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navy-leader · 2 years ago

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With all the doom and gloom ava6 has offered us so far i now want to talk about the AUs id made for victim pre-ava6

So for starters i characterized him as a pottymouthed, angry, and very confused. Pottymouthed bc he is canonically the only stickman to cuss, angry because he was treated very poorly by the animator and subsequently Killed, confused bc hes only existed for less than 2 minutes and has yet to explore the world.

I also made him an artist, similar to Second, but he lacks the ability to make them come to life and sticks mainly to drawing machinery, weaponry and artillery, (as a reference to how many stickman animations often use guns, tanks and the sorts) the way young boys have a fascination for the things. He has extensive knowledge about how they work and Very autistic about it, that was his thing. He does not draw figure drawings like animals or people, that is Second's thing.

I also gave him a lot of self worth issues. It came from multiple reasons,,,being named 'victim' for starters, having his fate sealed to be nothing more than just a test subject, collateral, something to use and then dispose of. Second being that he had no special powers like the other's made like him do. Third being that,,,Second is just So Much Better than him in every way,, Second gets the love he never got from his creator, he never got the life the others were let to live, he never got to explore the world, none of that. He got None of that.

Also he has a lot of trauma pertaining his death but i think thats obvious.

With that in mind i present you the first AU. The premise is that victim finds a way to come back to life and ends back on Alan's desktop, the newer desktop, where the color gang and Second now live in. The way he appeared was never properly Made, hes just There now. He mightve crawled through the code and ended up here, he mightve come from somewhere deep in Alan's files, he mightve come from an external source, who knows but victim is Here now. The color gang gets curious and welcomes this strange new stickman with open arms, they show him around and quickly became friends, and everything was Fine. Until Alan comes online do to work and victim FREAKS at the sight of the cursor, he quickly tries to eradicate said cursor by creating weapons and bombs, and threatened to nuke the PC, whilst the color gang frantically try to stop him and talk him down.

Eventually they do and they reintroduce Alan to victim and vice versa. Victim is still discomforted and LIVID about the discovery that he'd gone back to his MURDERER'S desktop, but for the sake of his newfound friends he will back down. Victim and the color gang will then live in relative harmony, although victim is still Very cautious of Alan and yet to let go of the iron fisted grudge he has on him (who can blame him?) but they live, together.

In this AU is actually where most of my old doodles' interactions between victim and the color gang came from. They just vibe forever together,,, its a nicer beginning for victim. This is where the cowboy victim, rambo victim, and whatever else silly little costume and roles ive put him in take place, theyre just playing!! Just as they do in the actual shorts!!

The second AU takes place right before the ending of ava3, Dark and Chosen are doing their blackhole destruction of Noogai's PC and are running away from the crime scene. Then suddenly a foreign stickfigure comes running at them through the hole Chosen had made to escape, they all fall through the hole and speed through the cables. Only then they could properly assess their unfamilar company, it was a black stickfigure with the same hollow imperfect circle heads as themselves, they'd look practically identical to Chosen. After they get to the other end of the cables they were baffled by the stickfigure that had joined them in their escape.

So victim finds itself tagging along Chosen and Dark during their destruction spree, having no powers like they did it tended to sit back or cause minor destruction of its own. And eventually the three of them live under one roof, though not without problems. They had their problems and fights often break out, mainly between Chosen and Dark, and since theyre both superpowered assholes they cause more than necessary destruction to their home and surroundings. Victim, being Not Superpowered, often leaves before things get messy and he gets caught in the crossfire. He comes back home to their home thoroughly wrecked and is less than pleased (hes pissed) at the state of it, and makes them clean it up.

Before you ask i have No Idea what this'd mean for the events of ava5 but thats something we can always think about now or later!!

In the middle of writing this i realized i only had 2 major AUs for victim so i guess thats the end of it LOL

#dot dot dot #animation vs animator #ava victim

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sixofsol · 2 years ago

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@johaerys-writes tagged my main (@heypax) for this, but since ive talked about my fics more on this blog i decided to do it here instead !

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

26!

2. What is your AO3 word count?

151,778

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I mean, I haven’t written anything for anything but six of crows since like year back… But! I do miss writing patrochilles, and tsoa is the fandom i’ve written the absolute most for! If we’re looking back, I’ve written hadestown, steven universe, haikyuu!! and a bunch more years ago.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

we were shotgun lovers // I’m a shotgun running away - six of crows, wesper, 772 kudos

like moss climbs a tree - song of achilles, patrochilles, 446

i want someone to try, and let me down easy — six of crows, wesper, 405 kudos

from the outside looking in - the song of achilles, patrochilles, 371 kudos

twisted roots and sunny days, the song of achilles, patrochilles, 363 kudos

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

YES if i dont miss when i get them (i dont have the email motifs on) i always do ! it means so much someone commented and i always love having a lil conversation about this thing that i wrote.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

as much of an lover i am of hurt no comfort i very rarely write it lmao but a lot of my tsoa fics had sad endings. autumn’s coming around is the first one that popped into mind, but that’s at least slightly open ? i’ll hold your hand while you drown, less so.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I feel like a lot of my fics have equally happy endings haha, the one that came to mind was our hair tangled in the breeze, simply because its a happy ending canon complaint tsoa fic which is a feat lmao

8. Do you get hate on fics?

nope the closets ive ever come was when i was 12 and people were like nice story but god your grammar and spelling is terrible! which was fair!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

nah I’m a fade to black kinda girlie

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I never anymore but well,, Once upon a time i was 14 and obsessed with glee and sherlock and well….

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not as far as ik

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

nope !

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

nope, but I would enjoy trying!

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

…this is hard because wesper has been running around in my head for a year but simply cause ive been obsessed with patrochilles longer im still gonna say them

15. What's a WIP you'd like to finish but doubt you ever will?

I’d love to continue for everyone im about to prove wrong, and I think I even have a mostly finished chapter lying around somewhere, but I’ve just not had the inspiration rip.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I’m good at writing characters in general, especially when it’s from their pov. first person pov my beloved.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I’m not really a person who uses a lot of metaphors of writes flowery language, but i wish i was!! i love very beautiful language and poetic writing but i just don’t do that that much im pretty straight forward, which isn’t a bad thing but I wish i could expand a bit more.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

takes me out the story way too much, it’s fine if it’s like one word every now and then but nah. ive read a couple of young royals fics, and as a swedish speaker its a bit jarring to suddenly have swedish words there lmao

19. First fandom you wrote for?

If non published count, harry potter. if only published, glee!

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

i’m gonna be fair to myself and choose one for soc and one for tsoa.

autumn’s coming around for tsoa and a fire died last winter for soc, which ironically are my least popular fics in the respective fandoms!

thank you !! and im tagging @leglesslouie @jackwolfes @wesperbrekkered @deathless--aphrodite

#writing #tag games #six of crows #the song of achilles

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shiningdesignersreflections · 1 year ago

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Chapter 2: Encounter

Narrated by no one.

Narrator: A week ago, Ashley had come to a chapel in the outskirts of Ninir with her friends at Strange.

Narrator: The architectural lines here are soft, exuding a peaceful and warm vibe.

Narrator: The sunlight paints the plain gray walls with warm hues. The vibrant colors of the garden can be seen through the lattice of the old iron gate.

Narrator: A burst of laughter can be heard. A woman with a warm smile is leading several children to the door.

Cersei: The dean is here to pick us up. Don't be nervous, Ashley, they're all friendly people.

Narrator: Ashley had come to this place largely because of her friend, Cersei the witch.

Narrator: Only those who are viewed as perfect beauties are accepted in Ninir. Therefore, the imperfect children are usually abandoned or sent to the chapel.

Narrator: This was where Cersei grew up until she was adopted when she was 13. It's the first time she has returned after her adoption.

Narrator: Although she's never seen Cersei use real magic, getting to meet Cersei's friends from Strange is already a miracle to Ashley.

Narrator: Ever since they heard Ashley sing, they have encouraged her to participate in all kinds of singing performances. However, Ashley has never been able to take that step.

Narrator: Until Cersei invited her to the chapel where she once lived.

Cersei: It's very similar to the Dorm of the Strange, so she should be right at home.

Friends: Go ahead. We'll come with you.

Little Girl: Cersei IV...

Cersei: Wrong, it's Cersei XIV! Too bad, none of the newcomers know the descendants of the witch.

Dean: Cersei, who is this girl?

Cersei: It's Ashley, the amazing singer. She is definitely the best singer for prayer songs.

Narrator: Feeling a little shy at Cersei's enthusiastic recommendation, Ashley keeps wringing her skirt in her hands restlessly.

Ashley: Oh, hello... Um... um... I...

Narrator: The dean takes Ashley's suitcase and smiles.

Dean: Everyone, come on in. We can take a few days to get to know each other. I will take you to your rooms first.

Narrator: A child gives them a tour, showing them everything, from the rarest plants to the most sought-after dishes in the cafeteria. His eyes may be tiny, but his smile is extraordinarily brilliant.

Narrator: In the art studio, children are making imaginative drawings. In the dormitory, each door is adorned with strange but unique name tags.

Narrator: Now Ashley understands what Cersei meant. This place is indeed very similar to the Dorm of the Strange.

Narrator: While the people of NInir pursue absolute beauty, these "imperfect" children can still freely pursue beauty here in the chapel.

Narrator: As the thought crosses Ashley's mind, her footsteps feel lighter.

Narrator: After settling in, Ashley goes to the courtyard alone, where the flowers and plants are well taken care of.

Narrator: While Ashley is admiring a blooming rose, Cersei passes by carrying a box of colorful costumes.

Cersei: Ashley, don't forget about the rehearsal tonight.

Ashley: Sure.

Cersei: Still nervous?

Ashley: I want to find a quiet place to practice... alone.

Cersei: Got it. I'll get out of your way.

Narrator: Cersei casts a confidence enchantment on Ashley, then leaves.

Narrator: Ashley continues walking deeper into the courtyard, where she sees a small boy hugging his knees and staring at a big tree.

Narrator: Worrying that her face would scare him, Ashley quickly walks away, but the boy stops her unexpectedly.

Boy: Miss?

Narrator: Ashley stops in her tracks and hesitates before turning around.

Boy: Are you a good friend of Miss Cersei's?

Ashley: Hm?

Narrator: Ashley turns and looks at him. The boy's face is soft and refined, unlike the other "less beautiful" children in the hall.

