#My Mind Is Now Wired To Click On Bugs

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

i think WH's last Big Update has permanently rewired something in my head because the mental jolt my brain gets whenever i see a small bug jpeg is, quite frankly, ridiculous

[overtaken-stream]

Chrollo Lucilfer.. the devil himself

0bserve And C0nnect

Chrollo Lucilfer x F!Hunter!Reader

I'm truly sorry to the person who requested the plot because I've lost the original request, so I have been going off on this from my memory! I deeply apologize! Also it's been a long time since I have watched hxh so if this seems ooc I'm sorry for that too!

Summary: The man feels both familiar and unknown, as if he exists in the space between memories and the midnight, his effortless charm draws you in so that just a single word from him sends you spiraling into a chasm beyond madness, beyond reason—into a place where no words can truly capture what you feel.

Warnings: incorrect mechanical stuff, mild tempering of memories, untidiness.

The door makes a clicking sound as you jammed the key into the keyway, twisting it and opening the gate to the comfort of your own house. Your legs tremble as you step inside the abandoned apartment. Every breath you take is loud in the stillness of the room, like the melodies of bugs in the company of the midnight sky. The planks creak under your weight as you slowly make your way toward the bedroom, if one might call it that. You don't often see the familiar tears of dull wallpaper. Each room is devoid of a human presence. Your absence let the thin layer of dust cover each surface your eyes can see. It's not your main source of worry. The untidiness does not compare to your most shameful traits.

Quiet drips continue to fall on the metal sink, unbeknownst to your consciousness.

Nudging the door open, you're met with the sight of a mattress tossed on the ground, dented in a place where one might sit, the color worn away, just as you'd left it.

On top of it rests a closed piece of technology, a futile computer and you barely take in the sight of a tiny Ladybug USB tossed unconcernedly, the haze of liqour still in your system. The blanket is on the floor, soaking in the liquid leaking from a place only you could find it. Its clear base covering the wooden floor boards.

To anyone else it's a mess they couldn't find the beggining or the end of, to you it's a masterpiece that ever was.

Countless wires lead from it to a wall opposite the bed, and the quiet hum of hard disks and fans fills the air.

You move to sluggishly grab the USB and then take careful steps towards one of the two brains that the computer holds, remaining mindful of the wires you wouldn't want to pull. You've done this innumerable times, to the point that you can do it with your eyes closed. Perhaps a reason for this habit is the fact that ever since you built it you've never tried to move anything out of place.

No amount of intoxication can make you forget the layout of this room.

The soles of your shoes stick to the ground so everytime you take a step you can't help but grimace at the obnoxious and the disgusting sound of two different surfaces seperating.

Drip.

You get in an awkward crouching position next to the core, sticking the USB between the wall and the massive fan inside, your hands instinctively find the hidden opening.

The design of your masterpiece does not need eyes for the builder to use. The hidden crevices between metal and deadly operating systems are your playground, unlike someone who might try something.

Plugging in the USB, you sigh out the air you were withholding.

Drip.

You slugglishly make your way over to where the makeshift screen is, instructing and letting the information be sucked out and stored in the USB.

All it needs is a minute now.

Drip.

You've always known what led you to work in this profession, work in a field next to Hunters and the bottom of the barrel alike.

Every job has it's pros and cons. It just so happened that the upside to being an info-broken is the financial side, a river of money that never truly slows down and only continues forward, info-brokers such as you have to catch each banknote with a rod and a hook.

If you take a gamble you might even be able to pull out a cash strip if you're lucky.

For some, the risk of losing a livelihood is a horrifying thought, and they can't be blamed for disagreeing with the gray morality and equal exchange of this world. For you, though, the risk and money are different sides of the same golden coin.

So why don't people try their luck for once in their miserable lives?

You can't be intimidated by a couple of eyes that follow and observe your every movement, not now anyway. Years ago, you got used to them pretty quickly, made the uncomfortable gazes your turf. You won't be intimidated.

What you're doing now is just speeding up the job, wishing for it to end quickly before the case got too out of your hands.

Drip.

Many long for your sufforage, however they could never murder a valuable source of information such as you.

Including whoever was it that followed you in the bar an hour or so ago.

Drip.

You never seem ready during these situations.

A soft beep makes you snap out from the screen, making your way over to the side and unplugging the USB you let the red colored technology rest in your palm, your eyes squeezing shut as you tightly grip it's surface. You can only hope that the protection the insect symbolizes graces you and the machine you've built.

Listening to the quiet hum of the machine, mouthing along with its robotic voice as it bids you farewell.

"M. O.

N. S.

T. E.

R. at youur servii-ce."

Multi-brained Omnipresent Network System, your masterpiece.

You need a window for your next step.

(It's tough outpacing polished criminals in this day and age.)

Walking out of the room and into the kitchen, listening to the stomach-twisting noise comings from the sticky oil on your shoes, you grab at the handle, pulling back the glass and setting the tiny machine on the glass.

pressing one of the digits on a singular black dot on the USB, you watch as it snaps its wings out of hiding before softly flying to its destination.

It's only a harmless little Ladybug now.

The tap drips as you drag your feet to a wooden chair, the sound echoing in your mind. Now in an almost sober state, you sit down on it with a groan like that of an elderly man. A sigh leaves your lips as your head tilts back toward the ceiling, where the damp patches are still visible. How is it that the neighbor above still hasn't had their pipes fixed, despite it being the subject of complaints for almost a decade before your visits to this apartment became rare?

You'll have to move soon, judging from how much Jenny's one job can get you—maybe a comfortable three-bedroom apartment for you and all the extra projects you can't bring yourself to deem useless. It would be hell to reconnect MONSTER, or to rebuild it in a different house.

"Such a hassle..." Your eyes remain half-closed, the invisible mist of sleepiness overcomes your being.

(This ordeal is no joke. It would have elicited a reaction from you and left you agasp at the hands of those who watched you today, if only you weren't so drained and surrendered to laziness.)

That is, if your goddess of luck blesses you with another day to live after this encounter... Your choice to bring a double aged sword to a gun fight is a miscalculation that makes you regret ever trying the Hunters exam in the first place.

Drip.

Perhaps this is the worst decision you've made, no this is definitely the worst decision you've made. Letting in an unknown man in your house who claims to be called by your neighbor to check out the broken pipes and practically dig your own grave has never felt this stretched out nor this mentally draining.

(Build Yourself A House Out Of Straw)

You're left to watch his back as he meddles with the pipes under the tap. He's built for agility and strength, muscles showing for moments as he moves his arms and therefore flexes his shoulder. He is no pipefitter.

And you are no fool.

Leaning against the entrance with your arms crossed, you answer any questions he may have, keeping your responses brief and tight-lipped under his hidden sidelong glance. The way he talks is interesting, his expressions are unshackled as he touches on the topic of your neighbor.

"How long has this been going on? The leak is quite bad."

"For a while." You haven't been living here, and there's not a single timeline in this universe where your lazy neighbor actually called someone to fix his pipes, and what are the chances that you happened to be in your house when the plumber knocked on the door. The coincidences aren't believable.

He is natural, a professional at his job. Any unsuspecting prey may fall into his trap without even knowing it was there in the first place. He is ordinary to the point of suspicion. He is unnatural.

Thieves aren't known for their patience; you're dealing with someone worse. There's a chance you've already interacted with him, though your gut tells you that you might not have been on the same side.

Your hooded eyes watch as he stands to his feet, turns toward you, and lets you get a good look at his face. The black eyes and dark hair would do him well to blend in with the shadows. The clothes seem ordinary and well-maintained, the kind that no one truly likes to wear. His facial features are as sharp as his jaw, captivating for maidens such as you.

"Would you mind if I take a look at the bathroom?" You squint at the thick wraps around his forehead. Familiar, very familiar. Attractive too.

"Sure." Was any effort put in a disguise?

You're not sure of the reason he'd want to see your bathroom, but what do you have to lose? That room ain't anything special.

You hear his footsteps following as you turn and lead the way. His lack of reaction to the untidiness is another suspicious behavior.

"Have you not been in the house, miss?" You stop in the hallway, lightly turning your head until his face is visible. The man who gave you the probably-false name remains unbothered, unjudgemental despite his question. He seems to be thinking, eyes pointing downwards as he silently follows.

"No, I haven't." You continue to trudge along the familiar walls. He is as quiet as a cat, his footsteps making no noise, similar to the paws of a calculating feline, his eyes ghost over and soak in everything in view. He remains behind you, out of sight.

The man lowers his gaze to a single door that you didn’t bat an eye at, passing by it without breaking your stride. The smell of oily odor is stronger now that he is closer to the source. It’s incredible how you don’t seem to be in hiding. He quickly returns his gaze to your back, he no longer needs to arouse any more suspicion, so he keeps up with you.

The smell is nostalgic, reminding him of the unpleasantness that clings to him and that place from the past. It seems that you are used to the metallic odor, no doubt, spending time with such technology does that to a person, numbing their valuable senses so these meager details. If you knew him, truly had him memorized, prioritized, you would not have opened the door. You would have slipped through the window and ended up in his hands all the same.

The troupe left no way for you to evade him.

There's only one word to describe a man such as him: beautiful. Beautiful in a way one might consider a dark, chilling forest, or a black-feathered crow that brings a bad omen with the flap of its wings. Similar to a redback spider, his beauty is poisonous. His bite is worse than his bark, his venom makes you sweat at the red wound and spill your pain along with your sanity. He possesses all the charm and resources needed to ensnare his victims, leaving them helpless in his web of deceit.

(Let It Be Blown Away By A Wolf)

His beauty is alluring, much like elements of nature that can captivate yet harm. It makes you salvate, the itch that his unassuming clothes leave is impossible to ignore. On the surface, he is naught but a simple worker, one who wishes to get paid quickly as he twist the pipes and steps away from the source of his curiosity hidden behind a washed down door. You're sure he must have his assumptions, however the man doesn't act on it. It's the only fact that gives you some security under his observing gaze.

He's good at hiding in plain sight.

It's exhausting just waiting for him to come out.

You've never been a good host to the guests anyway.

Thieves can only uphold a half-assed disguise for so long before curiosity will get the best of them.

It's unclear even to you whether you expected to be locked in the bathroom. You know that a thief's fingers are nimble and light, it wouldn't take much for him to lock the door handle behind you and disappear into the smoke. They would buy time for whatever crime they're planning to commit. Besides, it's not like you own anything luxurious, except MONSTER. But even then, its system doesn't have gold and emeralds embedded inside, not to mention that you programmed the network to be understood only by you. Whatever information he might be after won't be found because, first, you haven't gathered it, and second, the network isn't designed to retain any digital information for this exact reason.

(And Watch It Be Burned)

If he's not after any information, well, MONSTER is made of junk from that horrid place. You had to rebuild and redesign any purchased parts to avoid raising suspicion. Overall, MONSTER doesn't cost much (technically, it shouldn't cost any money), but if the man decides to destroy it for whatever reason, you wouldn't be too affected. Its messy blueprints are safe and sound somewhere far from this apartment, the heartache would only come from the time you spent building your masterpiece.

But no, he doesn't make his move yet, only staring and meddling with the pipes present, forcing the stillness and anxious mood onto you.

You try not to look too intensely at his face, half hidden by the hair and the bandages on his forehead. It's quite a ridiculous detail that makes him stand out, it makes you think that maybe you are still somewhat drunk, otherwise why would you want to speak more to this beast in here's den?

"Those bandages." He hums in acknowledgement and you can't hold back your smirk, so instead your hand comes up to hide it away.

"You slipped and hit your head or something?"

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't." His tone was... Unnaturally lighthearted.

Perhaps you were the one who slipped and hit your head, because this is no place for jokes.

Your eyes glance at the forgotten place, swiftly moving to the mirror before the man moves to stand.

You have to give him credit, because in the aftermath that lasted for only a second, the weak shield you've put up shatters as if it never existed.

He holds the door open before lightly bowing.

"Ladies first." And you turn your back to him, there's no going back now.

There's a sense of dread as you wake, your mind immediately going haywire, searching for the last moments as if the memories have slipped through your fingers as you tried to grasp them. An itch crawls beneath your skin, and the goosebumps make it uncomfortable for you to stand on the thick oil coating the floor.

(Into Ashes)

"Are you aware that the neighbors below have been complaining about a mysterious liquid leaking from this room for quite some time?"

No. No, you are not aware, because you haven't been living here.

The man in front of you has his back turned, staring at your masterpiece, captivated by its brilliance. Yet, despite this, his commanding presence holds your attention, stealing the answers from your mind.

"Such work you've put into this. Neither my abilities nor Shalnark have been able to figure it out."

You can’t see clearly through the numb feeling settling in your gut. You can’t tell if he's caressing the screen or even looking at it—his presence in this room is too confusing, almost as if he doesn't belong.

"Tell me how did you do it?" You try not to get hang up on his tone.

You can't help but feel pride at his fascination. After all this time, you finally have the satisfaction of someone else complimenting your life's work. It brings a feeling beyond euphoria—a sensation like standing in the sunset, letting its warmth wash over you before the sunshine disappears for hours. It's the peace of sitting on a balcony after a long day of research, gazing at the hanging constellations in the dark blue sky.

You search for an answer, your tongue swiping across the inside of your cheek. Yet, as his torso turns toward you, your mind fixates on one thing, or maybe a couple of things, the slick dark hair, the orb earrings framing his long face, and the tattoo of a cross—an unusual detail you wouldn’t find on the average person. His sense of fashion isn't impressive, but his captivating physique makes up for it. Lastly, your eyes linger on his mouth, the corners tilted upward in a quiet smile as he waits for your answer. His smile, you'd say, is beautiful.

"How did I do it?" you repeat, but he doesn't confirm.

"... Why don't I..." Your tongue tastes iron as you swallow nervously, flustering you further. Your heartbeat quickens as you open your mouth again.

He seems like the kind of man who would enjoy a cup of tea.

"Inform you of that... on a date?" You can tell he wasn’t expecting it. No normal person would expect such a question at this moment, though he shows no visible surprise.

"I'll tell you everything about it."

You eyes gloss over a crushed red bug held between his middle finger and his thumb.

Covering your red cheeks becomes the priority.

[puppetmaster13u]

Meat Marionette Design Thoughts 1

Specifically thinkin about the batkids growin up. Gonna just focus on a few at a time to cut back on length lol

Nightwing

Now like, it’s been previously discussed that when going from Robin to Nightwing he shoots up in size and starts to rapidly lose his body feathers over a few months, alongside his colors starting to turn darker. But I was thinking about how like, he gets his name (in this Au) from his wings and such having patterns akin to a night sky with stars. But I am also thinking about like, the rest of his body and thinkin’ about the originally soft lighter chitin shifting to a deep blue instead of a dark black like the rest of his body, almost mimicking the suit canon Nightwing has. And his domino pattern also shifting to a blue while the black spreads across his body. Like he’s not quite an adult yet, he still does have feathers but his chitin is no longer soft and the down covering him to help him keep warm is gone. Like I am saying full on molting like a mixture of a snake and bird and bug where there is large chunks of the previous ‘skin’ coming off alongside thick tufts of fuzz. Also thinkin about how his electrical organs develop, and if like, he’d get these long, thin spikes along his spine that act like rods for said electricity. 

Oracle

So I am imagining some centipede vibes for her, but not in the way you think. I am saying like, chest cavity where the ‘ribs’ open up like extra limbs and goes all the way down her tail. Like she can pick up an entire person or two without her arms or wings, chest just opens and grips onto them. Also pondering about almost like, unfoldable needle-like spikes inside said cavity where she could dose someone with either the cure to something or poisons. Like I am thinking about Oracle being this rarely seen absolutely terrifying ambush predator that you can only tell coming from the repeated click-click-click of claws and bone. The thing that won’t leave my mind though is just, her having almost organic ‘wiring’ that are more like tendrils with needle-esque spikes that can produce electricity similar to Nightwing’s that allows her to disrupt and hack into different electronics. 

Au is a combo of mine and @phoenixcatch7 go check them out as soon as you can <3

[mawofthemagnetar]

There was a lot of stuff I wasn’t able to include in The Sky Weighs Heavy Tonight, because it wasn’t relevant. A lot of things got cut, a lot of things weren’t mentioned. One of those things was that TFC streams on that universe’s version of twitch. While still being, fundamentally, an old man.

Well, this morning I had a burst of inspiration and wrote a little something about exactly that. If you haven’t read Pilot AU, this likely won’t make much sense.

If you have, please enjoy!

“Hello everyone! Welcome back my humble little stream. I hope you’re all doing very well. So, today, I figured we’d play a bit of Block Game, and do some work on my branch mine-hm?”

An alert went off on the stream, and TFC’s mouse clattered against the desk as he minimized his game to look at it. In the facecam window in the corner, he glanced over and smiled.

“MisterMiter77 decided to grace us with a subscription! Thank you! Now, you don’t need to do that- I’m still not sure how to turn those off- but keep in mind, I work for the government, guys. I have a pension. This streaming lark is just for fun!”

A gust of wind rattled the windowpane above TFC’s desk loud enough for the mic to pick it up, and he shook his head.

“Ah, now, a little warning for all of you: the weather’s really bad today, so I might get called out. You all know the drill! If my pager goes off, what do we do?”

TFC grinned as his chat parroted the line.

“That’s right. Remind me to close the damn stream. Now, let’s get to mining, that’s enough wasted time!”

Twenty minutes later, the phone rang. TFC scowled at it, pausing Block Game and picking up the corded phone that sat on his desk next to his computer.

“Hello? Oh, hiya, Frankie. Listen- yeah, I’m still in for the music night. Listen, I’m actually streaming right now. Yeah. The one on the internet, Frankie. Yes. Okay, thanks. See you later.”

TFC hung up, to the welcome sight of his Chat spamming pogchamp emotes. He cackled, leaning in.

“Frankie pog? Yeah, I’d agree. Super nice guy. We’re going fishing next week…”

TFC shook his head, and he and Chat headed deeper into the branch mines. A few tunnels later, and TFC squinted at one chat message.

“Hm? How come I have subscriptions on if I don’t want them on? My nephew set this all up. I said to him, I wanted everything all set up properly, and he got my account to get- subscribers and stuff. And then he ran off to New York and he hasn’t been back to Newfoundland since. There we go, the crying child emotes. Yeah. So, you know, you don’t have to subscr-“

An earsplitting ringing drowned out what TFC was about to say next, and he snatched up his pager, eyes bugging out. This one had a small screen with text scrolling across it, and he leapt to his feet.

“SHIP OFFSHORE SINKING GOTTA GO BYE!” He shouted, clicking a button to close his game and jabbing at something in the corner of his screen-

The pager rang again, even louder, and TFC almost tripped over the charging cable plugging his prosthetic leg into the wall. That cable was the entire reason he’d started streaming at all- if he had to be stuck in a chair for hours, why not have some fun with it?

The pager let out an earsplitting shriek just as TFC got the wire unplugged, and he sprinted out the door.

Leaving chat staring at his white computer room wall.

For the next ten hours.

They only started three cults.

