ana | Asgard all-powers threesomeverse (connor, sophie, pyro)

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Asgard all-powers threesomeverse (connor, sophie, pyro)

The war was over but Asgard was incredibly loud all of a sudden. Connor cracked a bleary eye to check the clock… it was still dark as if it was the middle of the night, and sure enough, 2:41 in the morning. What the hell. He didn’t think much of it at that moment, just rolled over to crush the pillow over his ears or burrow into Sophie’s neck or something that would allow him to get back to sleep.

But Sophie wasn’t there.

That itself would not have been cause for alarm; maybe she went to the bathroom, she was allowed to urinate. What was alarming, and thus caused Connor to bolt upright and stumble out of bed in terror, was the fact that Sophie was a black amorphous lump that was flopping off the other side of the bed. He’d seen it before, in the other world and in nightmares since, but this wasn’t a nightmare. He knew because falling off the bed hurt, and the thump of his side on the floor was so incredibly loud he felt like it would blow out his eardrums. He cried out in shock and pain, and that only made both worse.

Pressing both hands over his ears Connor struggled to his feet, speaking as loud as he could manage. “Sophie? Sophie?!” Fuck, it was so loud. So loud he could hear his heartbeat through his hands and see every thread of their sheets even in the near pitch black of their room and was what he thought was happening actually happening? Desperate now he lowered a hand to the blob, grimacing as it squished down under his hand, and shook. “Sophie! John! John!!!”

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He's naked. An interesting choice. Then again, she doesn't appear to be wearing any clothing at the moment either But by the time he pulls the fire from the ceiling it doesn't matter anymore.

"Hiding?" Sophie says the word like a laugh. "You know Connor, Pyro, but you know nothing of me." One of her hands motions for Connor to stay back as she continues to slowly walk forward. "And you mistake me. It is not that I desire to break you. It is that I have a goal, and it will be accomplished. If that requires your suffering, or mine, so be it."

As she walks forward, the hand that she had used to gesture Connor back grows long claws, wickedly sharp.

It's impossible to tell that the shadow is the one speaking, as the light of the flames is sucked into the black hole of his armor the sound of his voice echoes through the darkness. He sounds sure of himself now rather than scared like earlier, and angry.

"You both think that, don't you? You think I'm an idiot, that I only see what I want of you and not the rest. It's you who's blind, thinking that all you are is what you can do. When you're both still in there." Connor hangs back for the moment, knowing that the tables have turned and at the moment he's the weakest in the room... and the only one who's not willing to hurt the others.

"Connor, stay out of this."

His own anger is a bit too defensive to be threatening. Sophie and Pyro can fight precisely because they don't have the same kind of bond yet, but Connor's a chronic blind spot, and he won't let it get in the way this time. As long as he's been here, people have been trying to belittle the loss of his identity as a mutant and push him past it as though it were like losing a weapon or some other important but external belonging; then, when he gets it back, suddenly everyone knows that identity better than he does. Everyone always knows him better than he does himself, be it a better or worse opinion, and has from the day he was born.

That's all he's got to say, though. The time for speech-making has passed with those vicious claws coming for him. With a flick of his hand, the coil of flame in his hand becomes a steady, white-hot stream, engulfing Sophie's scaled figure entirely before melting into the burning walls around them.

Sophie's scales glow brightly gold, but she doesn't even falter in her progress toward John. It's steady, fearless, and as she gets closer, something in her expression changes from fierce to calm, almost sympathetic. A second eyelid protects her eyes, making a reptilian blur over her pupils, and she tilts her head to the side.

"You are not a god, Pyro. Nothing good comes of infinite power, anyway."

Her arm reaches out, those claws settling with infinite delicacy around John's throat.

"I don't think even your healing could bring you back from the loss of your head." She sighs, some of John's fire snorting from her nose. If he moves too much, her claws will nick his skin like razors, but she is actually trying not to hurt him. "This is enough. You're hurting Connor. Come home so we can figure this out."

He can't knock her back, or even slow her down. Several times, he draws his arms back and appears to "throw" a greater force of fire at her, but nothing's working. Every pulse of energy rolls right over her and she shows not a flicker of fear.

It's infuriating. By the time she's got a grip on him, one he knows could be deadly, he doesn't even care about his own safety anymore. He's blinded by the months (the lifetime, really) of rage that's built up around people belittling and underestimating and pigeonholing him.

"You don't decide who I am. No one does. If you don't like it, fucking kill me already."

Connor is calling to her, practically yelling. It is just audible over John's flames, but Sophie can't turn away just now to hear him.

"I'm not deciding anything. If I intended to kill you then you would be dead. You are deciding whether you want to be a naked 'god' alone in an empty room of flames or come back home with Connor and me." She shakes her head, just a little. "All my life, people have told me what I ought be, and all I ever wanted to be was Sophie. Is this what you want to be?"

All my life, people have told me what I ought to be.

There's just something about the people in Asgard. There always has been. They turn to empathy when he's expecting judgment, dismissal, almost anything else, and it gets him in an area he never thought to shield because that was never necessary. An area that's all too vulnerable because he's only ever braced for attack.

Slowly, the flames die back - not from the walls, not from the ceiling, but from Sophie. Little nicks around his throat are perpetually opening and healing because he simply won't stop shouting and ranting, but now he's finally still. Still and visibly troubled.

"Let me go. I wanna talk to Connor."

Connor could only just hear that they'd been speaking over the roar of the flames, and he hadn't liked the sound of it... until Sophie's question. And then the unbearable blast of flame dies down, the fire that had kept him back, screaming himself hoarse because it was so hot and he had so little shadow to work with that even armored he was starting to feel like his blood was boiling beneath his skin.

He has to fight the urge to run to Sophie to check she isn't burnt, or John to check he isn't bleeding. He holds himself perfectly still as Pyro asks to be released, and as Sophie's claws retract and she steps out of his personal space, her scales still glowing white-hot.

Instead of stepping forward Connor lets his shadows thin and melt away, knowing full well that there's so much light in the room that if he lets them go completely he won't be able to protect himself. He does it anyway, and waits for his friend to approach.

He doesn't even know what he's going to say when he makes the demand, but the sight of Connor's shadow melting away definitely has an impact. Where Sophie stormed right in because she couldn't be hurt, Connor is saying that he trusts he won't. Pyro is free to do what he will without any retaliation in return.

That's when the rest of the fire evaporates, almost before Pyro - John? - realizes he's done it. Slowly, he moves closer to Connor, and it starts to dawn on him at last that he lost every single stitch of clothing in that house fire. He sure is bare-ass naked right now. The only indication he gives is a twitching of his arms and hands, like he wants to cover himself but isn't sure where to start.

"This won't be the last time," he says, with no threat or warning in his voice. It's just a simple statement of truth. "You really see who I am, all of it? That means you know it already. You don't just get to put this side away 'cause it might cause trouble."

"I know -- I see it. Asgard tried to take parts of us, but in the end you don't get to put any side away. Meaning my friend is still here. I just want you to come home." He reaches for John impulsively, then realizes he doesn't know how the heat retention works and he might burn the crap out of his hand. Sophie is still glowing off to the side, after all. "We do," he corrects himself, eyes hopeful.

It's not like they haven't all had their nature revealed even without their abilities. Connor murdered Sophie. She killed her friends. Pyro was still an arsonist but John, the person at the core, is the one that Connor loves. Pyro is a part of the whole, just like the Destroyer is always going to be part of Connor. If anything he's the worst of them, he thinks to himself -- he just tries really hard.

It's what no one would ever say to him before Asgard, before people like Oswin and Euri and now Connor and Sophie. The pieces of John can co-exist, be one - he can be good without always being good, be destructive without always being destructive, be cruel without always being cruel, be himself. Everything was a dichotomy back home, starting with mutants and humans, but there are shades here in which he can exist.

And be cared about. He can't forget that. There's no more hiding anything now (at all, he really is very naked), and they're both aware of that as they continue to offer that care.

Fortunately, the surface temperature of his skin is static, so he's able to reach out and grab Connor's hand before it drops away.

"If you change your mind -" That is a threat, but he can't finish it. He doesn't have to. And he doesn't really think it's a possibility anymore.

When John takes his hand -- and it's John now, definitely -- Connor lets out a sound that's part happiness and part relief, a faint smile curving his mouth. "I won't." And he uses the hand to pull John into a hug (oh, the dreaded hug) ignoring the dirt and soot he's covered in.

And the distinct lack of anything else.

He's already flushed from the heat of the fire but Sophie can see the moment Connor re-realizes his friend is naked, color deepening in his cheeks.

Sophie's smirk, equal parts pleased and amused, is only for Connor as she comes over, her still-glowing scales abruptly vanishing to be replaced with what appears to be a tight tanktop and leggings. This is entirely for John's benefit; she hadn't been wearing any clothes at all when they left the house. If he looks closely, he'll notice that there is not a single seam on any of her 'garments', but somehow it seems unlikely.

"Can we go home now?" She looks between John, covered in ash and soot, and Connor, covered in sweat and smeared with black in the places his skin had moved over John's. "We could all use a bath."

"Connor!!"

The horror in his voice is, quite frankly, hilarious. His objections to Connor's hugs have become more joking than anything, but this time it's really way the fuck over the line.

"I'm bare-ass naked, dude, let me go. I need a bath and clothes, and you not touching me right now."

Connor had sort of frozen in place when it sank in. Now he lets go, but is blushing to his ears and averting his eyes. "Y-yeah well. You're walking home naked unless we do touch, I can make you shadow clothes."

"He could hold hands with me instead," Sophie points out in an exceptionally helpful tone that falls just short of laughing."But let us not quibble over the details. The bath calls."

And now John is just glaring mutinously back and forth between them, so childish in his anger that Connor is quite plainly right - he's back, not replacing Pyro but merging with him as he should've so long ago. Sometimes dangerous, sometimes outright deadly, but not held back until those parts of him break free and become all he knows.

"I'm not holding anyone's hand. You think I've got anything to be ashamed of?" He cocks his chin up, pulling out a smirk to go along with the words. "It'll be the best scenery Asgard's ever had."

Peeking was inevitable after that statement. And still blushing but not disagreeing, Connor smirks back. "Lead the way, then. March."

Oh, he's not going back on it now that he's said it. He will most certainly lead the way, posture just as arrogant and self-satisfied as ever, and anyone who looks too long will get looked at right back as if to say see something you like? Only once they're back at the house does he make it clear that he's not entirely comfortable, nearly bolting for the washroom and closing the door.

Except that he didn't get any clothes first. Ah well, a towel will work.

"Bare-ass naked in the middle of a housefire means I get first shower. Don't even fight me on this." It's shouted from behind the door, of course.

Connor grins the whole way back, impressed that John is actually marching home naked. He knows his friend isn't that self-assured... and he was about to congratulate him on the trip home hand-holding free when John claims the bathroom before he or Sophie can even close the apartment door.

"Hey, what. I'm fighting you on it as the only one who actually overheated!"

And in response, the water starts running. What now.

"Joooooohn." A shadow seeps in and opens the door. Your move, naked man.

"Jesus, get the fuck out! Can't I even shower in peace?"

It's either leap into the shower or get a towel around himself, and since he cranked the temperature like he always does, there's no risk of jumping into cold water (and of course the hot won't scald him.) So into the shower it is, curtain getting briskly drawn.

Connor laughs softly, holding up his hands even though John can't see through the curtain. "Fine, I'll tell Sophie we're not sharing."

"I'll make it quick. Now get out."

He's true to his word, only staying in long enough to get clean so that the others can have enough hot water to do the same. Once he's finished, hair left loose and scruffy around his face because today's already been way too fucking insane for styling his damn hair, he pads down the hallway in bare feet and a towel around his waist to get some damn clothes on.

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