Narrator: Realizing this, Ashley turns her face away again, letting her hair cover the ugly marks on her face.

Narrator: The boy gazes at Ashley sincerely, his eyes as clear as water.

Boy: Miss, can you help me bring down the little bird in the tree?

Ashley: Little bird?

Narrator: Ashley is curious. Her eyes follow the boy's finger pointing to the treetops, and quickly see something white among the dense green leaves.

Boy: That's my pet bird, Gray. It's been playing up there for too long today. I want to bring it home.

Narrator: The branch the bird is perching on isn't too high. The boy should be able to reach it if he jumps. Ashley still agrees to help, but when she stands up on her tiptoes, the bird flies away.

Ashley: I'm sorry...

Boy: It's okay. It will come back tomorrow.

Narrator: The boy speaks calmly and confidently, waves goodbye to Ashley. Only then does Ashley realize that the boy has a slight limp.

Cersei: Ashley, shall we eat?

Narrator: Ashley hears Cersei calling from behind and quickly turns and responds. She walks towards her friends, all the while wondering if the bird will return to the boy.

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

#ashley #shining nikki #chapter 2 #transcript #ninir #ninir kingdom #ssr designer #encounter #bird #disabled #fit in #chapel #friend

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y3joon-png · 4 months ago

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1950-1953 : The Rifle Between Us

Heyaa !! I know i was supposed to post yesterday but i fell asleep so suddenly and couldn't write the end of the chapter so the chapter is here only today TnT. Anyway, this chater is a transition between the first and the second half of the novel so it's a very important one. I hope you'll like it, enjoy !! kiss kiss

Chapter IV

September 15th, 1950 - Republic of Korea (Incheon)

Jisung tightened his grip on the cold rifle. The American soldier was standing before them, spitting with a strong accent.

“See, the Northern aren’t expecting us here at all. We bombed other random places to make their troops move. In addition, most of their dumb soldiers are focusing on the region around Busan.” Jisung and the other nodded, listening closely to the instructions. “As such, we’re in power. We’ll take the port, then the Kimpo Airfield, and we’ll get to Seoul!” The soldiers nodded and shouted, excited to be able to end the war and defeat the North Koreans. Jisung sighed loudly as they all headed back to the deck. The sky was mostly grey that morning. Seagulls were flying above his head, their callings proving the coast was getting closer. Jisung inhaled deeply the marine air. The soft salt was making his nostrils itchy. He looked at the sky again. Maybe it was the last time he would see it so calm before dying. An ironic chuckle left his tight throat. An Australian soldier next to him nudged his shoulder. His accent was thick as he spoke up.

“Why are you laughing about mate?” Jisung shaked his head softly and smirked. His Korean accent peaking out as he answered.

“Nothing important.” He was smiling but his tone was harsh. The Australian soldier flinched slightly and nodded softly, not wanting to push his comrade any further. Jisung chuckled again. He didn’t know why he was laughing. Probably out of despair. What would his mom say? His brother? Minho-Hyung? Seeing their son, their brother, their best friend. Being the perfect soldier and going to die for the freedom of his country. Jisung’s eyes felt itchy, his dog tag felt like it was bruning his skin under his uniform. Twenty years-old, he looked older. The dark circles under his eyes looked so deep that anyone could have drowned in them before even reaching his round eyes. The sparkle in them had left. They were now just two big and round black balls.

He slowly got on his tiptoes to see the shore from far away. Explosions were loud. Those American planes felt like a divine punishment. He could already hear the screams. The agony screams.

Suddenly, the boat shook. They had reached the shore. Jisung swallowed loudly. “You shall get out of there alive.” He thought.

The ramp of the landing craft slammed open, and Jisung ran forward into the chaos. The air was thick with smoke, the roar of gunfire blending with the screams of the wounded. The water behind them was red. Someone ahead collapsed - headshot, gone in an instant. He didn’t even look at the body. That was war. That was survival. Jisung didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He ran. That was all he could do anyway. He was holding tight onto his rifle. Never ever had he thought in his whole life that a tool made to kill would be the thing that would allow him to survive. The world was a blur of fire, metal, and blood. The ground shook beneath Jisung’s boots, each step a fight to stay upright. Bullets cut through the air, slicing past his head, kicking up sand and water. Someone to his left dropped, screaming, clutching their gut. Jisung barely spared them a glance. He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t think. Thinking got you killed. Another explosion. The pressure slammed into his chest, sending him stumbling forward. He hit the dirt hard, gasping. “Move. Move, dammit.” He thought harshly to himself. He was holding his tears. He was a damn soldier. No soldier could cry like a baby on the battlefield. A shadow moved ahead. Close. Too close. Jisung barely had time to register the North Korean soldier before his body reacted. He raised his rifle. Pulled the trigger. The man collapsed instantly. No scream. No struggle. Just gone. Jisung stared for half a second. The uniform. The blood. The face was way too young to be covered in blood.

Then someone shouted his name, and he was running again. His legs were tense, his hands shaking. But he couldn’t flinch. He wasn’t even allowed to. The beach was littered with bodies - some Northern, some Southern. Some he knew. Most were Northern, but the among of small different flags on the uniforms stained with dark blood made his stomach sink. It was obvious that he had to die for his country. But random boys from all around the world? He exhaled, taking a new breath. However the air wasn’t fresh. It tasted like iron. Like blood. Jisung inhaled sharply, his chest tight. Everything was red. The sand. The water. The sky. He wanted to stop. Just for a second. Just long enough to breathe. But the gunfire was still roaring, and stopping meant dying. So he ran.

The North Koreans were breaking. Some fired blindly before turning to run. Others dropped their rifles and threw their hands up. One soldier - barely more than a boy - staggered forward, hands trembling in the air. Surrendering. His tone was pleading as he kneeled down. A Marine raised his pistol. Jisung opened his mouth. Didn’t say anything. The gunshot rang out over the battlefield. The boy crumpled. Jisung’s heart clenched. The Marine would have never been able to understand, he probably didn’t speak a word of Korean. But the boy’s last words were : “I promise to believe in your God”. Jisung, however, kept moving. This was war. It had to be. His fingers were numb from gripping his rifle too tight. His knees ached from running, his lungs burned from the smoke. But he couldn’t stop. Not yet.

Hours passed. He kept running, shooting, tearing his own heart apart at each move of his fingers on the trigger. He had swore he had to suppress his feelings but he couldn’t even get himself to it. It was probably part of God’s punishment for him. Not being able to turn off his heart, his thoughts, his feelings, during this moment. He wished he could take his own soul out of his body. Until now, his goal has always been survival. But at this exact moment. The idea of a lost bullet taking his soul away didn’t sound so bad. He let the thought settle for just a second - BOOM. An explosion sent sand and smoke into the air. Jisung stumbled, blinking rapidly. His fingers dug into his rifle. No. No, he wasn’t supposed to think like that.

He shook his head violently. He was still a soldier. He couldn’t die before completing his mission. Plus, he had to return to his mother, and his brother. He exhaled loudly and kept running. The battle was slowly getting less rough. The North Koreans were retreating. “Victory.” Jisung thought as he kept running, looking around for remaining enemies. Further ahead, Northern soldiers were breaking. Some fired wildly before turning to run, others simply dropped their rifles and fled. One of them - a soldier with a bloodied uniform, limping, held up by another man - disappeared into the smoke. They were too far to shoot them dead. Jisung didn’t have time to look twice anyway.

The gunfire was fading. Jisung’s ears were still ringing, but the battlefield had quieted - except for the groans, the gasps, the dying. The war was still breathing, just in smaller sounds. He stopped running. He didn’t even realize it at first - his body was still tense, his rifle still gripped too tightly. His pulse was too fast, but he wasn’t moving anymore. His boots were sinking into wet sand, but he couldn’t tell if it was seawater or blood. Jisung exhaled sharply. The world felt too still. His breath didn’t. His hands didn’t. His thoughts didn’t. A hand landed on his shoulder. The man talked to him but he didn’t even hear it. Jisung turns slowly to the soldier holding his shoulder. For a second he thought of recognizing his face. The gaze was warm and felt familiar. But the man spoke again. His face unblurred and Jisung recognized his unit’s officer. His heart wasn’t racing anymore. He was almost disappointed. Who was he even expecting it to be? The thought felt ridiculous. Stupid. His lips parted, but no words came. Just a slow nod, and the weight of disappointment he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Soldier Han,” He spoke almost softly. “It’s okay, you can rest. Our unit is staying here to protect the port.” The man felt warm for the very first time. Maybe he had finally seen in Jisung’s eyes the terrified gaze of a little boy. Jisung nodded and bowed as he looked down at his boots. They were covered in dirt, and blood. He swallowed hard. His eyes closed for a second, seeking comfort in the dark silence. Suddenly a sound made him look up at the sky. A seagull. He smiled. They were finally seeing a glimpse of victory. This felt like the first step towards the end of the war. Of course he didn’t know, but it clearly wasn’t.

September 15th, 1950 - Republic of Korea (Incheon)

“Fall back! Fall back!” Minho’s boots pounded against the dirt, his breath ragged, his rifle tight in his grip. The retreat wasn’t supposed to happen. They were supposed to be advancing, crushing the Southern pigs beneath their boots. But now, they were the ones running. The sky above was thick with smoke, American planes still circling like vultures. Someone tripped ahead of him - a fellow North Korean soldier, blood soaking through his uniform. Minho barely had time to react before another explosion ripped through the ground nearby. The impact sent him stumbling, his ears ringing. He tasted dirt and iron.

“Keep moving!” A voice barked from somewhere in the chaos. Minho forced himself up. His body screamed at him to stop, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He was a soldier. He was not weak. He was not a coward. But why did this feel like losing? He kept shooting, again and again. Soldiers were coming from everywhere and none of those stupid Americans seemed to be falling. The Americans were weak, decadent, nothing but cowards hiding behind their bombs. That’s what they were told. That’s what he had to believe. His grip tightened around his rifle. If he just shot harder, aimed better, fought stronger - Click. His rifle jammed. His breath hitched. No. No, not now. He slammed his palm against the weapon, his pulse thundering in his skull. A North Korean soldier sprinted past him, terror in his eyes.