[anachronisticmech]

Simple Terms

I am a corpse in my own bed

My muscles rot beneath my skin, but I cannot move them back to health

My teeth decay behind my lips, but I cannot scrub the plaque away

My room smells of sickness and stink, but I cannot clean the clothes off my floor

Bugs crawl over and bite into my body, but I cannot flick them off me

For I, in simple terms, am dead

I try to distract myself from my body, the one that has failed me so

I listen to podcasts and music, and watch horror and romcoms

But the pain and stinging of my eyes and bones bring me to

And I remember all over again that I am simply stuck in my room

And I continue to feel as my ribs collapse onto my lungs until I sleep

I don’t think you would know that I am dead if you looked at me

I look healthy, my skin a reddish pale and my eyes a simple brown

But, if you get close enough, you can smell the disease under my skin

Though you may not understand the extent to which it burrows through my guts

You will know

I tell my friends and my partner that I am ill, and forever will be

They nod and offer to help me, tell me it's okay if I walk slowly or need a rest from the ache

They may know, but they cannot understand, not really

The person they love is dead

And I do not have the heart to tell them

My body moves like the twitch of nerves from a long dead bug or squid

A leg spasm that clicks my knees awfully, or an arm jerk that knocks a mug to the floor

I am deceased, yet still filled with an awful excuse for life and movement

Lifeless, yet still breathing, however ragged and painful the breaths may be

I should be six feet under, but the dire grip of dirt has yet to encase me in its love

Death has long since touched me with his skeletal hands, though only a tap on the shoulder

My body knows I am dead, just not my mind, which clings to ideas of jumping and exercise

I do not wish to be dead, or to be buried, but it is my calling and it is my inevitability

I am a cadaver being pulled by strings of my own making, but I cannot cut them off

For my limbs are too heavy and too hollow, and the wire will cut my skin if I touch it with frail hands

I am happy in this existence, in a way I would have never expected

I have help, though not from the people I should have, and cover my sickness with smiles

But smiles cannot change the future of my declining form

I am in a constant state of pain and loose tissue

And it hurts, and it aches

And I scratch, and I pull

And I cannot step, and I cannot push

So I lay, lifeless as a carcass, just some old human remains that move weakly back and forth

I go to school, and I have fun, however much my own body and the world that denies my access angers me

The rot fills my bones as I write, and my fingers tire heavily, so

I will stop my painful tapping, on my dark keyboard, now, and lay in my bed, a corpse within it.

[inlovewithhisblueeyes]

Borrowed

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader

Word Count: ~1.4k

Warnings: Talks about Suicide, Survivor’s Guilt, Depression, Parental Abuse, Panic Attacks, Use of Platonic Pet Names

A/N: Today is my 22nd birthday. I have always had issues regarding my birthday and getting older. I spent 12 years of my life actively wishing I was dead and never expecting to make it to 18. It’s hard for me to understand that I’m still here 4 years after my believed expiry date. I’m getting better each year at dealing with all the feelings that come with my birthday. I’m okay and this piece helped me get out what I struggle with telling others. The nice thing at least is this year I’m not spending this day alone.

You let out a shaky breath as you laid out in the grass. The stars were just barely shining through the cloudy sky above you. The night breeze was still warm enough that you didn’t need a jacket. It would have been a pleasant night if the voices lurking in the back of your mind had taken some time off for once.

Tonight they were screaming at you, louder than ever before. Their voices bounced off the walls your mind, echoing endlessly. The pain in your chest was too much to bare. It was a crushing weight that threatened to flatten you to utter nothingness. No matter what you did to cope it just wasn’t working like it normally would.

Tonight they were screaming at you, louder than ever before. Their voices bounced off the walls your mind, echoing endlessly. The pain in your chest was too much to bare. It was a crushing weight that threatened to flatten you to utter nothingness. No matter what you did to cope it just wasn’t working like it normally would.

You had to swallow down the bile that was trying to creep up your throat. There was an ever present fear seeping from every single pore as you did the one card you had left to play. You didn’t want to do this on tonight of all nights. Hands shaking you type out the words that could save or damn you.

10:28 PM Midnight Picnic. Delivered …. Read ✓

The swell of anxiety becomes too much as you wait for those little dots to appear. You toss your phone next to you as you struggle to hold back tears. The voices seem grow into a roar as the minutes slip away. Everything he ever said to you is stuck on repeat in your head

Burden….

You held him back…

It was your fault…

You ruined his life…

If only you hadn’t been born…

You didn’t deserve to be alive…

They all loved him better than you…

Useless…

Replaceable…

Selfish…

You hadn’t even realized that the tears had burst out, painting your cheeks, your neck, your shirt and most likely staining the ground under you. It’s not until you feel something pressing down on you and warmness chasing the tears off your face that you realize you had been hyperventilating. A soft clicking comes from somewhere behind you as you finally open your tear-blinded eyes. There, resting on top of your shaking form, was a fuzzy face you knew too well.

“Kal, up,” the figure behind you utters,” You gotta let her up, boy.”

The bear of a dog gave a disappointed huff before doing as his master commanded. You felt warm hands gently help you sit up and soon after you feel a solid mass against your back and two long legs incase yours. If anything, the close contact caused your panicking to cease only for a moment. Henry’s arm wrap around your shoulders and he settles you against him. Kal lays himself down by the two of you.

“I’m here for you, Bunny. I know how you might be a little trapped right now, but I want you to try and listen to me alright,” he whispers and waits for the nod that comes between your gasping breaths,” See you’re doing so well already. Remember that exercise your gram does with you. I know you do. Can I help you with it?”

You nod again as you try to unscramble the wires in your brain. You feel his breath tickle the top of your head as he continues to hold you tightly.

“Good bunny. I want you to try and tell me 5 things you can see. Take all the time you need okay?”

“St-t-tars…” You start between gulps, “Grass…..Kal…..uhmmm”

“You can do it, sweetheart,” Henry says as he reaches down and gives your shaking hands a squeeze.

“Your Flops… Trees..”

“Now 4 you can feel.”

“Your Hand…the ground…the breeze…my shirt,” You respond with your voice a bit stronger than before.

“You’re doing great. 3 things you can hear,” Henry adds giving your hands another squeeze.

“You..me..the bugs.”

“We’re almost there. Tell me 2 things you can smell.”

“My lotion and detergent,” You voice, feeling yourself come back even more.

“Last thing. What can you taste?” The Brit asks.

“My tea from earlier,” You sigh slumping into him more.

The two of you remain there, listening to the night’s music. You continue to come down from your attack and your breathing gets softer and softer as he holds you. A few more moments pass before he loosens his hold on you because he knows that you’re back in control. You stay against him as you try to find a thought you can easily share. You wiggle away from him slightly and then turn yourself sideways so you can rest your head above his heartbeat.

“I’m so sorry.” You murmur into his warm chest,” I couldn’t be in my place anymore.”

“It’s alright, Bunny,” He mumbles, the nickname causing your nose to scrunch up slightly,” You’re the one who keeps wiggling that nose of yours like that.”

You chuckle softly before taking some deep breaths.

“I can’t stop thinking about it you know. How I never planned to be here this long and here I am still here. It feels like I stole someone else’s time. Someone more deserving,” You express, desperately trying to keep yourself from getting worked up again.

Henry wraps his arms around you again, giving a squeeze to tell you to continue.

“I know Megan says that it’s okay to not have a plan, but I don’t like that. I don’t like feeling like I have no control. I always thought I wouldn’t make it to 18 and every year that passes hurts more because I feel like I’m on borrowed time. That maybe this is all some sort of dream or something and I’ll wake up and I’ll be back in that house with him,” You blubber.

He keeps holding you tight and slightly rocks you in his arms. Kal even moves to rest his head on your leg.

“I still hear him in my head. He keeps telling me how I ruined his life, that he can’t see his girlfriend as much because of me, that I’m causing him all these problems-“

“Bunny,” Henry cuts you off,” Your father was wrong. He had his problems just like you, but he shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You’re not the reason why any of his life turned out the way it did…”

“But I killed him didn’t I? Speed up his desire to do what he did. The thing that I was supposed to do,” You cry into his chest.

“Y/N, you didn’t kill him. He should never have made you feel like killing yourself was the only way to help him. You are not on borrowed or stolen time. You were meant to be here. You deserve to be here. Your life matters to me and Kal and so many others. I know this time of the year is rough, but you did something you never did before. You reached out to someone instead of handling this alone and I am so damn proud of you,” Henry uttered and he held you tighter, blinking away the own tears in his eyes.

You sob harder at that, letting it all out. He lets you sob for as long as you need to. Occasionally rubbing your back and whispering how proud he is of you over and over until it sticks. The tears eventually run dry and you breathing evens out once more. You listen to each breath he takes, the praise he gives you. The silence only broken by a small dinging from nearby. Henry adjusts to slightly to see his watch alert midnight.

“I’m only going to say this once so don’t get too annoyed. Happy Birthday Bunny,” The man whispers to you,” Now I know we can’t do anything to crazy to distract you but I may have brought part of the festivities early. Theres two cupcakes in the car with your name on it. How about I grab those, we go inside, curl up on your couch, and watch The Little Mermaid? Maybe I can start calling you fishy instead huh? Kal thinks its a good idea right bud.”

Kal huffs loudly in approval before getting up to stretch and do his business. You laugh at that as you pull away from him slightly. “Thank you Hen. I really needed that.”

“That’s what friends are for. Now let’s go before my cheat day passes by.”

A/N 2: If you've read this far, I want you to know you're not alone. Trust me I know it feels like that sometimes, but there are people who are there for you. I'm one of those people if you need it. You deserve to be here in this life just as much as I do. ❤️

[refinedbuffoonery]

Looking Through A Window (3)

macriley married undercover au

masterlist.

Fun fact: the final scene of this chapter is part of my original brainstorm for this fic. The rest of the scenes I initially dreamt up won’t come until much later, so I’m thrilled to have at least one of them come early on in the story. 

To Carrie and Anna, the lights of my life: I named the neighbor after you two. She’s annoying as shit and nothing like either of you, but I needed a name and decided if anyone deserves to have their name as an Easter egg, it’s the two of you. 

*****

Despite the storm, Matty has the shipment of borrowed guns delivered to the Port of Houston in the middle of the night. While they eat breakfast, Mac and Riley study Matty’s excruciatingly detailed directions for navigating the port and finding their shipping crate. She certainly didn’t make it easy on them. 

Riley leans back in her chair, looking around until her eyes land on Harley. “Time for you to earn your keep,” she says between mouthfuls of toast. 

Supposedly, this is what Harley specializes in—sniffing out weapons. The dog should be able to confirm which shipping container the guns are stashed in without Mac or Riley having to check themselves. Theoretically. 

Mac finishes his own plate of eggs and toast in a few ravenous bites. “Thanks for making breakfast.” He gets up to clear the plates and start rinsing dishes. After living with her for more than a year, Riley making breakfast is routine, but Mac still thanks her for it every day. 

Living in the apartment together, they fall right back into their old habits. Mac wakes up early and goes for a run. By the time he returns, Riley is awake and making breakfast. After they eat, Mac showers while Riley goes on her own run. And so on and so forth. 

While Mac was out this morning, he wove through the whole neighborhood, making sure it’s safe for Riley to go out alone. She can handle herself, but Mac has no delusions about the overall quality of men on the streets, and even though he can’t fix that, at least he can help minimize her chances of encountering creepy dudes. 

Before they leave for the Port, Mac and Riley scour their car for a bug or any other surveillance equipment the organization might’ve hidden while they were inside the warehouse talking to Conrad yesterday. They find none. Thankfully. 

Once again, they’re going in armed, and the weight of Mac’s gun feels just as foreign and unwelcome as it did yesterday. He tries not to fidget with it while Riley drives, but she notices his discomfort anyway. “You’ve got to relax,” she says. “All your squirming is stressing me out.” 

“Sorry.” Mac stills, even though his whole body screams to put the gun somewhere else. 

Anywhere else. 

Once they arrive at the Port, Mac guides Riley through the maze of cranes and crates and warehouses until they find the one Matty had the guns stashed in—dark green and otherwise nondescript. 

Unfortunately, there are multiple shipping containers that fit that description at the location Matty provided. As they get out of the SUV, Riley glances between the boxes nervously. “Uhh, which one is it?” 

Mac doesn’t have a clue. “I guess that’s for Harley to tell us.” He looks down at the dog standing obediently beside him. “Find it.” 

He releases the leash as Harley takes off like a rocket, sniffing each container and the surrounding area. She inspects more than half of them before sitting and looking back at Mac. He waits for her to bark, but she doesn’t. Whoever trained her clearly did so with stealth in mind. 

“Do we open it to double check?” Riley asks. 

Mac opens his mouth to say yes, but he doesn’t get a chance to answer before a muddy, dark-blue diesel truck parks beside their SUV. Conrad jumps out of the driver’s seat, accompanied by two younger men, wearing matching scowls and Carhartt jackets. He walks with that same entitled swagger, and a cheap smile spreads across his face. 

“Mr. Turner!” Conrad exclaims, shaking Mac’s hand. His grip is too firm to be friendly. Stepping back, he sneers at Riley, acknowledging her just long enough to impatiently say, “Genevieve.” Mac doesn’t miss the way Conrad’s eyes drop to Riley’s chest, nor the way Riley bristles beside him, wrapping her jacket more tightly around her and crossing her arms to hold it in place. Mac clears his throat. “Sorry,” Conrad says, not sounding sorry at all, “but your wife is very attractive.” 

Riley rolls her eyes so hard they nearly fall out of her head. 

“Your order is this way,” Mac says, cutting off Conrad before he could make another gross statement, “Follow me.” Mac puts a hand on Conrad’s shoulder, squeezing hard as he steers the man toward the shipping container. Harley is still sitting beside it, waiting patiently, and Mac scratches her head with his free hand. 

Riley whistles, a single sharp note that sends Harley running back to her side. Mac buries his relief that she’s not alone, although he’d still much rather the hulking bodyguards were closer to him than Riley. 

Focus, Mac reminds himself. Riley can hold her own. Just get this over with. 

Mac opens the container, revealing two nondescript wooden crates. Still sneering—at this point, Mac’s starting to think that’s the only expression Conrad is capable of—Conrad waves over his bodyguards, gesturing for them to open the crates. 

For just a second, Conrad’s sneer edges toward a smile. Inside the crates lie exactly what he ordered: military-grade, semi-automatic rifles and enough ammo to kickstart the apocalypse. Mac’s gut churns. He hates this. He hates everything about this. He hates that he’s arming terrorists. He hates how these men look at Riley like dogs drooling over a steak. He hates that he can’t do anything about any of it, that he has no choice but to play along. 

Mac wishes he could bury his feelings the way Riley does, locking them behind a carefully controlled mask. Instead, his linger just beneath the surface, waiting to make themselves known at the first available opportunity. 

Counting backward from five, he steels himself to finish the game. Just as Conrad brushes a reverent finger down the barrel of a rifle, Mac chides, “We followed through on our end of the bargain. Did you?” 

“Of course.” 

One of the bodyguards pulls out his phone. In a deeper voice than Mac expects, he says, “We can wire the payment to your bank account right now.” 

“Good. My wife will help you set that up.” Mac gestures to Riley, and the bodyguard walks over to her. 

Conrad extends his hand, and Mac takes it, trying not to wince when his arm brushes his concealed gun. “Pleasure doing business with you, James,” Conrad says. 

“I hope this is the beginning of a long and prosperous partnership.” Long and prosper? Who was he, Spock? 

“Indeed. Welcome to the Patriots.” Conrad gestures for his men to start loading the guns into their truck. “Expect another order within the week.” 

Mac doesn’t know how to respond to that. Thankfully he doesn’t have to, because Riley waves him over, apparently having finished her conversation with Conrad’s lackey. “I’ll leave you to it,” Mac says, then turns his back on the terrorists and rejoins Riley. On instinct, he reaches for her arm as he murmurs, “Are you okay?” 

Riley tenses under his touch, but doesn’t pull away. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Good.” He said the same thing to Conrad just a minute ago. Good. But the word is light years different from before—soft and caring, not curt and vaguely challenging. Bozer pointed it out to him once, how he talks to Riley differently than he does anyone else. 

Mac shakes off the thought. He can’t get distracted, no matter how much his mind only wants to think about Riley. Releasing her arm, he says, “Let’s get out of here.”

*****

Back at the apartment, Riley settles in on the couch to dig into the Patriots' bank records. By wire-transferring the money instead of paying them in cash, Conrad practically offered up the organization's entire digital footprint on a silver platter, at least to someone like Riley. She doesn't speak as she works, so Mac listens to the melody of keyboard clicks while he makes them each a grilled cheese. 

Contrary to popular belief, he's not completely incompetent, although Bozer has nearly everyone convinced otherwise. Mac will never be able to cook something fancy, but he does make a mean sandwich. 

He even spreads mayo on the bread, the way Bozer does, because Riley prefers it that way. 

The sizzle of the sandwiches hitting the hot pan joins the keyboard clicks right as Riley announces, "I hacked into their bank records." 

"What've you got?" 

"From the look of it, the shell corp they used to pay us has only been around for four months. Before that, they must've either paid in cash or used personal accounts." 

"That makes sense though, since the Patriots haven't been around all that long." 

"That's what I thought at first, but come look." Mac does, leaning over the back of the couch so his head is right beside hers. Riley points at the screen. "The first three transactions were all big deposits, each one two weeks apart." 

Frowning, Mac squints at the tiny numbers on the screen. "One hundred thousand dollars?" 

"Times three deposits," Riley adds. 

"Where the hell did they get that kind of money?"

"I don't know. The deposits were cash." 

“Damn. Did you at least figure out who their previous arms dealer was?” 

“Yeah.” Riley shifts, causing her hair to tickle Mac’s nose, and he brushes her hair to the opposite side of her neck without another thought. “Turns out their previous dealer has Mexican cartel connections, which explains why the Patriots only paid them twice. I’m guessing they found out about the cartel part and broke it off before they made a long-term deal.” 

“At least they’re not complete idiots,” Mac mumbles. Tired of squinting, he leans closer to better see the screen. 

Except now they’re cheek to cheek, and Mac suddenly can’t focus on the screen at all. 

Riley twists to look at him, and it takes every ounce of Mac’s willpower not to glance at her lips. "Are you burning my grilled cheese?" 

"No." He straightens, simultaneously disappointed and relieved by the space now between them. Mac shakes off the thought. He can’t keep getting distracted like this. 

"Uh huh. Sure." 

Retreating to the kitchen, Mac calls, "That was one time!"

*****

As expected, they don’t hear anything from Conrad or the Patriots the following day. Mac doesn’t know what to do with all the downtime on this op. There are plenty of books in the apartment, but he’s too restless to sit and read. He opens the fridge, more out of boredom than actual hunger. 

They’re on day five of the undercover op, and it’s starting to feel an awful lot like quarantine. With nothing to do but hurry up and wait, hanging out in the apartment and doing nothing is starting to make Mac go a little stir crazy. 

When Riley emerges from the bedroom wearing workout clothes, it’s clear she feels the same way. “I’m going for a run,” she announces. 

“Want company?” He hopes she says yes. Anything to get out of the apartment for a while. 

Riley unplugs her phone from the charger and slides it into her pocket. “No offense, but no.” 

Dammit. Mac shoves down his disappointment. “None taken.” He closes the fridge. Nothing in there looks good. 

“Tell you what,” she says. “After I get back we can go to the space museum, okay?” 

His heart skips a beat at her offer. “Is it that obvious I’m bored?” 

“Yes.” Riley gives him a pitying smile. “So do you want to go?” 

Mac smiles. It feels like she just asked him out on a date. It’s not, but it feels like one anyway. Be cool. “What kind of question is that? Of course I do.” 

“Okay then.” Popping in her earbuds, she walks out the door. 

“Enjoy your run, muffin!” Mac calls, stealing Bozer’s go-to pet name for when he’s undercover with Riley. She reaches back inside to flip him off before slamming the door shut, and Mac chuckles. Riley really hates that nickname.

Now it’s just him, Harley, and this tiny apartment. 

Resuming his search for food he’s not even hungry for, Mac opens the pantry, and Harley comes running into the kitchen. She must’ve learned the sound of the door opening since they keep the dog food in there. Harley looks up at Mac expectantly. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” She whines, and her pleading expression reminds Mac of the wide-eyed look Bozer mastered as a kid while begging his parents for something. Neither are very effective. “You just had breakfast an hour ago,” he insists.  

Harley glances at the open pantry, then back at him. 

Mac doesn’t give in, but he does kneel to pet her instead, scratching Harley’s neck and ending up with a handful of hair. Frowning, Mac digs through every drawer in the kitchen in search of a dog brush. No luck. He checks the bedroom and bathroom, coming up empty once again. Who even organized this house? It makes no sense. His gaze lands on the laundry room door. 

