in your knees, he saw.

“[Name],” he said carefully. A pause. A tremendous sniff. You lifted your head.

“D…Director.”

“How are you doing?”

Slowly, your eyes drifted away to stare blankly at your toes. “Does it matter?” you asked hoarsely. “How I am?”

Phil glanced behind himself, as though making sure that May really couldn’t hear him. He knew how she felt about the way things were, and Mack, and Bobbi, and Hunter, and most of the rest. But that wasn’t how he felt. Not even close.

“It matters,” said Phil. “Why wouldn’t your feelings matter?”

You didn’t reply, at least not right away. With one arm still wrapped around your knees, you pushed your mass of tangled hair out of your face. “What are you doing here?” you asked.

It wasn’t the answer he expected. It wasn’t even an answer, really. Still he would accept it. You could refuse to look at him all you wanted; you could pretend you were angry and that you didn’t want to see him if you wished. Phil didn’t care, so long as you kept talking. Ideally, he would have called Dr. Garner in to get you to talk. Unfortunately, Dr. Garner really wasn’t an option anymore, was he?

“I thought it would be good to have a little chat.” Your silence was not exactly an invitation to make himself at home in your cell. All the same, he shrugged and leaned against the wall opposite you. “Besides, it’s not the same out there without you.”

Much to Phil’s surprise, you looked surprised. “Don’t say that.”

“Don’t say w—”

“You’re Director. You can’t say things like that about a…about a…”

“About the woman I love?” he suggested.

“About a murderer. I killed those men, Phil. Me. I killed them.” Your voice grew quieter and quieter as you went on; your chin sank to your knees. To Phil, the distance between you and him felt endless. All he wanted was to cross that distance, sit down next to you, and make everything okay again. He was S.H.I.E.L.D. director now. Wasn’t he supposed to have that sort of power? “You were right to leave me in here,” you whispered.

Phil looked sharply over at you. “Leave you in here?”

“When are they going to kill me?”

“Kill you?”

Apparently, you cared nothing for Phil’s obvious distress. You shook your head dazedly and still refused to look at him. “I killed three people today. I killed Mack.”

“Okay, first things first,” Phil started, “you didn’t kill Mack. Mack will survive because he’s always prepared. That’s the great thing about Mack. That’s why I sent him with you. Secondly, why on earth would you think we were about to kill you? Third of all, I did not leave you in here.”

Maybe it wasn’t really fair of Phil to get so frustrated. You were clearly going through a terrible time. He was well aware that it could not have been easy, coming back to base to turn yourself in after what had happened. Knowing that most, if not all, of your friends were frightened and out for blood couldn’t have helped. Yet to find that you lumped him in with the rest hurt. Perhaps that was obvious enough, because you didn’t answer him this time either. All you did was press yourself into a smaller ball.

Sighing, Phil straightened up. “I should have come sooner,” he confessed. “Daisy thought that, considering the circumstances, you might want a bit of space.”

You made a noise at that, but what the noise meant, Phil had no idea. A few moments of absolute silence followed, then you made the noise again. It went on, and on, and on, a dejected, bubbling cry that you couldn’t seem to smother this time around. He took a hesitant step forward, paused, then decided. Staying on the other side of the room wouldn’t do. Not anymore.

The cot creaked as he settled onto it. Most people who wound up in a S.H.I.E.L.D. holding cell weren’t offered comfortable amenities like real beds or real food or real visitors. If Phil could have offered you any of these, he would have. For the time being, all he could do was offer himself, sitting there and listening to you weep. You did not react to his closeness like he had thought you would, not even to shift further away. He did not reach for you, much as he wanted to. Phil simply waited.

“I-I-I didn’t want this,” you moaned, and whether or not you intended him to, Phil heard. “I didn’t want to be Inhuman. I didn’t mean to.”

“Everyone knows you didn’t mean to, [Name].”

“I don’t even kn-know how it happened. I just—got infected”

“The Terrigan Crystals are everywhere now. You could easily have eaten some when no one else was around to notice the change. It’s not your fault.”

You hiccuped, and closed your eyes as though the thought caused you great pain. It probably did. “I never wanted—even if I did, I wouldn’t want this…”

“[Name],” said Phil, “I know.”