“Where are you going?!” Minho snarled, his voice raw. No answer. Just another explosion, shaking the ground beneath his feet. Suddenly he looked up. His eyes widened. An arm, and a leg. Bloody. They were flying. A scream followed as the limbs landed brutally in front of his eyes. Staining his sharp cheekbone with flashy red blood. It was warm. His hands started shaking. Minho kept moving, kept shooting, kept pushing forward, even as the battlefield seemed to shrink around him. His vision blurred at the edges. His uniform clung to his skin, soaked with sweat and dirt.

“Fall back!” someone screamed. He didn’t. He couldn’t. He was not weak. He was not a coward. He would not run. But when he turned to look behind him, his unit was already gone.

“God fucking damn!” He spat as he kept moving and shooting, trying to get back to his unit.

Suddenly, a loud noise. Everything went so fast that Minho didn’t even get the time to feel the pain at first. The bullet tore through his thigh before he even registered the gunshot. His body jerked violently, his grip on his rifle loosening as his knees buckled. The ground rushed up to meet him, cold and wet with blood. No. He tried to move, but his limbs weren’t listening. His breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, and when he pressed a shaking hand to his side, it came away wet and dark. “Not here. Not now.” He thought as the pain was sharp. He curled on the floor, holding his thigh tight. He hissed. “God I need to keep moving or they’ll kill me.” He tore up his sleeve and rolled it up around his injured thigh. He started crawling, the dirt and blood covering the floor clinging to his uniform. His rifle was on his back.

Minho turned his head, his vision swimming. He could still hear shouting, gunfire, but it was all… farther away.

“Jihoon?” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. He tried again. “Jihoon! Commander! I’m here!” No answer. Just the sound of boots fading into the distance. His stomach twisted. “They left me.” No, that wasn’t right. They wouldn’t. He was one of the strongest soldiers in his unit. He had never failed them. And yet, the battlefield around him was empty. He sighed loudly, trying to keep his composure. His eyes felt itchy, but men didn’t cry. Suddenly, he was picked up. He looked down. Another North Korean soldier was holding him on his back. Minho tightened his grip.

“Let me down kiddo!” He snapped.

“No sir, I can’t.” Answered the soldier. Minho hissed. He tried to kick the other but couldn’t get himself to it, his leg too weak.

“I’ve fallen, I don't deserve to be saved!” He argued. The soldier laughed, almost as if he was mocking Minho.

“I’m not saving you because you deserve it dumbass.” Minho frowned, surprised. But before he got the time to ask why, the soldier answered him. “We’ll kill you for falling, you are weak. But we’d rather have you on your side and dead than on the enemy’s side and talking.” Minho’s heart sank. He was loyal to his country. He has been the best soldier he could be, but still, he wasn’t enough. And in addition to that, they saw him as a potential traitor. In the government's eyes, no matter how hard he tried : he wasn't worth any better than a Southern Pig. Minho sighed loudly. And, suddenly, he gathered all of his remaining strength. He bit the younger soldier’s neck. The soldier moaned of pain and let Minho fall back down on the dirty ground. Minho crawled away as the man snapped. “God damn you’re fucking crazy!” He walked closer to Minho and stepped on his injured thigh. “You know what? I’m gonna leave you there, and instead of getting the honor of being murdered by one of us, you’ll get killed by a Southern Pig or worse… an American.” His smile was sadistic. Minho spat on the soldier's boot.

“Run before I’m the one killing you!” The soldier kicked Minho’s face before he ran away, holding his rifle tightly.

Minho gritted his teeth and forced his arms to move, trying to pull himself toward the nearest wreckage. One meter. Two. Every movement sent a sharp, tearing pain through his side, but he ignored it. He had to get up. Then - the sound of boots crunching against the dirt. Not North Korean boots. Not Jihoon. Not his unit. English. Fast, clipped words. Weapons being loaded. American soldiers.

“We got a live one!” Hands grabbed his arms, yanking him upright. He gritted his teeth, but his legs buckled beneath him, too weak to hold his own weight. Someone laughed.

“You’re one lucky bastard,” another voice sneered, this time in rough Korean. “Or maybe unlucky. We’ll see.” Minho spat blood onto the dirt, glaring up at them. He didn’t know what was worse - the pain in his thigh, or the shame burning through him. Minho’s vision was blurry. He couldn’t protest or even move anymore. He was, now again, on the back of a random soldier. Minho closed his eyes, listening to them laugh and talk in a language he couldn’t even properly understand. He had failed. As a soldier, but as a man and as a citizen too. There was nothing left of him now.

Minho’s wrists were bound tight, the rope digging into his skin. Every step sent fire through his ribs, but he kept his back straight. He would not show weakness. They were leaving the battleground as the sun was setting. “God damn, the war started only a few months ago and I already failed.” He thought. A prisoner. The word tasted worse than blood. As they dragged him away, he risked one last glance over his shoulder. A North Korean soldier - just a boy, younger than him - was lying in the dirt, eyes wide, unmoving. The Americans didn’t even look at him. Just left him there. Like he was nothing. Minho turned back around, face blank, jaw tight. If he was going to survive this, he would need to be stronger than ever. The walk towards their camp felt like an eternity. His thigh hurted, he didn’t care, the American soldiers didn’t give a damn either. However they still approached the camp.

“What do we do with him?” One of the soldiers asked in English.

“The ROK boys are handling interrogations,” another one said. “Dump him with them.” Minho didn’t understand every word. But he caught one. ROK. Republic of Korea. Southern pigs. His stomach twisted. He would rather die than beg for mercy from them. But no matter what he could think at this moment, the U.N. forces were winning so he had to stay diligent. He was thrown into a cold empty room. One of the soldiers made him sit on a creaky chair and tied him up.

“You’ll be interrogated soon.” The soldier added in a rough and definitely broken korean. Minho nodded and looked at his injured leg. “We’ll take care of this if we decide that you need to survive.” Added the soldier. His ties were checked again, then the American left, leaving Minho alone in the middle of the small room. The room was empty, silent. Too silent. No gunfire, no orders, no voices. Just his own breath, steady but sharp. He tested the ropes. Twisted his wrists, just slightly. No give. Tied too tight. Of course they were. He exhaled slowly and stared at the door. He should be planning something. An escape, an attack, anything. But his body felt like lead, his thoughts sluggish. He wasn’t in control anymore. The realization was like ice.

The door creaked open. Minho didn’t flinch. He had been waiting for this. Waiting for some Southern pig to walk in, slap him around, demand answers he wouldn’t give. Boots echoed against the cold floor. A shadow stretched across the room. Minho didn’t look up.

“Name?” A voice. This time the Korean was perfect, probably a Southern Pig. Minho scoffed, rolling his shoulders.

“If you’re going to beat me, get it over with.” His tone was flat, empty. He was prepared for pain. He was not prepared for this. The man stepped closer. The light caught his face. Minho’s breath hitched. Something was off. The uniform was right, the posture was right, but the face - No. The soldier crossed his arms, sighing sharply.

“You always have to make things difficult.” Minho’s entire body locked up. His fingers twitched against his thigh, the rope biting into his wrists. The voice. The voice. He knew that voice. “You haven’t changed, still stubborn uh?” The man shifted, and Minho saw his eyes. “Jisung.” Minho’s breath left him all at once, like he had been struck in the gut. He didn’t recognize him at first because the boy he remembered wasn’t this. This man in front of him - this soldier - looked so different. Hardened. His uniform was stained, his face sharper, his posture straighter. But the eyes were the same. The same round, big brown eyes Minho had seen a thousand times before. Jisung exhaled slowly, shaking his head, almost to himself.

“Minho.” The sound of his own name nearly broke him. Two years. Two years, and now this. A prison, a war, a battlefield - and somehow, this is where they found each other again. Minho let out a breathless laugh, hollow and bitter. His head lolled back against the chair as he stared at the ceiling.

“Of fucking course.” No matter how Minho felt, Jisung’s voice didn’t sound condescending nor blaming in any way. Minho looked up at the younger soldier. He chuckled and asked in an ironic - almost sarcastic - tone. “So… How are you doing?” Jisung’s body tensed.

#han #han jisung #skz #angst #ao3 #fanfic #korean war #lee know #minho #minsung #miso #pow #incheon #ff #battle #mlm #the rifle between us

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undomesticated-animal · 4 days ago

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Some tags from @hyenaboycunt, @darethebrave, and @seimsisk that really cut to the quick of what I was trying to do here.

Tag Set #1

#absolutely love this piece#it took a moment for me to properly catch on since i dont think ive encountered written spanglish before#relevant linguistic background for me:#monolingual english speaker‚ 3 years of latin in HS‚ & familiar with pronunciation rules for spanish#plus a few friends/acquaintances who've spoken spanglish around me (but they're not consistently part of my life)#so i did the monolingual thing and focused on the obviously english paragraphs first#but once i grokked what i was looking at i started over#when reading English i dont really have an internal voice. i usually know the words and what they mean#(i sometimes completely miss out on written puns because of this‚ funny enough)#anyway. i started over. and i know the pronunciation rules but i dont have much experience reading spanish.#so i had to sound out a lot of it (internally) while i was reading.#and i was surprised by how much i understood when i could “hear” the words#even if i absolutely couldn't translate them.#and i did have to look to the english paragraphs for help of course‚ but less often than i expected#it's funny too that i was reminded of two people in my life who i hear speak like this. one is a friend's mother and i can HEAR the way#the way she says “mijo” to her son (my friend)#the other is a family friend I haven't thought of in YEARS but this writing has me hearing her voice and seeing her mannerisms so clearly.#I'm enamored with how actually thinking about the *sounds* both 1) made this exponentially more comprehensible to me#and 2) brought to mind the voices of family friends speaking to their children#it feels so very much like *home*#not my specific home. but it's something I've personally only heard spoken in places that *feel* like home.#really wonderful writing here Domi.#there's more thoughts churning but ironically words fail me. and tragically i dont have any other languages i can try

Tag Set #2

#i haven’t used my three years of high school spanish in quite a while#but what a linguistically fun reading challenge!#also a very good poem OP thank you for sharing#it was neat to catch the little differences between the paragraphs#art#poetry

Tag Set #3

#this sentence applies to all languages I think#everyone go read op's tags please#I do not speak Spanish but I can read it more of less fluently because I'm Brazilian and it just works like that#reading the spanglish versions felt so good#and I related to so much of it even if my circumstances are completely different#I have been through the experience of trying to date in English and it was such a mess#how to explain to a gringo the meaning of carinho? carente?