Ah. 

Sure enough, there’s a dog brush on the shelf above the washing machine. 

Leash and brush in-hand, Mac calls out, “Alright, girl. Let’s go de-floof you.” 

Harley takes one look at the brush and sprints in the other direction. 

Well this is going to be harder than Mac anticipated. 

He ends up chasing Harley throughout the apartment, zig-zagging from one room to the next. Every time Mac gets close, Harley slips by, just out of reach. After the fourth time she sends Mac stumbling into the furniture after lunging for her and missing, he realizes what she’s doing. 

Harley is playing him. This is a game to her. And, so far, she’s winning. 

Mac stares the dog down, and she seems to narrow her eyes in response. “Challenge accepted,” he tells her. 

This time, he knows exactly where to find what he’s looking for—peanut butter. He smears an unnecessarily large glob into Harley’s dog bowl, making sure she sees exactly what he’s doing. Harley’s stubborn, and does a good job of appearing not to care, but Mac has a hard time believing any dog would turn down peanut butter. 

Harley, it turns out, is no exception. 

She follows him to the door, and Mac rewards her with a few licks of peanut butter while he clips on the leash, careful not to let her eat so much that there’s not enough to last while brushing her. Despite Harley’s obvious enjoyment of the peanut butter, Mac is no fool. She let him win this round, no doubt about it. 

He leads Harley down the stairs to the small lawn in front of the apartment building, where it wouldn’t matter if he left dog hair everywhere. The brush pulls away thick chunks of her undercoat with each pass, and it doesn’t take long for the lawn to look like something died there. 

The peanut butter, unfortunately, doesn’t last nearly as long as Mac hopes. 

Mac figures out pretty quickly that Harley does not like her tail being brushed; she turns away and tucks her tail and generally makes it impossible for Mac to reach it. He sits back on his heels, formulating a new strategy. “If I don’t brush your tail,” he says, “you’re going to look like a squirrel, and neither of us wants that.” 

Harley’s ears prick at the word squirrel. 

Mac tries again, and this time Harley lets him…sort of. It’s not perfect, but at least she won’t be leaving hair all over the apartment anymore—hair that he needs to vacuum, because Riley asked him to last night and he’d completely forgotten until now. Tucking the brush into his back pocket, Mac scratches Harley’s ears the way he learned she likes, and when she leans into his touch, Mac’s heart swells. 

“Good girl.” He kisses her head, and Harley licks his chin in return. “See? We’re not so bad.” Mac sighs. “I know we’re not who you wanted, but we’re going to take good care of you.” 

Riley made the same promise in the war room. Even if she doesn’t stay with them after the op, Mac will make sure Harley ends up with people who will love her for the rest of her life. 

“I promise,” he murmurs into her fur, kissing her head again.

Mac startles when a feminine voice calls, “You could make a whole other dog from all that hair.” A middle-aged woman stands in the walkway, oversized blue purse on her shoulder and car keys in hand. She smiles at Mac. “I haven’t seen you before. Did you just move in?” 

“Yeah,” Mac says, standing up. “My wife and I moved in this week.” 

“Well, welcome. My name is Carrie Ann, and my husband and I live in apartment 317. Feel free to stop by anytime. I think you’ll like living here, though I must warn you that it gets pretty loud during football season.” 

Mac nods. “Nice to meet you. I’m James.” He expects Carrie Ann to keep walking—presumably to her car—but she doesn’t, and Mac suddenly gets the feeling this conversation is about to be much longer than he wants. 

“And who is this cutie?” she asks, directing her attention to the dog. 

“This is Harley.” 

Carrie Ann sounds like a squeaker toy, greeting Harley in a voice so high-pitched it’s almost inhuman and petting her without bothering to ask for permission. Harley eyes the woman warily but surprisingly sits still. “I love dogs,” she says at a mercifully normal decibel. “Sadly my husband is allergic.” 

“That is unfortunate.” Mac shifts from foot to foot, eager to escape the small talk. He’s never really had the patience for it. 

Carrie Ann, it seems, is completely oblivious to his discomfort. She prattles on, asking asinine questions about what he does for work, if he’s been to the coffee place down the street, and when she can meet his wife. 

Mac doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse when Riley appears in his peripheral vision, as if on cue. “Actually,” he says to Carrie Ann, “you can meet her right now.” Mac flashes Riley a wide, bright smile that she returns half-heartedly, chest still heaving after her run. Sweat glistens on her body, and a few wispy curls that escaped her ponytail are now plastered to her face. “This is my wife, Genevieve.” 

Giving Harley a quick scratch, Riley stands beside him, close enough that Mac can feel the heat radiating off her body. Instinctively, he starts to put a hand on her back, but he quickly pulls away. She’s not wearing a shirt—only a sports bra and those stupidly tight leggings—and the intimacy of putting his hand on her bare skin is too much to handle. “Hi,” she says, completely oblivious to Mac’s internal panic. 

Carrie Ann introduces herself again, and Mac is only half-listening while she and Riley chat. Riley’s so much better at small talk anyway. 

He’s much too focused on how Riley grabs his shoulder to use him for balance while she stretches. She’s so casual about it, like she’s done it a million times before. His skin burns under her touch. 

Mac wants to feel more of her, wants his whole body to feel like that. 

Stop it, he chastises himself. Stop thinking about her like that. 

He can’t. 

Even after Riley lets go, the feeling lingers, and Mac can’t stop thinking about that too. She’s standing slightly in front of him now, almost as if she’s protecting him from their nosey neighbor.

“When are you having kids?” Carrie Ann coos. “An attractive couple such as yourselves would make such beautiful children.” 

Shit. He and Riley never talked about that. 

Before Mac can come up with an answer, Riley pulls his arms around her, a smile blooming on her face. She guides his hands to rest low on her abdomen. “We’re actually trying right now.” 

Mac’s brain short-circuits. 

He blushes, both at the casual intimacy of Riley wrapping herself in him and at the implications of what she just said. Pressing her body fully into Mac’s, Riley looks up at him, smiling like he’s her whole world, and Mac’s heart stops. He’s not breathing. 

His whole body burns, and the feeling is so much more intense than he imagined just seconds ago. 

Alight with mischief, Riley’s dark brown eyes draw him in, and suddenly Mac is picturing Riley with that exact same expression while wearing far less clothing. 

Mac thinks he might die from spontaneous combustion. 

You are so beautiful, he barely stops himself from saying. His blush deepens as he’s snared in the mental image of him and Riley doing said “trying.” 

Their neighbor has the audacity to laugh. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it, Genevieve. Your husband looks like he’s ready for another round.” 

That makes it worse. So much worse. If he doesn’t spontaneously combust, then he’ll definitely die of embarrassment. It’s not how he wants to die, but it’s better than explaining his reaction to Riley. Because she’s going to ask him about it. Mac knows this—knows this like he knows grass is green and gravity is what keeps his feet on the ground.

As soon as Carrie Ann leaves, Riley does exactly that. She extricates herself from his grasp, putting her hands on her hips and furrowing her brow the way she always does when she knows something’s up. “Are you okay?” she asks. 

Mac’s voice is strained as he replies, “Yeah. I’m good.” 

He is not good. He is definitely not good. 

And Riley knows it. 

This op feels like all Mac’s worst nightmares coming to fruition. Simultaneously. 

Riley can’t know. Her knowing would ruin everything—their friendship, their work, their trust. Mac can hardly look her in the eye. How is Riley supposed to trust him when he’s secretly thinking about her like that? He’s her friend; he’s supposed to protect her from guys who want her like that, not become one of them. 

But god does Mac want to be one of them. Not one of them, he corrects himself. The only one. 

He’s screwed.

.

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[3pirouette]

Fic: The Honey Trap (7/?)

Title: The Honey Trap By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Disclaimer: They're not mine. Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :) 

Story Summary: Peggy’d lost count. She wasn’t sure if she was a double or triple agent at this point, and in the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of this alive.

A/N: Sorry that this chapter seems shorter, but that’s where the natural break was. I’m going to work on getting back onto a regular posting schedule, and may even try to get some mid-week posts in as I now have several WIPs thanks to Steggy Week *facepalm*

Fun fact: This afternoon I totally scrapped the ending I had originally planned because I think it fits much better with one of my other WIPs. So… now we’re all gonna find out where this goes together!

Chapter 7: Turning the Tables

January 3, 1945

Wallace stared at her, eyes cold and dead. “You could have jeopardized everything.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Peggy nearly laughed, lounging back on his bed. They faked a fight from the moment she showed up at the door, Wallace playing the jealous boyfriend to Peggy’s unbothered tone, but the fake fight died down the moment they stepped into the un-bugged bedroom. That didn’t mean Wallace was fully on board with her pretending to have an affair behind his back.

Though Peggy was now 100% sure that his bedroom was bugged, too. She was going to check the next time he stepped out to the loo.

Peggy stood and started to pace. “He’s Steve Rogers. Captain America.” She laughed and looked  at Wallace, but just rolled her eyes when he stayed stoic. “Our cover story is that they were caught and separated. Not that one of us broke up with the other, or cheated, or any horrible thing. We were wretched apart by the military.” She sighed heavily, sitting back on the bed. “Of course, we’d get back together, Richard.”

Wallace crossed his arms like an angry toddler. “So how does this help us?” He pushed away from where he’d been leaning against the wall and stepped into her space. “How does this give us more advantage?”

“It means we’re not passing notes like school girls,” Peggy said sharply, stepping back and reclaiming her own space. “Steve and I can talk, face to face, and strategize.”

“We’re already getting plenty of information. If Hydra starts to think I’m not competent or that you’ve turned back…”

“They won’t.” She could barely keep from smiling. “I can get more details now, like that they haven’t quite had the time to take the base over six clicks down on the French border.”

“The—”

Peggy felt a pang of victory at the way he had to hide his surprise. “Why, surely you know if it? The one Phillips plans to use as a base?”

“Of course!” he covered quickly, nodding and walking away to try to hide his concern. She saw the moment he came the conclusion she wanted him to, and the way his eyes brightened when he thought he had her cornered.

Oh, she thought, if only the little rat knew…

~*~ January 9, 1945

The Pub was busy, but she found Steve quickly in the back corner. Peggy didn’t waste a moment, but slipped into the chair across from him quickly, taking his hand in hers. “Darling,” she whispered, a smile on her face.

Steve, likewise, didn’t waste a second. He stood, pulling her right back up with him and out the back door. He stopped, kissed her fiercely and quickly, then looked her up and down. “Are you ok?”

She nodded, still surprised. “Yes, but, Steve—”

‘Wire?’  he asked with only the slightest hint of volume to his voice.

“No,” Peggy replied, loud and clear. “No surveillance on me that I’m aware except the man at the bar.”

“Good.” He pulled her farther past the trash cans to a bike hidden behind the next store over’s dumpster, and he swiftly settled her behind him before pulling out into the alley. After a complicated series of turns he slowed, and drove them up the back ramp of a parked delivery truck.

Peggy tightened her hold against him as the evening darkness turned to pitch black in the back of the truck. She heard the grunts as the ramp was pulled back into the truck and the back hatch was closed. She knew she had nothing to be afraid of, but the situation made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, anyway.

She heard the sizzle of a match as the truck lurched forward, and quickly two lamps were lit.

She’d never been happier to be in the back of a truck as the light touched the faces of Stark and Barnes. Steve set the stand on the bike and stood, helping her off. “Hope you don’t mind, we needed to get our heads together.”

Peggy looked at Barnes and Stark and Steve, all bouncing in the back of the truck along with her, and smiled. “It’s a risk, but for friendly faces? I’d say it’s worth it.”

The truck ride lasted all of five minutes, just enough time for Howard to arm her with a pen camera, a bug detector disguised as a lipstick, a compact that hid a new encryption key behind the mirror, a cigarette case that was actually a wireless telegraph, and a perfume bottle whose lid was actually an emergency beacon. As little was said as possible, and time was of the essence. Before she knew it, they’d parked again and Steve was lifting the motorcycle and turning it to face the ramp again.

Steve slid them back off the ramp of the truck and onto the streets of London smoothly, the gadgets safely in her purse and the short meeting enough to buoy her spirits. Holding tight to him as they weaved in and out of traffic, she couldn’t deny there was still fear simmering in her that this wouldn’t work, that they’d be outed, but it had been significantly quieted by the feeling of having a team with her.

Steve stopped them in the alley just across the street from Hydra’s favorite pub and French Bistro, in full view of the little apartment full of surveillance equipment. He gunned the engine once before shutting it down, making just enough ruckus that the curtains moved on her least favorite apartment.

They were being watched, and it was perfect.

Peggy slid off the bike and slipped around the front, settling herself in his lap. While the thought of kissing Steve for show wasn’t exactly enticing, they’d both done far worse things and the feel of his lips on hers, the way his hands gripped at her hips, made her heart beat faster.

“You think Wallace knows?” he asked, kissing his way down her neck.

“He knows I saw you once,” she said, struggling to make the words louder than a whisper. “He was quite sore at that.” They were barely close enough to be in range of the listening devices Hydra could use from the apartment, and she didn’t want them to miss a word. “But that I’m meeting you again? No.”

“Keep it that way,” he demanded, taking her lips again.

He slipped a hand up her thigh and she moaned, trying to climb higher into his lap. She lost herself in him for a while, relishing in the feel of his body under hers, the scent of the soap from the base that permeated his skin, the bulk of him wrapped around her. Even with Hydra only feet away, watching, she’d never felt safer. If there was going to be one good thing about this godforsaken assignment, this was going to be it.

She pulled away, breathless, and used her thumb to wipe the lipstick off his lip. “I’d usually make you buy me dinner first, soldier.”

He laughed, brushing the hair from her face. “Most places are closed by now, but we could try if you like.”

She smirked, running her finger over his cheek. “I should make you take me home, then.”

He turned and kissed the tip of her finger, then took her hand in his. “Worried about your virtue?”  

She didn’t even have to try to hide the hunger for him in her eyes. “Worried about yours.”

Steve licked his lips, his voice low and hoarse. “Don’t tempt me.” He looked away to collect himself, then pulled a letter out of his pocket and slipped it down the front of her dress. “For later.”

Peggy couldn’t tell which she was more impressed by: the fact that he’d found a way to slip her a letter in such a way that was so conspicuous that there was no way the Hydra agents didn’t see it, or that the same man she’d met in the back of that car who could barely stutter a response to a woman was being so suave with her. She bit her lip as his fingers hovered at the edge of her cleavage, very carefully not touching skin. She knew he could see every idea in her eyes of what she’d like to do if they weren’t being watched. “I should go,” she whispered, knowing full well it was what neither of them wanted.

“I could take you…” The offer was both play and real, the fear starting to show in his eyes now that he had to let her out of his sight.

“I’m just a few blocks over, wouldn’t want to get anyone suspicious.” She gently untangled herself from him, Steve helping to balance her as she shifted off the bike. She leaned over and kissed him softly one last time. “Same time next week?”

He nodded, one hand coming up to cup her cheek gently. “Yeah. Same place, ok?”

Peggy hated walking away from him. She felt his eyes on her every step it took to get to the small apartment building she called her own, and being on her own suddenly made her feel a little less sure about the whole thing.

But things were on her terms now, and they were going to bring Hydra down.

[cdarkheartzero]

Today’s theme- “Too far”

I was skimming through some comments and such and came across @the-garbage-is-my-fandom ‘s comment of “more horror art” on my “Bathtime” piece. And I was inspired. I’m especially excited for @melodyofthevoid to tear into me like I do her when she abuses my son.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen” Dib chanted to himself choking on what little air his lungs could grasp. He had never known fear like this and his body just had no idea how to handle it.

Dib mind raced, playing the previous weeks in his head, trying to figure out what went wrong. His master plan, a small gas bomb capable of temporarily paralyzing or knocking his enemy out, was finally complete. Many a sleepless night and wasted weekend on containment structure, chemical analysis and test runs. This was it. Finally, he could capture the alien menace and expose him. Finally, he would no longer be the crazy kid. Finally, the world would see the danger they were in all along. Finally.... he would be the hero.

But this wasn’t supposed to happen.

[[More]]

Dib snuck in through the front door after Zim’s idiot sidekick carelessly left it open, making haste to the neighborhood taco truck’s sirens blaring in the distance. He cautiously entered, realizing the Invader was no where in sight and gently placed the bomb in the center of the floor of the “living room”. Carefully he made his way up to the wires completely covering the ceiling for shelter. Soon enough, Gir threw the door open, Damn near ripping it off its hinges, absolutely covered in grease and meat. It seemed the taco run was a success.

He wandered over to the “box” in the middle of the floor and started screaming for his master. “MASTAAAAA!!!! A PRESENT!!!!!!” He shrieked and screeched. How did Zim deal with this all the time?

Within a moment or two, an undisguised Zim angrily emerged from the toilet in the kitchen (which was a sight Dib never really got used to. How does a WHOLE BODY fit down the small opening of a TOILET?!)

“Gir! What nonsense are you going on about!?”

“I gots a present! I’m the birthday boy!”

Zim quickly snatched the “gift” from the metallic hands, studying it’s shotty craftsmanship briefly and returning his full attention to the wide eyed robot standing before him. “What have I told you about bringing junk into this house? First that street lamp-” “But I wanted a nightlight to keep the monkey away.” Gir quietly and somberly interrupted.

Zim sighed. Was this conversation going to go anywhere? No. No, it wasn’t. He might as well talk to the jar of mayo still sitting open on the kitchen table from 3 days ago.

He bent down, clutching the box to his abdomen and give the robot a small pat on the head. “Zim told you he took care of the monkey. It can’t hurt you anymore. But please, Gir, refrain from bringing more stuff home.” He said calmly with a defeated tone in his voice. Gir’s face lit up with a wide grin spanning from “ear to ear” (had he had them anyway). “OKAAAAAY!” He screeched and wrapped his arms around his master. Dib could swear he heard something pop and squish under the groans and painful sounds Zim was emitting.

Then there was a click.

It seemed like the blink of an eye it all happened. An explosion unlike anything Dib ever thought possible by his hands unfolding around him. Windows shattered as glass slashed through the air in every which way direction. Chunks of flooring and wall violently slammed into anything unfortunate enough to come into their path. The fogged air was tainted with this disgustingly potent smell blanketing the entire room. The resulting shock wave flung Dib from his hiding spot, colliding with the cold tiles beneath him.

He blacked out for just a moment, his body on fire and his ears ringing loudly, drowning out all other sound. His eyes slowly opened and he worked up the strength to push himself to his feet. He noticed the blood on his hands as he lifted himself. He wasn’t surprised he got cut. He just couldn’t determain how bad. He was so disoriented.

He tried his best to scan the room, eyes adjusting themselves from the bright blast that had just assaulted them. A shine in the corner grabbed his attention in the sea of rubble and destruction. The robot, Gir, was crushed into the wall by large slabs of concrete and tiles. His once blue glowing eyes dim and cracked. He remained motionless.

“Oh, no.” Dib thought, realizing the severity of his actions. “Zim!” He cried out of instinct. There was no response. There was no movement in the cloud of smoke as it slowly decepated. The clearing air revealed Zim’s limp frame sprawled out within the neon-green splattered crater the explosion created by the front door. A gigantic hole displayed the vacant interior of his chest and abdominal cavity. Every bit of his internal organs were laid on the ground. His ruby eyes open and dull with his face resting almost peaceful. Dib’s stomach dropped.

THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN.

Panic was setting in. He wanted to get close to the alien but it’s like his legs forbid such an action. So he goggled. “WHAT DO I DO?!” He blurted out to no one. He backed into the kitchen, never taking his eyes off the crater of debris and guts. His breathing jagged, his pulse racing and his throat overflowing, begging to release its contents on the oddly colored tiling. He felt sick.