Finally, you wrenched your head up so that you could face him. Your eyes appeared scarlet in the dim light—from crying so much, he assumed, not your powers—and snot glistened on your upper lip. Never in his entire life had Phil ever seen anyone look so hopeless. Somehow, he managed to refrain from touching you still.

“I’d be better off dead,” you said brokenly.

Phil’s heart burned inside him. “Daisy had trouble at first, too,” he said. “It’ll take practice, but we’ll figure something out for you. We’ll have Fitz and Simmons rig up a whole training facility. You’ll get used to it. No one will hurt you before then. I won’t let them.”

For a long while, you just stared at him. Quiet tears continued to course down your cheeks, but your gaze was steady. He had a good idea of what you were thinking about while you stared at him: That Daisy’s powers were never like yours, that there was no Afterlife to learn from anymore, that no one on the team or in the entire world would ever look at you as a human being again. But the last was a lie. You were still human, and Phil could see that. Human blood ran through your veins, red as his own, even now.

You did not remark upon any of that, though. Instead, you reached your arms out toward him, and your face crumpled once again. “Hold me,” you murmured.

So Phil did, closing the gap to put his arms around you. You pressed your head to his shoulder, quickly soaking his suit through with tears. He didn’t mind. If that was what it would take, he would hold onto you for the rest of the night and into the morning. No one else would lay a finger on you—not while Phil was there, and he didn’t plan to leave until he saw a real smile light up your face once more. It might be weeks before that happened; it might be years. But he wouldn’t leave your side until it did. Never again.

Phil CoulsonxReader: Guard
Part 42 of 160 of The Space Between Stars, my reader-insert one shot request booklet.

All prompts come from the 160 Collective Drabbles challenge by Elsaa on Lunaescence. And, by the way, you can request even here on dA. I always mark stuff so I know where the request came from.

I think I'd genuinely like this show if it was the adventures of Director May, Agent Incredibly Handsome Mackenzie, and his boyfriend, Fitz. Too bad about all those other characters getting in the way.

This one is more Phil-y, to make up for the last one really just having him be tangentially related to the plot. Spoilers for the ending of season 2 of Agents of SHIELD in this one as well, and some stuff in season 3 that you probably won't recognize unless you already have seen the show. 

In housekeeping details, I have added Deadpool and Digimon Adventure Tri to my fandoms list. 

Phil was requested the second time by Penumbra on Quotev.

Next up is Bilbo. The Hobbit and Martin Freeman? The internet hates me.
Loading...

The sirens went on and on in your head, ebbing and surging along with the darkness you had fallen into. The deeper you went, the louder they climbed. You resurfaced into silence and daylight only a handful of times, and each time for only a handful of seconds. Images would flash across your vision—a blond man holding your hand in an ambulance, Bruce’s pale face above you as you were rushed down a hall, a mask pressing down over your nose and mouth—too fast to tell whether or not they were dreams before the pain sucked you back down again. But dreams weren’t supposed to be physically painful, were they?

The last one wasn’t, but maybe that was because that it was a memory: a sunny day at Avengers Tower. It wasn’t every day an IT tech got called in to help Tony Stark, repeatedly, even. You could see the cute one, Bruce, determinedly ignoring you across the lab, and hear Tony speaking to him in a low voice, “Hey, Bruce, quit hiding and come here. Want you to meet somebody. Been helping us out lately, doing great work. Think you’re really gonna like her...”

The warm memory faded away as Bruce’s brown eyes met yours. This time, however, it faded into…nothing. No siren, no vision, no anything. You had returned to yourself, and the first thing you did was mentally prepare for a wave of a pain that did not come. Your lower body hurt, but not as badly as it had the last time you had attained consciousness. The ringing in your ears had left entirely. Still, you were not quite ready to stay conscious, not with the stinging smell of cleaning solution crawling up your nostrils into your brain, and an irritating prickling in your wrist.

Despite your desire to remain ignorant just a little longer, your eyelids lifted in slow, steady increments. You found exactly what you expected to beyond them: a hospital room. Its wide, blank walls and the bag of fluid dripping medicine directly into your veins did not surprise you. The two figures in the uncomfortable-looking chairs nearby, however, did—or at least, the figures’ appearances did.