I had a really public meltdown a few months back because something happened during a date that made me realize I had slowly let my entire love life happen in English. And while I didn't [and still don't] feel like the answer is to demand that my partners learn Spanish in order to talk with me, I did realize that part of why I felt so thoroughly alienated from affection in my relationships is because it is in Spanish and Spanglish that I feel verbal care and affection. English feels....sterile and professional. Which is maybe a reasonable outcome of a world where "home" welcomes my polyglot behavior and "the rest of the world" gets irritated with me for requiring extra work of them to communicate.

It somehow never seems to occur to people that the work they dislike having to do for me will have to get done regardless, and what they are objecting to is literally my attempt to not carry and perform all of that work alone and unsupported in relationships that are meaningful to me.

That's a dynamic that's hard to vocalize to others unless they already internally recognize the experience and can pick up on it.

My partners still don't speak Spanish. But these days I do. Almost universally in my relationships, Spanish and Spanglish are verbalized markers of my feelings of intimacy, care, and trust in another. I use more over time as I become comfortable, I rely almost exclusively on common MexíCalí pet names and diminutives for partners, and the more relaxed/less rigidly self-managed I am, the more likely I am to simply reach for Spanglish first and foremost.

When I wrote this, I wrote the English paragraphs first. It took a little while, but it was doable because I use English A LOT in my professional and personal life obviously. Next I wrote the Spanish. This was harder. I have few people to keep up with, so I was anxious about mixing up my spelling, my grammar, my vowel modifiers, etc. I did a lot more checking and rechecking of my work to ensure that I was not misremembering my conjugations and grammatical structures.

I wrote the Spanglish last. I wrote it in under five minutes. I wrote it without once feeling the need to confirm my grammar or vocab. I wrote it and immediately felt it conveyed my tone and intention far better than either monolingual version. It was the closest thing I've ever felt to not having to "translate" my thoughts for someone else, and I spent a little time after just quietly having a cry about reaching my 30s before ever letting myself write the way I think, before letting myself trust my partners and loved ones with this part of me that is so integral to how it feels to be at home with another person.

I actually considered recording myself speaking the poem aloud because I agree with @hyenaboycunt that the way I write is meant to be read aloud, not read in one's mind, and there were several times reading it to myself that I realized reading it would lose something too. Several words where my accent and pronunciation was not the same as the language of the word itself, or where the blending went further than simply mixing and matching words within a sentence. I still might take a recording, we'll see. I really do think it's the next logical place for this art piece to go. But I also know that speaking is so raw and vulnerable to me, and while I would typically just have someone else do the recording, this is a circumstance where that wouldn't solve the issue at all. It has to be me. And ironically, that's what may end up limiting me from being able to do it. Yet again, my relationship with language being complicated creates barriers to communication that even *I* can barely recognize without real intentional thought. How can I expect others to see how much I do to be understood when I can barely admit it to myself?

En íngles, y otra vez in Spanish

No sé to describe mi relationship con mi lingua. Complicado, I suppose. No sé qué the words that will come en mi mente primary, y sometimes es difícil traducir between las idiomas. Creo que most people figure translation ser word-for-word, pero no es menos un pequeño here and there. Sometimes I look for las palabras exactamente por way too long y sientame abrumado. People act like eres estúpido if words are hard for you. Y adorame cual ser talking down a mi en bed, pero tiempo otros I get so angry when people decide no es importante para mi tiene tiempo enough communicarse. I don’t know how to describe my relationship with language. Complicated, I suppose. I never know which words will come to me first, and sometimes it’s hard to translate between languages. I think people expect translation to be word by word, but it so rarely is. Sometimes I search for the correct replacement word for way too long and it makes me feel so overwhelmed. People treat you like you’re stupid if you struggle with your words. And I like to be talked down to in bed, but the rest of the time it makes me so angry when people decide it’s not important for me to have the time to communicate properly. No sé cómo expressar mi social relación con la idioma. Quizás complicado. Nunca sé qué palabras vendrán primero a mi mente y, a veces, es difícil traducir entre los languajes. Creo que la mayoria de la gente se figurarán que la traducción sea palabra por palabra, pero raramente está. A veces trato de encontrar la palabra exacta durante demasiado tiempo y me poniendo abrumado. La gente actúa como si fueras estúpido si las palabras están costarían. Y adoro que me traten con condescendencia en la cama, pero si no me airado mucho cuando la gente decide que no es importante para mí tener tiempo para comunicarme. I wonder often how it feels hablar o necesitar solamente una idioma, y inglés at that. ¿Reconocéis how much nuestro uso de language changes how nos entendemos y our place aquí en es? I often wonder how it feels to only use or need one language, and English at that. Do people realize how much our language changes how we understand the world, our place in it? Me pregunto con frecuencia qué se siente hablar o necesitar solo una idioma, y lo que es más, inglés. ¿Reconocéis todos de lo mucho que la idioma cambia nuestra comprensión del otros y nuestras relaciones sociales? La idioma es all about relationships. La forma de la palabra implies más y mucho about la context sociales en el que it’s spoken. Crecí con myriad trozos de significado in each sentence spoken. English feels desolado en momentos. ¿Cómo se dice mijita como en una chica que es carnal para mi con el tono solamente? En inglés, estan mucho emphasis en the meaning of body language and I imagine los otros rarely notice this. Maybe por eso I have such a bad time entender mi role para las vidas de mis quieridos. Menos Mamá, lo no tengo con que hablar Spanish. Pero maybe menos los diminutivos y verbalizacion de relationships sociales en nuestro day to day conversacion, no créo sé how to fill la falta. Quizás part of el problema conmigo y my understanding of non-verbal communicación, and I figure it out claro que si, pero I forget how often no es necesito hacer que.

Spanish is all about relationships. The shape of a word implies so much about the social context in which the word is being used to communicate. I grew up with so many layers of meaning in every sentence spoken. English feels almost desolate sometimes. How do you convey that you are calling someone baby girl with the love you have for family with only tone? There is so much weight put on non-verbal communication in English that I think people rarely notice. Maybe that’s why I have so much trouble understanding my role in the lives of my loved ones. Aside from my mother, no one I love speaks Spanish well enough to use it with me. But maybe without those little suffixes and verbalization of social relationships in our day to day conversation, I don’t know how to fill in the gaps left behind. Maybe some of the conflict in how others speak and how I hear their words is the absence. I’ve never been good at reading body language, and I surely figure it out in Spanish too, but I forget sometimes how many little spaces it isn’t necessary in my mother tongue. La idioma del espanol es una cuestión de relaciones. La forma de una palabra expresarse mucho del contexto social en el que se habla la palabra. Crecí con tantas trozos de significado en cada oraciónes hablado. La idioma del inglés es desolado por momentos. ¿Cómo se dice mijita como en una chica que es carnal para mi con el tono solamente? En inglés se pone mucho énfasis en el significado que expresa el cuerpo y imagino que los otros ven es raremente. Quizás por eso me resulta difícil comprender mi ubicación social en las vidas de mis queridos. Menos mi madre, nul de mis quieridos habla español con sultura para usarlo conmigo. Pero sin esos diminutivos y la charla sobre relaciones sociales en nuestras expresiones, no sé cómo llenar la falta. quizás un componente del problemo en cómo entiendo a los demás es la falta de contexto. Soy malo para interpretar el expressiones corporal, y también lo entiendo en español, claro que si, pero olvido que con frecuencia no es necesario en mi lengua materna. Me pregunta how it is por la gente del otra cara. ¿How is it to see how much más acepción there is anytime una palabra cambia en español? ¿What do you notice changing when leé lo que está escrito aquí? I wonder what that is like for people on the other side of the coin. How does it feel to realize how many componants of a single word can be changed in Spanish to convey meaning? What do you see change when you try to navigate my language? What was it like to read this post? Me pregunto cómo será eso para la gente del otro cara. ¿Cómo es ver los muchos pequeños cambios en una palabra que tienen significado? ¿Qué ves cuando intentas interpretar mi idioma? ¿Cómo fue leer lo esto obra? Some say a mi está buenísima that I lapse en el español during sex. Some react poorly when I cambio en medio idiomas. Otros no tienen any reaction at all. No creó sé what I want people entender para mi behavior. Yo sé quiero to be loved en mi context. I know this makes la spoken idioma un dificíl way para mi aceptar love. I wonder how entendeís conmigo. Sometimes people tell me it’s hot that I lapse into Spanish during sex. Sometimes people react with visible discomfort whenever I move between languages. Others don’t have any reaction at all. I don’t know how to convey to someone what meaning I want them to take from this behavior. I know that I want to be loved in my own context. I know that I cannot be loved in a context others lack. I know this makes language a difficult form of love for me to accept. I wonder how others would come to understand that about me.

Algunas personas me dicen que está buenísima que hablo español cuando folo. Algunos reaccionan en contra de con desasosiego cuando cambio en medio idiomas. Otros no tienen ninguna reacción. No sé cómo decir qué espero que interpreten de esta acción. Quiero ser quierido en mi propio contexto. Sé que no puedo ser quierido en un contexto de lo cual otros es falta. Es difícil para mí aceptar la idioma hablado como una forma de cariño porque que esto verdad. Me pregunto cómo los otros entienden eso de mí.

#domi is the op #domi writes

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nightwatch-ithaqua · 1 year ago

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yeah, i figured as much, wasnt expecting anything else. works better for me if anything, i dont really like making new friends under any circumstances, so i wasnt planning on that to begin with. im not expecting you to trust me in any way either, im a stranger on the internet lol..

i hold a lot of pride in myself in many different ways, which sometimes is nice i guess because it makes me take a strong interest in people with shared sources because, again, lots of pride in myself and my source.. it can be a problem a lot when i feel like my identity is being threatened, which is why i tend to not like insys doubles. feels like our brain is trying to copypaste me even if theyre completely different in every way XP..

ive only met one other ithaqua (well.. i guess 2 now, if this counts..? or 3, if our friend being an ocassional irl also counts.) and its.. also a morningstar, funnily enough. were pretty similar, because it split off of me, but still plenty different, at least according to the two of us. although we do prefer to stick together, i think the only time weve been separate was when i left front but someone had to stay to watch andrew, and helel was the only other person around. i could talk about the two of us for a while honestly, but ill leave that for another ask since i prefer to not let these get too long and i have something else to talk about here.

one thing i recall is that the first time i saw your blog in tags, you mentioned you dont have pigtails, which i think is neat because i do! and i actually find it really hard to find any art or general representations of me with them.. so are we just having the opposite problem lol..? id love to switch if thats the case /j .. but seriously i find this in particular a bit interesting. i never even knew my brother existed before the whole.. (gestures vaguely) Situation, but he didnt have his hair up in any way, and so i often see mine as another way to keep us separate.. and our hair is slightly different colours, but i think its really hard to tell a lot of the time, so i like having the difference between us since without my hair being put up like that we look almost exactly the same. more than we already do.