“INITIATING SURVIVAL MODE”

He jumped. A sudden noise in this deafening silence. It was a voice he instantly recognized. Zim’s Computer. But it wasn’t echoing from the darkness of the house... it was coming from Zim.

The once limp body slowly started to adjust itself, trying to sit itself up. The more it moved, the more it’s contents leaked out of the organic frame. Dib just silently stared in awe....in relief.... in disgust as his fallen rival stood up. Swaying slightly as it tried to regain its balance. Their eyes locked. A shutter violently shook Dib. Zim was a lot of things. A pain in the ass. An idiot. Selfish. A narcissist. Incompetent. But this wasn’t Zim. This.... was TERRIFYING.

The creature’s thousand yard stare prickled Dib’s skin with the feeling of a million bugs crawling on his person. The paranormal investigator watched-even from several feet away- the speedy throbbing of the veins protruding around It’s eyes. The alien opened his mouth to speak and all that came out through the river of brightly colored blood was the sound of static. It was painful. SO PAINFUL to hear. Dib wanted to shield his ears from the sound but his body stood there still.

The creature’s attention tore away from Dib for a moment, eyeing the damaged robot. His PAK opened up, aggressively flinging his long, thin, robotic legs outwards. The legs came down one by one, echoing a small “clink” on the floor as the razor sharp ends touched the tile. His body lifted and made his way to the faithful metallic companion. Without saying a word, Dib watched as Zim’s body pried the heavy debris pinning the small robot. Gir’s body was released and the gloved hands gently caught him before he could fall on the floor.

THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN

“Zim.... I swear.... I didn’t mean to...-“

He was caught off when the red eyes turned to his direction again. Even without pupils or Iris’, Dib could feel the daggers being thrown at him. The mouth opened to speak. “Gir.... why?”

Dib backed up one more step, further into the kitchen. Zim’s voice.... it was wrong. Metallic. Cold. Disoriented. Unlike anything he had ever heard before. Words caught in Dib’s throat but he mustered all his strength to release them. “It was an accident. It-it was just supposed to knock you out.” Dib continued to ramble. “I don’t know what happened!”

“Miserable”

Dib tensed up “W-what is?”

“Your existence brings misery. To your planet. To your family. To anyone unfortunate enough to come into contact with you.”

Those words cut Dib’s soul deep. It’s like Zim could read his worst fears. Something he kept hidden- that black stain in his heart-all this time. Exposed. Just like that.

Before he could say anything, the alien continued “ You have always been an annoyance, you sickening human. We cannot escape you. Your voice. Your presence. Your smell. Forever a thorn in our side. The reason my tallest find me nothing more than entertainment. Why Zim can never succeed in his goals. Now this....the only good Zim had...” he said staring at Gir’s face.

“What is he talking about? What did I do with his leaders?” Dib pondered, eyes frantically shifting between Zim’s body and the door behind him.

His neck snapped in Dib’s direction. “But that’s not the worst part. Zim always heard it. For years. It was always following me.” The legs carried him one step closer to the kitchen. Dib silently took a step backwards. “There. Annoying me. Attacking his senses. A constant reminder of the misery you cause. Zim will rid himself of this....this sound...”

Dib needed to flee. But how? This creature was in front of the door!

Zim’s lips curled up. His smirk growing, stretching wider and wider, tearing the ends of his mouth apart. Blood leaking down the sides of his face as the smile grew to sizes ever more disturbing. It was like he was trying to separate the top and bottom of head. There was a silence. With a grin unseen by human eyes before, The creature chucked.

“OnCe I sILeNcE tHaT hEaRt Of YoUrS, wiLl ZiM FiNaLLy bE FrEe?

As the creature leapt towards the investigator, his body (FINALLY) responded by quickly dodging out of the way, slamming into the sink. The thin, metallic legs crashed into the dining room table decimating it instantly. Without so much as a thought, Dib crawled into the trash can and landed into the claustrophobic elevator to the lab. He panted and shook. It was a terrible idea to go down to the labs. A territory not his. He was out of his element and he wasn’t sure how he would escape. But it beat staying up there and getting ripped to shreds. The pink glow of the elevator made him even more on edge.

The doors opened, startling Dib who was frantically lost in thought. He ran from the elevator, peeking behind tables, tubes and anything else while keeping his senses sharp and alert. Zim was somewhere. Maybe he could just take the elevator back up and leave? But what if he was still in the kitchen?

There was a high-pitched screech pouring from the shaft he had just exited. The elevator lights flickered, sparks raining down and the glow of Zim’s upside down eyes peeked through its opening. His legs slowly pulled him out, adjusting he and Gir (whom was still being cradled) upright. “Diiiiiiiiib.... I kNoW YoU aRe In HeRe....” it gargled.

Dib patiently waited, holding back his sobs and screams, for the towering monster to pass. He needed to keep running. Find the elevator to the toilet! It was the only way! He hid. And ran. Hid. And ran. It was the most horrifying game of cat and mouse conceivable. The longer it went on, the worse it seemed to get for him. He couldn’t find the exit. And he couldn’t find Zim. Not that he WANTED to find him, but at least pass him to know he was still in this metallic labyrinth. That the kitchen was clear.

Finally, he stumbled upon what he assumed was the elevator on the other side of a large room. He was so close-! Within a single second, his joy faded to nothingness by the familiar sound of scraping. He watched the shadow on the floor as it shakily passed by the table Dib had temporarily chosen as shelter. It stopped and stood still like a statue momentarily: Then went about it’s way. “Finally-! To that door!”

He sprinted to the exit, knocking a few items from a table and catching the beast’s attention. Running with all the strength his body had to offer, he was finally within reach of the button left of the doorframe. His fist slammed into it and the sounds of the creature hurried closer, bellowing his name in a mortifying shriek.

The double doors opened. Dib threw his body into the room only to hit into something and get pelted with tools and cans tumbling from above. Realization slapped him in the face. This isn’t an elevator....

This is a closet.

With heavy dread, Dib turned his face to see that he and the creature were mere inches away from each other. There was no where to go. Never taking his eye’s off Zim’s, he felt two sharp knives glide over his ribcage, gently banging on each bone as they made their way to their target. It’s face had a permanent smile, gradually becoming more and more uncontrollable the harder and faster the thrashing in Dib’s chest became. As the blades slowly began digging in and red blood mixed with green, 5 words continuously haunted his thoughts.

THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN

Thanks so much to anyone that read this! I hope you enjoyed!

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

Rating: G

Summary: The battle isn't going quite as planned, but Marinette always has faith in her partner, no matter what miraculous the two of them wear. (Or: Mister Bug and Multimouse get trapped in a closet.)

Word Count:  1675

XXX

“I’m so sorry Mari—Multimouse,” Mister Bug corrected himself.  “I should’ve used my Lucky Charm before Stormlight locked us in here.”

His voice guided her in the darkness, and she fumbled towards him.  Fortunately, in the hotel’s custodial closet, there wasn’t far to go.

“It’s not your fault.  I should’ve known this was a trap.  Hawkmoth’s been too smart lately to give us an akuma out in the open.”  

She bumped into a few unidentifiable objects (ow that hurt her shin) before reaching her partner.  Her hand twined with his automatically.  Before she could remember she wasn’t Ladybug, that this wouldn’t be one of their normal touches, he squeezed back.

“I’m the professional here.  That means it’s my job to stop clowning around and get us out safely.”  His voice was uncharacteristically serious.  

She wished she could catch a flash of his green eyes, his smile, anything.  But the darkness was too heavy for even his yo-yo to illuminate.  Stormlight’s power fed on any kind of light that came on in the building, shooting it up towards the thunderstorm brewing in the sky.

“If only I had my night vision.”  He pounded a fist on the locked door.  “Or my Cataclysm.  It’s too early to use my Lucky Charm now.  Or at least, I think it is…”  

He trailed off with a sigh.  “I wish Ladybug were here.”

Marinette scooted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder.  She knew they needed to get out and defeat Stormlight, but they’d never win if her partner felt he wasn’t up to the task.

“I bet she wishes she was here, too,” she murmured.  “She wouldn’t have lent you her miraculous if it weren’t important.”

He laughed hollowly.  “I’m surprised she trusted me with it at all.  The last time I was Mister Bug, all I did was screw things up.”

Her eyes widened, not that it helped her see any better.  “No you didn’t.  You and Lady Noire beat the akuma and sentimonster just fine.”

“Only because she figured out my Lucky Charm for me,” he said.  “Why didn’t she give the ladybug miraculous to you?  You pulled off that crazy plan when we fought Kwami Buster.  I bet you’d make a great Ladybug.”

Her face heated under the praise.  Of course, the whole reason he had her miraculous right now was because she couldn’t be Ladybug.  Lila was too close to figuring out her secret identity, and she felt like she could hardly breathe at school anymore.  If Marinette could lose her trail by being Multimouse for a few weeks, maybe things could go back to normal.

But either way, she needed Mister Bug.  What if something terrible happened to her?  She was the Guardian and Ladybug.  She needed someone ready to take her place if the worst happened.  Under Wayzz’s direction, she’d already begun to train Nino as an apprentice Guardian.  

But being Ladybug was in many ways more difficult.  She needed someone who could think on their feet, who wouldn’t flinch at running into danger.  Someone who understood how important it was to keep their identity secret.

As much as she hated to ask it of him, there was no one else who could do her job better than Chat Noir.

“You’re going to make a great Ladybug too, Mister Bug.”  She smiled reassuringly before remembering he couldn’t see it.  “Don’t get discouraged.  We’ve always been able to win together.”

“I don’t think one time counts as always,” he muttered.  “And like I said, you came up with that plan.  Do you have any more big ideas?”

She bit her lip.  “Not really.  I can’t see a thing in here either, and I can’t feel enough space under the door to crawl through if I use Multitude.”

“Great,” he grumbled.  “How long do you think it’ll be before Stormlight shows up and puts us out of our misery?”

“Don’t talk like that Chat—uh, Mister Bug!  We’ll find a way out… somehow.”  She rested her forehead against the door.  “I trust you.”

He’d always been there for her.  During Stoneheart, Gamer 2.0, Miracle Queen—like the tide, he always rose when she fell. 

“...Thanks, Multimouse.  Sorry for bugging you with my problems.”

She laughed even though the pun wasn’t that funny.  It was just a relief to hear a fraction of her partner’s humor return.

“I’ll go ahead and use my Lucky Charm.”

She heard his yo-yo whizz up into the air, though it was weird not to see any pink flashes as the Lucky Charm materialized.

He yelped as the object bounced off his head and landed in her arms.

“What even is this?”  She felt the soft object—no, multiple objects, bound together, like a… “A bouquet of flowers?”

“Now I really wish Ladybug were here.”  He sighed wistfully.

She was grateful he couldn’t see her cheeks pinken.  “Keep your pining to yourself, Buggaboy.  It’s time to use that big brain of yours and get us out of here.”

“You really think my brain’s big?”

“Focus.”

“Right, right.”  He took the bouquet back from her.  “Huh… these aren’t real flowers.”  She heard the distinctive sound of him sniffing.  “Yep, definitely fake.  The petals smell like fabric, and there’s some kind of wire in the stems… that’s it!” 

“What?  What’s it?”

“Use your Multitude, and take this.”  He squeezed her shoulder with one hand, the other pressing a wire into her palm.  “You can get inside the lock and pick it!”

She grinned.  “Sounds like you’ve unlocked your true powers already.  Get ready to pick me up.”

“Of course, Mousinette.”

She unhooked the jump rope from her waist.  There wasn’t much room in the closet, but hopefully she’d still be able to pull off her power.

“Stand back,” she warned.  Her side grew cold as he retreated.

Her jump rope thwaped against shelves and other unseen objects, but she still managed to shout “Multitude!” and toss it into the air.  It wrapped around her seconds later, and then she was splitting apart.

She’d only used Multitude once before, and it felt just as weird the second time.  It was almost like her appendages had each disconnected, but were controlled by her same mind.  At least the darkness meant she didn’t get disoriented by seeing out of eight sets of eyes.

Mister Bug’s hands finally bumped into her.  Well, one of her anyway.  She honed her focus on the Multimouse in his palm.

“Gotta be around here somewhere… ha!”  He slid her into the lock.  “You think you can get that picked before I transform back?”

“Piece of cake.  Or should I say piece of cheese?”

“You know, I’m almost starting to miss the smell of stinky cheese…”

Her heart twinged.  He was probably missing Plagg as much as she missed Tikki.

She pushed that thought aside and focused on bending the wire to fit the tumblers.  Without her sight, it was more difficult than she’d anticipated.

“Need an extra paw—er, hand?”  Mister Bug asked.

“Paw is right.  Can you lift a couple of my duplicates up here?”

“I’ll carry you anywhere, little Mouse.”

She bit the inside of her cheek.  Because she was distracted, each of her duplicates ended up mimicking the action.  Why did it feel so much different when her partner flirted with Multimouse than with Ladybug?  ...Would he just flirt with any girl he partnered with?

Stop that.  Chat Noir—er, Mister Bug—can flirt with whoever he wants.

She split her attention between three pairs of arms, weaving the wire through the lock.  His miraculous beeped just slightly off-beat from hers.  Why was this taking so long?  Surely she should just be able to twist the tumblrs and— 

The lock finally clicked.

“Phew.”  Mister Bug pushed open the door.  No light came out the other side, but she could feel a faint breeze.  Stormlight’s tempest must be picking up.  “I guess I shouldn’t have worried.  Even if we detransformed in there, we wouldn’t have been able to see each other.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to see you, you mean.”  The three of her duplicates leapt out of the lock, joining back with the rest of them.  It was easier to focus once all of her was in one piece.

“Right.  After you, my La—er, Multimouse.”

She froze in the doorway.  “What did you just say?”

“Um, after you?”

“No, after that.”

“...Multimouse?”

Maybe she’d misheard, or imagined his slip.  That had to be it.  There was no way he could know her identity, right?  She’d feel so much better if she could see his face.

“Sorry.  I shouldn’t lie to you.  I almost called you my Lady, but don’t—don’t read too much into that,” he said quickly.  “Your voices sound so similar, and I guess I just miss her too much.  Not that I don’t appreciate you!  You’re amazing, Mari—er, Multimouse.  I couldn’t do this without you.”

Phew.  She was safe for now, but maybe she should try disguising her voice more in the future.  In the dark, it must be even easier to hear her as “Ladybug.”

“Er, ah—no worries, Mister Bug.  I know how important she is to you.”   

Come to think of it, his voice had sounded awfully familiar himself… no, just wishful thinking again.

“Heh.  Thanks for understanding.”

Thunder cracked outside, making her jump.  

“We better get moving,” she said.  “There’s no telling how much power Stormlight has by now.”

“And we’ve still got to recharge before we face him.”  He squeezed her hand.

Then he lifted it to his lips.  

Her own lips parted at the gentle kiss he left on her knuckles.  Her heart beat fast and hard enough to match the thunder outside.

“I… don’t suppose that was because I reminded you of Ladybug, was it?”  She asked.

“No.  That was a thank you.  For believing in me.”  

Though she couldn’t see his smile, she could hear it in his voice.  A soft smile spread across her face in return.

“Always, Mister Bug.”

[imaginepirates]

Modern! Beckett

Alrighty, so I know these were requested forever ago (sorry, fml) but here you are with another modern au setting in which Beckett is plunged into today’s world. You live on a peaceful vineyard, so if you need something aesthetically pleasing rn, this is it. 

@fablelady @kay-maybe​ @panagiasikelia​ 

~3200 words

~~~~~~~

          Something had gone horribly wrong with the food. Some sort of toxin had made its way into your body. It had to have. Otherwise, you wouldn't be seeing a man standing in your vineyard, wearing an embroidered waistcoat, looking completely and utterly lost.

          You'd been walking barefoot through the rows of vines after breakfast, letting your toes curl against the earth. It was a pleasant sensation. A light breeze tugged at your loose hair, and the morning sun warmed your arms and back. Ripe grapes hung from the vineyard’s vines, purplish blue, ready to be harvested and sold to the nearby winery. You looked up, gazing over the endless rows of green and out to the golden fields beyond. Even further was the shimmering lake, the morning sun dappling across its surface, vast and blue and ending hazily at the mountainous opposite shore.

         You wandered aimlessly, with no goal in mind, just looking out over the vast stretches of empty land. There was another vineyard in the distance, much the same as yours, and a small road interrupted the natural beauty, but there was little else around. A small city sat beyond the crest of a far off hill. You couldn’t see it from where you lived, but you drove in to get groceries and anything else you needed.

         It was as you walked that you found yourself face to face with a small man who had somehow made his way deep within your vineyard. He stared at you with wide eyes and a perplexed expression, and you stared back, equally surprised.

         It took a few moments to even comprehend the idea of someone ending up on your property. The section of vines you were in was far from the road, and you likely would have noticed someone coming from the road in any case. He didn’t really look like he’d walked a long way; there was none of the thin layer of dust that a person accumulated while walking long distances. You had no idea where he could have possibly come from.

         The second thing that you noticed about the stranger was his manner of dress. A pale blue embroidered waistcoat, breaches, and strange heeled shoes were hardly the normal manner of dress. Not to mention the wig.

          It took you another instant to realize that you recognized the man. Which means I must be dreaming, or I must be crazy. He bared an uncanny resemblance to a character from one of your favorite movies. There’s no way this could possibly be him. Lord Cutler Beckett, in my yard.

         You must have been staring at him for an uncomfortable amount of time, as he cleared his throat.

         You had a hard time forcing words out of your mouth. “Oh,” was all you could manage at first. Then, “Any idea how you got here?”

         The man had the decency to look embarrassed. “No, I’m afraid.” He fidgeted with the hem of his loose white shirt. “Where am I, exactly?”

         “In the middle of my vineyard, actually.”

         “Ah. And that is?”

         “A ways from wherever you come from, I think.”

         He seemed to agree, assessing your clothes and the area around him.

         “Would you like to come inside? We might be able to figure things out better.”

         “Thank you.”

         You walked back between the rows of grapevines, much more quickly than your earlier aimless meandering. The house was just ahead, a red roof against sandy walls. Cypress trees stood, lining the gravel driveway, at the front of the house. Beckett didn’t seem phased in the least by the outside appearance; you were sure he’d seen things like it before. It was old-fashioned, if not truly that old, in the style of Tuscan vineyards.

         Beckett got a shock upon seeing the inside of the house, though. You led him up the stairs to your back porch and through the double doors at the back of the house. If the porch a story off the ground didn’t seem strange enough to him, the modern furniture, lights, decor, and appliances shocked him. You could hear him gasp a little behind you as he entered the house.

         You entered into the kitchen. It was a large, open space connected to your living room. Bar seating separated the two spaces. “Water?” You asked. “I know it can get hot out there.”

         “Hm? Oh, yes, please.” Somehow, he still managed to keep his manners.

         You pulled a glass from the cupboard of the kitchen, filling it with water from the refrigerator. You looked back at Beckett, who stared on quizzically with his mouth slightly open. When you gave him the glass, he eyed it suspiciously before drinking.

         “Perhaps ‘where’ am I wasn’t the right question,” he murmured. He drank slowly, eyeing everything around him. You were half tempted to turn on the TV, just to give him a start, but you decided against it.

         “I think you’re going to find that everything is different around here. It might take some getting used to.” That was an understatement and you knew it.

         “Ah.” He continued to stare. Finally, his eyes snapped back into focus and he looked at you. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to play the part of the host?”

         “I have plenty of room.”

         He raised his eyebrows. “You live here alone?” “Not anymore, it seems, though I might like to know the name of my guest.” You gave him a smile, and he tentatively smiled back.

         “Beckett. Cutler Beckett.” It was your turn to be dazed. “Thank you. I’d rather not make myself more lost by trying to find somewhere else to stay.”

         “I understand.” Huh. Cutler Beckett. Right in my kitchen.

         You showed him to a guest room. It was fairly minimal, and the decorations were sparse. The room had been painted an ivory color, and you’d complimented it with pale blue decorations. The curtains sported flowering shapes in both colors, whereas the bedspread was slightly patterned in varying shades of blue. An ovular mirror stood to one side of the room. It was charming, in its own way, though you were sure Beckett was used to more lavish accommodations.

         He, for his part, didn’t seem to mind. He tapped the bed absentmindedly with a hand, looking around. He furrowed his brows, looking at the nightstand with its lamp. “What’s this?”

         “A lamp. It’s a light that you can control from next to your bed.” You then proceeded to show him the lightswitch.

         He stared, bewitched. “How does it work?”

         “I’m…. not completely sure. It’s so common, I don’t really think about that. I know that it’s a complicated mess of wires, though.”

         He continued to stare at the switch. As you left the room, you heard him give it a few experimental clicks. You smiled. It was sort of adorable, the way he was enchanted with everything. Much different from the man from the story. Softer. More human.

         “Are you hungry?” You asked. It was getting on towards midday, and you found the idea of lunch to be appealing.

         “The thought of food tempts me, I will admit.”

         “It’s decided, then. Perhaps we’ll make it a picnic.” You busied yourself in the kitchen, pulling out meats, cheeses, fruits, nuts, and crackers. Snacky foods, but delicious when combined, and perfectly filling.

         Beckett seemed a little dubious at the idea of eating outside, but you assured him that he wouldn’t get dirty, nor would he have trouble with bugs.

         “And the heat?” he asked.

         “Firstly, you can lose the waistcoat. And the wig. They won’t do you any favors. Secondly,” you snatched a floppy sun hat from a peg on the wall, “I have two.”

         You might have considered getting him different clothes if you’d been worried about someone seeing you, but you weren’t, so you didn’t bother. You instead put the large sun hat on his now bare head, the hat clashing horribly with everything else.

         You put yours firmly in place, picked up the basket in which you’d put your food, and strolled out the back door. Beckett followed right behind you, staring out at everything he could see. “It feels like Greece,” he said, “or Italy.”

         “Thank you. I try to keep that feeling, actually.”

         “You’re doing beautifully.”

         The words took you aback. You could see that he was perfectly serious, but you hadn’t expected such a compliment from him. You’d hardly expected him to say anything nice at all. The story didn’t do him justice, then. You’d always expected him to be a bit of an ass. You supposed he still had the chance, but he’d been nothing but the picture of polite company, if not massively confused polite company.

         You walked him down a winding path through the golden fields surrounding the vineyard. It trailed down to the shore of the lake, whose deep blue waters stretched out to a hazy horizon. Mountains rose up far beyond, too far away to see clearly, barely standing out against the sky. A small boat sat on the beach there, on your side,  and you had a mind to row it a ways down the bank.

         You pushed off from the bank, peacefully rowing through the serene waters. Few boats used the lake, making it ideally scenic. You would have hated for the lake to be crowded. More urban areas got choked with tourists during the summer, but you were far enough away from any big cities that it wasn’t a problem. Besides, the nearest town didn’t have major hotels.

         You rowed along, Beckett sitting opposite you in the little boat. He seemed to be enjoying himself, looking out over the scenery. The tension had left his shoulders. He seemed almost peaceful this way, staring out at the hazy mountains, looking over the golden fields and banks of trees.

         You arrived at a flat, grassy area shaded by trees. The two of you got out and sat beside the lake, shielded from the blistering sun. You unpacked the basket you’d brought with you. You and Beckett sat in companionable silence, enjoying the meal, enjoying a slight breeze. Beckett looked ridiculous in the sun hat. It seemed too big on him, somehow, and it made him look much less threatening than you were used to his being. Meeting him in person had been a lot different than how he was portrayed, you reflected.

         “It’s wonderful here. Much more peaceful than home,” he said. His expression changed when he spoke of his home, like he’d tasted something sour. “I do wonder what’s going on. And how I’m supposed to get back. If I’m supposed to get back. It’s a rather terrifying thought, that I might never go home.” By the look on his face, the thought was just now occurring to him.

         “I’m sure we’ll find a way to get you home.”

         “Are you sure? I don’t know how I ended up here in the first place. It seems rather like a dream, though I can say with confidence that it isn’t.”

         “You had to get here somehow. I don’t think you’re meant to stay here forever.”

         He looked out over the lake. “Things are such a mess there, the idea of staying here isn’t so awful, actually.”

         “Maybe you just needed time away.”

         “I doubt the world would be so kind.”

         You steered away from the subject, and the two of you ended up talking about the vineyard. He knew more about viniculture than you might have guessed.

         “It really does take me back to some of my lessons in school,” he said. “They had pictures of the Italian countryside in some of my books. It was much like this, though I don’t remember any lakes.”

         You smiled. “It’s one of my favorite places. Too many methods of production have taken on more modern approaches; the massive farms growing wheat, or the rows upon rows of corn, interrupted only by giant sprinklers and massive tractors. I like keeping things small. It’s so much more peaceful than those unnerving monocultures.”

         “I always wanted to go. To Greece, or Italy, I mean. I loved all the stories, all the history. I wanted to experience it for myself.”

         “Never got to go?”

         “No. My travels took me elsewhere. Africa, China, India, the New World. I always told myself that I’d make time for it later.”

         “Surely the places you did go to proved to be interesting.”

         “Very. The cultures of those places were foreign to me; lord knows they weren’t part my education. I found them fascinating. Tell me, have the American colonies expanded? I’m sure they’d have had to, by now.”

         “Well, yes.” You didn’t think he’d like where this was going.

         Something in your expression must have tipped Beckett off. “They are still under the control of the British?”

         “No.”

         “The Spanish? God forbid, don’t tell me the French got control. I can’t imagine those frogs doing anything good with the land.”

         “Actually, the colonies had a revolution and became their own country.”

         “Ah,” he said. “I suppose that’s wont to happen sometimes.”

         “Yes, yes it is.” You thought of all the other countries that had broken away from Britain, too.

         You packed up, stepping back into the boat. This time, you drifted out towards the center of the lake. “Did you spend much time at sea?” you asked. “You did seem to travel a lot.” You didn’t want to make it look like you knew too much about him, even though you did.

         “I spent a fare amount of time at sea, yes, though I typically settled down once I got somewhere.” He let his hand skim the top of the water. “The sea is much different from a lake, though. Calmer.”

         You were out on the lake until dusk, talking about this and that; the places you’d been and the things you’d seen, all the questions Beckett had for you about modern technology and travel, and a hundred other things. You figured it was the most relaxed Becektt had ever been. He even laughed from time to time at your jokes. How strange it is, to see him like this. I think he’s growing on me.

         You seemed to be growing on him, too. “You’re very easy to get along with, you know that? I haven’t just sat and talked with someone in ages. At least, not without wanting to get something from them.”

         “Is there nothing you want to get from me?” you asked innocently.

         Beckett looked at you, surprised. A slight blush dusted his features. Then he smiled, a little wickedly, and raised an eyebrow. “Was that flirting?”

         It was your turn to blush. “Perhaps a little.”

         “Just know that it can go both ways.” A smug look crossed his face as you blushed deeper. “Although I have to admit, I’m rather out of practice. It’s been a long time since anyone’s flirted with me.”

         “I can’t see why. You’re such a charming man.”

         “Am I? I rather think that my good attitude has everything to do with my company, and nothing to do with my charm.”

         You rolled your eyes, rowing back to shore. By the time you got back to the house, it was time for dinner, and you coerced Beckett into helping you make it. He had little idea what he was doing, but managed not to make a complete mess with any of his tasks. It’s cute, you thought, to watch him try doing domestic things.

         The two of you enjoyed a pasta dish with chicken and tomatoes, fresh basil and olive oil drizzled over the top. You had an assortment of fruits to enjoy, too. You plucked a pomegranate from the mix.

         Beckett eyed you. “I suppose you know the story of Hades and Persephone?”

         “I do. How Hades fell in love with Persephone, kidnapped her, and tricked her into eating seeds from the fruit of the underworld. She had to return to him, then, and spend half of each year with him.”

         “A man from another world, falling for a goddess of vegetation.” Beckett’s eyes focused on the pomegranate. “Sometimes, mythology is unbelievable. Sometimes, it isn’t.”

         You cut the fruit, taking out a large spoonful of the burgundy seeds and eating them. “I like the version where Persephone knows exactly what she’s doing.”

         Beckett watched you, eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.”

         “It’s a little wicked, I must confess. The thought that she was no innocent victim, but a wholly conscious decider of her fate. Perhaps not all women want to pick flowers all day. Some of us might like a taste of power, of having men fear our names.”

         “And would you have me fear yours?” He arched a brow. You laughed. “No, no.”

         “Would you rather me kidnap you, then?” He didn’t give you time to answer, instead pulling you out of your seat to be flush against him. “Tell me, do you dance?”

         “Does the Macarena count?” He gave you a questioning look. “Nevermind,” you said. “The answer is no.”

         “Shame. Looks like you need a teacher.” He smirked. “It might be a little hard without music, though.”

         “What song?” Beckett looked confused. “Can you get any waltzes?”

         “Alexa,” you turned your head towards the small device sitting on your counter. “Play the Second Waltz.” You turned back to Beckett. “It’s a bit more contemporary, but I trust you’ll know how to dace to it.”

         The tune, familiar to you, at least, began. Beckett put a hand on your waist and took one of your hands with the other. Your free hand floated just above his shoulder, where you assumed it was supposed to go.

         “Don’t be shy,” he urged.

         The moment your hand came to rest on his shoulder, he took a step forward, forcing you to step back. He guided you to one side, then forward, and again to the other side. Your movements were clumsy, but you began to get the hang of it as he repeated the steps.

         “Not so hard, see?”

         You smiled shyly, aware of just how close the two of you were.

         “Blushing already?” he teased. He suddenly pulled you flush against his chest. “And to think I hadn’t even given you anything to blush about.”

         “You’re cheeky, aren’t you?” You barely managed to get the words out through your embarrassment.

         “Perhaps. Though I’m sure I can make you blush harder if I try.”

         “Is that a promise?”

         Beckett laughed. “You’re not so bad at this yourself, you know. But if I must…” The hand on your waist took a firmer grip, while the one holding yours came to rest on your cheek. His thumb grazed over your lower lip. Softly, he planted a kiss to your lips, staying close even after it was finished. “Perhaps staying here forever isn’t such a bad thought after all,” he whispered. He stepped back. “Though I suppose I have to find a way back at some point.”

         “We will,” you said, still a little dizzy from the kiss.

         “Together?”

         “Together.”

~~~~~~~

If anyone was wondering about the song:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LPG_WUgHbis

[artsyxloner]

Not just a Monster

Warning: blood, violence, death, making out

20: Fallen Hero

When searching for Cha Hyun-Su, I found him at the staircase. He was rubbing his hand with a blank stare. Seeing him again I began to get nervous, losing my Confident demeanor.

Remembering what I did. " you know it's not good to be alone all the time? you should stick with your buddy." I joked, gaining Hyun-Su attention. Sitting down, but he didn't say anything.

I frowned, wondering what was wrong? I then thought of an idea, grabbing his face I turned it over towards me. Scooting close, again I could tell he was holding his breath. I was making the first move again.

" who was it this time?" I ended up, caressing his jaw with my thumb moving it around in circles where I kissed him. " You get this look on your face when someone gives you a hard time."

I let go, laying my hands on my lap.

" I've noticed." He had looked down, to hide his face. But I followed, he was cute when he was being all bashful. It was my fault entirely. " hey, when some try's to fuck with you do this."

I mimicked what Eun-Yoo does making the bam sounds with my fingers. It meant cussing someone out in Sign language. I showed him, " that's all you have to do." I smiled, nudging his shoulder.

" you try." I offered, bringing his hand up he tried to do it but failed miserably. I laughed. " that was terrible, but you'll get it." I saw a little blush appear on his cheeks. " here," I took his hand in mine. " this is how you do it."

I brought his pointer finger up then folding it down, then I did the same thing with his pinky, middle, and thumb. I kept doing it until his pinky was the only thing left up.

I hooked it with mine, making a promise but I wasn't going to tell him, what it was." There you just made me a promise." I could tell he was confused, " What promise?" I rocked our hands back and forth a bit.

" this." I went for it seeing no one was around not that I cared. Regardless I needed to kiss him. I quickly leaned in planting a soft kiss, on his big lips. Cupping his face with my hands. I pressed my lips down Further.

He was stiff into the kiss, his lips felt dry and as rough as I thought. As mine moved against him, please kiss back I thought as as if he could read my mind. " screw it!" I heard him mumble, into my lips he kissed back.

I smiled, " God, if this turns out bad it's on you!"  He murmured, his arm hooked around my waist holding me tight to where I couldn't get out." then I'll just have to live with it!"

His continued to kiss me but we had to pulling away to catch are breaths. I was breathing hard so was he I placed my forehead on his, he was staring back at me with his dark ones. " —How was it?" he questioned, I laughed shaking my head. " you could use some Chapstick."

I teased trying to get him flustered more because they my lips tingle so bad. He seemed embarrassed now trying to cover them but I stopped him. " but hey, I like them that way."

I moved some of his bangs out of this face pushing them back out of his face. " I didn't take you as the touchy lovely Dovey type." Eun-hyuk's voice startled me. I jerked back, did he seriously have to be here? I wondered if he saw the whole make-out session.

" how long have you been standing there?" I stood up, he glanced down and smirked fixing his round glasses. " long enough." I rolled my eyes, only a perv would watch someone kiss somebody.

I tried to change the subject, " what are you doing here anyway?" I crossed my arms. Hoping he would move on and answer my question. " We'll be turning the water off soon, thought you guys might want to wash up before we do."

He informed us I remembered earlier when everyone was all cleaned up at dinner. " Eun-Yoo already has some clothes for you to borrow." he motioned his head, out the door. " she waiting by the restroom."

I nodded, not before whispering something in Hyun-Su's ear then leaving. Heading down to the restroom there waited Eun-Yoo. She had some black joggers and a white shirt.

" so where have you been?" She gave the clothes to me. I could only smile, thanking her. " I kissed him." After saying this her eyes went wide Beaming with curiosity. " is he a good kisser?" she followed me into the girls' restroom.

Taking a cigarette box out of her back pants pocket she took one lighting it. As I went to drawl the thick dark curtains around me. I didn't like changing in front of people. " well considering it was my first kiss I would say yeah."

I told honestly, taking off my clothes throwing them over where they hung metal poles. " he was your first kiss?" I drawled the curtain back popping out my head nodding. My lips were in a thin line as doing so.

" Wow, even so, when the world goes to shit that's when you get your first kiss." she blows out smoke, " well I'm going to let you shower I'm going going to bug some people." She waved bye leaving the restroom.

Of course, I thought smiling Turing on the water, it comes out fast a cold. It sent shivers down my spine but I got used to it since it's been so hot out. taking the set of soap I scrubbed my body off twice making sure to get all the blood, dirt, and sweat off from top to bottom.

I probably stunk but considering everyone was like that I'm pretty sure they couldn't tell. Finishing up with my hair I wiped off my body with a towel I pulled on my newish clothes.

I stared at myself in front of the mirror looking back at my reflection. I was surprised to see a different person. One where there was no dirt, blood covering my face like a mask. Now I was clean I felt good and refreshing.

I soon picked up my old clothing dumping them in a bin where everyone else's clothes were cleaning up after my self I walked out. Heading to the lobby to see Sang-Wook and Hyun-Su inter the elevator.

He was wearing a yarn striped green and pale orange sweater. I swore his hair looked shorted for some reason. I was about to call him wondering why they were going up there?

But the elevator door closed before I could say anything. So I waited for them sitting on the brown leather couch. Picking at my nails seeing how short they were. Ms. Cha had stepped in. She was usually with the little kids.

She was staring at something in front of her turning my head my eyes caught a red light and the numbers were counting down from one. It must be the guys' back but so soon? It sometimes takes an hour or so.

" Was it just the two guys" that went up?" she questioned but it was more like she was asking herself. But I nearly jumped when a loud ringing was disturbed from the air.

I covered my ears, But then Remembering it's the bell that Signal when a monster is near. The elevator door dinged open revealing one guy standing in the door his back was facing us and he smelled awful as it hurt my nose flies were flying everywhere.

Oh, God!

I was about to stop her but it was too late. " sir?" It soon twisted its head around as its mouth opened up and dozens of flies came out. I almost puked. But its body turned around facing frontwards no.

Ms. Cha screamed, as it came at her but I hurriedly got up pulling her out of the way grabbing her arm. But it kept coming for us as it swung its electric string trimmer. I ducked as Ms. Cha whimpered, I tried to calm her down but I wouldn't work.

As it swung again at us it almost caught her but I pushed her out of the way before it did. It was just me and the smelly monster guy now. He made weird sounds with his mouth like he was choking or more like gagging.

I backed up, trying to lead it away as far as I can. But not to fear because the others could be put in danger. It raises its trimmer again and I was for sure it was going to hit me.

I closed my eyes seeing I couldn't get away waiting for the hit but nothing came as I heard a clash with metal on metal.

Opening my eyes I saw Jae-Heon, he had held the monster off with his trusty katana sword. Holding it off, " Go! go help Ms. Cha!" He yelled, but what about him?

I didn't have a choice though because he pushed the monster back and I got up running to her to help her out of the way as Jae-Heon fought it. He raised the monster's trimmers with both of his hands gripping his sword.

As it collided with some wired metal roofing creating sparks. He held it there struggling as one of this arms was weak from his previous injury. There were loud clicking noises and grunting as he tried to hold it back.

But he couldn't hold on anymore as it came down, and when it did it brought Jae-Heon's arm with it. I let out an ear-pricing scream that seemed to echo when the blood splattered everywhere hitting me.

I was so stunned seeing his arm fly off, red crimson soaked his entire left side as he fell to the floor. I tried to run and help him but Ms. Cha held me back. Tears began to form. I screamed out again trying to pull away.

He can't die, what about him and Ji-Soo? " No! I have to help him!!" But her grip was tight on me. I couldn't get loose." if you go you'll get hurt too." I shook my head it wasn't right just to stand here and watch.

" he can't- he can't die someone needs to help!!" Soon I heard heavy footsteps coming our way. It was the group, coming to the rescue but they all came to a sudden halt. Gasp we're expressed all around the room.

It was quiet except for my crying struggling to get free. Jae-Heon had gotten up staggering a little. The monster attempted to walk up the small step but couldn't.

Jea-Heon had grabbed his half-broken sword walking closer to the monster getting behind him, he stabbed it in the chest pulling the thing in his embrace pulling him back.

He was leading it to the elevator. My eyes poured with tears realizing I cannot save him. He was sacrificing himself for the safety of the group. Then there was a banging sound with a door being pushed open.

It was a person they were crawling on their hands and knees. It was Hyun-Su was he hurt? He lifted his upper body leaning on a metal storage locker.

He gripped the spear In his hands watching the scene unfold. I could see tears in his eyes. As he fought to get up, mumbling underneath his breath.

When Jae-Heon turned the monster around pressing the elevator door open shoving him inside, there were multiple grunts, as he went in fighting it. He pulled out the sword-swinging it around. As the light kept flickering on and off.

He dodged the trimmers, going over to the front doors pressing the button to close it, as it did the electric door closed and reopened each time there was more blood splatter on the walls.

When it opened again not able to close because the trimmers were in between it stopping the doors from closing Jae-Heon grabbed the monster taking him down to the ground. Puncturing the jug that was attached to the motor that runs the trimmer it leaked gas everywhere.

I knew what he was doing he was going to catch himself on fire. " throw it!!" Jae-Heon yelled to saw Seung-Wan he was holding a bottle with cloth in it that was on fire.

But he didn't throw it too scared to. His body shook. But everyone was tense, not wanting to hurt him more than he already was. Jae-Heon laid on the floor not letting go of the monster red was the only color that was Prominent in the elevator.

" throw it now!!" He screamed again, I saw Eun-hyuk look between him and Seung-wan debating to do what I think he was doing. He ran to him taking the jar waiting for the perfect moment to throw it but also hesitant because he was his friend.

It was weak but Jae-Heon's last words threw it he mouthed. I could see Eun-Hyuk trying to hold back tears but he threw it. It setting everything on fire. I watched as it was burning them up I couldn't look anymore Turing my head away.

My chin began to quiver, as I drawled in deep breaths. I tried to control my sobs, if I had just fought the monster instead of letting Jae-Heon do it he would still be alive.

A/N

So this chapter has whimsical of different emotions. I hope you liked this chapter, I know it's been slow updates but please be patient. I appreciate all your guy's support it means everything!!! 🖤🖤🥺

[xhanisai]

SALTING AROUND AT THE SPEED OF SOUND

AO3 / FFN

Summary: Introducing!!!!

The! Ultimate! Salt! Fic! Ever! IN ZA WARUDO!

Featuring Dumb Noir getting taught a lesson about boundaries, Perfectnette getting friends and love interest(s), and LILA GETTING HER ASS HANDED BACK! HOW COULD YOU RESIST SUCH A WONDERFUL FIC?

(All in all, a crack fic on salt fics to bring our spirits up~)

Disclaimer - I've actually only read like one sentence of a salt fic and fucked off afterwards so everything I'm basing off in this fic is purely from exaggerated rumours and gossip about the salt corner THEREFORE if anything here looks familiar or if it seems like I'm taking the piss out of a specific story, it's all just one big coincidence. >:D ~(x)~ . . . Of all locations to settle on for the beginning of this amazing, wonderful, fucking fantastic story, it's established on the Eiffel Tower. Cliched but wonderfully ironic for the phenomenal heroes of Paris. On the beams, higher than the naked eye could see, Ladybug and Chat Noir were... Arguing. The feline hero had his partner's wrist clasped in an iron hold, digging those deadly claws ever so slightly into the soft flesh, piercing the supposed indestructible suit with a creepy grin- "Wait- hold up a second. I would never, NEVER hurt My Lady! Not even unintentionally! And what's with that face I'm making!?" Oh SHUT UP Shit Noir! Let me carry on writing my fucking story jeez! Stop breaking out of character and keep following the script! Anyways~ The skinny, pasty assed hero- "This script sucks..."- -TUGGED Ladybug closer to him, grin widening like he won the lottery as his demonic looking eyes perversely drank in the sight of the clearly uncomfortable looking heroine in his grasps. His face leaned into hers, only coming closer as she tried her best to lean back with a grimace. "Just one kiss Bugaboo~ one kiss won't hurt..." His grip tightened on the appendage, making the girl wince painfully. "Come on Chat Noir...let go! I have already told you, I'm in love with someone else. You seriously need to back off!" Ladybug whimpered, tossing away all her badassery and ability to suckerpunch a fuckboy in the face because hell yeah it ain't relevant to this sexy fic- "You're right Chaton, this script does suck lmao"- IGNORING WHAT THE CANON LB JUST SAID. Ehem. Like a defenseless little shoujou manga protagonist, Ladybug felt tears sparkle in her eyes and pure sadness washed over her frail body before Fuck Noir dipped her into a romantic pose and smashed his lips against hers with soooooo much passion and tongue and teeth and- . What. On. Earth. Oi you stupid cat! Watch where you're putting your hands on the girl! Yikes! What do they teach these Europeans!? Break it up already you hormone riddled boobs! "Oh Minou~ You're so daring~" "Just for you, My Lady~" STAY ON SCRIPT YOU BRATS! Hmph! Carrying on. Suddenly, herculean strength riddled through Ladybug's blood, falcon punching Bitch Noir off her and off the tower, thus HenchBug™ was born. Panting and wiping her lip with her thumb in a really really badass way (YOU KNOW THAT EPIC WAY THAT ANIME CHARACTERS DO TO WIPE THE BLOOD OFF THEIR LIP, RIGHT? RIGHT? ex deeeee), MachoBug swept towards Pussy Noir's broken twiggy body at the bottom of the tower. "You disobeyed me for the umpteenth time, Noir." BadassBug uttered cooly, keeping a blind eye to the growing crowd around her and the mangled up flesh on sticks at her feet. The black and yellow mess didn't respond. "Lo-oooool cos I'm dead!" WE'LL PRETEND WE DIDN'T HEAR THAT EITHER. Anger coursed through Ladybug's veins as all those traumatising memories and moments she had with her horrific partner flashed through her brain like an old window's movie maker AMV with Evanescence's 'Bring Me Back To Life' song blasting at full volume. The conveniently arrived Alya at the front of the crowd live streamed everything on the WadyBwog, babbling about ice cream scoops. "Every time we met up, you'd always make unwanted advances to me. You'd always force a kiss on me. You even slapped my thicc™ ass a few times- once to the beat of fucking Nyan cat!" The hive minded crowd surrounding them 'oooed' and 'aaahed', some snapped a selfie with what's left of the black cat. "Therefore," The sun auspiciously shone behind MariBug, giving her an ethereal, angelic look as she carried on her lecture. "I now deem you unworthy of the miraculous." BugBug fluttered her eyelashes with so much pain as if reciting those words killed her whole generation and their dogs and their hamsters. "Hand it over to me or else I'll force it off you." All of a sudden BuffBug™ was back, bitch slapping CryBabyBug away and menacingly placed one foot on the carcass.   "Wow I think she forgot that you're dead Chat Noir," THE HIGH TENSIONED MOMENT REMAINED UNBROKEN AS FAKEBUG- oof- Ladybug rolled her eyes with annoyance at the disgusting boy's silence and immediately knelt down to yank the miraculous off his bony fingers- "Never!" The catboy sprung back to life before anyone could breathe, clutching his hand to guard his ring ferally, froth seeping out of his teeth and fangs gnashing against one another- "Looks like I'm a vampire with rabies now, Bug." "Since when did you have fangs?" "Since two seconds ago-" OH MY GOD YOU TWO! SHUT UP AND LET ME WRITE! Zombie Noir leapt back with a hiss, faux ears and tail twitching with indignation and summoned the ancient destruction power whilst BossBug spun her yoyo around in battle formation, ready to call for her lucky charm anytime soon. Cat and Bug kept up the intense eye contact as that cowboy music from the good, the bad and the fugly played in the background (cheers Lahiffe mah d00d!). "You don't want to become my enemy, do you, Chat N00b?" The heroine spat, bones clicking in place as she stretched her fingers when she and the lad in black circled each other slowly. The crowd and Alya were casually chilling in the background, the latter still narrating about an epic ice cream scoop. "Heh, I won't need to be the enemy if you don't touch MY ring... Milady~"- "MON DIEU! C'EST 'MY LADY'! C'EST N'AI PAS 'MILADY'!" THAT'S THE POINT YOU STUPID CAT! Break out of character one more time and I'll castrate you and feed your teeny tiny *censored* to the dogs! "...My Lady? Is my *censored* small? :(" "If your *censored* was small, you'd never have been able to make me scream at night, Minou~ ;3" ":D" 

Regardless! The pussycat feinted to the left before dodging the razor sharp wire of his Lady's (not) yoyo, whipping out his baton (not the tiny one either) and swiftly used it to vault himself away like the coward he CLEARLY is. "You'll never get me alive, THOT!" Was the last thing that small dick energy minded cuck yowled and fled with his tail between his legs. BigBug let out a yell of rage™ and slammed her fist on the ground, branding the sloppy concrete job with a crater as the shockwaves caused the audience to let out a little 'DAYUMMMMMMMM'. "Lol I thought the geezer was dead hahaah! Yo Ladybuggy, mah homie, you and kitty cat did the shame shame already or nah?" Alya, the lil hoe, leant into the heroine's personal space with a crazed grin. She only received a middle finger from the annoyed Asian. (MMmm Mmmm yEAH YEAh trANSiTION so SEXYYYY) Now, it is conveniently time for Marinette's afternoon classes. The exhausted girl dragged her feet up those weird ass spirally steps that could break ankles JUST by looking at them and made it to her classroom, only to pause at the shouting she was hearing behind the door. "Oh boy, time to unleash the kraken..." Silence Adrien! You're not supposed to have appeared yet! Dumb ass blondes these days smh... "HEY! >:0" With a deep breath, the raven haired girl pushed the door open only to be met with what could be best described as a clusterfuck. Tears welled up in her eyes as the remains of her sketchbook (which looked like it had a trip in a paper shredder) was dumped all over the floor. She snapped her head back up only for her heart to literally shatter when she was met with a furious Alya Motherfuckin' Césaire. "Marinetti DupainGhetti. This. Is. Your. Punishment." Alya's glasses flashed sinisterly as her lips curled up into  d i s g u s t . The rest of the class mirrored a similar look, acting as if poor little Cheng vored everything they loved and cherished. All except two people. That witch BITCH Lie-la smirked secretly as she cowered behind Alya and the wimp, spineless little shitty Dumbdrien whimpered on his desk, pretending that nothing was happening. "P-P-Punishment for wh-what?" Babynette sobbed, clutching her shoulders as if to hug herself and make her look smaller than she is. She darted her eyes towards the model, begging him internally to say something, anything! Alas, Bitchdrien only looked away guiltily, his thin chapped lips sealed shut. Marinette couldn't believe her bad luck. First there was an akuma attack, then she was assaulted by her shitty partner for the millionth time and now this? "Punishment for bullying our lord and saviour, Lila of course! How dare you make such a sweet girl like her suffer!?" Alya roared, using the power of the seven chaos emeralds and twenty dragonballs to go super satan and pinned Sweetienette against the wall with an elbow. Her hair fizzed with animosity and her eyes gleamed in a demonic red colour- "Dieu...you just had to drag my best friend into this too, huh?" "You'd think this writer is sane enough to know that I'd cataclysm anyone that dared to harm Ma Princesse, non?" "The writer? Sane? Good joke."- IGNORING STUPIDNETTE AND BLOODYDRIEN- Alya snarled, bruising our sweet little angel's poor skin with her brute strength whilst the rest of the class watched without a question. The sausage haired wench munched on some greasy ass popcorn as she watched the show whilst Shamedrien became one with the floor, a perfect doormat for us queens to stomp on. "You tripped her all the time when no one was watching, aggravating her shattered kneecaps. You plagerised her designs, ruining what's left of her sensitive self esteem and dammit don't even get me started on all those rumours you attempted to spread about her, smearing her celebrity status! I've never hated anyone more than you, BITCHINETTE!" Alya harrumphed and then shoved Brokenette against the wall again, possibly snapping her spine and stormed back to her new bestie. "Mon Dieu your best friend just murdered you..." "Mon Dieu my best friend just murdered me..." Tosses a knife at the duo to make them shut the fuck up. Everyone else applauded the psycho journalist for putting Poornette in her place, even Stinkdrien cos he can't handle peer pressure- BAM! . . . "HOW DARE YOU HURT MARINETTE DUPAIN CHENG!" A tall, stern looking boy slammed the door open, scooping Deadinette in his arms and blew out steam through his nostrils like a bull. Everyone le gasped as the girl suddenly turned into Alivenette and embraced the stranger like he's her long lost lover (Aiyeeeeeeeeeeee mUH O-T-FUCKING-P! K Y A A  A! EVEN THOUGH WE KNOW JACKSHIT ABOUT HIM). "BELIX BRAGRESTE! You saved me~ Don't hurt my homiesexuals please- they're all brainwashed by the sausage haired girl..." The blackberry haired angel begged, tugging on Belix's sleeves. "I didn't do anything-" Uglydrien was quick to defend himself only to melt back down into a doormat by Belix's dark glare, ripping out what spinal tissue the model had left. "Damn straight you didn't do SHIT." Bragreste swiftly delivered a power-kick against Assgreste, yeeting him to the moon and then turned towards the rest of the f00king class, rolling his sleeves up. "As for you nerds...I'm gonna chop you all up into mincemeat and EAT you all with my spaghetti!-" "I'm here Marinette!!!" Another lad swooped in through the door, hips swaying to the beat as 'Luka Luka Night Fever' plays in the background and then posed! Why it's none other than the obviously best written, best character, best BOY in the world: RUKA COFFEE- sorry, I mean Luka Couffaine! He strummed his guitar a few times, nodding and humming as if he was conversing with the beautiful instrument whilst bokeh dots and pink sparkly glitter floated around him. "Ah~ my guitar said that everyone's being a bitch ass motherfucker to our beautiful designer! Come with my Mari~ Take my hand and I'll take you away from this school!" The lycee student didn't wait for her answer and grabbed the star struck girl oh SO romantically~ "No! She should move schools with me!" Belix Bananagreste snatched Nettie back possessively, just like a cat. It was then that the girl decided that when she managed to snatch the black cat miraculous back from the loser that currently wielded it, she was going to give it to Belix- "Ugh don't fuck with me..." "Shhh. You're supposed to have been yeeted to the moon, Chaton," "Marinette please just throttle the writer already-" AND THEN! SUDDENLY! Erm... Errr... AHA! Suddenly all these people from some furry superhero universe came flooding in through the door, yelling insults and real truths about LIE-LA and protecting my best girl Maribear like a boss! Heroes like Gamien and Dason Bob and that guy and err, the other guy and yeah AND THEN they all began to BEAT UP that BITCH LILA and then- "Oh no she's losing it, Adrien I don't think this will last any longer..." "No kidding!" THEN JAGGED STONE CAME FLYING THROUGH THE WINDOW, JAMMING OUT HIS LATEST SONG ABOUT HOW LILA IS SUCH A LIAR AND EXPOSED EVERY SINGLE THING SHE DID TO BEST GIRL MACHONETTE! THEN ALL THESE OTHER KIDS FROM THE SCRAPPED PV UNIVERSE CAME IN VIA A CONGO LINE AND MARINETTA DECIDED TO GIVE THEM THE OTHER MIRACULOUS COS WHY NOT!? AND THEN CHLOE BECAME MARINETTE'S NEW BFF COS HELL YEAH I LOVE VIBING WITH PEOPLE WHO BULLIED ME AND MY PEERS FOR FOUR YEARS STRAIGHT AHAHAAHAH QUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENS- "Adrien, I'm going to kill her. She needs to stop." "Go on then~" AND THEN! AND FUCKING THEN! SCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW!!!!!! . . . [Error 404: The following writer has unfortunately met her demise through unknown means. We apologise for any inconveniences. Please keep scrolling as we clear up the mess. Have a good day.] . . . "Huh...that was anticlimactic...now what?" "You go off snogging my rejected predecessor and the guitar boy? >:(" "As if I'd go for anyone other than my silly kitty!" ":D" . . . ~(x)~ A/N:  I am never EVER writing anything this cursed AGAIN! How can you bash anyone but the villains in this series!? Damn! I can't even say I'm sleep deprived! This is the most fucked up shit I've written and I'm super alert oof!

[alphascorpiixx]

Another Dream

KHUX Week Day 7

You return to Daybreak Town as darkness spreads across the world.

Ao3

Characters: Player, Chirithy, Ephemer, Nightmare Chirithy

Gen, 2427 words, written before last update, second person pov

Warnings: death mention, drowning

Shadows play on the copper wirings inside the cables. Your adventures in the data worlds are over, the darkness banished and Candy Kingdom saved from destruction. The tunnel echoes with the metallic clack of your footsteps. You carry your Keyblade in your hand, ready for any remaining Heartless lurking in the shadows. The data worlds may be safe, but the Darkling’s presence still uneases you. Who could be their real target?

So wrapped up in your thoughts you are that you almost miss the brief flicker of the cable lights. You stop and look around. No Heartless appear, but the shadows loom on all sides. Something stutters in your peripheral vision, like the edges of the world are being pulled apart.

You pick up your pace.

The tunnel ends at a point of light. The portal back to Daybreak Town ripples with bursts of static. This isn’t right, it should have stabilized since you cleared out all the bugs. The glitched gateway twists and contorts more violently than before, at risk of closing any second. You sprint the last few steps.

You emerge where you and Ephemer started in the clocktower’s computer room. You catch your breath and look around, expecting Ephemer and the others to greet you. But the room is empty. The monitors, once displaying glimpses of all the various worlds, reflect you on their dark screens.

“Ephemer?” you call out.

Chirithy pops up beside you. “They’re probably in the Foretellers’ room. Let’s go report back.”

You leave the computer room and take the elevator down. Chirithy sits at your feet, and you rub your arms. The air in the clocktower is so cold, like something leached away all the warmth. 

The ride is silent, save for the clicking of the giant gears. You cast a sideways glance at Chirithy. “How do you know where that is?”

“I—uh.” Chirithy’s ears curl in, and they won’t meet your gaze.

“I know I’ve been here before, in the memories you’ve been suppressing.”

“I didn’t—”

“It’s okay.” You bend down and rub Chirithy’s head. “I know you just want to protect me. But I can protect myself, too.” You give Chirithy a soft smile, and they press their nose against your leg. “You’re my friend, and friends don’t keep secrets from each other.”

“I know,” they murmur against your calf.

You give their head one last pet and straighten up. After a few minutes, the gears click into place, and the elevator shudders to a stop. You hurry to the Foretellers’ room, shove the door open, and find the remains of a battle.

The stained glass window is smashed, and the grand table is splintered into pieces. Books strewn on the floor, their pages torn and scattered. Shattered vials, broken chairs. In the chaos, you almost don’t notice Ephemer leaning against a toppled bookshelf.

“Ephemer!” You run to his side. His jaw is bruised, and he gives you a lopsided grin.

“Hey, you made it back all right. Everything go okay?”

“Me? What happened to you?” You cast a Cure spell, and a soft green light washes over Ephemer. He closes his eyes for a second and exhales. You help him to his feet, and he explains as you two head to the elevator. 

“We were attacked by a creature, calls itself Darkness. It had possessed Ven to get inside this world, and then came after the rest of us. It escaped out the window,” he nods to the remains of the glass, “so Brain and Lauriam chased after it. Skuld’s looking after Ven, and that’s about it.” He gives a dry laugh. “Usual stuff.”

Your mind reels with questions, but Ephemer grimances and rubs his side. Questions can wait. 

The two of you make it to the elevator when the walls glitch. Black tendrils spread over the gears and extinguish the lights. They twist and surge, something between smoke and shadow.

“It’s back,” Ephemer whispers. He pushes you toward the exit. “Go! You have to get out of here!”

“Not without you!” You reach out, but the shadows separate the two of you. A flash of light accompanies his Keyblade summon, but it’s not enough to break through the darkness.

“Ephemer!” you shout, but the storm swallows your words. You throw your arm in front of your face. The shadows coalesce into something vaguely humanoid. A Darkling?

It advances toward you. You summon Starlight and draw on your lux reserves. A familiar burn runs through your veins as lux dances around your body. Walking through the clocktower’s halls sparked something in your mind. Memories swirl in your head—pouring rain, a muddy battlefield, the burning light at your fingertips—but you push them away. You want to remember, but you can’t be distracted now, with the darkness bearing down.

“It’s you,” the figure in the dark says. “The last of the Dandelions.”

“What did you do to Ephemer?” you demand. Your body glows like a star against the dark.

“He’s lost now. Adrift like the others.”

No. He can’t be. 

You blaze up the room with a Firaga spell, but it doesn’t burn away the darkness. Tendrils rise out of the floor and slice at your face. You hit them away with your Keyblade and lunge at the figure in the shadows.

They shy just out of your reach. “This fake world is nearing its end. You may have survived the end of the world once, but I wonder if fate will bless you a second time?”

Shadows gather at your feet, restraining you to the floor. The tendrils cling to your body and force you to your knees. You can’t raise your Keyblade, and the last of you lux snuffs out. Someone calls your name. Chirithy, still by your side. 

“No! You can’t take my friend!” Chirithy cries.

The Darkness lashes out at Chirithy before they can flee. Shadows bind their little body, and pain strikes your heart. 

You scream, and everything goes dark.

*

“Hey.”

You blink. Sunlight fills your eyes.

“Get up.”

Your back is wet. You roll your head to the side and see you’re lying on a shallow ocean that stretches out to eternity. Your eyelids close again. You can’t find the energy to stand up. The sea is so peaceful, and you just want to sink beneath the surface.

“Hey. You’re not dying here. So get up.”

A paw prods your ribs. You grit your teeth and force yourself to stand up. Water ripples at your feet, but you remain standing on the surface.

You finally see the speaker, and your hand extends for your Keyblade. But nothing comes, and the Nightmare tilts their head.

“What are you trying to do? You don’t have any power here, you know.” Red eyes stare at you from an emotionless face. You remember when that face transformed into a monster bent on your destruction.

“I defeated you. What are you doing here?”

“I’m still bound to you, unfortunately. And then you went and died like an idiot fighting the Darkness, so I found what’s left of your heart and brought you here.”

“I’m—” Your heart stutters, and you can’t finish your thought. You look down and notice yourself in the water’s reflection. You’re barely a figment, a translucent form as fleeting as the clouds above your head. You hold your hand in front of your face and see sunlight pass through. 

“Oh, and I couldn’t save your body. Sorry,” the Nightmare adds, almost as an afterthought. You drop your hand to your side and look back at them. They haven’t made a move, but you long for the heft of the Keyblade in your grip.

“Where am I?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady. “And where is my Chirithy?”

“So I guess I’m not good enough for you?” they grumble. They turn away and look up at the sky. “This is called the Final World, where fallen hearts go when they can’t move on. And like I said, you’re dead, so your Chirithy’s gone, too.” They look back and see your stricken expression and roll their eyes. “Your other Chirithy is still around. Wielders and their Dream Eaters are not separated so easily. They still exist as part of your heart.”

The Nightmare’s words bring relief. You’re still wary of their intentions, but you press your hand to your chest and feel your heart stir. In this world you have no Spirit or Dream Eater materials to give Chirithy a new form, but you take comfort in the knowledge they are still with you.

You walk around this empty world, water splashing with every step. “Ephemer and Skuld are in trouble. I need to get back to Daybreak Town. How do I leave here?”

The Nightmare skips behind you. “I dunno, I just saved you from passing on. You’ll have to figure the rest out yourself.”

“You could still help me. If you’re a part of me, you can’t go back to the real world either.”

“Actually, I can.” And without another word, the Nightmare flips into the air and vanishes. You wait for them to return, but they don’t. 

*

In this world you can’t even tell how much time passes. You walk on and on but never come to any shore, only endless ocean and sky.

You stop and sit down. The memories that overwhelmed you before now feel like an age ago. You remember the war between the unions and your own battles against the Foretellers. In your incomplete state, every emotion is dull and hollow. You should be angry. You should scream and rage and mourn the loss of Chirithy and the unknown fate of your friends. You bite back a hollow laugh. These are the memories you longed to recall, flashes of a battlefield strewn with broken keys, and they barely stir any shadow of grief.

You press your forehead to your knees and stare at the water. The ocean reflects the eternal sky, a mimicry of Daybreak Town’s seaside. The ocean of your home was a living thing, mostly calm but rising like a wild beast in the occasional storms. The sunlit surface rippled green and blue, never a single color and always hiding secrets in its depths. This world, despite the reflection of the sun, is stagnant. A mirror to hold lost hearts, not a sustainer of life.

But it might still hold its own secrets.

You place your hand on the surface, and your fingers disappear under the water. So there is something lurking under the ocean. You push your hand down. The water comes to your wrist, and you can’t see past the reflection. Your hand meets no resistance as in sinks deeper.

Sink down and down and—

You stand up. Ripples disrupt the reflection. You lift your head to the sun and close your eyes.

Then you fall backward. Water crashes around your body and closes over your head. Your eyes blink against the pressure. Bubbles race past your face and disappear into the blurry sunlight. That light’s warmth fades the further you fall, until the last trace of the surface vanishes and leaves you cold.

You sink.

Down.

And.

Down.

The weight of the ocean presses against your body, and your chest begins to ache. Air bubbles escape your lips, and your lungs seize up. You scramble for something to cling to, but there’s nothing but water.

“You’re finding all sorts of new ways to die, huh?” The Nightmare’s voice enters your mind, undisturbed by the water bearing down on you.

Help me, please.

“You got yourself into this mess. Why should I help you?”

Because you’re part of me. You reach out with your mind for the Nightmare’s presence. You feel them at the edge of your awareness. You know the truth of your words, and so do they. No matter where they go, they are part of you and you will find them. And if I pass on so will you.

The Nightmare doesn’t answer. You gulp for air but swallow water instead. As your arms flail and you sink into the depths, you realize the Nightmare was wrong earlier. You couldn’t be dead because of how hard you are fighting to live.

Something solid brushes your hand. You reach out and grab fur. You wrap your arms around the body of a beast and let it carry you back to the light. Your head breaks the surface, and you gasp in air. The creature drags you to the shallows, and you fall onto the sand of a dark shore, coughing up a lungful of water.

Nightmare Chirithy settles beside you, still in their beast form. Their fur dries unnaturally quick. You lie on the sand and let the waves wash over your legs.

“Where are we now?” you murmur. The black sky reminds you of the corridors of darkness you’d often travel within to fight Heartless. But the shore is empty of monsters, and the shadows don’t writhe.

“The Realm of Darkness,” they state. You sigh. “Well, at least you’re not dead anymore,” they add, and you raise your eyebrow at the touch of optimism. 

“So if I’m not dead but I made it here, am I part of the darkness now? Am I going to turn into a Darkling?” The possibility doesn’t scare as much as it would have before. A creature of darkness is the reason why you lost yourself in the first place, but another one saved you from the abyss.

They shrug. “I guess you’ll find out eventually.”

The Nightmare’s body contorts and transforms back into their usual form. They fix their red eyes on the sea, and you can’t help but think of your other Dream Eater. In the faint light of the distant sun, you almost convince yourself it’s you and them sitting on the hill watching the sunset.

You muster the energy to sit up. “We’ll have to help each other now, if we want to get out of this.”

Nightmare Chirithy huffs. “You’re the one who got us here. And I’m not doing this for you.”

“I know.” 

You place your hand on their head. Chirithy tenses for a second but relaxes as you scratch their ears. They lean into your side. Eventually you’ll have to find a way out of this realm and look for Ephemer. You know in your heart he isn’t gone, and you hold onto the certainty that you will meet again.

But for now the two of you listen to the slow hush of the waves.

[imanativeofswlondondahling]

Becoming A Stark? (12) - Peter Parker x Stark! femReader

Word Count: 4014

Warnings: Mention of needles, swearing

Author Note: Lots of Peter, Tony, and Pepper. All my favorites. Enjoy! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! Next update will be this weekend- after my finals are done hopefully. 

Chapter One || Previous Chapter || Master List

Your dad has never seen you do a pump change or a sensor change. Honestly all the supplies live in your room so it’s just easier for you to do it there. But after Peter and him finished in the lab on Friday, Pepper asked Peter if he wanted to stick around for dinner, which then turned into him staying to watch a movie with you, Pepper, and Tony. But in the middle of Labyrinth, which is your favorite movie, your sensor fails. “Goddamn it Wallace.” You mutter looking at your phone screen, displaying the replace sensor now message as Chilly Down plays in the background.

“What’s wrong?” Tony asks you before speaking to FRIDAY. “FRI- pause the movie.” Sarah and all the swamp creatures, if you can call them that stop moving as your dad’s attention is focused on you. “You high? You low? Tell me what’s happening?” He asks.

“Sensor failed. Like five days early too.” You reach under your shirt and pull off the sensor that isn’t doing anything for your now. But your nails trace over where the sensor had been. “But the only good thing is I can scratch the itch that has been driving me bonkers.” You admit.

“So what do you need?” You dad has turned his hyperfocus on, but this isn’t something you can’t handle.

“I just have to grab the stuff to change it. Give me like five minutes and I can change it while we watch the movie.”

“I’ll grab some more drinks for everyone while we do.” Pepper says with a smile. “And maybe make some more popcorn too.”

Walking into your bedroom, you open the drawer that’s filled with all your supplies. You grab the four things you need: the sensor, alcohol wipes, a Skin Tac wipe, and an over patch. Oh shit! Your transmitter was supposed to last through this last sensor, so you’ll have to replace that one too. Picking everything up in your hands you make your way back down towards the living room. 

“Got enough stuff kiddo?” Your dad asks as you sit back down.

“You should see what it looks like when I have to do a double site change. So much more trash.” You notice Peter has your old sensor in his hand and is turning it over, looking at it from all the angles.

“Sorry.” He mumbles as he notices you staring at him. “I just found it interesting.”

“It doesn’t bug me. It’s trash now.” You lift it from his hand and snap out the transmitter. “This comes apart, since normally you reuse the transmitter for three months at a time. But that one bit the dust with the sensor failing.” You explain before motioning towards the box with the new one. 

“And this whole thing reads your sugars?” You nod.

“That wire there gets inserted under the skin into this tissue or something that my lack of science can’t explain. But it reads your fluids or stuff that’s there and reports that data through the transmitter to my pump and to my phone.”

“Do you feel the wire under your skin?” Peter asks.

“Nope. The most I feel from the whole sensor is if I like lay on it wrong, or if I start reacting to the adhesive. Or if I place it in a spot and a door rips it off. That fucking hurts.” You think back to the last time that a door ripped your sensor off and wince slightly.

“Hold on, go back. You react to the adhesive?” Your dad’s voice is suddenly concerned.

“Well I’m allergic to latex and some other adhesives so every now and then I react to the Dexcom adhesive.” You shrug. “That’s why I use these.” You hold up the over patch and the Skin Tac. “They produce barriers and help it stay on long enough.”

“You’re allergic to your medical device and yet you still wear it?” Your dad voices his concern.

“It’s either that or wake up multiple times a night to check my sugars. I’ll take some hives and blisters over that. I like sleeping.” You say with a shrug. Opening the bag that holds the sensor, you lay out all the things that you need for this sensor change. You wipe down your thigh with the alcohol wipe before taking the transmitter out of the box so you can pair it. While it works on pairing, you take the Skin Tac wipe and wipe down the skin so the adhesive can become tacky. While it’s drying, you break off the safety handle off of the sensor. 

“What the fuck kiddo? That needle is like six inches long?” Your dad exclaims, seeing it through the plastic inserter.

“Yeah, it has to be so that it can get deep enough for the sensor to work. But it gets pulled out. I can go in the other room if the needle thing is going to be an issue?” You sometimes forget that other people aren’t as calm around needles as you are after ten years of being a diabetic.

“No it’s fine. Stay where you are. I just thought it was something that you like placed on your skin.”

“But how would the wire get into the tissues?” You ask rhetorically. You pull the papers that are blocking the adhesive and lie it down where you want the sensor to go. You’re not going to say anything to Peter or your dad, because their eyes are already on you, but you actually hate plunging this needle down. Place the sensor in the wrong spot and it hurts badly as it plunges through veins and nerves with no mercy. So instead of showing the fear of hoping you’ve picked a good spot, you take a breath, smile at them and say “Three, two, one,” and slam the needle down. “Motherfucker!” You exclaim as you feel it shoot through a nerve. You pull the needle out and rub at the skin around the sensor. Your dad is by your side in seconds, while Peter jumps up, not sure what is causing you pain, but doesn’t want to be the cause of more pain.

“What can I do, bambina?” Your dad asks. Peter’s arms cross as he watches as one of your eyes scrunches up as you continue to rub the same spot on your thigh. Tony’s arm wraps around you once he knows that he won’t hurt you more.

“Nothing. I picked a shit spot to put it. Hit a nerve.” You explain. You put the transmitter in clicking it in, hearing the double click to be sure. And twist off the end piece of plastic. Lastly you add the overpatch that has roses drawn on it to secure it in place. “I’m good now, I promise.” You look up at your dad, seeing that he doesn’t believe you.

“I hate seeing you in pain.”

“It’s part of diabetes. We deal with a lot of pricks.” You joke, but he doesn’t laugh.

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” His arms wrap around you and you’re pulled into a crushing hug. “If I could take all the pain for you, I would.” You lean into your dad’s arms. 

“Who’s to say I want you in pain?” 

“It’s my job to protect you kiddo. You’ve had enough pain. If I want to shoulder it, I should be allowed to.” You rub over the overpatch making sure it’s holding as he talks.

“Or neither of us could hurt and we could finish the best movie of all time.” You say as you hit the buttons to start the warm up period.

“What’s your number?” You shrug.

“Takes two hours to warm up. Testing kit is in my room.” Tony reaches for the drawer in the table. “Last I looked I was solid 180s. I’m fine.”

“You start feeling shaky or anything-”

“We’ll both be shocked, but yes I’ll let you know.” You look at Peter. “You going to stand for the rest of the night?” Tony’s just glad he didn’t jump onto the walls or worse the ceiling. That would have blown the whole Spider-Man thing. Instead he stays focused on the feeling of having you in his arms as Chilly Down starts to play again. He’s a little surprised that Labyrinth is your favorite movie, but he’ll take learning anything about you that he can. And this is one of those little moments that Pepper was talking about you sharing with him. So as the puppets dance around the screen, Tony’s arm holds you closer. You don’t even look up as you scoot closer and lean against his shoulder. 

As she walks back in from the kitchen, Pepper snaps a picture of you and Tony from behind the couch. The sight of you curled into his arms is something that he will want forever, but this moment, she wants to stay in as well. Seeing Tony as a dad- it makes her love him that much more.

After last night, Peter doesn’t expect to be back at the tower so soon, especially after spending two days in the lab last week with Mr. Stark, but they’re finally making progress on the new webbing solution, and Mr. Stark said “why don’t you come over tomorrow to keep working on it Pete?” And Peter wasn’t going to turn down the chance to work with Mr. Stark, or a chance to get to see you more. But what he wasn’t expecting to see when he entered the tower was you dancing around the kitchen as you cleaned it. Peter was used to doing chores, sure, what teenager wasn’t? But he never would have though Tony Stark one to make his kids clean house to earn their keep. Honestly, he would have thought Tony Stark would have had someone, or even a robot, to clean for him. However you didn’t seem that worried about cleaning. 

“Hey Y/N.”

“Hey Parker. You’re practically living here these days.” You look stunning, even though you’re just in weekend clothing of a tie-dyed shirt with the Mystery Machine printed on it that says Scooby Doo underneath, a pair of jean shorts, and your hair pulled up into a ponytail with a blue scrunchy.

“Your dad and I are trying to finish up a project.”

“Must be important for you to be giving up a Saturday to get it done.” You laugh as you pour some powder cleaner on the counter top before running a sponge over top it. You’re not on the wrong path. The new webbing solution is pretty important. 

“The paparazzi would lose their mind if they knew Y/N Stark spends her Saturdays doing chores like the rest of us peasants.”

“Celebrities, they’re just like us.” You smirk. “Unless you’re planning on grabbing a sponge and joining in, you should probably head on down to the lab.”

“See you later Y/N.” You smile as Peter heads out of the kitchen, letting the music of your playlist take over as you keep cleaning. Focusing on something other than the essay you don’t want to write for your science class is nice. Also it seems like no one has cleaned the kitchen since the fight between your dad and the rogue Avengers. Pulling the burners grates off the stove, you see grease and crumbs that could have been easier to clean had someone wrapped the grease trap with tin foil. So it’s time for some tender loving care and jamming out to Carry On My Wayward Son. 

“Hi Mr. Stark.” Peter says, not wanting to surprise Tony as he walks into the lab.

“Morning Pete.” Tony takes a sip of the coffee cup to his right as he looks over the numbers on his tablet. “Did you manage to get any sleep last night? Karen said you went patrolling after you left here.”

“I got some sleep.” Peter nods. “Did you? I feel like your whole family has been up since I left last night?”

“We all slept. I think Y/N might still be in bed. She was when I came down here.”

“No, she’s up, working on her chores.” Tony turns from the numbers cranking in front of him, to look at Peter with confusion marking his face.

“She doesn’t have chores.”

“Well she’s upstairs cleaning the kitchen. I just thought she was working on chores, but I guess I guessed wrong.”

“We have people that we can call in. I don’t know why she’s cleaning… You mean like with a sponge and wipes and such?” Tony asks, trying to clarify and Peter nods his head. “She must have her reasons. But I’m not making her do it.”

“I believe you.��� Tony turns from the datapad or- as Peter had started calling it since Tony had started tracking Y/N’s blood sugar on it as well- his Dad-apad, 

“How do you feel about working on one of the cars while these numbers crunch? We can’t continue on the aspects to add until they finish crunching.”

“Sure Mr. Stark.”

“You can call me Tony kid.”

“I know Mr. Stark.” Tony rolls his eyes at that.

“FRI, turn on Tony Stark Can Rot.” Peter is confused at the name of the playlist, but the songs that start playing sound somewhat familiar. From what he had seen in his time working in the lab, Tony wasn’t one to name his playlists, but to name one so angrily towards himself seems unlike Tony. But Tony doesn’t seem to think anything of it as he climbs under the side of his Audi and calls out for some tools. Peter hands him the wrench and falls into the habit of working with Tony until Friday calls out a while later.

“Boss, Y/N just asked Miss Potts where the first aid kit is.” Tony goes still. 

“Stay here.” He leaves the lab without more than the two words. 

It was an injury that only you were capable of. How does someone get hurt cleaning? And a paper cut, if you could call it that, on tin foil nonetheless. You didn’t want to bother your dad when he was busy on a project with Peter. Pepper was the easier option since you just don't know where bandages are kept. “FRIDAY can you ask Pepper where we keep a first aid kit?”

A moment later, Pepper is coming down the stairs with one in hand. “We keep a few all over the house. This is from the upstairs bathroom. What did you do?”

“Paper-ish cut.” You should her, removing the paper towel you’re holding over the cut that is bleeding still. “The tin foil attacked me.” You explain as she looks at the small cut.

“Why are we needing first aid kits? No one should be getting hurt.” Your dad’s voice comes from the doorway to the lab and you roll your eyes. Of course FRIDAY had told him. 

“Tattletale.” You mutter as Pepper wraps the bandage around your finger.

“If people are asking for first aid kits, I want to know.” Tony defends himself.

“I cut myself on tin foil. It was stupid. I’m fine.”

“Ok, then do you want to explain what’s with the deep cleaning? Peter literally thought I gave you chores. Which is not something that I would make you do. Plus you know we have people who can be called in to clean right?”

“That such a spoiled right person thing to say, you know that right?” You say with a roll of your eyes. 

“Avoiding the question.”

“Actually I’m avoiding a biology paper. So I figured cleaning would be a good avoidance technique.”

“Next time you’re avoiding SI business, can you take a page out of her book?” Pepper asks Tony in a teasing tone. 

“I build things. It’s productive in it’s own way.”

“You destroy things. That’s different.” Pepper points out. “What’s your biology paper about?” 

“Some life cycle bullshit or something.” You turn back to scrub the counter. “I’ve dealt with enough of it that I don’t want to do it. But my choice is write a paper or build a model and that’s not my go to.” You choose to not explain that it’s literally over the one lifecycle of yours that doesn’t work.

“You have a choice to build something and you went against that? Pep, we need to get her tested to make sure she’s my kid.”

“Tony, she literally acts and looks like you. I don’t need to test her DNA to know she’s yours.” 

“Is everything ok? Someone dying?” Peter’s voice comes.

“No one’s dying. Just my dad overreacting.” You say. “He could have gone back to the lab ages ago.”

“Why don’t you come with?” Tony suggests and both you and Peter look at him in surprise. However only you voice your surprise. Peter is trying to figure out how to hide Spider-Man if you come down to the lab.

“Why?”

“Because there’s plenty of stuff down there to make a- if I say so myself- bitchin’ science project.”

“But I can also just stay up here and write a paper after I avoid it for a few more hours?”

“Which project is it?” Peter asks, trying to figure out who you have for your science this year.

“Never said I was doing the project.”

“No one ever chooses to do the paper when they have the option to do a project instead.”

“There’s always the chance to be the first.”

“But you’ll score higher with a project. At least there’s the chance to anyway, depending on who your teacher is.”

“Shah.”

“Mr. or Mrs.?” Peter asks.

“Why does that make a difference?”

“Because they grade completely differently.” Peter explains. “Mrs does great experiments but is a harsher grader.”

“Well, I have Mr. Shah so what does that mean?”

“It means you better get started on your project. He hates papers.” Peter says with a tight smile.

“Ugh. But writing a paper all about me was going to be a sinch.” Three pairs of eyes fall on you in confusion. “Endocrine system. Explaining how pretending to be one sucks. It was going to be a great paper.”

“Isn’t there a company that’s in the process of trying to make a closed loop system?” Peter asks, which makes you nod hesitantly. “Why not make a project showing the differences between a closed loop system and what you’re currently doing? Explain why a closed loop system would be so much better.”

“Sorry, maybe I’m the only one lost here-” Pepper starts to ask.

“You’re not.” Tony interrupts.

“-But what’s a closed loop system?” Pepper continues.

“It's a system where basically Wallace and Queenie would basically be able to talk to each other. So if I started rising too high Queenie would be able to give me more insulin. Or vice versa, if I go too low, Wallace would tell Queenie and she would stop giving me insulin. It would hopefully prevent me from going too low or too high as often. Or going low enough that I’d need a glucagon again.”

“How far out are they from that being made?” Tony asks.

“Few years at least. The couple companies that are doing this haven’t even made it to human testing yet.”

“I want-” Pepper interrupts him, already knowing where he’s going.

“Tony, no. SI is not-” Tony cuts her off.

“Why not?” Pepper doesn’t have an answer ready and he plows ahead. “It’s for her. And millions of others. I don’t want to see her in the medbay ever again. Not because I had to stab her with a needle due to her sugars being so low she could die. So why can’t we add this to things we’re working on?”

“Well for one thing, we don’t have the technology to do anything diabetes related.”

“Dad, you’re jumping into something you know nothing about.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time. Wallace and Queenie, what are their companies' names?”

“Why are you going to buy them out?”

“I’m going to see about working with them.”

“Dexcom and Tandem.” You knew there was no stopping him once he was in this mindset. SI was going to be joining the insulin supply game. Especially since Pepper didn’t seem to be trying to stop him either. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes I do!” Tony’s voice explodes from him. “Iron Man can do a lot of things. But I can’t keep your blood sugar stable. I can’t keep it from dropping too low or rising too high. I can’t do anything but watch when you’re shaking from not enough sugar or look like you’re going to fall asleep during the day after you’ve been up all night from your sugars keeping you awake all hours of the night. I can’t take away the pain when your sensor hits a nerve and I can’t take away all the times you have to plunge a needle into your skin to draw blood sample after blood sample. I can’t stop any of that. But this? Science related stuff. This is something I can do for you. I can put the best technology on the market. I can help make sure that your devices are the best possible things so that you have the least amount of pain possible. That’s what I can do for you since I can’t do anything else for you.” As his voice rips out of him, voicing all the things he’s never felt like he could say to you, you inch closer to him. You’ve only had him in your life for a few months now, but you know what you’ve been told is true. Tony loves you a lot. He takes a breath, trying to calm down from his explosion of words. Your arms wrap around him, breathing in the smell you’ve started to associate with your dad. “Kiddo, I…”

“I love you.” You breathe in the smell of the motor oil from the cars he probably had been working on with Peter, the smell of the cologne that he must only lightly mist on because it only lingers along his shirt, and the smell of what must be an aftershave from the almost minty scent to it. 

“I love you too kiddo. So much.” The words are spoken softly, left on a puff of air into your hair. His own arms wrap around you, getting slightly tangled in your pump tubing, but ignoring it as he holds you close. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Better than Iron Man?” You tease.

“So much better than Iron Man.”

Across the kitchen, Pepper and Peter are watching the interaction. Peter can’t help but whisper the question he can no longer hold back. “Y/N has gone low enough to need a glucagon?” Pepper nods slowly. Peter must have been doing some research about your condition.

“It’s only happened once since she moved in. But it scared him. Worse than anything Iron Man related.”

“From what I was reading, that’s supposed to be a, like, last resort type thing.”

“It was a last resort thing. I wasn’t there when he gave it to her. But from what I heard, she was unconscious, having seizures and very low.”

“Could she have died?” Peter doesn’t want to know the answer, but feels like he needs to know.

“If she had been alone, possibly. But she wasn’t. She was with Steve, Clint, and Natasha, who then called Tony.”

“So this was before…” Peter trails off, knowing that Y/N only knows so much about what happened in Germany. Pepper nods. 

“She hasn’t seen them since. But I know they would do anything for her again. If Tony would let them near her.” Peter nods, knowing from spending time with Tony and you that Tony would let the world burn if it saved you. You are his child. Which made the feelings Peter has for you harder to manage, because Tony would murder Spider-Man before letting his daughter near the superhero.

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[writingbakery]

“tapewebs”; a series 🕸

hanta sero is just your regular everyday japanese-american immigrant college student, living in the heart of brooklyn. when miles morales collapses on the windowsill of his shitty one bedroom apartment, life gets.... a hell of a lot more interesting 🕷

[a spiderman! sero au one shot series, featuring class 1-A, hanta sero, miles morales, an assortment of marvel villains, & you, dear reader - the object of one tapespider’s affections ✨]

[pairing; sero x gender neutral reader 🕸]

[warnings; fluff, violence, action, angst, romance, & a lot of tape/spider puns 🕸]

“Sticky Note Origins”

───── ⋆🕸⋆ ─────

the city is prettier up high, sero realizes. granted, he wishes he’d come to that conclusion on solid ground, without his feet nervously planted on a skyscraper ledge, but still.

every whip of wind threatens to topple him over, send him careening down into a frenzied spiral of buildings and colors until he meets concrete at the bottom - and he’s supposed to willingly jump.

he wonders if he’ll pass out before his bones meet solid mass, cracking in so many different ways the coroner’ll have to play connect the fragments until he’s a person again.

behind him, an impatient cough sounds, bringing him back to the task at hand. fuck.

you’re probably wondering how he got here. let’s rewind a week.

one week earlier

at ten pm on a friday, the city is in its prime, bustling crowds of people laughing and stumbling through the brightly colorful streets. hanta’s just trying to protect his pad thai & dumplings, hugging the greasy paper bag to his chest as he weaves in and out of the chaos.

a day full of long classes & a quiet shift at the cafe-slash-bookstore halfway between campus and his crap one bedroom apartment leaves him exhausted, shoulders hunched as he makes his way home. nobody ever sees him regardless - the city’s too big for one lanky, always tired beanpole to be much notice.

despite living in brooklyn since he was four, he’s never felt a hundred percent comfortable here - he had an accent right up until he was thirteen, still trips over certain words and customs that don’t exist back home in japan. he’s awkwardly tall, not enough to be a phenomenon but towering over all his family. he just doesn’t quite fit anywhere - too smart and plain to be popular, too boring to be with the jokesters, too awkward for the nerds. he’s been a loner all his life, and while he doesn’t mind too much, he just wishes it was a little easier to belong.

a text rolls across his phone screen as he’s shuffling songs, skipping some j-pop rock song to settle on kendrick lamar as he smiles. you. he couldn’t lie and say he was completely alone, not when he had you in his life.

you were a year younger than him but twice as smart, skipping a year ahead and landing yourself in hanta’s high school freshman english class. the pair of you had just... clicked, from the very first moment he pointed to shakespeare’s likeness on the cover and mocked “what, you egg?!”

your laughter had left him on cloud nine the entire day, and he made it his personal mission to hear that beautiful little giggle at least once a day for the rest of his life.

a lovely friendship had bloomed from there, the two of you joined at the hip - if you were somewhere, hanta was bound to follow & vice versa.

you’d even gotten into the same college, albeit for drastically different majors - he was a biochem/engineering double major, while you were an english/history double major. you were opposite but similar in so many ways, and the way you both completed each other didnt go unnoticed by sero.

you were his puzzle piece, the bits of him he’d never been able to fill easily made whole by your presence.

he could never tell you, however; your friendship was too precious to risk, especially over his dumb, emotional heart.

sending a string of laughing emojis towards the meme you sent, he jogs up the seven flights of dimly lit stairs to his tiny, one bedroom apartment - living in the city wasn’t cheap, & while the elevator was always busted at least he had a doorman, and heat that worked on occasion.

stepping into his apartment, however, he can immediately sense something is wrong; the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, a heavy silence coating the darkness. the air feels wrong, tipsy turvy like the whole place is holding its breath - like something’s on the verge of exploding, catapulting him into chaos and danger.

quietly stepping through the living room, he peeks into the kitchen and bathroom, holding his backpack out like a makeshift weapon - his $200 biology textbook finally going to good use. finding nothing in either dark room, he slowly advances towards his bedroom, carefully measuring every step. at first, the room seems perfectly normal - nothing’s been moved, and it’s just as empty as the rest of his apartment.

and then he sees the blood.

dotting his windowsill in bright, red streaks, the window itself pushed halfway open - but that’s not what stops him in his tracks, eyes so wide it hurts.

spiderman is leaning against his windowsill, covered in blood and panting heavily, one hand held up in an effort to stop hanta in his tracks.

“i need...... help,” he whispers, voice rough and low; hanta’s amazed he can still speak.

he opens his mouth to react, somehow, even steps forward to catch him before screaming like a ten year old girl at a morgue, panic setting in like cold water.

never a dull night in brooklyn.

───── ⋆🕸⋆ ─────

once he’s made sure that spiderman - miles, as the young man bleeding all over his $12 walmart carpet supplies - isn’t going to die anytime soon, hanta’s quick to recover from his shock. bustling around his tiny kitchen to make cheap ramen and digging around in his closet to find his mini first aid kit, he’s in full fanboy mode - he’s got posters plastered wall to wall of miles morales on his bedroom walls, for gods sakes. not that he knew it was miles morales, but still.

miles morales is curled up in the fleece blanket hanta’s mom had sent him his second week at college, and he’s totally not freaking out.

he’d had to cancel his nightly facetime call with you, lying about a stomach bug - he hates keeping things from you, but this is just too big and messy and dangerous. he’ll tell you in due time, he promises himself, trying to ease the coil of guilt in his stomach.

“how did you end up on my windowsill, again?” hanta asks, gently pushing the bowl of noodles towards the injured man. he’s got his own pad thai long forgotten in the microwave, more focused on the superhero who’d gotten his ass whooped on his doorstep, so to speak.

“i told you. i’d been watching you for a while - you’re the most promising candidate i have.” miles’ voice is slick with humor, a sort of teasing confidence that’s clear even through the pain.

“which i’m still not understanding - candidate for what? blood services? biology questions? how to make $20 last two weeks??” he knows he’s being childish, too joking for the severity of the situation, but he can’t help it. the neighborhood’s - and his own - hero is sitting in front of him, eating shitty 33¢ ramen from the bodega around the corner, telling him he’s a prime candidate.

“to take the mantle.” all traces of laughter are gone now, miles leaning forward on the table to emphasize his words. “i’ve been doing this long enough to know when to quit. my body’s giving out on me - i got slammed into a wall last week and couldn’t shake the pain till yesterday. before, i’d be fine within an hour. the city needs someone new, young, willing to take the risks.”

hanta’s ears stopped listening the moment he heard quit. “me? are you fuckin’ joking?” he wheezes, coughing his way past the shock. “i get winded walking up to my apartment! an old lady beat me to the c train yesterday! a strong wind could kick my ass!”

miles is either willfully ignoring him or just can’t hear, plowing ahead with his explanation. “you’ve got the perfect build for webswinging, and you’ve got a good heart - you know when to do the right thing and when to step away. leave the rest up to me, and trust me - i know what i’m doing.”

hanta can’t believe his ears, pushing away from the table to pace around his kitchen in panic. “i don’t till you understand, you’ve got the wrong guy - there’s no way i could be spiderman!” his words are falling on deaf ears - miles is standing too, and he doesn’t seem to care about hanta’s impending panic.

“you’ve got to trust me on this, alright? meet me tomorrow, at this address - 12 pm sharp. the city needs you, hanta - hell, i need you. just have a little faith.”

hanta scoffs at that, throwing his hands in the air. “faith?! i met you an hour ago, bleeding all over my windowsill! that’s not exactly the most- hey! where the hell...” there’s nothing but a blanket, a hastily scrawled address, and an empty bowl where miles had sat, leaving hanta alone with his thoughts.

damnit.

───── ⋆🕸⋆ ─────

hanta pushes through the crowds of people at eleven am the next morning, half asleep but wired enough to power the whole city - hell, the whole goddamned country. he’s running on no sleep, adrenaline, two redbulls & the guilt of lying to you again, his “stomach bug” keeping him from class. he’d told you he was going to visit his parents for the weekend to recover; your sweet messages in response only made him feel worse.

he’s tossed and turned over this decision a million times & yet, he’s still not sure where he stands - it’s so little information, so much responsibility in so little time. he’s still half convinced he’s being punked, if he’s honest.

and yet, somethings drawing him to the address miles had left him, something deep in his gut that tells him he needs to be there. clearly, miles had seen something he himself is woefully oblivious to, and it couldn’t hurt to find out more.

apple maps leads him to a tiny shed somewhere behind a deli & a nail salon, not too far from his apartment, and he’s completely confused. “stupid gps, probably got me lost,” he whines, leaning against the door of the shed to zoom in on his location.

the pigeons in the alley are the only ones to hear his panicked yelling as he phases right through it, tumbling all the way down a metal chute into the dark unknown.

at least, for ten seconds. he lands on a remarkably soft pad of foam, a glass panel separating him from a brightly lit, fancy looking room lined wall to wall with computers, parts and half made suits, spiderman suits. he doesn’t know where to look first.

a robotic, feminine voice brings him out of his shock, the glass panel lighting up with code and writing.

“please enter your name.” hanta is floored.

“uh.. hanta sero?” the voice trills lightly, before a red grid-like laser scans him head to toe. he’s proud to admit he only squealed in terror once.

“identity confirmed. welcome, hanta.” the panel slides away to allow him access, his careful steps alerting the rest of the room’s computers to light up at his arrival.

“you came. i knew i chose wisely.” miles comes into view slowly, limping heavily as he smiles. it’s almost familiar, like he & hanta have been friends for years; he finds it comforting.

“well, not everyday you get to be spiderman,” hanta jokes, fidgeting a little where he stands. “you gonna fit me for a suit or something?” miles just laughs, shaking his head.

“that comes later. first, we’ve got to get you bitten.”

bitten?

───── ⋆🕸⋆ ─────

for the third time in 24 hours, hanta’s screaming like a man who’s just been told he has two days to live.

“you want me to let that thing bite me?! have you lost your mind?!”

miles sighs patiently, holding up the little glass vial to the light; inside, the spider races up and down the glass, an odd orange color to its patterning.

“it’s the only way. no offense, but i saw that lady beat you to the c train. she was like, 85.” hanta’s pouting now, crossing his arms.

“she had a cane and she was agile- hey hey! you keep that thing away from me, so help me god-“

“you’re being dramatic, it’s the size of a pea-“

“that’s a fat ass fuckin’ pea-“

“stay still-“

“i will not- ow! jesus fuck, that thing has tarantula jaws!”

miles carefully shepherds the spider back into the glass, chuckling a little. “it’ll take a moment to cause effect. the original spider was cross-bred with a more agile, lanky species - perfect for your body type. i’m hoping it’ll be most effective in your transition.”

“hoping?” hanta squeaks, staring at the red welt forming on his hand - his visions already starting to blur out, a throbbing pain traveling up his arm.

“well, it’s the first time i’m experimenting with this-“

“you used me as a guinea pig?!”

“it’s perfectly safe! my mentor-“ but hanta’s not listening anymore, the world swimming in front of his eyes before the ground rushes up rapidly to kiss his face.

god. damnit.

when he comes to, he’s wrapped in about half the blankets in brooklyn, a cold compress against his sweaty forehead. he’s burning up, and his elbows hurt for some reason - his skins gone all itchy, and he’d probably kick a pigeon for a glass of water.

sitting up alerts miles to his newly conscious state, the man quickly scanning his vitals with a smaller version of the glass panel hanta’d been fascinated with earlier. “thought you were gonna croak on me. how do you feel?”

“itchy. and my arms hurt.” hanta’s pushing off the blankets as he speaks, attempting to get comfortable - his body feels weird, like he’ll burst out of his skin at any second.

“alright, don’t panic. i need to see how it’s mutated your body. stay still.” miles’ fingers delicately press against his neck, shoulders, before jabbing at his ribs without warning. hanta’s arms shoot up on impulse, a trail of sticky, precise webbing escaping him from his...... elbows?!

“what the fuck, dude what the fuck look at my elbows, they’re all puffy and red i’m gonna die, and the coroner is gonna leak my story to the press and my moms gonna see me in the paper with fucked up elbows-“ hanta may or may not be panicking, poking at the tender, slightly swollen skin around the bends of his arms. miles just rolls his eyes, clearly amused by his antics.

“you’re not going to die. japanese tape spiders shoot webbing from the bends of their eight arms; its a thicker & stronger strain of web. clearly, your elbows are how your body has adjusted.”

“that doesn’t make it better.” hanta’s too busy staring at himself to notice the other changes at first, but slowly, they’re trickling in. heightened eyesight and hearing, an odd balance to his feet he hadn’t had a day ago, even itchier fingertips - making it easier for him to grip flat surfaces, or at least as miles says.

“come on. let’s get you a suit.”

───── ⋆🕸⋆ ─────

a week’s worth of planning & adjusting has led him right here to this rooftop, suited feet firmly balanced on the ledge. he likes his suit, thinks it’s unique - he’d modeled it after the spider who’d blessed him with these powers, orange and black and white [miles sort of thinks it’s ugly, but who cares.] he’d been in & out of the fondly nicknamed “spider-lounge”, getting fitted for his suit & honing his new abilities; he’d also been avoiding you whenever possible.

he couldn’t suck you into this world, not when he was barely comfortable in it himself; he kept promising himself he’d come clean, but the guilt’s eating him alive with every sad look & evening alone you spend.

another impatient cough brings him back to the present, miles sitting in the middle of the roof & watching hanta’s nervous stalling. “you’re going to have to jump eventually, you know,” he calls, and it takes everything in him not to turn tail and run.

he has a duty, a responsibility now, and he doesn’t take that lightly. he thinks of you, sitting in your ratty little apartment off campus and remembers that your safety is all but in his hands now; he’s got to protect the city, for your sake at least.

“i absolutely will not hesitate to kick you off this rooftop,” miles threatens, but its empty - they both know hanta needs to do this himself.

one step back, then two, the nerves racing up his spine as he prepares himself to meet cold concrete [a dramatic thought, miles would catch him far before he reaches ground. a bad knee wouldn’t stop him from that.] he says a silent prayer to every god he’s ever heard of and closes his eyes, taking a step forward into the air-

and trips over the ledge, falling ass over heels into the air. nice.

the rushing wind only heightens his panic for a moment, before one arm snaps up to blindly shoot into the air; his spider sense kicks in from there, aiming without even realizing and latching onto a nearby ledge. he swings aimlessly for a moment before finding a new ledge, then a railing; slowly, he finds a rhythm.

he’s soaring through the city before he realizes, laughing at the sharp roar of the wind in his ears - he feels like he’s flying, weightless as a bird. the only thing he can think of is you, how much you’d love this.

one day, he’ll take you webswinging. one day.

for now, he relishes in the fact that he’s one step closer to being brooklyn’s - & new york’s - new spiderman, fresh faced & determined to bring peace to the city.

he’s going to do it for you, even if it kills him.