One, of course, was Bruce. You had never seen him look worse in all your years of knowing him. He looked so small, bent over asleep like that. Shadows so deep they were nearly black bloomed beneath his closed eyes. His feet were shoved into slippers you did not recognize. In fact, the only thing he was wearing that you did recognize were his pants: the same ones he’d worn on your dinner date, now tattered beyond repair. The shirt he wore now didn’t at all match Bruce’s usual style, and was clearly made for someone thinner in the shoulders. You thought you had a good idea where this outfit had come from, though, because you had one other, more bizarre guest sitting with you.

Tony Stark was asleep and snoring quietly in the chair next to your husband. Wherever he had come from, he had come in a hurry. He was wearing most of a tuxedo, missing only the jacket. Honestly, Tony might have looked put-together, if he hadn’t also had a loose bow tie hanging around his neck and what was obviously dried baby vomit all over one shoulder.

Observing all this only served to delay the inevitable. You did not want to think about why you were where you were. You did not want to think about the dull pain radiating from your lower abdomen. You did not want to think about just how long Bruce had been waiting there to look like that. All were too difficult to process at the moment. Your brain was full of pain medication fuzz, and you preferred it to remain so, instead of letting it fill with unpleasant ideas. Unfortunately for you, Tony did not serve well as a distraction while he was sleeping. If you woke him up, you’d wake up Bruce.

A decision had to be made: Either sit alone and stew in silence, or wake the men up and risk their bringing up what you dreaded to hear. The more you thought about it, the better going back to sleep sounded. Perhaps you could avoid more painful dreams. You could sleep the rest of your life away and never, ever have to deal with your more painful reality. No sooner had you reached this conclusion, however, then did a body close to you stir.

Bruce shifted in his seat, blinking blearily as he rubbed at his tired eyes with one fist. Startled and scared, you did not think to feign sleep until it was too late. He looked up with a yawn and froze with his mouth still half open. There was a pause before either of you dared to speak.

“You’re awake,” he finally rasped. Well, you couldn’t try to fool him now, could you? You smiled your answer. “How long have you been up?”

Trust Bruce to force you to use your voice. “Not long. What’s Tony doing here?”

“Oh. He came to bring me clothes so they wouldn’t kick me out.” At least for the time being, Bruce seemed content to let you stall. He scoffed and rolled his eyes, clearly as confused as you were by his getup. “Pepper left to take Emma home and find him something clean to wear. She’ll be back soon.”

“She should stay home,” you said, “with her baby.”

You hadn’t really meant anything but it, you didn’t think. Why keep a mother and her child in a hospital to do nothing but stare at you? All the same, Bruce turned his soft gaze from Tony to you, and, quicker than you could protest, pulled his chair up right beside your bed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, reaching forward to grasp your hand resting on top of the sheets, the hand stuck all over with little wires. A hard wad of tears worked its way up your throat. Your attempts to swallow it back down did very little. Your voice still came out thick when you said:

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I should probably go find a doctor, now that you’re awake. Just wait right h—”

“No!”

If your tone of voice did not betray your desperation, than your sudden iron grip on his hand should have. Bruce barely made it out of his chair before you pulled him back down. When he looked at you again, you couldn’t tell what he felt more: fear, or pity.

“[Name]…”

It took you a few seconds to compose yourself. Still clutching at his hand like a lifeline—don’t leave again, please don’t leave again—you closed your eyes and concentrated on breathing.

“What happened?” you asked a few minutes later. Though he did not let go of you, Bruce did lean back and away. Quite possibly this was the worst thing he could have done while you were in your present state, but you knew that the news you were about to hear might somehow be even worse than that.

“I don’t know if—”

Bruce.”

He hesitated, then: “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.”

Shaking his head, Bruce shifted forward again to get a better grip on your fingers. “I don’t know,” he said again. “I wasn’t there. I was chasing that—” He choked off into a guttural growl. The look of rage that flashed across his face had your stomach dropping, and only that sensation. No pain followed. That was worse; your heartbeat kicked up a notch. Bruce continued, “By the time I finished, the ambulance had already taken you away. I had to call a cab. They were—wheeling you into surgery when I arrived.

You could see it in your mind’s eye: Bruce, exhausted and small and sad, stumbling down the street back to where he had parked the car hours before. He would have found nothing. No crowd, no old man, no you, just an unlit patch of sidewalk, and your vehicle still there waiting. What had he thought of your sudden disappearance?

“How did you find me?” you asked.

“Tony.”

“Ah.”