🪷

The identity thing feels extremely real tbh. There are too many doubles of me in the system and I feel lost in the crowd, like I don't get to just be me sometimes. At least none of them are after my dear Alva though. They're all very different from me it's so odd.

And yes, ironically, it feels like all the art I see of myself people are drawing their version with pigtails.

After awhile I've come to just let it slide. It took awhile just getting used to being here and accepting that things were going to be this way tbh.

I am less and less ashamed of my system as time goes on and I'm not afraid to share anymore I think that we actually have two NW fictives that were raised together and it was their biological father that attacked and that's a whole story they could talk about because it was a traumatic moment for them too but the story went very different and yet not to dissimilar from canon.

I just think it's incredible how we can have so many similarities and differences all at the same time.

#fictive #idv fictive #anon ask #ask box #night watch fictive

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acrossthewavesoftime · 2 years ago

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First Lines Game

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

Thank you for thinking of me, @sanguinarysanguinity! It's been a while, but I haven't forgotten you! :-) I had previously experienced some technical difficulties, but here we are at last! What I write is a bold mix of historical fiction interspersed with some fics in the classical sense, so there:

It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. A James Joyce-inspired beginning to my project on Mary Baddeley and Henry Clinton.

The bells of Dresden tolled in mourning for the loss of the Elector; they had not tolled a fortnight before, when his mistress had predeceased him. I haven't written much of it yet, but I am transfixed by the life of Wilhelmina Maria Frederica von Rochlitz, the illegitimate daughter of Johann Georg IV, elector of Saxony. She was named after her godparents William III and Mary II of England, and would lose her mother, father and godmother within the same year to the same illness, and be raised at the court of her uncle Augustus the Strong.

Die Schwüle eines beginnenden Sommertages hing schwer über der Mark, dem Wald, und dem Dorfe und angrenzenden Gut B--. This is a little project for a friend that I won't quite disclose yet. ;-)

In all Lochaber— perhaps in all the Western Highlands— there was no more bored or disgusted man this sixteenth of August than Mr. Keith Windham of St. George’s School for Boys, as he led a group of year elevens; and no more nervous or unhappy men than the students themselves. Probably the only real fic on the list; a modern re-telling of the first meeting between Keith and Ewen from The Flight of the Heron!

Grey, grey was the garden, and grey the meadow and woods behind it, all glazed in dull hoarfrost. He shivered in spite of the warming flames in the fireplace, and pulled his banyan tighter about him, but it was no use, the cold still would not leave him. This is the beginning of my Margaret and Samuel Graves-centric project revolving around British naval operations in North America in 1774- early 1776.

She examined her face in the mirror: the brightness of the candle knew no clemency in revealing her age to her; they had once said of her that she had her mother's eyes, but the rest were her father's features: how long were they dead, how long since the last time someone had told her so, that remark the young girl had loathed, and yet the old woman longed for? The beginning of a little experiment in the way of alternative history that was developed together with @vankeppel- what if there was a Stuart heir to the throne, and the Hannovarians did not end up ruling from 1714 on? Lots of family secrets, guilt, and political hijinks ensue.

Als er ein Kind gewesen war, hatte seine Mutter ihm oft vorgelesen oder Geschichten erzählt: er erinnerte sich, als sei es gestern gewesen, wie er auf seiner Mutter schoß sitzend um eine letzte Geschichte vor dem Zubettgehen gefleht hatte; sie wusste manch toll-dreistes Abendteuer zu erzählen, und nicht selten waren ihre Helden edle Prinzen-- und das war auch äußerst zutreffend, bedachte man, wie sein Vater erst am Vortage ihn fauchend seiner vermeintlich weibisch-verweichlichten, losen Sitten gescholten hatte. This sort of ties in with its predecessor and is a present for @nordleuchten; what if George IV was never the prince regent, but a measly German prince who suffers from a colourful bouquet of first world problems (lace cravat not ironed correctly! Gasp!) and, out of boredom, quits to go to sea-- with unforeseen consequences.

If there's anything you'd like to hear more about, feel free to ask! I'm tagging any and all writers who wish to participate!

#r writes #tag game #reply #sanguinarysanguinity #first line game

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pee-bee · 1 month ago

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oooo yippee!!!!

1. tiktok got me into them, but ironically it wasn't their videos 😭 i have the insanely talented editors to thank for how quickly i got invested in this madhouse <3333 i saw so many edits that eventually i was like "well i GOTTA see what these guys are up to and why they keep playing so many tragic gay characters????

omgitaj my beloved and the straw that broke the camels back. i got one too many xavier edits and had a desperate need to know why tom had suddenly got so cunty??? imagine how delighted i was to discover that cunty is his natural state of being. after omg i watched all the live shows before the longform playlist, so it was beetroots, murders in space, and detective vs xmas tree bandits. then the playlist from 2-present day

oooo current favourite has probably gotta beeeee the excited chinchilla!!! some of the line deliveries in that just kill me every time it's so good

ive been on tumblr on and off since 2018, but it became my beloved hellsite social media in 2020 when i had nothing to do but reblog covid shitposts <3

starkid!!!! i am a HUGE starkid fan. also a sprinkle of hermitcraft here and there for variety because u can never truly escape the mcyt fandom

favourite character is (maybe controversially) arthur bd from bus. i don't know what is about him he's just. so funny to me. brother spent fifty years at sea to avoid political conflicts and if that ain't a mood i don't know what is. favourite ship is john jacob and angelina my babies <3333 enemies to lovers is like crack to me

eat you alive by the oh hellos! when i first got into the fandom i had three notes in my phone: "sfth videos to show my friends", "sfth fics ill never write", and "sfth edits ill never make". in the edits note there is an idea for a multi-longform edit that goes line-by-line down eat you alive, and it was one of the coolest ideas id ever had (but i am a TERRIBLE editor who doesn't know how to use any of the softwares, so in my notes it will stay until the end of time 🫡)

that was super fun! thanks for the tag!

no pressure tags:

@bookishhippie @uuhhhhwhat @shootfromthehipobsessed @shooting-my-load-from-the-hip

and anyone else who wants to!

I thought it would be fun to try and get to know people in this fandom with a tag game! So reblog this and tell me:

What got you watching SFTH

The first longform you watched

Your current favorite longform

How long you've been using tumblr

What your favorite fandoms other than SFTH are

Your favorite SFTH character and/or ship

A song that you associate with a SFTH character/ship/longform in some way

Mine are:

The Irish Mermaids Change Game came up on my youtube algorithm; I've always liked improv so I wanted to see more from this group and the rest is history

The Off Season

Probably a tie between The Milkman, Moist & Magical, and Ballet on the Battlefield....but Creak in the Attic is getting close as well

Since 2016, so 9 years now!

My AO3 suggests Sanders Sides, but I haven't been deep in that for years...probably either Leverage, Skyrim, or Star Trek TNG

Character is probably either Jemima or Alexa, ship is either Egbert/Samantha or John Jacob/Angelina

I was listening to Aurora while writing my Creak in the Attic fic and I especially like the vibes of Little Boy in the Grass for Jim/El and Junior's friendship

No-pressure tagging some people to start us off, but anyone who sees this and wants to play can! I can't wait to read everyone's answer! @moonsanoverthinker @heliona @mangomaestro @ethernitty @rainy-weather-supremacy @not-an-idiot @ilikeasstrology @i-may-be-an-emu @bbatcat-09 @8pandacakes @theblackberryhimself

#tag game #yippee!!!!

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jasntodds · 3 years ago

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Hamartia Chapter 20 Teaser - Full Chapter coming 05/05

Chapter summary: You and Peter are waiting for the other foot to drop

Full chapter warnings: Fluff, angst, mentions of death, mentions of injuries, mentions of bruises, mentions of past drug use, mentions of blood

Words: 1,251

A/n: So, like chapter 20 is the last chapter besides the epilogue so like hi lol it’s almost done skjdhfk If you want to be added to the tag list, lemme know!! I hope you guys like the teaser!! Please lemme know what y’all think!! Masterlist in bio!!

“What’re you gonna do? Like you can….do anything now? You don’t have to stay here anymore.” Harley asks, knowing you like freedom but the extremis started to really prevent it.

You’ve always had a bit of wanderlust.

“Uh, I don’t know.” You laugh. “Maybe Alaska?” You offer with a cheeky expression.

“Alaska?! You hate the cold.” Harley chortles.

“But it’s far away from here. Maybe Australia? Also very far away from here and it’s warm.”

“Wooow.” Harley gasps. “Hate us that much?” Harley fake pouts.

“As if I’d stay away more than a week. I only survived MIT cause I had you guys.” You roll your eyes.

You want to travel, see every country, learn about different places and cultures by seeing everything with your own eyes. But, you’ve been here your whole life. The only thing you’ve ever known is the Stark tower and superheroes. It definitely has its perks of course, but it’s your home. The place you’ll always look at as that. It’s not this magical thing that a lot of strangers think it would be.

Being around Captain American, War Machine, Hawkeye, Iron Man, a Black Widow, but you don’t know them as that. You watched their weird quirks and goofy habits. They’re people to you, not these magical heroes. It’s a family, even though you don’t see a lot of them much anymore. It’s different and you know, this will always be your home. New York and being away longer than a month will make you homesick. So, you will always come back. Wanderlust or not.

“It’s not so bad, moving away. It’s kind of nice.” Harley assures you.

“Yeah, but you had all of us. We were already like family.” You counter.

“You’ll have Peter.” Harley states with bright eyes and a cheeky grin.

“Yeah…” You look to your lap, a graceful smile on your face as your heart flutters at the thought of Peter following you anywhere. “I got Peter.” You chew the inside of your cheek while you look at Harley before your phone starts vibrating in your pocket. “Hold on, it's Peter.” You smile as you pick up your phone. “Hey, Pete.”

“Y/n!” He yells on the other end, panic in his voice.

In an instant, the ice cracks. Your blood runs cold as you plummet into the frozen and unforgiving waters. Panic sets in as you’re internally pleading for this not be happening right now. Not after everything. Not when things have been going so well. But Peter would never call you in a panic if something wasn’t wrong and you know that.

“Peter?” Your voice is hesitant, your body completely frozen in place.

“Come to the clock tower. Just you.” Someone else says, Peter yelling in the background for you not to listen and just like that the line goes dead.

You hold the phone away from your face and here you go again. Another day. Another villain. This time, though, it’s Peter who’s been taken and despite him telling you not to come, you’re looking at the IV and you know not to do it, but you start yanking it from your hand anyway, Harley trying to stop you.

“I gotta go.” You say, words rushed and quiet when you free the IV, ignoring the blood dripping slightly from the puncture hole. You immediately start leaving the medbay, Harley is quick to follow you.

“What’s going on?” Harley asks, right on your heels.

“It’s Peter, I gotta go.” You say, feet picking up speed before you’re at a full-blown sprint to the nearest opening window or door.

Tears brim your eyes. You’ve been kidnapped twice now all before the age of twenty. Now it’s Peter that’s been taken and you know how absolutely terrifying it is to be helpless and alone. Knowing there should be help coming but not knowing if it’ll actually make it in time because the villains you both seem to have are ruthless and relentless. They will do anything to get exactly what they want no matter who it kills. And you cannot let Peter deal with this all over again.

“I’m coming with you.” Harley keeps up with you, not even thinking about what’s going on.

This was your last treatment, he doesn’t know what’s going on or what the phone call even was. He does know that anything involving Peter still clouds your judgment a little bit and he won’t let you get hurt because of it.

“Stay here.” You say as you reach the door, pressing the necklace and allowing the suit to cover your body.

“You’re not going alone.” Harley grabs your wrist just as you’re about to take off.

“MARTY will let you know if I’m trouble. Just stay here.” You try to yank your arm away, but Harley is stronger than you. “Let go! I gotta save Peter and so fucking help me Harley, if you’re the reason I’m too fucking late, I will never forgive you. Let me go and if you show up and he dies because you did, I will also never fucking forgive you. Stay here!” You pull your arm one last time, yanking it free, seeing the absolute pain and anxiety written across Harley’s face. “This is something I have to do.” You urge before turning to the door and flying away, leaving Harley behind.

“Shit.” Harley sighs, watching you and knowing the odds of this ending well are slim to none. But there’s a reason you said ‘that if he dies because he came with’ so he only has to assume it’s because you were told to come alone. Also, a very bad sign of where this going to go. Peter is not the target. So, he calls Tony.

The flight to the clock tower is quick, not quick enough to you of course because on the way, your mind just races. You were so focused on Peter screaming in the background, begging you to stay at the tower, that you can’t even remember who the voice sounds like. To your memory, it doesn’t even sound familiar but it could have been Tony in that moment and you probably couldn’t have identified it. But you keep thinking it has to be someone you both know because Peter hasn’t been Spider-Man and with no Spider-Man, you also haven’t been doing the whole hero thing either. So, it has to be someone from the past who decided to pick back up again. The thing is that you don’t know who or why or what you’re up against. You just know one thing for sure, they mess with Peter, they mess with you and that just won’t do.

You fly up the very top of the tower where there’s an opening. As your feet hit the wooden planks, you see Peter tied up on the ground, hands behind his back and tape over his mouth and his captor standing right beside him. And with that sight, your heart sinks and fury starts to rave through your veins.

Tag list: @tomzfrog // @underoosmarvel // @spiderboytotherescue // @starponywars // @softholand // @lookalivefrosty // @rainbowsinthestorm // @keepingupwiththeparkers // @watsonparker // @t-hollandss // @whatareyouhidingpeter // @bibliophile-grasshopp // @pancakefancake // @lilleone // @lilbeatlebear // @eternal-fangirling // @parkersvibes // @slitherysneke // @wymbean // @grandmascottlang // @lionfart // @whatbuckywrote // @tothestarsandreams // @yourbiggestspiderfan // @originalpinkpowerranger // @unleashthebeees // @mrs-hollandstan // @butwhyduh // @peterspizzashirt // @commoncurtains // @escapetheshackles // @angelhaz11 // @kebonita // @dreamerofzaldrizes // @parkerspideyman // @lovely-luke // @saintlavrents // @deartomholland // @tommyhollandaisesauce // @saturn-aka-six // @mycocoapuffs // @cleopatera // @annacarolinafeelings // @shirukitsune // @spideylovin // @skelkitt // @sweetcxeature // @newbrokenscene-1998 // @eridanuswave // @michelleofthesea // @bansheeshavok // @silktoyourspidey // @txmhoelland

#peter parker #tom holland #dark!peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker series #peter parker fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #dark!peter parker x reader #tom!peter parker #tom!peter x reader #hamartia

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kai-writes-fan-fiction · 4 years ago

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In Hiding Part 2/?

Hey Buds! It’s me, Cay! This is part 2 of the Hiding Away series. I’m not super proud of it, but part 3 will be better. This was more or less a filler chapter, however, I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always greatly appreciated, and my requests are still open! Please, please, PLEASE send In prompts lol. (P.S. please excuse and spelling/grammar errors and typos, I had a migraine while writing this.)

Part one: https://imjustalurker12.tumblr.com/post/646379452336586752/in-hiding

Word count: 1000ish

Warnings: Talk of blood and needles, Non-graphic violence, no swearing in this one, a very bad cliffhanger

You were drifting in and out of consciousness, a bright light obscuring your view. You attempted to bring your arm up to shield your eyes from the blinding white light; however, you couldn’t move your arms. Your throat was sore so that you couldn't tell out. Your eyes still weren't fully adjusted to the light, so you couldn't see what was going on.

The only thing you knew is that you were lying on a hard surface supine, and you couldn't shift.

After a few more seconds of squinting, you lifted your head. You were strapped to a table by glowing blue cuffs. They must have something to do with the fact that you couldn't shift.

You had also been changed out of your clothes, blue scrubs in their place. An IV was in your right arm, and wires were coming from your chest, and you could also hear a constant beeping echoing throughout the room.

You began to squirm to remove yourself from the cuffs, but your actions were quickly noticed by a man in a lab coat staring at you from across the room. You recognized this man to be none other than Dr. Bruce Banner.

He looked up to you and smiled.

“Good morning, or should I say good afternoon (Y/N) (Y/L/N)! You slept for almost 12 hours! The Avengers really knocked you out, huh?”

You grimaced. That's right; the Avengers had caught you. It would seem that your “low profile jobs” weren't so low profile after all.

“Y’know, ” Bruce said, walking over to you, “you're a pretty hard person to find? (Y/N)” His brow furrowed. “Now, I need to take some blood.”

Needles really weren’t your thing, especially the long one Banner now held in his hands. You growled low; your powers were begging to come back and began squirming around. He rolled his eyes.

“Stop moving; it'll hurt less.” He mumbled.

Not convinced, you shifted uncontrollably. He tried to grab your arm, but his strength was no match for yours, which was slowly returning.

“Loki! Come do that magic thing!” Bruce yelled over his shoulder.

Loki then entered the lab, looked at you, and snarled.

“You're seriously not giving up? Stupid Midgaurdian child.” He hissed

He grabbed your arm, and you suddenly went limp.

“Thanks.” Banner said to Loki.

In return, Loki rolled his eyes and left the lab.

Inserting the needle into your arm, Banner sighed, “This would be easier for both of us if you stopped resisting.”

You clicked your tongue and grimaced. “Hmph.”

He sighed and walked away, leaving to examine your blood sample. He looked into the microscope and gasped. He picked up his phone and dialed a number.

“Stark, you need to get down here. Their blood- I've never seen anything like it. Her cells- just come down here.” He says into the receiver, pivoting his chair to look at your limp body once more.

Little did he know, you were beginning to gain your powers back. Loki's magic couldn't keep them at bay forever.

Five minutes later, you heard “BANNER!” being yelled at by Tony from the lab's entrance. “I’M HERE!”

You growled lowly, a sign of your powers becoming even stronger. You may be able to shift again within 5 minutes. You needed to plan your escape.

While Tony and Bruce babbled on, you began mapping the room. Practically the whole room was made out of glass, and it looked out onto the common room of the Avengers compound. You smiled to yourself, as it would be straightforward to bust out.

“What’re you smiling at, oh mighty blue one?” Stark taunted.

You turned back to him and narrowed your eyes in annoyance.

“My bad, kid!” He stuck his hands up in defense.

You went back to daydreaming about your escape, taking note of the woods surrounding the compound. After turning into an iron man suit, you’d break the glass and-

“Seriously, you’re grinning again.” Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud Tony Stark.

You turned to him and rolled your eyes.

“Does she not speak?” Tony asked Bruce, turning away from you.

“I haven't heard her yet; it’s not important.” Bruce sighs, still focused on your blood sample. “(Y/N), I need a piece of your hair.”

He walked over to you, and you grimaced when he tugged at a strand. He walked back to his microscope, placing the strand into a glass plate.

After a minute of staring at the strand, he whispered, “The blue, it’s natural!”

Duh, it was natural. All of the hair on your body was blue, and you can’t dye eyelashes. You gave an exasperated sigh and turned your head back to the windows, resuming the formulation of your plan. After you'd bust out, you'd shift into a-

“I'm sorry, is there something you need to say?” Asked an annoyed Tony.

You shook your head and returned to your thoughts as a reply. Tony wasn't satisfied.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace, princess.” He smirked, stepping towards you.

He was getting too close, and your powers still weren't fully replenished, but it was time to go. You grinned and flashed a pair of fangs before shifting into a wolf and out of your cuffs.

A startled Tony summoned his suit to overpower you, but you had already predicted such. You shifted into your suit and blasted the glass. It shattered immediately, and you flew out.

Once you reached the outdoors, you shifted into a cheetah, running far away from the compound. When you hit the woods, you morphed into a tree squirrel. There was no way they'd find you now, you thought. And maybe they wouldn't; read Part 3 to find out what happens next!