You both looked over at him. For once oblivious to being the subject of a conversation, he snoozed on. Whether having an opportunity to rest without a screaming baby just around the corner had anything to do with his nap, you couldn’t say. The thought did, however, force the real subject of conversation to the front of your mind. A deep breath didn’t really steady you this time, but it was all you could do to try.

“What next?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “You went into surgery. You came out. I’ve been waiting here ever since.”

What you said next was probably the hardest thing you had ever said: “No. What happened to the baby?”

Though he must have known the question was coming, Bruce froze. His gentle eyes roved around your face as though he were gauging how ready you were to hear the news. He knew just as well as you did that delaying wouldn’t help. All that mattered was that he was ready—and he had to be.

“He…” A deep breath of his own. “He didn’t make it.”

It hurt even though you’d known. Your body felt hollow and flat, and you could remember the pain and the blood. You could not have convinced yourself that the baby was fine. Still, finding out for sure hurt. Pressing your lips together to keep in your sobs was the only thing you were capable of doing for a while.

“He?” you whispered.

“He,” Bruce echoed.

Thank goodness Bruce was still holding your hand. The whole hospital room seemed to fall away, and you were floating in a void. It felt like your skin had turned into a numb, brittle shell barely capable of containing the swirling vortex of emotions inside. You wanted to throw up. You wanted to cry. You just couldn’t get your body to do it. All it would do, apparently, was start to hiccup—hiccup and alarm Bruce.

“I don’t—I don’t—but—what happened?” you asked in between your sad attempts to contain your hiccups and gasps. How Tony continued to sleep through your noise, you had no idea. Surely your seams coming apart were loud enough for him to hear, too. And poor Bruce just sat there, brushing his thumb across the top of your hand, like everything was going to be okay.

Like you and Bruce were going to be okay.

“I can’t be sure, [Name]. I guess he was aware enough to understand you and he were in danger, and he…transformed.”

“I-Inside me?”

“He didn’t…stay inside, from what I understand.”

Another choked sob. “But Hulks can’t—can’t die,” you insisted, as though it would be okay if this was true and Bruce was only playing some cruel joke on you. It wouldn’t. That didn’t stop your wishing.

“Adult Hulks are,” said Bruce, not unkindly, still stroking your hand, “but ours was just too young to be out of the womb. He—he couldn’t survive, [Name]. He was still…still transformed when he died. He probably didn’t feel any pain.”

“You…saw him?”

“Yeah,” Bruce said, his voice only just loud enough to hear. “They let me hold him for a minute, before they took him away.”

“Eugene…” Your baby, your little boy, cold and still and alone under a sheet on a metal tray down in the bowels of a hospital, never knowing his own mother’s arms. Try as you might, you simply couldn’t hold everything in anymore. Your entire body was lurching up and down with each stifled sob. “I’m sorry!” you burst out. Bruce’s eyes widened with shock, but you went on before he could say anything. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Now Bruce really was alarmed. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing for you to be sorry for.”

But there was. He knew and you knew. You had wanted the baby, you had known the danger, you had decided to keep him, and worst of all you had killed him. You fear had forced him to act and now he was gone. The words just wouldn’t come. All that did was a cry so loud that it hurt your throat tearing out of it. A half-second later, you ripped your hand out of Bruce’s to bury your face into both of yours. Even that did nothing to quiet the inhuman sounds issuing from your mouth.

That Tony couldn’t sleep through. He awoke mid-snore with a start. “’m not asleep. Just resting my eyes! Where—” Then he caught sight of you. How mortifying to break down like that in front of Tony Stark. You just couldn’t stop. Not even Bruce ever so carefully stroking the top of your head couldn’t quiet you. Tony’s eyes drifted away before he stood up. He patted Bruce just once on the back and muttered, “Gonna go grab a coffee. Make a call to Pep. You let me know if either of you need anything.”

Bruce mumbled something, something that sounded like, “will do.” Tony left. There was only one thing you needed, though, and that one thing even Tony Stark couldn’t get you. He would have if he could have, though, for Bruce. You knew that. Meanwhile, you couldn’t even get Bruce some sleep. You continued to bawl into his shoulder, heedless of his soft touches and quiet words, for what felt like hours, until finally a nurse came in to send you back to darkness. 

Bruce BannerxReader: Where Gods Do Fear [Ch. 7]
Part 7 of 9/2 of 4 of Where Gods Do Fear to Tread

All prompts come from the 9 Months challenge by crackleviolet on Lunaescence. 

Previous Chapter: 6. Lost
Current Chapter: 7. Hold My Hand
Next Chapter: TBA
Loading...
  • Reading: Party Princess
  • Watching: Daredevil
  • Playing: The Last of Us
Not that I have that many FAQs on this site, but I just updated the one I have on Quotev, so I might as well put this here. I have had a few of these questions asked here, anyway.

Q1: Where are your other accounts?
A: 
Lunaescence Archives (Straw), Ghosts of the Vanguard (Straw), Quotev (Straw/Strawchan), and Tumblr (mostlyieatburritos).

If you ever see anything of mine under any other names or any other sites, please report it and then let me know. They are stealing my work.

Q2:  What are you currently working on?
A: My "About Me" section always has current information on what I'm working on, and how far along in it I am.

Q3: When are you going to update x?
A: I attempted to go in a certain order, but as I got stuck on chapter 11 of Brightest for several months, I've decided to go back to just updating whenever I feel a chapter coming on. Stories ((Don't) Hold Your Breath, Brightest, Adventures in a Realm Without Divorce Court, and Tastes a Little like Freedom, a Little like Fear) I intend to keep a sort of rotating schedule on. Tastes gets two updates per round because the chapters are short, and it's suppose to have 100 of them. You can always check out the "Fic Progress" link at the top of my Tumblr to see how many words I currently have for anything upcoming. 

Q4: What are you planning on writing?
A: My "About Me" section always has a list of fics I am considering writing once I am done with present ten projects I am currently doing. You can find them below the current projects section. Sometimes I will also discuss plans and put excerpts up on Tumblr, under the tag "fan fic" or "WIP."

Q5: I think the things in your Avengers collection are too short. Can I take them and rewrite them?
A:​ While I am flattered--especially since I've been writing longer one shots lately--I would prefer that you did not. Credited or not, if I do find you posting nothing more than rewrites of my things, I will report you. Thank you for understanding.  

Q6: I think your reader-insert clip is great for my OC. Can I put it in my story and replace the reader with my character?
A: Please do not. Credited or not, these are my words not yours. If I find you doing so, I will report you. Thank you for understanding.

Q7: Your story has inspired me! Could I write something based off my idea?
A: Absolutely! I can't really say no, since I'm writing fan fiction, too. All I ask is that you put a link to whichever thing of mine inspired you in one author's note, if it's particularly close to my idea. Example: if you want to write something that goes directly off Trigger Warning, please link your readers to that in the first chapter. If it's barely related and just made you think of a story somewhat similar, you need not credit me. 

Q8: Are you going to continue this thing that you have finished?
A: 
No, I never plan to add on to something marked "completed." Sometimes, I will add sequels to drabbles or one shots in my Happily Ever After collection, but this happens more and rarely. If the book is marked "completed" or "discontinued," I would appreciate you not asking me for a continuation. Thank you.

Q9: Update this!! (Or any number of ruder or politer ways of phrasing this.)
A: 
mostlyieatburritos.tumblr.com/pos...

Q10: Do you roleplay?
A: I used to, but not anymore! Sorry to disappoint. Nowadays all I do is some StevexBucky with one specific person.

Q11: I think I have a neat idea for a fan fiction. Would you like to collaborate?
A: No, thank you. The thing about all this is that I have very high standards. Half the time I drive myself crazy trying to perfect my stuff (which, of course, I never manage to do). I do not want to suck all the fun out of this website for you. Besides, I'm so busy and bad at updating these days that you would end up doing most of the work, which hardly seems fair to you.

Q13: Can I repost your fan fiction on another site?
A: No. I don't care if this is another website or even a website I'm already on (like Quotev) in one of those collections of favorites people make. If you like my stuff, then you should link it to people you want to share it with. Since I'm the writer, it is only fair that I am the one that gets any of the feedback you might otherwise receive. Collections where the fic still is on my account is fine. Collections where you put under yours are not.

Q14: Do you take requests?
A: I do have a reader-insert request booklet. You can post a request on that collection, entitled The Space Between Stars. Please note that you may only request characters for the reader to be paired with, and you can suggest a scenario. 

Q15: I want something more specific/with my OC. Will you do a special request for that?
A: No. However, you may commission me. I realize that a lot of people on this site are young and have limited amounts of money. If you want to discuss me writing something more specific, then you can leave me a comment and I will contact you so we can discuss prices, and we'll see if we can come up with something that will work for both of us.