Tag list: @ooopsidaisy @moonbaejpeg @kinny-away @screechingshepherddeputygoth

@coollemonsaresour

Thanks for reading to then end! Please tell me if you want a part 3, I’m hoping it’s better than this one lol. Also I have school for a few days, so I may be a little longer when writing next parts and requests.

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chispas-and-broken-bindings · 4 years ago

Note

Lmao 🤣 I know to which post you are replying about them being besties . That scene always gave me more ominous vibes than actually something that would ignite friendship . Also the title of " Usurper's Dog " isn't something @ry@ is going to take lightly .

Ha! I actually didn't have any particular post in mind. The Dany/Arya friendship is just something that I see float around the fandom from time to time and it drives me absolutely bonkers (not fanon. feel free to explore all your platonic dreams with these two in fanon. Go wild. You do you.)

If we are talking canon though, I can't think of a single character that has more anti-Targ foreshadowing in their chapters than Arya (even Jon comes in second place). I actually started pasting bits of Arya's chapters into a word document awhile ago, because I couldn't believe how much GRRM uses her POV to detail the horrors of fire and burning...it's almost comical how heavy-handed he is with it.

And yet...

After I saw this ask in my inbox, I looked at the Arya Stark tag and immediately found a post about Dany and Arya being best friends.

So.

Here we are:

A Storm of Swords - Arya I

Later they passed through a burned village, threading their way carefully between the shells of blackened hovels and past the bones of a dozen dead men hanging from a row of apple trees. When Hot Pie saw them he began to pray, a thin whispered plea for the Mother's mercy, repeated over and over. Arya looked up at the fleshless dead in their wet rotting clothes and said her own prayer. Ser Gregor, it went, Dunsen, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling. The Tickler and the Hound. Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei. She ended it with valar morghulis, touched Jaqen's coin where it nestled under her belt, and then reached up and plucked an apple from among the dead men as she rode beneath them. It was mushy and overripe, but she ate it worms and all.

That was the day without a dawn. Slowly the sky lightened around them, but they never saw the sun. Black turned to grey, and colors crept timidly back into the world. The soldier pines were dressed in somber greens, the broadleafs in russets and faded golds already beginning to brown.

Hot Pie opened his mouth and closed it. He did not fall off his horse. The rain began again a short time later. They still had not seen so much as a glimpse of the sun. It was growing colder, and pale white mists were threading between the pines and blowing across the bare burned fields.

A Storm of Swords - Arya III

That night they sheltered in a burned, abandoned village.

A Storm of Swords - Arya IV

The next night they found shelter beneath the scorched shell of a sept, in a burned village called Sallydance. Only shards remained of its windows of leaded glass, and the aged septon who greeted them said the looters had even made off with the Mother's costly robes, the Crone's gilded lantern, and the silver crown the Father had worn. "They hacked the Maiden's breasts off too, though those were only wood," he told them. "And the eyes, the eyes were jet and lapis and mother-of-pearl, they pried them out with their knives. May the Mother have mercy on them all."

A Storm of Swords Arya VI

"Please," Sandor Clegane rasped, cradling his arm. "I'm burned. Help me. Someone. Help me." He was crying. "Please."

Arya looked at him in astonishment. He's crying like a little baby, she thought.

Clegane tried to stand, but as he moved a piece of burned flesh sloughed right off his arm, and his knees went out from under him. Tom caught him by his good arm and held him up.

His arm, Arya thought, and his face. But he was the Hound. He deserved to burn in a fiery hell. The knife felt heavy in her hand. She gripped it tighter. "You killed Mycah," she said once more, daring him to deny it. "Tell them. You did. You did."

"I did." His whole face twisted. "I rode him down and cut him in half, and laughed. I watched them beat your sister bloody too, watched them cut your father's head off."

Lem grabbed her wrist and twisted, wrenching the dagger away. She kicked at him, but he would not give it back. "You go to hell, Hound," she screamed at Sandor Clegane in helpless empty-handed rage. "You just go to hell!"

(Okay, so she's not exactly sympathetic to the Hound's plight here, but still...another reference to burning, and a pretty graphic one at that)

A Storm of Swords - Arya VII

Jack-Be-Lucky, Harwin, and Merrit o' Moontown braved the burning septry to search for captives. They emerged from the smoke and flames a few moments later with eight brown brothers, one so weak that Merrit had to carry him across a shoulder.

The septry soon collapsed in a roar of smoke and flame, its walls no longer able to support the weight of its heavy slate roof. The eight brown brothers watched with resignation. They were all that remained, explained the eldest, who wore a small iron hammer on a thong about his neck to signify his devotion to the Smith. "Before the war we were four-and-forty, and this was a prosperous place. We had a dozen milk cows and a bull, a hundred beehives, a vineyard and an apple arbor. But when the lions came through they took all our wine and milk and honey, slaughtered the cows, and put our vineyard to the torch.

A Storm of Swords - Arya XI

"Dead," he shouted back at her. "Do you think they'd slaughter his men and leave him alive?" He turned his head back toward the camp. "Look. Look, damn you."

The camp had become a battlefield. No, a butcher's den. The flames from the feasting tents reached halfway up the sky. Some of the barracks tents were burning too, and half a hundred silk pavilions. Everywhere swords were singing. And now the rains weep o'er his hall, with not a soul to hear. She saw two knights ride down a running man. A wooden barrel came crashing onto one of the burning tents and burst apart, and the flames leapt twice as high. A catapult, she knew. The castle was flinging oil or pitch or something.

"Come with me." Sandor Clegane reached down a hand. "We have to get away from here, and now." Stranger tossed his head impatiently, his nostrils flaring at the scent of blood. The song was done. There was only one solitary drum, its slow monotonous beats echoing across the river like the pounding of some monstrous heart. The black sky wept, the river grumbled, men cursed and died. Arya had mud in her teeth and her face was wet. Rain. It's only rain. That's all it is. "We're here," she shouted. Her voice sounded thin and scared, a little girl's voice. "Robb's just in the castle, and my mother. The gate's even open." There were no more Freys riding out. I came so far. "We have to go get my mother."

(heart: broken)

Look, there is a lot to say about fire and about rain in Arya's chapters, particularly in A Storm of Swords. I don't have the energy for it, so I'm just dumping quotes. Draw your own conclusions.

This collection is by no means exhaustive, and I'm sure there is someone more dedicated than I am, who has written something about this symbolism. (If anyone has it, send me a link).

All I'm saying is that GRRM isn't throwing all this devastation by fire and blood into Arya's chapters as positive foreshadowing for how she'll feel when a certain conqueror cross the Narrow Sea with her dragons.

#Arya Stark #dark!dany #my asks #dark dany #dark daenerys

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kaz11283 · 4 years ago

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The Shape of You

Summary: While at one of Tonys top end parties the god of mischief asks you to dance to your suprise. You didn't think he was the type to dance muchless to the song that he decided to ask you to dsnce to.

Characters: Loki, Thor, Tony, Natalie, Wanda, Clint, Steve

Pairings: you x Loki, you x Thor (platonic), you x Tony (Brother, sister)

ANNOUNCMENTS: I got this idea while listening to "Shape of You", then I really started getting into the story everytime that I listened to it (which was a lot). Ive had this on my head for a while now but i had to finish up I think I'm in love and part 2. I also got 200 followers today, next is 300, lets get this! BTW I know that this is a GIF from High Rise but it gives you a PRETTY good iead whats going on. 💚💚💚

Loki Masterlist

"Why do you insist on bringing me to the boring ass parties Nat?" You asked trying to pull the hem of the dress down that she had picked oit for you. It wad a dark blue thigh length dress with a very low v neck, the shoes where a high heel ankle strap black shoe with small bows on the side the same color as the dress.

"Stop. Stop pulling, your not gonna make it any longer by doing that." She said swatting your hands away. "I bring you to these 'boring ass parties' because you spend to much time in the library doimg research, in your room working, or sitting in the lab trying to make something better. Point is, you are always working."

"I dont hear you complaining when something of yours gets improved, or an upgrade. Nat I love you but I am a weponds expert. I work better in the quite, thats my zone. Not here."

"Is that why you enjoy spending time with Loki? Because I have to tell you y/n hes not really the quite type." She rasied an eyebrow to look st you.

"Hes not the quite type around all of you because you all make snide remarks. Hes usually quite around me because I dont pick on him or call him names." You turned and looked straight at her.

"All of the other reindeer, use to laugh and call him names." Tony sang walking up to the two of you with a drink. "Couldnt be talking about reindeer game could you?"

"Thank you Tony, and we were just finishing talking and Loki." You answered walking off to sit at the bar where Steve and Thor was sitting.

"Your brother throws one heck of a party." Steve saod tilting his beer to his mouth. "Defiantly better than some of the parties I've been to."

"It is a good party but nothing like the ones on Asguard." Thor boomed with laughter. "You must come some time, we would have a grand celebration in your honor."

"Hes always been a little over the top, if you cant tell. Always had an eye for big, expensive things. Flamboyant parties, playboy style women, expensive cars. Whatever he wants he gets, now dont get me wrong he does work his ass off, but sometimes it would be nice to just have a weekend were the walls didnt shake while I am trying to work on something."

"Ah but little sister, all work and no play makes y/n a dull boy." Tony answered lightly slapping your back.

"Jesus Christ Tone, stop quoting movies, it gets rather annoying."

"Another round, bartender, for little sister." Tony said ruffling your hair.

"You realize I cant stand you right?" You shot him a sideways look.

"Thats why I dont let you work on my toys." He answered giving you a kiss on the top of the head before walking off.

"Thor?" You turned to the god of thunder.

"Yes Lady y/n?" He turned to were he was facing you, his legs on either side of your thighs.

"Do you know of your brother is going to show up?" He laughed turning back to the bar. "Dont get me wrong I absolutly love your company but...."

"You would rather have the company of a more slender, raven haired man tonight." He raised a brow while taking a drink of his beer.

"Well, yes. He is quite interesting to say the least." You laugh.

"Well lady y/n, he said he would be down shortly. He did say he was going to make an apperance though."

"Thank you." You stood, leaning down to kiss his cheek before walking off to find someone else interesting to talk to.

"Hey y/n! Over here!" Clint shouted waving you over to were he, Nat, and Wanda were sitting.

You sat talking to them for a little bit about what new stuff you had added to their weapons and gear, Clint was excited about trying out some of the new arrows that you had developed. You kept gnacing around the room hoping to catch a glips of Loki when he decided to come down.

While you and Wanda was in the middle of a conversation you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning slightly you seen Loki stamding there was a know it all smirk on his face, he was wearing a completly black suit with his hair slicked back, you coud have swore that your heart stopped.

"Hello Darling, I heard you had been asking about me?" He offered you his hand to help you stand.

You laughed tucking your chin down slightly, you could feel your cheeks heat up. "I am going to kill your brother." He lead you back to the bar and getting you a drink handing it to you.

"You look quite ravishing tonight." He leaned in whispering in your ear. "Dont start being bashful tonight, after what happened last night." He had caught you off guard causing you to spit your drink back in your glass.

"Loki," you hissed smacking him on his shoulder. "We dont need Tony going all Iron Man on you tonight."

"Dance with me." He took your glass sitting it back on the bar and grabbed your hand.

"Oh no no no no. I dont dance." You tried stopping but he pulled you to the edge of the damce floor.

"Then dont dance, let the music guide you, or just follow my lead." He grabbed your waist pulling you closer to him, the song was an up beat song and he started moving. "Midguardian dances are so simple, it would be a type of tango I am assuming." He took you hand and wrapped it around the back of his head before placing his hand on your lower back pulling you even closer.

"This is crazy." You laughed after a few practice steps. It was simple yet intimate at the same time, you had a feeling you knew where this was heading.

"But simple, you are better than what you give your self credit for." He spund you around a few times as the tempo changed, when he spun you back to him his chest ws aginst your back as his hamd splayed across your abdomen.

He traced his nose up the side of your neck as you both moved causing you to give a small moan. "My bed sheets still smell like you." He whispered.

"Loki, can I let you in on a secret." You turned back in his arms to face him.

"Of course my dear." His fingers stroked your back.

"I think I'm in love with you." You wrapped your hand around his head so that you could pull his ear down to your level. You heard him take a breath and the dancing faltered slightly but he kept moving.

"It feels as though I might be returning those feelings y/n." You smiled up at him he turned you in a few more circles causing you to be facing away from him again. His hips following yours in a delicious manner causing your thoughts to go back to the night before. His trailing kisses down your neck to your collar bones, fingers caressing up your sides pulling your shirt over your head. You returning the favor and being speechless at finally seeing him with out his shirt on. He had a more slender figure but his muscles were still there. Remembering the feeling of his chest clenching as you ran your fingers up and around his neck to pull him closer for the earth shattering kiss that had lead to so much more.

"You reliving some of last nights activities, y/n?" He asked quietly.

"Yes but sadly I am having trouble remembering some parts. You might have to remind me." The song ended as you pulled him off the dance floor and through the doors leading to the hallway.

~~~~~

Tag List:

@kgirardin

@sophlubbwriting

@supbeeches

@high-functioning-lokipath

@rosaline-black

@serpentargo

@drbaureid

ANNOUNCEMENT 2: Wow wow wow, ok so some slightly adult situations but oh dear lord, my face is a little red just from writting that. I've read worst but never wrote. What I would give to be twirled around the dance floor like that by him. Thank you guys for reading! I really hope you enjoy this one. Like I saod I have been thinking about this for about a week now and here it is. I habe to say this is like top 3 of my faves (my first was and still is my fave "Bath Time For a Prince") Thank you again for all the love and the support!!!!

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awkwxrdapple · 4 years ago

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Fallen Angel (Part 2) - Peter Parker x reader

PART 1

Request reminder: Hi! I love your writing! I was hoping you could do a peter x reader where the reader gets badly hurt and captured and it takes a long time for the avengers and peter to find her and once they do, she is scared half to death, jumpy, nervous, and stays by Peter’s side during pretty much everything. They are living in the avengers tower with everyone and since they are the youngest, Peter is particularly protective of her during her recovery. Thank you!

Word count: 1.5k

WARNINGS: mentions of anxiety, light torture, injury, trauma (after reading if you think I should include any others please let me know thank you)

Part 2

The hours that had passed felt like months. Soon you had lost track of how long you thought you had been strapped to a chair in that room, and with every physical injury you felt your resolve falter more and more.

You would never give them what they wanted - that you were sure of. So unfortunately for you, whoever was holding you was getting more impatient and frustrated, taking it out on you even more to try and get what they wanted. You hoped maybe they would give up after it was obvious you wouldn't crack, but they didn't seem to think so.

They could see they were breaking you on the outside. Little did they know you were not utterly terrified. Every sound in the room made you jump, and every touch made you flinch so hard the ropes holding you cut into your skin. You were a mess, both inside and out. But you still wouldn't give them what they wanted.

Dropping down in front of you like he had done before the beating began, the first man who spoke to you sighed and held your chin to force you to look at him.

"Y/N I hate to keep asking but you really give me no choice."

He used the back of his hand to slap you harshly across the cheek. Any other day that wouldn't have phased you that much, but due to the already existing wounds put there by either him or one of his other men, it stung and brought more tears to your eyes.

"N-no." You wept. You were now openly crying but you didn't care. All that mattered is that they didn't get what they wanted. You wouldn't give them any information about the Avengers.

The man's annoyance was growing even more that before. It terrified you. You knew they needed you alive but they could still do many things to you before you died.

You thought about Peter, about your best friend, and somehow that gave you more strength to hang on. Would he be out there looking for you? Would they even have any way to find you? You hoped with every fibre of your broken body that Peter was on his way to help you. You even hated being apart from him for this long.

"I really do hate doing this to you Y/N…"

You hated that he kept using your first name like you were old friends.

No you don't. You thought, before a punch was directed at your gut.

+ + +

Once Peter had suited up he paced nervously waiting for Tony to get into the Iron Man armour. Nat had caught onto the situation and was joining the both of them on your rescue mission. Nobody knew why or who had wanted to kidnap you. They hadn't received a message requesting a ransom for your return, so it was clear a more sinister plot was at play.

Upon arriving at the old warehouse that your phone signal was coming from, the trio split up to try and cover more ground. If you were inside the building, it would then be a faster process to find you and get you out. Alive.

Peter was the one to find you.

You became worried when you heard shouting and loud thumps from outside the door. The noises started to make you shake with fear and soon you were crying softly again.

There was a few moments of complete silence before the door was kicked in, flying completely off its hinges and into the room narrowly missing you.

It was almost as if your luck had completely changed and you sobbed audibly upon seeing him.

There was one other man in the room with you who went for his gun as soon as he spotted the red and blue, but Peter was quicker. He disarmed the man swiftly and carefully and sent an elbow to his face cleanly knocking him out.

"Y/N!" Peter's astonishment at your appearance was coupled with relief and something else you couldn't quite place. For a moment you thought it was anger. Was he angry at you? Had you caused so much disruption that he was angry at you?

"Tony, Nat!" Peter also called out through his comms unit and soon the two Avengers ran into the room too.

Tony cut and removed your bonds and let Peter move in closer to you so your body could fall into his. He used a spare hand to rip his mask off so you could look at him properly. His soft brown eyes were full of concern. You sagged into him further as you had no more energy left to hold yourself up.

"Hey Y/N stay with me, ok baby. Stay with me."

Baby.

The endearment was lost on you as you were falling in and out of consciousness. The darkness of the room wasn't helping your extreme fatigue and shock. Even though you were being rescued, you were still terrified.

In the corner of your eye you could see another man in black come into the room but Nat dealt with him. For a second you felt a shriek of fear nearly come out of you but as you saw his limp body fall to the ground it was lost.

Peter's strong but gentle arms were wrapped around your body as he lifted to you up swiftly to his chest. You could hear sobs, which after a few seconds you realised were your own. Hearing these, Peter hugged you even closer to him and you instinctively moved closer into his embrace. This was the closest feeling to being safe that you had felt since you had been taken.

He was warm, and smelt of home. Quickly your sobs turned from fear to relief.

"Ok, let's get her out of here." Peter commanded.

Tony and Nat went in front of Peter and led the way through the also dimly lit corridors. When you reached the door that let into outside, you had to squint from the brightness and turn your face further into Peter. There was noise outside too, too much of it. Cars were bustling up and down the street.

"Did you find out anything about them?" Nat asked Tony, slightly out of breath from running.

"No, all of their software was encrypted so well that even I couldn't hack it."

Nat sighed. Your safety and wellbeing was a bigger concern at the moment though. They needed to get you back to the Tower as soon as they could and get you checked over. Just one quick glance at you would make any one aware of your fragile state.

Peter was still whispering encouragement to you as you gripped onto him.

“You're safe now Y/N."

"I've got you."

"Stay with me, we're going home."

"You are so strong Y/N."

Soon though, you couldn't hold onto consciousness, and you fell asleep exhausted in Peter's arms.

+ + +

A steady beeping woke you up.

You could tell you were back in the Tower, everything was cleaner, whiter, lighter. Your head hurt, everywhere hurt if you thought about it long enough, but you also felt strangely numb. There was an IV drip linked to your left arm, and two other nodes tapped into your chest to measure your heart rate.

Even though you knew you were safe, there was still that lingering adrenaline. Something that still had you on edge. You knew you weren't held captive for very long, regardless of however long it felt, but it didn't matter. The damage had been done.

Starting to feel yourself panicking again, remembering all of the physical abuse you had been put through, the beeping quickly became closer together, seeming louder. This in turn created more panic as the noise fed your anxiety.

In the next moment Tony and Peter rushed into the room. In your panic you were struggling to breathe. You were having a panic attack.

You tried to sit up and reach for Peter who had moved to you. This movement pulled the IV from your arm.

"Help me!" You managed to get out. You couldn't even tell him what you needed physical help from. You were safe now. But you couldn't get out of your head everything that had happened to you.

"Y/N, I promise you that you are safe." Peter took hold of your hands and let you squeeze as hard as you needed to.

Peter and Tony shared a look because of your distress. There was no way Tony would be able to get the IV back into you as you were now shaking uncontrollably.

"Don't worry Y/N this will allow you to sleep." Tony said gently.

You felt yourself nodding, before once again, drifting off.

Tag list: @unmistakablyunknown @oxodianaoxo @tazishereforu @lovely-blackinnon @bibliophilewednesday @fuckingalohomora-bitch

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Masterlist

#fallen angel #peter parker #peter parker imagines #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland oneshot #tom holland x y/n #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #storyofavengers

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