Q16: I think the pairing in this story would be better as something else.
A: Then you will need to go find another story to read, or write it yourself. With the exception of stories where people vote for the end pairing (something I have only ever done with But Uh-Oh Those Summer Nights), I never start something without knowing exactly where the relationship is headed. I have at least some idea of what I'm doing with every chapter, so I cannot change what I'm doing five chapters in.

Q17: I do not like the way you portray me/the reader in this story.
A: Sorry, but I do not ascribe to the idea that reader inserts are to have no real established personality outside of the generic "lol I am a so randumb Hetalia-loving high school student." Generally speaking, I write the characters as adults, and since I plot my story, I need to know who the character is as a person. I fully understand that you, as a real person, might not be a doormat, a recovering addict, a professor at a school in New England, or a bitter ex-athlete who suddenly lost their arms. But that's the character I need to tell the story. My writing is more geared toward "virtual reality": letting you step into the shoes of someone different. If this is not how you like your reader inserts, that's perfectly fine. But you will need to find somewhere else to get it.

Q18: Read this story!
A: 
I don't read other fan fictions, unless it is specifically for a fandom I know of, but don't have much interest in, and is really, really short. As I said above, my standards are high, so when I read stuff about, say, Tony Stark beating his Avatar daughter into unconsciousness, it upsets me. I am aware, however, this isn't a cool attitude to have, as when I was 13, I also wrote a lot of garbage (and still frequently do). So I stay away, and let everyone have their fun. If you are posting this on one of my stories, though: Get off, and quit wasting my time. That's uncool, too.

Do you have further questions, or wish for clarification, or still just want to talk to me? Feel free to leave a comment or contact me on Tumblr.

This question and answer series is subject to revision and updating whenever the author wishes.

deviantID

TehStraw's Profile Picture
TehStraw
Straw
Artist | Student | Literature
United States
About

Asexual, aromantic interested in romance, but not in having a romance herself. As a result, spends a lot of time writing romantic fan fic. Does this work out? Probably not. But she's been trying for twelve years now, so nobody is going to stop her now.

Also a card-carrying nerd who spends time not writing watching old episodes of Star Trek and reading massive quantities of information on old pop culture she isn't even involved in. Or playing FPS and JRPGs badly. Or watching movie reviews on the internet. Ships Steve and Bucky like there's no tomorrow. Collects Pop bobble heads of Avengers characters. Did not mean to write this in the third person, but now isn't sure how to stop.

Recently got promoted and has her own office now and is hoping she can get back into writing since she's on hold so much. Starting online class to get certified to edit towards the end of January 2016, though, so isn't entirely sure this will keep up. Hopefully will allow her to have less typos but she isn't going to get her hopes up.

Loves baths, Zoo Tycoon, sleeping, her fish (Ken, Chikusa, Loki, and Groot), her cat (Seymour), and telling her life story to anyone or anything that will stay still long enough to listen.

Went to college for creative writing. Went to more college for plain English. Wants to be a real writer when she grows up. Frankly thinks all of her original ideas suck, so she keeps writing fan fic.

Also posts fan fictions to Quotev (as Straw/Strawchan), Ghosts of the Vanguard (as Straw), and Lunaescence Archives (as Straw). Fics posted on any other site or under any other name have been stolen.

Current Projects:

(Don't) Hold Your Breath
Fandom: The Last of Us
Pairings: Joel/Reader; Maria/Tommy
Main Song: We Fall Apart by We As Human
Challenge: #32 in His Rulebook
16/32

Adventures in a Realm Without Divorce Court
Fandom: Thor; Avengers
Pairings: Thor/Jane; Thor/Reader; Clint/Darcy
Main Song: Waking Up in Vegas by Katy Perry
Challenge: A Twist on "I Do"
8/20

Brightest
Fandom: Iron Man 2
Pairings: Justin Hammer/Reader; Tony Stark/Reader; Happy/Pepper
Main Song: Head on Collision by Hawk Nelson
Challenge: N/A
11/25

Just a Myth
Fandom: Avengers; Captain America: The Winter Soldier; Avengers: Age of Ultron
Pairings: Natasha Romanoff/Reader; implied Clint Barton/Bobbi Morse
Main Song: I Am Not a Robot by Marina and the Diamonds
Challenge: A Perfect Love...
20/34

Logical Fallacy
Fandom: James Bond; Skyfall
Pairings: Q/Reader; Bond/Moneypenny
Main Song: A Thousand Years by Christina Perri
Challenge: 102 Things a Guy Should Know About Girls
45/102

Natasha Romanoff's Matchmaking Service
Fandom: Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Pairings: Steve Rogers/Reader; past Brock Rumlow/Reader
Main Song: N/A
Fic Trade Prompt: Late-night Bonfire
3/4

One Small Step
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairings: Various/Reader
Main Song: N/A
Challenge: 120 Bits of Random
37/120

The Space Between Stars
Fandom: Request
Pairings: Request
Main Song: N/A
Challenge: 160 Collective Drabbles
27/160

Tastes a Little like Freedom, a Little like Fear
Fandom: Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Pairings: Winter Soldier/Reader
Main Song: Honey and the Bee by Owl City
Challenge: 100 Drabble Adventure
15/100

Where Gods Do Fear to Tread
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Currently Bruce/Reader
Main Song: N/A
Challenge: 9 Months
3/9
2/4

Coming Eventually
(If I can ever actually finish any of the above stories.)

Headhunting
Fandom: Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Pairings: OC/Reader; Brock Rumlow/Reader
Main Song: TBA
Challenge: 20 Every Day Questions

To That Distant Future
Fandom: (Pre-)Captain America: The First Avenger
Pairings: Steve Rogers/Reader; Bucky Barnes/Reader
Main Song: TBA
Challenge: Childhood Memories

A Stab in the Dark
Fandom: Guardians of the Galaxy
Pairing: Nebula/Reader
Main Song: TBA
Challenge: NA/TBA

All That Glitters
Fandom: Agent Carter
Pairing: Polyamorous Peggy/Reader/Angie
Main Song: TBA
Challenge: Yuri For Every Occasion

Fandom: Avengers
Pairing: Steve Rogers/Reader
Main Song: TBA
Challenge: Dont'd Tooch My Mommy!

To Win an Agent in 14 Days
Fandom: Avengers
Pairing: Clint/Reader; Tony/Natasha
Main Song: TBA
Challenge: To Win a Girl in ____ Days!

A Thing for the Villains
Fandom: MCU
Pairing: Various Villains/Reader
Main Song: NA
Challenge: Is It Love, Really?
Interests

AdCast - Ads from the Community

×

Groups

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconrise-of-majora:
Rise-Of-Majora Featured By Owner Jan 27, 2016  Student Digital Artist
Can I Ask A Request? Can You Do A Peter Quill (From Guardians Of The Galaxy)  And Male Son Reader?
Im Even Giving To The Information Of Who Is Him If You Dont know Him

If You Cant, Sorry If I Bother You
Reply
:icontehstraw:
TehStraw Featured By Owner Jan 28, 2016  Student Writer
It's not a bother! I can certainly try it. I'll add it to my request booklet. The prompt will be "imagination." Thank you for requesting!
Reply
:iconchelsea77xx89manga:
chelsea77xx89manga Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Will there be any NatashaxReader fics soon?
Reply
:icontehstraw:
TehStraw Featured By Owner Jan 26, 2016  Student Writer
I don't know about soon, because that depends on your definition of soon. But I do intend to update Just a Myth eventually. Actually, I have most of the next chapter written, but it's really bad, so intend to get around to rewriting it eventually. And there will be one shots when I get back to my Avengers collection, too.
Reply
:iconchelsea77xx89manga:
chelsea77xx89manga Featured By Owner Jan 26, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Okay that sounds great!
Reply
:iconalienette:
Alienette Featured By Owner Edited Aug 13, 2015
Thank You By Kmygraphic-d8skr9p by anne1956
Reply
:iconfrozencrystalrose:
FrozenCrystalRose Featured By Owner Jun 6, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Welcome to ReadersInc! We hope you enjoy the group!
Reply
:iconlokiavengerfangirl:
LokiAvengerFangirl Featured By Owner May 26, 2015
Happy Birthday! :D
Reply
:icontehstraw:
TehStraw Featured By Owner May 27, 2015  Student Writer
Why thank you!
Reply
:iconlokiavengerfangirl:
LokiAvengerFangirl Featured By Owner May 28, 2015
You're welcome :) Hope it was good
Reply
Add a Comment: