#SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP EXPLODING INTO THE ETHER

[skyloftian-nutcase]

SKYWARD SWORD ZELINK IS THE ONLY ZELINK I CARE ABOUT EVERYONE ELSE CAN GO HOME

[anayaahwrites]

KOT Ficlet #5 (Momoya Natsu/ Yoshinaga Atsumu)

When the lights start flashing like a photo booth (And the stars exploding, we'll be fireproof.)

Warning: Themes of underage drinking and implied sexual content.

Natsu roughly based on this art by @sasukeslove

A small AU on MomoYoshi's first meeting:

...

Natsu is six when he learns about Angels.

He’s perched on mama’s lap, carrying a new storybook with tiny hands and slowly pronouncing all the words. Her proud smile encourages him to read the larger words too, the ones he’d avoid out of embarrassment—something about a pro-fe-cky and a pro-mice that He exists up there somewhere, over the pillowy clouds watching down on them.

Mama tucks him in that night and tells Natsu to close his eyes and pray because Angels only come to good boys.

He’s ten when it all sounds like bullshit to him.

Over the years, Mom’s rosy smile had withered into a fatigued sigh, a cry for help to the God that never answers no matter how much they pray. Dad was more a guest than a resident. He came around once in a while to eat lunch—with a taut smile plastered eerily over his smooth features—and swiftly vanish to not return in that week .

They’ve stopped waiting for him and Natsu stops asking questions.

He’s thirteen when he meets Sei, a child around his age, except so much more charming and calm and composed for someone that carried half the same set of genes Natsu had. He learns of his father’s betrayal and is honestly shocked at his own lack of surprise. Still, he questions his God and why why why would He let mom’s heart shatter like that?

Sei is quick to laugh and tell him that God doesn’t exist and mom is just a victim to their monster of a father.

So he goes home that day to his outraged mother, hair coloured like glittery Christmas tinsel and sapphire lenses replacing his usual shade of honey brown. She snaps at the sight, yelling at him till her throat closes up, till nothing but a harsh sob escapes her and he lets her. They both had to cope somehow.

By the fall of his fourteenth year, he gets pierced four times and stops talking to his mother almost completely.

To hell with dad. To hell with God.

Natsu is fifteen, and he doesn’t care about anything anymore.

He’s fifteen and quickly realising from his daily job as a guitarist in the club that girls aren't attractive no matter how much they flock around him. He still humours them sometimes, a touch here, a kiss there since the pay is good enough for him to add some extra service on his part.

Mom plies herself with work as often as possible, to douse her misery in the decayed scent of piled papers and clunking keyboards. She leaves Natsu to deal with everything else on his own like the obedient son he is, letting him go like dad left her.

Natsu is alright, though. He’s done this far longer than she knows.

He stops reaching out to her, stops talking to someone up in the skies, settling instead to live a tranquil life in the shadows, under the dependable shade of music. He hates people. He hates the world.

Natsu is basking in the warmth of another uneventful day in the club, when in walks a boy out of fucking nowhere and his entire world tips on its axis.

The boy takes shaky, wary steps as if he were balancing on a trapeze. Dark black bangs like thick black rain spill over the side of his face, half covering wide brown eyes. Splotches of pink and porcelain white stick out where his sweater ends and skin begins. He’s small and delicate and beautiful, Natsu’s heart skips a beat. Or two. Or maybe three.

And why should he lie? Natsu has seen beautiful, quite a few varieties of it too. But this…this was different. This was unreal.

The boy looks around nervously before he catches something and there’s a spark in those hazel eyes, sharp and electric, a smile tugging at his lips.

Natsu follows his gaze. On the stage lies his own guitar—a pre-performance habit for people to know he was next. He took great pride because this itself garnered more clusters than anyone in the entire house.

Natsu smiles. So he was a fan.

He downs the customary shot of vodka, waving at the people before hopping on stage and wrapping the sling around his neck. He scours the audience for a familiar face and it doesn’t take a lot, to spot a splatter of ink black in the crowd, batting eager eyelids at him. The smaller boy realises the attention on him and glances behind to confirm his suspicion.

By the time he swings around, eyes blown wide in a stare, Natsu plays the first chord.

In an instant, his expression shifts to a mix of awe and interest, a silent worship and a loud cheer compiled in one small, thin body. He claps more than anyone else in the room, beaming like a floodlight by the time Natsu finishes.

It was nothing strange. He played among cheers every day but none felt as satisfying with this voice hooting and clearly standing out from his regular gang of squealing girls. He throws his head back laughing back stage when no one is there to see.

By the time Natsu gets out on the floor again, a little more thrilled for the night and dressed in something less flashy, he’s gone. He screws his lips in displeasure and asks his friend to make him something stronger than the usual.

This happens more nights than not, and it was frustrating him.

The moment Angel boy—as he’s dubbed him, steps in through the door, Natsu traces his every move and quickly registers a pattern. He only comes around on days the club was the busiest—specifically during Natsu’s performance, talks to no one and leaves before he has the chance to even ask a name.

Not that Natsu was interested in him or anything. He was just curious, is all—why this boy looked like a starved pet every time he saw him on stage and if he really smelled like soft winter blankets and warm fireplaces, all angelic and pure.

Okay, so maybe he was a little interested.

Months pass like that.

The mid-November chill comes with its blistering snowstorms and the club is jam packed—winters were some of their busiest months—and Natsu’s up to perform. Instead of preparing, he watches the door resolutely from the bar, tapping impatiently at the table.

As routine, it barely opens a crack, and he sees a sliver of ebony snaking it’s way through the crowd. The boy stands on his tippy-toes which don’t give him much of a view, so he does these tiny jumps—that are so adorable, for a second Natsu forgets his own name—and scowls when he notices no guitar on stage.

He checks the time, the stage and then scans the crowd. The anticipation throbs through Natsu as he follows his eyes cross the room in slow motion, dragging dragging until they eventually land on him. Everything stills—the thundering music, the singing and all he can hear is the low thump of veins against his skin.

It’s over in a flash.

“That your Angel boy?” The bartender gestures at the figure turning tail and running, drying the pad on his prized work station. He skillfully pours two coloured liquids into an oddly shaped glass and passes it over the counter to him.

Natsu hums, swirling the absinthe stained drink in hand, eyeing the smaller boy gasp as a couple slams against the door, clearly piss drunk with her suspended over his thighs and gyrating her hips into the man.

“Hey, chief.”

“Hm?”

“You think I can get off early tonight?”

The man raises an eyebrow. “Like when?”

“Like now.” Natsu answers, never letting his gaze falter from the head full of black hair slowly receding through the crowd, horrified.

The man guffaws, lifting a glass of water—since he can’t drink on duty—and clinking it with Natsu’s.

“Must be fuckin’ Christmas if you’re taking interest in anyone, so I’ll let this one pass. Don’t scare him off now. He already looks like a trembling lamb.”

Natsu knocks back the contents, swallowing the liquid till it numbs his entire mouth and smirks.

“I’ll try.”

So he follows the boy. Hands are immediately all over him from faces he recognises in passing—a girl he once kissed, someone that made him cake, but he pushes them off.

His boy of interest forces the hood of his shirt up all the way, and glances behind him once before increasing his pace. Maybe the lights are really getting to him and maybe Natsu is a little tipsy when he reaches out to grab his hand.

The boy flips around to lock eyes frantically, as if a ghost had seized him.

“Hey.” Natsu musters his sweetest smile.

“Hi..” The boy replies.

And oh, his voice. It’s sugary sweet and so so soft like—like actual rolls of smooth and silky cotton had woven them. He blushes fiercely under Natsu’s relentless gaze and stares where their hands were connected in a tight grip as if it burned holes through him.

Natsu frowns. “Don’t run.”

The boy’s gaze shoots up, and he’s pulling away.

“I-I’m sorry I really h-have to go—”

“It’s my birthday.” Goddamn, he must be really wasted to admit that. Now that he thinks about it, what did he just drink?

Twentieth November, the day he was born and incidentally also the day he found his father’s tongue down another woman’s throat, holding a child over his shoulder.

“Oh,” The boy stops, pursing his lips and letting the hood go all the way down before flashing easily one of the most ethereal smiles Natsu has ever seen.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” he replies awkwardly. “It’s not going really well.”

“No?”

Natsu nods. “It’s nothing different.”

“You want it to be special?”

The buzz in his nerves practically screamed a yes to that—he wanted something to remember, to bury the horrible memories he associated with this day, for the days he wished he was never born in the first place. He wanted to fit it all in this one boy in one night, this angel he didn’t even know, to free him from himself.

Natsu tightens his grip. “Dance with me?”

Oh boy, the alcohol was talking.

Angel boy looks at Natsu with wide doe eyes, peers back at their hands and gulps. Natsu frowns and releases his hold. He was drunk, probably a little more than he’d admit to, but he didn’t want to pressurize anyone—not when this boy already looked so out of his element, a beige hoodie and skinny jeans in a club full of scantily clad folk.

But he reverses the roles, grabbing Natsu by the fingers so delicately, he releases a soft hum of satisfaction. He rubs fingers between his own, feeling the brush of calloused fingertips on them. It reminds him of mom’s soft chest rising and falling when she slept beside him because he was her ‘perfect little angel’ and made him feel safe.

He misses it. Misses being safe. Misses being loved.

“Okay,” the boy mumbles, peering from under his natural hood of hair with a light smile. “Okay. Let’s dance.”

Natsu doesn’t really know what he’s doing anymore. The lights blink and they’re suddenly in stop motion. It tricks his brain into thinking of them as pictures trapped some place in his brain forever. So he stares and stares and captures the blush spreading like wildfire across the boy’s face, a smile widening in tandem with the soft beats.

They’re two faces among a thousand on a random winter night. The music isn’t his type nor is his attire anything to be proud of. But this boy. Holy heavens, if he isn’t the prettiest thing ever then the stars should be ashamed because damn, he’d beat them even on a bad day.

His hair sways—a steady swing of left right left right and a pleasant smile sits snug on his features like that’s where they belonged, that’s where they had always belonged and Natsu closes his eyes when their hands meet again.

This is perfect.

It’s when the music stills that they transition to a slower lull of movement, and the blaze of liquor in his blood emboldens him into yanking the boy a little closer. He lets him fall with a small plop on his chest and laughs when he rubs his nose, scowling.

“Why do you never wait back?” He asks, exhaling at the warmth the boy’s presence brings. Natsu puts his hand around his waist and he swears, it was like he wasn’t human, like someone had sculpted him out of clay, moulded to near perfection. And maybe he’s treading into dangerous waters, but his mouth had a mind of its own and there’s nothing he could do to stop it.

“I always look for you after I’m done but you’re never here.”

Pair of hazelnut eyes sheepishly peer at him.

“I’m sorry. I’m just.… not good at socializing.”

“So you say,” Natsu laughs, “But you’re doing better than me.”

“No way!”

“Yes way.”

“You have to be kidding me you’re so cool—and and so beautiful I really cannot—since the beginning I haven’t been able to take my eyes off—”

He squeaks when he's dragged closer by the small of his back. Their eyes meet. Natsu sees flashes of every happy moment of his life mirrored in them; His first recital, mom’s naturally loud laugh, the first time he played the guitar. They reach into Natsu’s soul and drag out his joy like the reel of a kite.

“I thought you were an angel,” he chuckles so close, he feels the boy shiver against his cheek. “I still do. Everyone here calls you Angel boy. Score a drink from them with that name sometime. I’m sure they’ll oblige you.”

“Angel? I—” He breathes a giggle, twisting silver strands with his fingers. “If there’s any angel here, it’s you.”

But this is fake, he wants to say. It’s fake, artificial, made of desperation because he never wants to look into the mirror and see his father’s face staring back at him. He won’t be him. He won’t.

“Atsumu,” he says. “My name is Atsumu.”

“Atsumu.” Natsu repeats in his head till it rolls naturally over his tongue. Like Atsu meaning heat and summer and everything bright and cheery.

Natsu purposefully lingers near his ear, to breathe his name in the air, smiling, content.

“ ‘Tsumu. It’s cute,” he hums. “You’re cute.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Definitely.” He chuckles.

Atsumu whispers, low and uneasy. “C-can I ask you something?”

“Mhmm.” At this point, his voice gave him a greater high than the drink he had downed fifteen minutes ago. Or was it an hour? He couldn’t really tell and decided very quickly he didn’t care, anyway.

“Why don’t you.. come to school?”

Natsu’s eyes open a crack to glimpse at the boy who trembles softly under him, as if he were admitting to a crime.

“I—” he continues in alarm, “I swear I’m not a stalker I just—Oh my god please don’t misunderstand me—”

“Calm down.” Natsu shushes, smiling apologetically at the few people around him that had been torn out of their aggressive make-out session as if they weren’t the ones that needed a room. God, if he sees another dick hanging out, he’ll have to bust out the chainsaw in the basement and go wild.

“So,” he leads them to a quieter corner with very few people and lesser eyes their way. “School,” he waves a hand dismissively, “It’s boring. Lots of people. Annoying questions. You know the drill.”

“Right,” he gulps. “Right so, I’m uhh—in your class I don’t think you noticed and I’m from an instrument club and someone asked us a question. Something about erotic sounds—wait that sounds bad—not erotic erotic but.…Ah, I’m bad at explaining.”

Natsu doesn’t keep back the dreamy giggle that leaves him, swaying lightly to the music. He’s exactly as he imagined—hell, even his name was spot on—all warm and giggly and fluttery.

“I’m still listening,” Natsu smiles. “Go on.”

Atsumu scrunches his nose and continues. “So one of my club seniors—he comes of a little rough but he’s really nice—went to one of my other seniors house who I think he really likes, and her mother told him it’s—I’m sorry am I too confusing?”

“I think I can manage.”

“Okay, so basically, her mother says it’s the pause in between his words and actions. The space that is just…there. And so I was writing about it—because I write everything—and Oka-kun saw my book.”

Natsu scowls. “Oka is annoying like that.”

The boy giggles this time. “Funny. He said you’d say that.”

“It’d be nice if he attempted to change it, then.”

“And so he told me you play music, where you work and that maybe you could do something good for once—I didn’t say that he did—So…” He moves his hand vaguely around them. “Here I am.”

Natsu hums against his head, bringing him to a slower pace as the song changes.

“I’ll have to thank him for that.”

“You’re not..angry?” He says through furrowed brows. “Oka-kun said you would be if you found out.”

He’s certain if Oka showed up here uninvited, Natsu would promptly kick him out. Because Oka is annoying. Atsumu however….

“So? Did you get your answer?” He asks instead.

The smaller boy makes a face, pulling all his features in to make his button nose stand out more than it already does and pout.

Natsu laughs. He’s been doing a lot of that today. Laughing.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Don’t get me wrong! Your performances are splendid and I really can’t get enough of them but the answer…I still haven’t reached a conclusion.”

Natsu plays with the fingers in his hand, shuffling to let them sink into the gap between his. Atsumu stares and responds by shyly tucking his fingers in.

“Want me to help you?” He whispers, tapping the side of Atsumu’s waist with his other hand.

“Can you?” He whispers back.

Can he? Yes. Should he? Probably not.

But what use is logic anyway, when a boy the embodiment of a sunny summer day amid a bitter winter stood enclosed in his arms?

Yeah. To hell with logic.

Natsu sways his hips, raking his free hand through Atsumu’s hair. He releases a pleased sigh when the tiny fingers between his tighten as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality, which was good. Natsu felt the same, like his sanity was slowly slipping through open fingers.

“Spaces…exist everywhere. In words, in voices, in time…” He draws their joined hands to his mouth, dragging wet lips over porcelain skin. Atsumu shudders, breathing in sharp, shallow exhales.

“These hands..there’s a space in between them too if you look carefully. We’re so close,” fingers tighten around his shirt. “But still never close enough.

He runs a palm down the boy’s face that angles and angles till plush, red lips are within kissing distance. They part and blow warm clouds of air that taste mint and chocolate in his mouth. Natsu smiles. “Space is where there is distance. Space is where there is intimacy. Space is where there is friction. And this exciting gap that keeps us wanting to be closer till not even an atom could squeeze in—” he leans in closer, “—is erotic.”

He backs away while he has the physical capacity to do so, before the alcohol overrides every decision in his head and they end up a tangled mess of limbs in some random hotel room, but Atsumu having none of it.

He pulls Natsu to himself, clutching the pleats of his shirt and tugging him down to his lips. Teeth knock loudly against each other and Natsu hisses lightly, parting to lick the tingle in the tip of his incisor away.

“S-sorry!” Atsumu covers his embarrassment behind shaky hands. Natsu wraps thin fingers under his chin, reeling him in slow and steady and closes the distance. It’s soft, like a snowflake on a tree, virgin snow settling on frozen water and ironically, melts him. It boils and freezes, ignites his soul into a firework of bursting flames. He’s touching, feeling, pulling until every inhale feels like fire in his lungs.

“Closer,” Atsumu murmurs, throwing nimble hands over his shoulder and locking their lips together like puzzle pieces on a gameboard. “Make the space go away.”

It’s chaotic, and it’s magical. Like every star in the galaxy twinkled around them tonight, like every blossoming flower settled wherever Atsumu touched him. He’s drunk on vodka, drunk on happiness, drunk on love.

Closer. Natsu pushes a knee in between his thighs. His mouth hangs open in a silent moan, eyes slowly rolling into the back of his head.

Closer. The hands in his air pull him in for another searing kiss, pressing for entry, to delve deeper, deeper into themselves. Atsumu nibbles lightly on his lip and Natsu lets him bruise him for tonight. To wreck him, destroy him.

Closer.

They settle for a slower casual rhythm when they part to breathe. He keeps them moving on the floor, smiling against a pair of swollen lips.

“School suddenly sounds much more interesting.” He says.

Atsumu squints incredulously. “We can’t do this at school.”

“No?”

“No!”

Natsu shrugs, pecking the tip of the boy’s nose. “Shame.”

“Then you’ll come?” Atsumu bumps his forehead against Natsu’s. “I’ll really see you tomorrow?”

“If you can walk home straight after tonight, then sure.”

Atsumu gasps and slaps him across the back, blushing as they leave the club, hand in hand, away into the wintery night.

Natsu turns sixteen—a little drunk, a lot happy—but he’s sixteen and he can pinpoint this as the day he falls in love even years later.

And every other birthday is insignificant but so much better, spent at home, in the arms of the boy that saved him in just one night, all those years ago.

Mom only ever asks where he’s going and who he’s moving in with while he packs his bags to leave. She frowns when he answers with the widest smile on his face, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“An Angel.”

Ignore the sloppy writing haha. I'm writing this while travelling back home after a god awful six hour exam.

It felt too plotless to post on my ao3 kdkcd—

If you look at the colouring of Natsu I based it on (go give @sasukeslove all the real love), I imagine the art as the morning after when Oka's annoying Natsu and Atsumu walks in through the door (≧▽≦)

[poutyhannie]

Here is part two!! You can find part one on my blog. Its the only other Jisung fic and this one prolly won’t make sense w out it…its turning out to be a bit longer than i expected..

warnings: smut, angst, college students!jisung, blowjob,

word count: +2.2k

part 1, part 2,  part 3, part 4

From that lunch on for weeks, the four of you meet at the burger joint. You thought the first to be a one time thing, but they keep on inviting you and Jisung keeps waiting for you at the end of class. You’ve moved your guys’ study sessions into your empty dorm because Jisung claims that you both study better together there. Still, you can’t keep the nagging voice from assaulting with reminders to keep closed off as when you lay wide-eyed at the blank ceiling at night. You wish your aching heart were as blank as it was.

Finally, in the quiet, with only the moon’s glow to hear you, you let a choked sob escape your throat. It hurts. It fucking hurts so bad. Your chest physically aches for what you want, what you don’t have, and what you prohibit yourself from having. You told yourself in the beginning that you were hanging out with the boys because it was just for the summer, but your mind knew better than that. The longing for companionship overtook your sense and that stupid Beowulf question caused it. Tears escape your eyes and run into your ears and hair. The racking, weak, vulnerable sounds of your sobs echo in the empty room, taunting you. No matter how hard you’ve tried to shove everyone away, someone keeps knocking. Its a soft knock, one that you can barely hear and you shove it away, you want to shove him away.

Your eyes are puffy and distantly staring at the lecture hall floor; you don’t notice Jisung take a trepidatious seat next to you and this time, you’re not purposely ignoring him. He gently taps your shoulder with a ringed finger. Slowly, you turn your head, eyes still trained down, meeting his shirt. Its yellow this time. An annoying color that hurts the back of your eyes.

“Are you okay, Y/n?” He whispers, his voice low and laced with an emotion you want to throw up at. In anyone’s eyes you guys seem like friends and Jisung probably thinks the same way too, oblivious to your turmoil. You don’t want him to know. You can hold him, but hold him at a distance as you do with all friends, you tell yourself. You can just be friends; you don’t have to open up to him. You don’t have to have companionship, just be okay with friendship.

You smile up at him and shake your head, “I’m fine, Jisung, just kinda tired is all.”

The ache begins again when he giggles at you and pokes your cheek, “You look like a goat.” He deserves a shove and gets a hard one, laughing all the more. But when he pauses to look at you again, his eyes hold something warm other than teasing amusement. You don’t want to name it.

The familiar schedule of your day is comforting to you so when Jisung suggests eating after a grueling four hours of studying, your mind squeezes in slight panic.

“We could go to the cafeteria or we could walk around the city and find something,” he’s sprawled out on your bed, his feet mindlessly stroking his fluffy pink socks together as he stares up at the same ceiling you cry to at nights. His blonde tips form a halo around his face as he stares up at you, eyes shiny and wide.

You shrug, figuring if you were with Jisung, there would be little to worry about when picking food.

“I’ve used up all my meal swipes,” he admits bashfully.

Laughing you slap his shoulder, getting up to grab a light jacket, “Lets go walk around the city, then.”

The soft city lights shine in Jisung’s eyes and illuminate his skin and you tell yourself that its the moonlight that makes him look ethereal, not your weak mind. You guys opt for a cheap taco stand and sit on a dusty curb, cradling your styrofoam plates. Staring up at the moon, you smile softly when Jisung asks you if you’re praying.

“No,” you reply, still staring up, “I just really like her.”

Jisung’s eyes widen and his stomach wrenches after a moment, “O-oh,” he stutters, feeling stupid, “I didn’t know you s-swung that way.”

Frowning, you look back at Jisung, confused. “I’m talking about the moon, you dumbass.” The flood of relief in his eyes doesn’t get missed by you. His hair bounces when he nods, opening his mouth and motioning towards your tacos for you to feed him. Rolling your eyes, you shove a bite into his mouth and the former awkwardness fades away. He doesn’t look at you though you gaze at him but chooses to lean back onto his hands, his legs spread wide and eyes droopy. A smirk spreads across his face as his head rolls to the side to gaze at you, hair falling into his eyes. In the night light, they look dark and something pools behind them. Something that you’ve never seen in Jisung. You look down at your cooling tacos as your heart aches. Was it your heart, though? Was it just your heart that was aching right now? A deeper, painful ache forces its way down your body and into the pit of your stomach and you stuff your face with tacos, rubbing your thighs together to ignore it. From the corner of your eye, you can see Jisung raise his eyebrow, still staring at you as flush rises up your neck and burns your ears.

When you both return to your dorm, Jisung claiming that he left his books there, Jisung doesn’t seem to want to leave. He sits at the top of your bed, hugging a pillow. He looks up at you with hooded eyes and you collapse on the bed next to him, ignoring his piercing gaze.

After a moment of trying to find a topic to bring up, Jisung says, “You know, I saw the way you looked at me, Y/n.” His dark voice makes your legs shiver a little, but you mumble, feigning ignorance. A firm, warm hand grips your wrist, turning you over onto your back. Jisung stares down at you, his once bright smiles lost to a severe cockiness. He smirks when you gulp, straddling your hips and pressing down as you squeeze your eyes shut, imagining what he’d feel like mercilessly thrusting—

He grabs your chin, tilting it down as your eyes fly open. “Answer me, Y/n.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie through your teeth, even as a sickeningly burning coil tightens in your stomach at his complete change in attitude. Jisung scoffs, jumping off of you and you feel an unbearable ache for him to be on top of you again. He sits at the edge of your bed again, legs sprawled apart and you just can’t help when your eyes travel down. When you guiltily lift your eyes to his, you’re met with his smirking face.

“Why don’t you use your pretty mouth for things better than lying, baby?”

Your brain explodes at his words and you flush in embarrassment, looking away at the floor.

“Aww,” he coos, reaching out to grab your cheek, turning your burning face towards his, “is our little Y/n getting shy?” His breath ghosts over your face. Your eyes close slowly as you let him pull your lips towards his as you let him sink you. His kiss is hard and desperate, you don’t realize that you’re suffocating until he pushes you off him and begins unbuckling his belt hurriedly, his millions of chains getting in the way. Your head is whirling. You know you want this, your body screams that you want this but your mind feels the need to create a feeble excuse so that you can get involved with Jisung. Just in just a sexual way. You don’t have to get attached to him. You steel your worries and reach out to pull down his pants. Through your eyelashes, you look up at him, “It’s been a while,” you whisper, blushing.

His smile of adoration and endearment makes your heart churn and you look down at his almost clothed, fully erect cock. Jisung cups your burning cheek and says, “Of course, baby. I’ll treat you nice.” A deep groan escapes from his glossy lips when he palms himself through his boxers. They’re black with pink flamingos.

Gingerly, you reach out, copying his rhythmic motions with your own hand and he quickly lets go, leaning back onto his hands. No strings attached, you remind yourself as you pull his tug his boxers to his ankles. Don’t get involved, you say to yourself as his hands find your hair. This’ll just be one time, you think as you kiss his red, glistening tip.

Jisung groans, pulling your hair. His voice is incredibly deep and croaky, “Take it slow, baby. No rush.”

You obey, curling your tongue as you sink down onto his erection. Jisung lets out a shaky exhale and hisses when you begin fondling his balls. He tastes bitter and foreign but there’s nothing in you that says you don’t absolutely love it. Moving up and down, you hollow your cheeks like you’ve seen in films, moving to caress his inner thighs. His gasps spur you on, “Y’sure you aren’t getting practice? You’re so fuckin’ good.”

Hearing him curse shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does but you increase your speed, placing your hand on his base and stroking up and down to the rhythm of your mouth. You press your tongue against the underside of his dick, feeling around and when you meet his tip, Jisung shakes, pulling harder at your hair. You groan around him and he hisses, “You like that, huh? D’ya like me tugging your hair, baby?” You whine in response and Jisung hums, moving his thumb down to caress you cheek. The gesture is too affectionate for your taste and you furiously swipe your tongue over his sensitive part. Jisung lets out the prettiest gasp, hands returning to your hair, and you continue. His voice comes again, hushed and croaking, “F-fuck, baby. I’m g-gonna fuckin’ cum if you don’t pull away.” 

You pick up the pace, stroking what you can’t reach and sinking deeper until his tip hits the back of your throat. You gag around him but continue, despite the tears streaming down your face. “You’re s-so cute, deepthroating me like that. You want me to f-fucking fill up your dirty mouth, huh?” Though his filthy words imply a challenge, his voice is soft. You groan, looking up at him and feel ropes of his cum shot into your mouth. You wince swallowing it with your sore throat but the blissful look on Jisung’s glistening face makes it all worth it. He pulls you closer despite your protests and places an open mouth kiss, tasting himself on your hot tongue. When he smiles into the kiss, you pull back, face burning. He chuckles, poking your side, “Aw, you’re getting shy now? After you were choking on me? Cute.”

Your face flushes deeper but your heart burns and you roll your eyes at him.

His eyes are wide and alluring when he says, “What about you? Want me to eat you out?” Though your core aches, you shake your head, afraid to give yourself like that to him just yet. When he stands up, a pang shoots through your chest at the thought of spending another tear-filled night alone but this is what you wanted. Rather than leaving though, he just puts on his boxers and sinks down onto the bed next to you.

“Y-you wanna stay?” Your voice comes out with too much wonder, too much vulnerability and Jisung looks down at you, smiling.

“If you’ll let me. I usually like cuddles after.”

To hide your flush from him, you root through your drawers and produce a pair of your brother’s basketball shorts and hand them over. He slips them on with a ‘thanks’ and watches from under your covers as you change into your pajamas. You turn away, reluctant to let him see you. He scoffs not unkindly, “You’re seriously getting shy after you saw my dick?” You whine, pulling your shirt over and head over to the bed.

Your head rests over Jisung’s heart and his hand absentmindedly strokes through your hair. This is normal afterwards, you tell yourself to justify your leg that swings over to snuggle Jisung closer. He looks down at you but you refuse to meet his gaze. Sighing, he tilts your head up by your chin. “You did really well, Y/n. How was it for you though?”

You break from his grip, staring at the ceiling before answering, “I liked it.”

He exhales softly, your head dipping down with the motion and his voice is sleepy when he says, “M’glad…I can show you more next time.”

Your throat tightens at the implications of it but you can’t find it in yourself to deny him yet. Afterall, this’ll just be a sexual thing, something that you can explore with a friend.

[nightshade-minho]

-MoonStorm-

Warnings: superhero!reader, super villain!Hyunjin, blowjob, fingering, unprotected sex, dubious morality etc.

FireSable (Part 2)

You checked the mirror to make sure your mask was secure, turning around to inspect your spandex-covered ass. The radio crackled in the back, and you could hear the news reporter’s voice drone on and on.

“Last night, the Moonsable’s goons struck yet again, causing a number of casualties and starting a fire which devastated two buildings and injured more than 50 people. The city’s vigilante, Firestorm, was missing in action last night. The last reported sighting of the mysterious superhero was a week ago-“

You sighed. That news reporter never managed to pronounce the word ‘sable’ right. Anyhoo.

You crawled out of the window of your apartment, angling your body and turning it around. You scaled the wall, reaching the roof, and proceeding to jump off it, onto the next building. You began making your way to the secret hideout you knew the way to all too well.

The night was thick and foggy, but your vision was enhanced and hence, it wasn’t a problem. About ten minutes later, you stood in front of the shed.

It might have looked like a shed, alright. However, it was hiding a much different complex underneath. You walked over, punching the code onto the discreet pad. The light glowed green and your heart thumped as the door slowly swung upwards, letting you in.

As you stepped in, the floor moved beneath you, and suddenly you were plummeting. However, you were slightly used to this. So, you stuck to the wall until the elevator reached its destination, slowly creaking open.

The vast metallic hallway in front of you had guards lining it. Feeling annoyed, you stepped forward, and they reacted immediately, the closest one swinging a punch at you, which you easily blocked. Sighing, you turned around just in time to kick another one in the face, screaming when you felt a hand pull your hair backwards. You somehow managed to turn around, swinging your knee and hitting the guard in the crotch.

This would usually be the time when some sort of kickass background music would play, if you were in a superhero movie. However this was real life. So you settled for the groans and shouts of pain of the guards around you as you wiped the floor with the rest of them.

You groaned in slight pain. The guy had pulled your hair so hard that a slight ache had settled itself in your head. Sometimes, you contemplated cutting all of your hair off.

You stormed forward, angry, running your hands over a small tear in your suit. You scowled about having to patch that up when you returned home. As you pressed the button on the next door and the light turned green, you let out an annoyed grunt of frustration when you were met with another group of guards.

It was about half an hour later when you finally arrived at the final door, bigger than all the others, clutching your arm in pain. You punched in the same passcode you used at the gate, and the light turned green, hopefully for the last time.

As the doors opened, you were immediately hit with the scent of fresh magnolias.

It was slightly dark inside, but you could just make out a big chair and a figure sitting in it. The wall behind it was covered in screens, playing scenes from the CCTV network.

“Took you long enough. I’ve been watching you for the past forty minutes. I was kind of getting impatient. It was indeed hot to see you kick their asses so easily, though.”

You heard his voice and scoffed, kicking off your boots at the entrance as you sauntered in further. Letting your hand ghost across the wall, you found a light switch, which bathed the room in a little more light than before. It was still pretty dark, but now you could see his handsome face staring at you with a smirk.

You grunted. “I don’t get it. I’ve come here about a million times and each time I’ve got to fight your stupid guards. Don’t you think it’s about time you tell them about us?”

“What, that you come here not to fight me but to fuck me instead? Yeah...I don’t think so, princess.”

“Whatever.”

You walked to him and sat on his lap, your back facing him. He placed both of his hands on your thighs, running them up and down. “You look good in spandex.”

“I know. You know the deal, right, Moonsable?”

“Please, y/n. Call me Hyunjin. We’ve known each for so long, why the formalities?” He used his index fingers to draw his name on your thigh.

“And yeah, I remember. Have sex like we always do, and then I back off and don’t attack any civilians. However, you didn’t come by last week. And leaving me with blue balls is in violation of our contract...so I had to show you what happens. Hence, the little stunt last night.”

You made a sound of disapproval, when suddenly his hand made his way up to your neck, grabbing the zipper and slowly pulling it down, so that your breasts could be exposed. Then his hands made their way down and slowly pulled down your pants. “Get these silly things off.”

You complied, kicking the pants off.

He made a slight choked noise when you settled yourself in his lap, now pantless.

“You-you don’t wear underwear with your suit...?”

“It was a choice limited to today.”

He chuckled. “Well, it’s a great surprise.”

You slipped off of his lap all of a sudden, kneeling on the ground between his thighs. You expectantly looked up at him, and he gave you that signature smirk, pulling down his pants slightly so that his cock could pop out. It was already half hard from you being on his lap.

You took it in your hand, stroking it slightly, watching as it grew harder. You looked up at him. He had his head thrown back, looking ethereal in the dim light.

Not being able to take it anymore, you licked his tip, taking his angry red cock into your mouth with no hesitation. Fuck, he was big. You forced him down until he hit the back of your throat.

“Fuck...you’re really...fucking good at this, huh? You should just do this full time, instead of running off to play hero all the time.”

You didn’t say anything, bobbing your head up and down as you blew him to the best your capability. You felt him twitch in your mouth, and you went faster. But suddenly, his hand was in your hair. He pulled you off him, his dick slipping out of your mouth, smearing pre-cum on your lips.

You look up at him, confused.

“Ah ah ah. Nice try. It’s cute that you think you can make me cum early. I’m sorry to inform you, but the only place I’ll be cumming tonight is inside your tight pussy, baby.”

He pulled you up, settling you on his lap again, his cock in between your thighs. He removed his gloves before putting one of his hands on your boob, stroking your nipple as his other hand slid down to your lower half. He used his fingers to caress your folds, smiling when he felt your wetness.

“Gosh, you’re absolutely dripping.”

Hyunjin’s fingers pushed into your pussy at a very slow rate, causing you to throw your head back onto his shoulder. “H-hyunjinnnn...mmm...”

You moaned as he found your sweet spot, rubbing over it leisurely. “So warm, too. Is it because of the pyrokinesis?” You couldn’t reply, too preoccupied wiith how his fingers felt inside you. Just as you felt your high building, he removed his hand. You were about to complain when he lifted you up, adjusting your pussy so that your slit lined up with his leaking dick.

He pushed in, and your mind exploded with ecstasy. God this felt good. It was so fucking wrong, but it felt amazing. The guilt and pleasure mixed together in your clouded mind.

He thought so too clearly, if his moans were anything to go by. His fingers on your waist lifted you up again, only to slam you back down onto his cock. He continued doing this, spearing you on his length over and over again, forcing you to let out whiny, high pitched moans every time his cock brushed against your g-spot.

It felt so good. Suddenly, he lifted you off his dick completely, flipping you around so you were facing him, and leading his cock back into your tight cunt.

Your mouths found each other. You made out sloppily, a mess of saliva and blinding passion.

He stood up all of a sudden, still inside you. Walking over to the wall, he fucked you against it, and you wanted to cry with pleasure.

“I killed 50 people indirectly yesterday. But it was all worth it, since it got you here.”

“You’re an...an asshole, you know that?”

“Says the ‘hero’ who’s got the supervillain’s cock in her right now.You could turn me in anytime you wanted. You’re the only one who knows my identity, after all.”

“We’ve known each other since college, Hyunjin. You were helpful and kind...one of my closest friends. Where did it all go wrong? When did you become...this homicidal maniac?”

He very briefly slowed down his thrusts, and you felt something change in his eyes. A vulnerability, gone so fast that you almost thought you had imagined it.

“I...there are few things in life I can control. My entire life, I had nothing. I was just a part of the background. My family didn’t really like me. No friends, well, except for you. No...no purpose.”

He slammed into you with a particularly hard thrust, forcing a cry out of you. Looking into your eyes, he bit his lip.

“Call me insane, y/n. But this feels right. For once, I’m the one in control. And if it gets you in my arms as well, then that’s an added bonus.”

You frowned. Your brain was turning into mush with the streaks of pain and pure ecstasy running through you. You were finding it hard to focus on his words...but the little bit that you understood scared you.

He moaned, his grip on you becoming tighter as he went faster. “Fuck...I’m gonna cum. You gonna be my good little cumdumpster, slut?” It was clear that he was trying to shift the mood. Hyunjin was aware of how much you enjoyed degradation.

“Truly worthless aren’t you? Imagine what the press would think. The ‘mysterious heroic vigilante’ filled with the vile, cruel villain’s seed.”

His words triggered something in you...something which turned you on and made you want to cry at the same time. The stroke of honesty behind his words was too profound. However, you were blinded by the pleasure, and you came just as he did.

Your pussy milked his cock of everything its got, your head pressed against the wall, Hyunjin’s lips sliding over your neck as your orgasm hit you hard.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, sweaty bodies pressed against each other.

You were finding it hard to keep your eyes open. Hyunjin noticed, and sighed. He pulled out, carrying you back to his chair and placing you on it. He removed his jacket, draping it over your snoring form.

As he stared at you, his heart clenched with a million emotions, half of which he couldn’t decipher.

What was he doing?

What were you doing?

It was an unusual arrangement, and a very toxic one at that. He was aware of that much.

He watched as you slept. One thing was for sure...he would do anything to keep you by his side, be it good or bad. In the grand scheme of things, this was all that mattered.

You were all that mattered, and he would even change his ways for you...but for now, he let you sleep.

[zeldasayer]

Loving Din XI - Afterlife

Pairing: Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Reader

Summary: Your relationship with Din is hanging on by a thread but you can’t let this exquisite love just go to waste.

Warnings: ANGST. Language, confessions of hopelessness, mom & dad please don’t fight.

gif by @djjarindin

“After this, can it last another night? After all the bad advice that had nothing at all to do with life, I’ve gotta know -

Can we work it out?”

“How long has it been?”

“Since?” You ask the hologram of your therapist, Nora, in the living room, as you sit cross legged on the couch in a red sundress. You know what she’s asking but you need to hear her to say it. In case it hasn’t been true.

“Since Din moved out.” She clarifies.

“Just over five months.” You nod slowly, looking down to focus on your fidgeting fingers.

“Do you miss him?” The hologram asks.

“Only when I’m awake.” You smile meekly, your eyes still down. “Or when I’m asleep. Or eating. Or playing with Baby in the ocean.”

“Have you told him this?” She asks slowly.

“No.” You answer flatly.

“Why not?”

“I guess,” You sigh, finally looking up. “It ended so badly. I guess I’m scared he won’t feel the same.”

“Do you believe that to be true?”

“No, but I also never believed we’d be a part at all.”

“Obviously I cannot get into any details of our sessions, but Din is making the same progress as you and Baby.” Nora was your father’s trusted therapist and he was so graciously arranging for you and Din to see her separately and teaching Din tools in how to help Baby trust him again.

You smile, meaning it whole heartedly, and you look back down from the truth of your words. “I’m so glad. Even if we don’t work out, I’m happy he’s finally opening up to someone. He deserves the weight of his past lifted from him”

It got worse before it got better.

Your emptiness melted into rage as you realized you were truly alone. The man who you stood by and filled with hope while he found his place in the galaxy was nowhere to be found now that you’ve lost your way in it. Gone was the man who so softly declared you as the most exquisite woman to ever walk the planet, the most beautiful moon he’s ever known, who found strength in your decision to be delicate despite everything that happened to you and you hadn’t the slightest clue where he went. Din went quiet again. He became calculated, like he thought through every word he said before he said it, every movement before it was made - not to protect you but because he was tired of fighting. Like you, he retreated inward and only came out to help with Baby despite his frustrations. You were two children of existing, not living and you somehow wound up back there again.

You hoped every day that Din would see himself in you, that he’d realize this is what you had to do with him at the beginning, but the moment never came. You would’ve died to help Din find his identity beyond the mask, and now he sleeps with his back to you.

Some nights you wanted to reach out and touch him, trace your fingers along his back, just for the reminder that he is real. Maybe he’d wake and pull you close to him so you could trace your fingers along his chest and match your breathing to his and everything would feel like it used to. But something always held you back.

Din Djarin wasn’t a man who could handle losing control. What made it twice as hard was that he brought it on himself, and in the process crushed the one precious flower he swore he’d never hurt. How could he? The one human being who knew everything about him and didn’t even blink at what he was ashamed of. Who ran her fingers through his hair and told him she would keep him safe when he thought he’d be haunted for the rest of his life.

“We can only haunt ourselves.” You cooed to him before kissing his nose and he carried that sentiment with him everywhere. He believed it until now, for he cannot get the look in your eyes when you told him you were ready to become the ocean out of his mind. It’s burned into his brain and he knows he’s being haunted because he can’t make himself speak.

Din Djarin was the most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy but he is too weak to tell the absolute love of his life that he is just as scared as her. That he is haunted every waking moment by how he destroyed their sanctuary, altering their lives forever. He wants to tell you that he sees you and that he’s sorry, that he wants to take the pain away and if he could, he’d feel it for you, but he doesn’t know how. Every familiar feeling of being touch starved, alone in the galaxy returns to him at once and he indulges in them in silence. Din never knew what he did to deserve you and just like he feared, it imploded. You were too good, too beautiful, delicate, loving, patient, ethereal and he ruined you with his dirty hands.

Most nights Din would sit up in the cockpit of the Razor Crest before returning to the bungalow so mad because you lied. We are haunted by more than just ourselves, we are haunted by the memories of the ones we love the most. Din smashed his fist into the dashboard. Once. Twice. Until something sparked because the memories won’t stop playing over in his head. You, smiling in his lap shortly after you met, pressing every button in the ship that would light up. Him snorting with laughter as he pulled you against him.

“You’re just like the kid!” He said into your neck and you giggled holding onto his arms.

“Teach me how to fly this thing, rocket man.” You beamed.

Your faces were younger then but you loved each other with such an unspeakable passion that you believed even then that it could never die. So how could he ever forgive himself for turning that dreamy look in your eye to stone? The same look that made him less afraid and so achingly happy to be alive. Especially when he has resorted to silence in a feeble effort to not make everything worse, for he sees himself in you. And all he wants to do is hold you by the shoulders and say “You are so much like me, I’m sorry.” But that wouldn’t help anyone.

One evening when Din hadn’t return from his classes on time, you left Baby with a bowl of soup on the couch and snuck into your bedroom. Your heart raced as you sat on the ground, connecting the comm to your father.

“Hi d-ad.” Your voice cracked when you saw him.

“What’s wrong, my star?” He noticed right away.

“I don’t feel so good.” You said through ragged breath, bringing your hand to your eyes.

“Are you sick?”

“A little.” You said with a sniff, removing your hand and looking down. “I have all this pain. It’s crushing me, dad.”

Stark sits up and his eyes search you in worry, “Are you safe, my star?”

“Yes, dad. I’m safe.”

“Are you dreaming of the ocean again?”

“Yeah.” You said as tears stream down your face, as it can be so hard to be seen. “I feel like I’m suffocating. Like I’m not going to make it.”

“Where is Din?” he asked.

“Um.” Your lip trembles and now it feels like you may really be dying, “I don’t know if we’re going to make it either.”

Stark sighs. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You shrug. “I don’t know who he is anymore. But I guess I don’t know who I am either. It’s like I miss him, but he’s always right there, like he’s part of what’s hurting me.”

Your father nods. “What can I do to help?”

“Do you still have Nora’s information?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” you sniff, wiping your hand down your face. “Nothing is ever going to change if I keep running in circles, right?”

You look down as your eyes immediately well with tears again.

“I’m proud of you, my star. I promise, this is the hardest part. You can only go up from here.”

You nodded, starting to cry again.

“Madden & I shall leave at once. We will help you with Baby and I’ll set up a meeting between you and Nora. You are the brightest star in the sky and you will shine again, my child.”

“Thanks dad.” You cried. “Just not yet, okay? I haven’t even told Din yet.”

“Told him what?” He asked.

“That I need to do this on my own.”

Din did not take it lightly.

“What the hell does that mean?” He demanded and your attention turned to Baby who’s ears rose at his fathers angered voice.

“He’s going to throw you across the room again.” You said through your teeth.

“Right. Of course.” Din said, rubbing his eyes. “Should we go outside?”

“Fine.” You sighed. Din always took you outside when he was ready to fight. Baby couldn’t hear you over the crashing waves.

You followed him out the back door and he turns around as soon as it closed with you both on the other side, “You know this is so typical you.”

“What?” Your eyes widened.

“You’re always so fucking lonely yet you push everyone away.”

You laughed, “Oh that’s so rich coming from you, Din.”

“Is it?!” He nodded.

“Mr. I Don’t Need Anyone Until I’m About To Lose Fucking! Everything!” You seethed as your voice already felt hoarse.

“OH!” Din exclaims, “I’m going to lose everything huh?”

“If you don’t let me take care of myself, yes. LOOK AT ME.” You cry. “I’M A FUCKING GHOST. AND SO ARE YOU.”

“AT LEAST I WONT FUCKING WALK OUT ON YOU.”

“I’m not walking out on you!” You screeched, in a tone of your own voice you didn’t recognize. “What are you not understanding? Din, my head feels like it’s going to explode and you won’t help me so I need to do this myself.”

“Sorry I can’t help, we do have a son to raise.”

“What the fuck? Who are you?” You asked in disgust as you crossed your arms and walked past him.

You walked only a few steps until you decided to say exactly how you felt.

“Do you know what you were like when I found you?” You spat.

“I found you.” Din said lowly.

“It doesn’t matter. Loving you was like loving a brick wall. It was so hard, Din. But I did it. I helped you raise your son and I held your hand while you figured out who the hell you were. And I did it all without you telling me what you needed, and I figured it out because I loved you. I would have done anything for you. Now I’m standing here screaming to you what I need and you won’t fucking help me.”

“What do you want from me?!” Din asked, his arms out in defeat.

“Have you been listening to me?! Get out of my face and get out of my fucking house!” You screamed.

“Your house?!”

“You are not doing this shit with me right now. You have a ship and I make more credits on one goddamn painting than you do in months.” You scoffed.

“You haven’t painted anything good enough to sell in half a year!”

“Because you’re killing me, Din!” You cried back immediately. Slapping your hand across your mouth from the truth of the words you let escape. Your other hand comes up to cradle the first and they’re both shaking.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. “This isn’t us.”

Din shakes his head slowly.

“Please Din, If you love me, you’ll let me do this.”

It was hard at first. Din and you agreed to four days at a time with Baby, Din living in Razor Crest on the other side of town. The first night you spent alone, you slept on the floor of Baby’s room. It was as far as you could crawl to when you told Din to “Just leave, he’s not going to stop.” and closed the door on him and your son who was crying for you.

It hurt to wake up to the quiet, to eat alone, paint alone. Your first session with Nora was even more of a disaster and you started to wonder if you made the right decision. The only thing you took away from it was her saying, “It hurts to become.” And this is what you chose to believe in, that this pain and uncertainty would be worth it. That when the rain washed you and Din clean, you’d know.

It hurt when Din wouldnt even look at you, how he didn’t even say a word when he first dropped off Baby. How you slid down the door and cried with Baby in your arms as he tried to heal something that he couldn’t.

But time keeps passing wether you’re ready or not and one day you just stop hurting. You don’t know why, or when the exact moment hits until you look up and you realize you’re breathing. You’re breathing and you’re sleeping through the night and it’s something to celebrate like a new born baby. You’re breathing and sleeping and eating properly. You can taste everything, your tea and pomegranates. Dark chocolate and crusty sourdough bread. You open up to Nora, finally and she takes you all the way back to your childhood. You’ve made your first friends as an adult and you realize how important that is, other women who live close by on the island and they are so wonderful. You’re painting, you’re painting incredible work and you’ve rearranged the whole house so it’s yours. Baby sleeps on his own and he’s happy, you’re in a routine and when Din comes to pick him up it doesn’t destroy you. Suddenly, you have a new normal. You are truly alright and you are so proud of yourself but something is missing. You still want to share every moment of your new normal with Din. Though you can get lost in your mind and it can scream so loud, there is stillness inside of you, every sunset you’ve ever seen and you were born to be a lover, and there is still only one person for you.

Later in the afternoon, long after your session with Nora, when you open the door for Din who’s back again to drop Baby off, you notice instantly that he has a beard. It’s patchy and it makes you smile, it looks soft and it’s greying at the sides and it makes you want to blurt out that you miss him. But you ask Baby how his day was instead.

“Wanna show mom what you learned?” Din asks his little green boy as he puts him in your arms, “Okay.”

Din makes a few small movements with his hands, and Baby copies them, slower and loose before looking up at you with a smile.

“It means ‘I love you.’” He mumbles, looking down.

You blink up at him and it feels like you must have forgotten how to breathe. It’s been so long since you heard those words pass through Din’s lips and it feels like the very first time.

“Do you want to come in?” You ask, your voice almost a whisper.

He looks a little puzzled and you continue, “I made dinner.”

Din’s mouth presses into a line, like he’s trying to suppress a smile. “Yeah. I would.”

“I like this.” You say, brushing the back of your finger along his jaw, letting him pass through the doorway, “You’re greying.”

“You just noticed now?”

“Yeah.” You sigh, “I guess so.”

Din sits across from you at the table you dragged out on to the beach a few months earlier and it feels like just how you always wanted life on the island to be. Baby in your lap, cackling into his dinner as the ocean crashes softly into the shore. Din smiling between bites of food and the sun reflecting off his skin makes him look so beautiful. You feel the breeze against your face and you want to live in this moment forever. Passing Baby between the two of you to take turns feeding him, the comfort in realizing you are both still exactly the same yet lighter. It’s like the afterlife between the bad and the inevitable try for resolution when you can just be alright. When everything is finally still and there is sweetness in the familiar small talk and how Din wears his t-shirt and thick black framed eyeglasses, the soft curls of his hair, and the exquisite angle of his nose. It’s like he’s coming back into focus again for the first time in months and you look down from how it overwhelms you.

As always, Baby falls asleep in Din’s lap before you’re finished and when you return to the beach from putting him to bed, Din tells you he should probably get going. He stands and your heart stops.

“Are you going because you want to or because you think you have to?”

“I don’t want to.” He shakes his head.

“Then don’t go.” You say out of breath.

Din sits back down without breaking his eye contact with you and you follow suit. You search his face for a moment unable to hold back.

“Din, I’m sorry.”

“No.” Din shakes his head but you continue.

“We were obviously never destined to be ordinary people and though I truly feel that this time a part was necessary, it just made me realize I don’t want to have these extraordinary problems with anyone else.”

“Please don’t be sorry.” Din shakes his head, closing his eyes. “I said I would be the ground beneath your feet and I wasn’t there for you.”

You smile meekly, “I miss you, Din. It’s always going to be you.”

“I miss you too.” He pauses. “I feel like I’ve learnt so much lately, and I have something to say to you. Is that okay?”

“Of course.” You breathe.

“Okay.” He nods. “I spent my whole life thinking that I was doing all that I could, that I’d never love my own face let alone love someone else. Then I met you and you brought me to life. You brought me to life, Y/N. I had seen the whole galaxy but now I was finally living in it because I was seeing it through your eyes. It was like I had everything. But I got too selfish with you. I thought since you were my home I could take you anywhere and we’d be okay, forgetting that your home is consistency and trust.”

“It’s okay, Din.” You sigh.

“No it’s not.” He shakes his head. “All you ever did was love me exactly how I needed it, like you just knew. And I ruined our home because all I needed was you.”

You look down, at a loss for words.

“You shouldn’t be sorry because I should be begging for your forgiveness. You loved me despite everything and I was too ashamed to say I was so scared of what I had done. I can’t lose you, Y/N. The sun does not rise and set for you because you are the sun. You are the sun. You are the moon. You are every star in the sky. You are everything. Please forgive me for what I’ve done.”

You look up at him, through the blurry vision of tear-filled eyes. “I forgive you, Din.”

“Thank you.” He chokes into the top of your hand, as he’s taken it to press his lips against. “Thank you, my sweet girl.”

You smile through your tears and you come around to his side of the table and Din pulls you into his lap.

“I love you so much.” He says into your neck as he holds you against him tightly, adjusting his arms to get you closer.

“I love you, too.” You run your hand through his hair, like you’ve wanted to for so long and Din lifts his face with your touch.

You see him. The face that looked so familiar even when you first saw it. The skin so breathtaking it makes you cry. The mouth you could watch speak into eternity with a voice that can move mountains. The nose that looks like it was carved from marble by an angel’s delicate hands. And the eyes. The eyes so full of love and loss they could stop any war, so deep and dark you could swim in them forever.

You hold his face in your hands and you are so full of joy because you can finally see him.

“There you are.” You whisper before pressing your lips to his, melting in the familiarity of his moustache brushing your skin.

Tags: @otherthingsinhead @aeryntheofficial @maryan028 @readsalot73 @osric-the-l3m0n-l0v3-demon @capsironunderoos @antclottz @intense-sneezing @igotmadskills @applesislife @marrvelle-fics @killtherandomness @holyground1996 @taoiichii @kyoko-yuuki @bookwormmarvel @xplrreylo @the-resident-demon @sad-anxious-girl @jaegers-and-kaijus @drinkfantasy @forbidden-darkness @hyveee @fangirlfreakingout @petalduck @fahhhhq @thatonebishsstuff @midnightsinger @jenniferdaniels12 @hiscyarika @tryn25 @raveviolet @watsonwise @aproperthottie @lettonystarkbehappydamnit @hyunjins-wife @lilwickedred @yellowbubblewrap @pascalisthepunkest @kate013 @french-lace-lavender

It’s all fluff and beauty from here on out. 4 more parts to go.

Love, Zelda

[geminiwriter1881]

Paradise Is Lost

                                          In one breath it was gone

                Gold were the days                         That we laid to waste                                      In this burning sun

                Paradise is lost                         Paradise is lost                                 Paradise is lost.

                        — GoldTop ft. Sam Tinnesz – Paradise Is Lost —

A/N: I highly recommend listening to ^^this^^ song as you read. It heightens the atmosphere.

. . Sunlight flashes white atop cut-glass sapphire water that stands pattern-shifting under the restless fingertips of the wind. Sand froths golden beneath churning hooves of a crimson stallion screaming in triumph: 'never-die'.

.

.

Light explodes white in the hearts of houses turned to rubble from the stones flung out of the hands of unseen malevolent gods in the heavens. The high whine of wind shaped by propeller force echoes overhead, and it chants: 'all-shall-die'.

.

.

They stand beside one another, heads tilted back.

The flames lick hungrily toward the late-evening sky, as if with their searing fingertips they can clutch at the fabric of the firmament and catch it, also, alight. In the west, the weary sun takes pity and sends the silver bellies of the clouds to molten-gold and heated-iron glow.

The furious blaze glints on silver crowns; the mail of Narnian warriors as they cross back and forth before it, beating out advancing sparks that leap Dagori's Ford to rake at browning reeds. The jewels gleam scarlet on the halters of steaming chargers that stand heaving vapor into the ether; a cheap mime of southern drakes, their breath less devastating.

The half-built tower burns.

The tower combined of Calormene stone and Telmarine timber.

Housed of Daradans and Telmarine knights.

Screaming assaults the evening wind. Shadows draped in carmine garlands plunge from the walls of Tel-Ilil into the deep Great River lapping at its smoldering foundation.

Metal whines softly on fine metal as Edmund sheaths his sword.

"It’s good," Lucy murmurs, wiping blood from her dagger onto her soot-streaked crimson skirts.

"It is," he answers graciously, dark eyes on another glowing specter as it streaks from the tower like a Star earthbound. The hiss of steam – fire's reluctant death – whispers from the river's middle before drowning in the lap-lap-lap of the relentless current.

Narnia grows. Narnia lives. Narnia is free.

Forever.

It is good.

Pine shingles over Calormene heads is not a house of peace, but threat of war. Lucy smiles as the tower heaves and shudders and slides down the bank into the River, as if it never was. Not that it ever Was.

.

.

The scream will reverberate within his heart long after the source is dead and buried. The image of a boy-not-man with a shadow of another life lived long before his own welling dark and threatening in savage sky-clear eyes.

The shriek of ancient metal against golden hilt – that sword of kings he held in his hands but had not will to wield – and he saw Narnia in ermine and gold, streets paved in soft rose petals, chargers shod in silver, rulers bold and fearless and blessed by a god to reign. Honored by many, cursed by few. Haloed by the sun, guided by the stars, protected by the moon.

The blood of a thousand ancestors fallen under the edge of Narnian swords cried out in his veins, and he wanted to cower. But it was not his body that fell in front of the High King of Old.

Peter stepped away from Miraz.

To look to him.

And Caspian did not think he could be ready.

.

.

Gryphons wheel aloft.

Stallions scream below.

Smoke drifts along the battlefield, the gauze curtain between death and life—parted to accept the noble and valiant victims of war. Death knows no side, and chooses no victor.

Peter lifts his hand, and points the length of Rhindon toward the left.

Susan bows her head, eyes closing, and tears her malachite veil from her hair. It cracks in her grasp, longing to be set free to tangle in the wind's embrace.

Bowstrings tense; silver-white feathers kiss sun-brown cheeks and fray into unruly rugged whiskers.

Below them, Edmund throws his charger's head to the side, cavorting on the plains of war like a boy-prince plays with tin soldiers on a field of green felt. He laughs, and his general rears and shouts a war-cry, directing with his spear as he leaps toward the army's left flank.

A gryphon screeches. Edmund turns and lifts his shrewd gaze to the cliff’s face. His night-dark stallion rears beneath him, beating the air with iron-spiked hooves. Edmund raises his hand, and a ray of sun strikes against the silver crown in his raven hair, blinding in its piercing path of light. For a moment, Edmund is frozen; the portrait of glorious war. Then the stallion comes back to ground. Edmund drops his arm.

The veil whips out of Susan's clutch, billowing away behind her.

Arrows whisper farewell to archer lovers, falling broken under hooves, buried within hearts.

The Telmarines retreat, leaving their dying like rotting spoils of warfare in their wake. Lucy brings all race and creed beneath the shadow of her white tents. Healers know no flag, and the living will not join the dead without a second fight.

.

.

The flames lick upward along the collapsed timbers, the toppled brick like grinning jagged teeth against wolf's-eye yellow fire. It washes their pale faces in light.

Air raid sirens wail on high. Somewhere nearby a child screams— 'I am lost!'

Wind barrels down the broken street, funneling toward them to rough the edges of their hair and lift their ties like torn pennant banners in its wake. A lorry burdened with bags of sand roars by them, the rush of it cool in the presence of the bomb's seething aftermath. The street is cracked like china fine; rubble – dust and glass and ash – crunch under-heel; hell's gravel footpath.

A rumble, the ground quakes beneath their bodies. Light explodes over ridgepoles and roofs.

Bombs whine and aircraft growl a mile distant.

Edmund stares as gods fling flint-stones to make mortal-burning fires.

Edmund will not forget.

Gryphons can be German war-gods, too.

.

.

Sunlight flashes against ocean-spray. Wind beats wave, and hooves beat sand in staccato rhythm. Laughter lashes out and echoes down the beach, thrown against cliff-front and boulder-face.

Susan drives her golden-gleaming palfrey hock-deep into sapphire sea. She lowers her reins, looking back over her shoulder as her ribbons of raven hair catch on the wind, braids unwinding, then sinking down—weighted by the water, lying over the back of the gold mare with suggestion of a selkie's tattered hide. Susan beams, leaning back in her saddle, bare feet tickled by the surface of the ocean-top.

Peter's pale charger – the color of specters, mist, and death-shrouds – paws at the foam, kicking mermaid tears against his belly. The High King utters the war cry of Narnia, and nudges his stallion into motion. The white coarser snorts, rises up in a half-moon leap with Peter clinging to his arching mane— they plunge forward over waves shore-bound into deeper water. Peter presses his palm in circles against his beloved Capaill Uisce's coat, the silver ring on his finger outweighing saltwater's siren song.

Lucy's crimson and saffron skirts stream out behind her, pressing tight against her thighs. Her fingers wrapped close in flying ebon mane and silken rope—the only rein. Her heels sink low as she rises off her saddle. The mare is of Calor, her coat is called blood—her legs are so fine they look as if they will break with each step. But the delicate face and broad back conceal a loyal heart of molten fire; a devil temper of Tash's own make. Lucy's sun-kissed brown locks stream out behind her, a brass banner on the wind, and they race on.

Edmund rides bareback, without bridle, and hackamore-free. He presses down against billowing black waves of rippling mane that tangle with his own. Lather flies against his bare calves, and he whispers to his warhorse in the language of its ancestors—Telmarine. They stretch thin against the beach, a streak of black on gold-white sand. Shod hooves cleave half-circle furrows in their wake.

It is a golden age.

The sun will not set on their reign.

.

.

"What happened here?"

The question is not that at all, but a demand for answers. They are surrounded by dust and death and decay. Motes float bloated and sluggish on thick atmosphere. Sunlight shafts through broken ceiling. This is not the empire they left. This is not the Narnia they know.

Rusted swords, shattered shields, cleaved-in armor. Shadows loom velvet-thick over heaping piles of metal and bone and rotten wood.

Peter kicks a layer of mortar dust and chalky silt. It clouds into the room.

From his place among the shadows and marks of death, Edmund stares out into the circle of daylight beating down on his brother's golden head. Peter mourns, but mourning is for afterward of victory. They are not victors yet—he does not know what they are.

But we will find out, he vows in savage silence.

.

.

The sobs echo through the dim-lit cavern.

Susan steps off the main tunnel after a moment of gazing ahead to test none else have ears that hear. She lays her bow along the shelf for offerings and tokens. Her quiver follows. No arrow knocks fletching against another. She is silent.

The weeping continues without pause.

Susan steps down a shallow flight of stairs, each one wider than the last. Her aubergine hem kisses the dust, leaving a low-lying cloud in her wake that quickly fades.

She presses a hand to an earth-hewn pillar, gouging her nails until dirt-grains run down her chainmail sleeve. She stares into the darkness. Torches light at sparing intervals in the underground chamber stretching to infinity. A catacomb for the dead—a tomb for Narnia that bears no bodies, only the soul of a world struggling to gather breath.

Peter stumbles away from a pillar of his own to fall heavy on his knees. One hand presses dirty and stained to the ground, the other against his face. His tears fall unashamedly, and dampen the ground.

There is a legend the half-dwarven professor told her—how the High King's tears cause barren earth to bud and grow bounty to feed his starving subjects. But not a single stalk of green rises up in front of her brother; a boy that was a man who is so small in this massive place. He shudders as his lungs take in a gasp of air between one sob and another. His hand pressed to the ground trembles, his arm collapses, and he is bent over himself.

Like a woman hearing news she is become a widow.

Like a father learns he outlives his child.

Like a king mourns for his people.

"Oh, Peter," Susan breathes, though he cannot hear her. Gently, she draws near.

His head lifts as she comes to him, kneeling down. Her skirts rustle, an echo into graveside silence.

"Sue?" He says her name in a panting whisper, almost a breath. His lashes are black and sticking to one another. His eyes are clear, and full of horror.

"Oh, Peter," she says again, a soothing murmur that soothes nothing. In it he hears perhaps only accusation, and thinks her justified for such feeling.

"I can still hear them," he says, hoarse. He reaches for his neck, for his collar, clutching at his tunic with trembling hands. The earthen air quivers, and for a moment the world is rent. Time dissipates, vapor before heat; she sees dimly through a mirror.

Another king—the same king. Older. She is a woman, they are covered in blood and ash. The sky is death-black. The battle was won, the victory Pyrrhic.

Peter wept.

Everything is strange, but this remains the same.

Peter weeps.

"Hush then, hush then; shhh, Peter, hush now," she mantras gently, compassionately. Her hand goes to his hair and she strokes it back; it is shorter than her fingers remember it should be in moments like this, and smells of salt-grass and earth.

He leans into her, forehead against her shoulder, mouth open as he chokes another sob back but it spills forth because his heart has not yet ceased to mourn for what died and passed away. His breath is hot on her dress, and makes her skin fever-warm under the cloth.

Peter draws back, reaching for her, clinging to her sleeve, wrapping his fingers around her upper arms.

"Is there blood on my hands? Am I to blame? I don't understand—What have I done? I can still hear them, Sue! I can still hear them. . ." He breaks again, crumbling beneath the weight of twelve hundred years of majesty and skill that are no longer a match for a world gone mad with rage and ache.

Peter exhales, and his breath stirs the dust of the dirt floor. He coughs. Gags, moans, and closes raw eyes that have all but exhausted their tears.

Susan looks down at him, a consoling hand gentle on his back, running in useless circles meant to soothe.

The High King, brought level to a little child.

Oh how empires fall.

.

.

The sun shines through the stained glass at their backs, spilling around the marble edges of the four thrones. Peter does not look to his siblings as, haloed in golden light and crowned with a burning diadem of the sun, he rises.

As if they all understand – for they all understand the unspoken word – they stand from their thrones as one body in echo of the High King, while trumpets sound distant down the marble hall.

The diamonds and sapphires in Susan's midnight hair catch pinpricks of light, and set like stars. Her azure skirts with silver thread, and stardust grey under-slips swirl around her ankles as her hair falls to her feet. The prophets of Calormen called her a goddess of Narnia, and she thanked them graciously—but laughs behind Cair Paravel's locked doors at such blasphemy against the Great Lion.

Lucy's summer-green gown overextends its hem, sewn too long; to cover bare feet southern foreigners consider unseemly. She curls sun-browned fingers over the gold hilt of her dagger. Twin brass braids slide along bare shoulders, and when she smiles, spring begins anew in the hearts of all Narnians.

Edmund, the judge and wise man (prophets of Calormen have come to him to seek his understanding and departed newly taught) stands arrayed in black and silver with raven curls dragging to his chest, swept clear of his solemn brow and grave dark eyes with intricate centaur braids. His robe sloughs lazily down his arms, half worn, half falling free. Threatening action if it is demanded—even in the land of peace and plenty.

The Pashdaan from Calormen walks up the hall from the grand foyer beyond, but the splendor of his train fades pale compared to the wealth of happy Narnia.

"Most Elevated and Noble Majesties of this esteemed northern kingdom. I come from the Tisroc – may he live forever – to offer unto you such gifts and work and terms of peace so that you seek out no reparation for such destruction and war as the rash young Prince as placed before your path. Instead, to hope that you may deal mercifully. The Tisroc – may he live forever – has offered my own life in place of Prince Rabadash if you do not think such treasures as I bring sufficient. Do with your slave as you will have be done." He prostrates himself before the throne, a fearful subject from another land.

Lucy does not look at Peter as she moves forward, her gown rippling out behind her; gossamer silk flowing in currents of her own motion. Her bare feet are silent on the cool, rosy-white marble tiles.

A hand touches his face.

Shimri lifts his head and peers upward into the face of King Edmund. Beside him stands Queen Lucy. Her hand remains on his body, moved to his shoulder. Toward him, Edmund offers a pale hand ornamented with a lone silver ring. The serpent eats its tail, so evil will consume itself. The king who is a judge who is a wise man that could have been the brightest of prophets smiles down at him, and Shimri wonders if this is what it feels like to be blessed.

"You are no slave of Narnia, my dear lord," Lucy admonishes with brilliant kindness. "You need not grovel before us, as we require no such degradation; we do not hold you in offense for any wrong done by another."

"Come, take this hand of peace, and be met with friendship all our days, Pashdaan," Edmund coaxes, his voice the depth of a forest river, melodic as one also.

"We want for nothing from Calormen but that we be free," the High King declares, and the world seems to stand still as he speaks in golden tones, eternal summer rich in his voice. He smiles broadly when Shimri looks up at him, and the corners of Peter's eyes crinkle with mirth.

"I. . . have entered paradise."

Edmund smiles; it tilts crookedly. "An earthly one, perhaps—as best a mortal man can make. There is better still to come beyond the hallowed Shore in the Eastern Lands."

Shimri reaches out, ringed fingers trembling. He lays his dark hand inside Edmund's pale grasp, and stands.

A hearty cheer breaks through the great throne hall of Cair Paravel. Susan descends the dais of marble and stands beside the Pashdaan.

"Now, we shall feast as friends and equals. Tell us, what is your name?" She takes his arm as Narnians frolic about them, and soft blush petals float down from an invisible place above.

"Shimri, my lady. I am born Shimri, son of Paraan."

"I am Susan, Shimri. Welcome to Narnia—you are welcome forever, until the stars forget all our titles, and we are written into myth."

.

.

It is a forest. It is a jungle. It is desolate. The woods are so still and dark. There is no music calling softly to the ear, no fountains that bubble merry in their basins, no pale towers gleaming in this early light. There are only ruins, and apple trees grown feral from their gentle ancestors.

There is no perfume of spring-budded flowers in Susan's private garden. Jasmine does not cling any longer to the lattice around his balcony, tossing dappled sunlight over his dark head as he stirs at break of day. There are only marble castle bones, rising jagged from undergrowth of ancient rose briars.

There is only pain.

In the quiet morning rush of air coming sharp and brisk off the Eastern Ocean from the cove of the mermaids, Edmund Pevensie leans against what was once a marble pillar, and weeps.

Paradise is lost.

A/N:

I originally published this on Fanfiction.Net, but decided to brave up and post it here too; because why not?

This AU (sort of?) one-shot is wholly inspired by “Paradise Is Lost” by GoldTop featuring the vocals of singer Sam Tinnesz. For those wondering why I call it a “sort-of AU”, it’s because since I began writing Narnia fic in 2013, I head-canon a lot of little details and aspects to Narnia that are not written by C.S. Lewis, but, I like to believe, he wouldn’t be averse to. I combine elements of both the novel series, and their film adaptation counterparts. If you’ve got questions, don’t hesitate to shoot me a message. I’m friendly.

Dagori's Ford = inspired by my headcanon that there would be landmarks named after Digory Kirke and Polly Plummer since they're important to Narnian history and lore.

Pashdaan = of similar status to an ambassador or lower-ranking European nobleman. I love Turkish/Ottoman/Middle Eastern culture and history, and I know C. S. Lewis modeled his Calormene after them, so I'm going to continue in that vein with my headcanons. Pashdaan is a play on the Turkish "Pasha".

Tel-Ilil = a watchtower built on the edge of the Great River (in Narnia, but near the Telmarine border, so technically an invasion of Narnia). Edmund and Lucy plot a covert attack and destroy it.

@nothinggold13​ Thought this might be something you’d like. 

[mayflowers07]

Something old, something new

This was it. It was finally time. Wedding day.

And Remus was five seconds away from passing out.

The venue itself was absolutely beautiful. Warm fairy lights hanging from the tent ceiling tent gave off an ethereal glow. Red carnation garlands draped over all of the chairs, and the white tarp on the ground was lightly dusted with glitter and spare petals. It was warm outside with a gentle breeze, the trees in the forest behind the field were an ideal backdrop- all in all it was perfect.

Everything Remus had ever wanted.

Biting his lip just hard enough that he was sure it was going to be red and swollen, Remus tried to take in more then the shallow gasps he had been struggling for for the past ten minutes. An overwhelming panic was igniting within him. Remus had the sudden urge to scream, to throw a tantrum, to yell and cry and tell everyone to go away! This couldn’t be happening! He wasn’t ready!

Would he ever be ready though?

The realization that his eyes were blurring grounded him for a moment, Remus quickly and aggressively wiped them and prayed no one had noticed he was so close to sobbing.

Roman, standing next to his brother at the end of the aisle, looked the exact opposite of Remus’ twisted thoughts. In his white tux with a red corsage tucked in the pocket and the tiniest hint glitter eyeshadow in the corner of his eyes, Roman was finally the Disney prince he had always dreamed of being. He beamed at everything and couldn’t stop looking around, like he was trying to sear every detail of the wedding in his memory.

At least Virgil looked relatively nervous too. His nervous habit of picking at his nails was on full display from where he stood, beside Damian’s spot as his best man. Patton sat in the front row positively glowing with pride. He looked like he was about to burst out into song and dance at any moment, and if he wasn’t growing more and more distraught by the second, Remus might have laughed at his over enthusiasm. On the flip side, Logan was the picture of calm and stoic, and it was only because Remus knew Logan’s poker face well that he knew Logan was internally as excited as Patton.

The second row was filled by even more of their friends and family, all facing Remus, Roman, Virgil, and soon to be Janus, at the front. All eyes on him, watching what should have been the happiest day of Remus’ life. The pressure was tik, tik, tiking.

Remus wished the time would run out so he could explode.

Iconic music started up, cueing the guests to stand and look down the aisle.

And wasn’t that a site worth looking at?

Thomas held Janus’ hand as he accompanied him down the aisle slowly. Logan and Patton’s kids- Emile and Remy- ran ahead of him as the flower girl and ring bearer respectively.

And in the centre of it all- of the room, of Remus’ world, of the universe itself- was Janus. His makeup shimmered under the fairy lights, and he had a long black cape with gold trimming trailing behind him an Thomas attached to his tux. Janus was sublime in every sense of the word. And suddenly Remus didn’t have problems breathing anymore, because Janus had stolen his breathe away.

When they reached the end of the aisle, Thomas came to the centre to officiate the wedding. Janus gave Remus a gentle smile that had Remus weak at the knees and on the verge of sobbing again, then stepped forward beside Virgil to start the ceremony.

Thomas cleared his throat.

He wanted the world to stop turning.

“Ladies, gentleman, and other esteemed guests-“

Or at least turn backwards so that Remus could fix this awful mess he was in.

“-we are gathered here today-”

He supposed maybe this was his punishment. It had been love at first sight when he met Janus, love for so many years when the proposal had happened, why hadn’t he said anything? Why was he now forced to watch this monstrosity of his own making?

“-to celebrate the union-”

They were perfect together. Janus was going to be so happy. So would Roman. And Remus would be frozen. Lost. Drifting. Alone. All because he was too cowardly to say his truth.

“-of Janus and Roman Prince.”

Fate was laughing at him. It had to be. As he stood there as Roman’s best man, watching the love of his life hold his brother’s hand and give him promise after promise Remus would never get, he could almost hear Fate’s cruel laughter over the ringing in his ears.

After all, Remus was Janus’ something old, and Roman was his something new.

[yourkimjaejin]

NCT World 2.0 Epsiode 7

Just wanted to say that when I was watching episode 6, i was like where’s the rest. Then I figured out that they released both episode at one time! 

Also, THE DEJA VU STAGE!!!!! I could stop smiling. I was this close to crying when Jisung came walking out!! I just wished they let him do the same during the Work It stage.

Anyways here’s the Episode 7 of NCT World 2.0. Enjoy!!

So did Team One get their answer correct???

Team One’s answer was correct. They are able to get the next key and unlock the next box.

Aurora look at the fans sign and figures out the answer immediately. They don’t even have to play the dvd.

“Guys the answer is forever!” They try it and the get it right. Aurora throws her hands up in the air to celebrate. They watch the video before unlocking the next box

Aurora and Haechan killing the game!!

They read the papers in the box. They begin to guess heights after they read Jeno’s dream. The group randomly gets it right. Unlocking the next key

But let’s move back to team three

Last time they opened a mysterious door that caused Taeyong to scream. They all wander into the creepy room

Sungchan figures out they have to see what the sculptures are looking at the see their clue.

“Nice job Channie!” Moxy praises him, a blush rising on his cheeks. But the clue leads nowhere

“I think the superhuman overestimated our combined brain power.” Moxy

Some of the members wander to another room and see statues spinning with letter on them.

“That one in the back has an S on it. “ Moxy stands on her toes to see the statue in the back

The group tries to figure out the puzzle of letters as another portal explodes

Doyoung and Taeyong figure out the certain colored letter spell certain words. But as they are explaining, more multicolored balls fall from the ceiling, startling the group.

They being to pick up the ball and notice they have the names of all 27 members on them.

While they figure that out, let’s head over to team two

They try another password buts it’s wrong. They try again with another number but it’s wrong again. A hint pops up on the computer.

“Oppa! The hint is equals to Winwin oppa!” Juno tells the group.

“Maybe it’s not a number but a name.” Mark suggests

“Try Dong Sicheng!” Ten says

Juno try’s it and it’s correct.

Juno reads the screen, “The next clue is Johnny plus Jeno times Hannah.”

They figure out the clue and get the right passcode for the lock. They get four ids and one key. The ids are connected to emails left on the computer. The emails detail what NCT have done while filming NCT World 2.0.

“Due to a portal malfunction, the members of NCT were split up into four groups and completed missions to be reunited.” Juno reads after Mark.

After reading all the emails, they move to the next room that’s filled with food.

While they figure out the next clue, the camera catches Jaemin pulling Juno to his side and feeding her some of the snacks on the table.

After figuring out the clue they move back to the records room and unlock the door.

“I’m already tired and we haven’t even started yet.” Juno says as they walk in. They stroll around until they finally find a clue that leads them to space 314.

That clue leads them to space 26. Where they find the sheet music for Yestoday. They run back to the piano at the beginning and play the song.

Juno was hanging off Jeno, the two laughing at Mark while he’s growling out notes for Yestoday.

They call Doyoung to come sing Yestoday. But as he does another portal explodes.

Doyoung and the others song Yestoday together and a clue pops up. It’s their groups keys. They walk down to the first floor but we follow Doyoung back to team three.

This group have collected all the balls with members names on them.

They learn that they have to type in the names in song order. The same name order from episode 2.

“Who is ‘오(o)’ for?” Taeyong

“That’s Aurora, hyung” Jisung

Taeyong finishes typing and the answer is correct. The entire group celebrates.

They get their next clue; they have to play Interlude: Past to Present. They go back to the piano room. Taeil plays the song and the box in the corner opens, revealing their keys.

Now that team three has finished, let go back to team one.

They play the next dvd which plays resonance pt.1 teaser (the one where they talk about the ether and all that jazz)

Hannah shakes Xiaojun when he shows up on screen. He blushes.

They get the next question right and Aurora rushes over to the next box containing the rubix cube. As Kun solves the cube, the last portal explodes.

The cube says 90’s Love, Work It and a vent diagram. Haechan solves the clue and they get the next key.

“You and Aurora have been on fire today!” Johnny to Haechan and Aurora

They get the last clue and book it to the bus they saw at the beginning. Kun unlocked it and the group storms in to see tv’s playing clips of them before the debuted.

One of the tv’s shows a clip of AG at their last audition, finding out they made into the group.

“Is that noona?” Shotaro asks and they walk over to see.

“OMG!! THATS US!!” Aurora eyes widen at AG’s younger selves crying in joy.

“This is when we got casted.” Hannah explains.

“Awww you guys are cute!” Johnny hugs Aurora to his side. There are some unshed tears in her eyes.

We made it Claire, We made it Aurora thinks to herself.

Haechan’s lock on young Moxy’s for a moment but then he glances away.

They figure out that the word ‘dream’ is missing. They race back and type in the answer. They get it right but then the door shuts on them. The room fills with smoke until all you see is a hand hanging onto the grate.

Let’s head back to team two

Team two finds another room with a glowing pedestal. The letter T is missing from NCT. Team three meets up with them along with the missing T.

It opens a door to another room. Sparks are flying everywhere. The two groups walk together until they hear voices in the distance calling for help

Moxy hears four people calling out noona, “Aurora? Shotaro? Haechannie!” She calls out.

“Yo dude you need to fix this!” Juno to the Superhuman when they see their friends tied up.

Juno and Jeno start tickling Haechan

They find the password in one of the pockets of the tied up members

All the members shout, “WAKE UP YOUR SEVENTH SENSE AND KICK IT!!!” They all complete the mission. The key is flown in by the drone for episode one. They unlock the chains and free the members. They put the keys together and the superhuman free them to go back to 2020.

They get the last code and rush into the portal ending the episode.

Next week, during the special episode, it is revealed that AG will be performing a stage of Welcome To The Jungle.

[headoffices-a]

@duledivine​ said

Alright, fine. If no one else is going to be bothered, then Gabriel will take up the torch, so to speak. So... he does just that, deciding to wrap his arms around Lucifer in a tight hug. He recognized that it could be an inadvisable move, but he also recognized that he didn't care much. His heart was too heavy. " ... I owe you one, " he explained before any questions could possibly be raised. " I would've asked first, but I feel like poetic justice would've kicked me in the ass on that one. So... "   

to say this was a shock to the system would have been an understatement. lucifer went stiff as a board the instant arms wrapped themselves around his middle, ready for the- what he believed to be -inevitable pain to blossom in his back. such was what he deserved, frankly, after having let his guard down enough to allow the younger this close this suddenly. and who better to do it, too, than someone he’d already tried to kill.

that night at the hotel came flooding back like a tsunami. unwanted and unbidden and so very, very awful.

“ you know, i never understood you pagans. you’re such... petty little things. ” oh, how the little sparkle of fear twinkled in mercury‘s eyes fed the fire in the devils belly. he so loved it when the insects realized their mistakes. he loved watching the gears turn in their heads, the pieces fall into place, the ‘ oh, shit ’ moment. he loved watching this sad excuse for a god telling itself ‘ this was a mistake. i’m going to die. i thought i would be spared but i will not. ’. it gave him the warm and fuzzes. “ always fighting. always happy to sell out your own kind. no wonder you forfeited this planet to us. ” he’d pointed at the ‘ god ’ behind the desk. “ you are worse than humans. you’re worse than demons. and yet you claim to be gods. ” and just like the, the roman god of messengers dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. all the others followed quickly there-after. at least, until he’d gotten to that fiery little number. then it all went to hell.

why did he have to be there? of all the beings in this world, of all his brothers, why did it have to be gabriel.

“ so you’re willing to do die, ” no. wrong. the words coming out of his mouth felt so wrong. “ for a pile of cock-roaches? ” well, those felt right. “ why? ”

“ because dad was right. ” don’t say that. not you. anyone but you. michael, raphael, but not you. “ they are better than us. ”

“ they are broken, flawed, abortions- ”

“ damn right they’re flawed. ” that’s his thinking face just then. human meatsuit in the shape of a pagan worm or a wave of celestial intent, he knows how to read his baby brother. “ but a lot of them try. to do better. to forgive. ” lucifer couldn’t look at him anymore- eyes turn down to the floor lest his heartache overflow from his mouth. “ forgive what?! ” he’d wanted to scream at the top of incorporeal lungs. “ forgive who?! michael?! father?! you?! you, who neither helped throw me in the cage nor stood by my side, but ran away, turning your back on us- on me! ”

“ and you should see the spearmint rhino. ” moment over. ice-cold gaze found his brother again. “ i’ve been riding the pine a long time, but i’m in the game now. and i’m not on your side or michaels. i’m on theirs. ”

lucifer closed his eyes, head shaking slowly, mind far off in a better place, a better place, a happier time. “ brother, ” his voice was soft. pleading. begging. he was crying. “ don’t make me do this. ”

“ no one makes us do anything. ” lucifer deflates and he knows his brother is lost to him. knows there’s no more point in trying. gabriel has become tainted by the filth that is humanity and its sins and its darkness. he knows this. but that’s not going to make what comes next hurt any less. won’t make it any easier. ruined and twisted as he may be, this is still his baby brother. the youngest of the four princes, light on his feet and with a wit sharp as any thrown long before roses came into being.

“ i know you think you’re doing the right thing, gabriel. ” so had he, once upon a time. this would be a much more merciful fate than what he’d been given. “ but i know where your heart, truly lies. ” lucifer steels himself. this is the oldest trick in the book. the blade is raised behind his back, poised to strike him down. but, while gabriel was always so very quick, as one must to be the messenger of god, lucifer still had him beat. he’d twisted on the balls of his feet, arms reaching up, hands grabbing and pulling down with all his might. the blade sunk into gabriels vessel like a hot knife through butter. it made him sick to his stomach. the sound, the look on his brothers face, the blood seeping through gabriels clothes and onto his fingers, dripping down his forearms. “ here. ”

a glance over his shoulder to watch the visage of the younger fade away. gaze returns to what he believed to be the real thing. his eyes held no softness anymore. no chance for forgiveness. it had been one thing to run, to turn tail and hide in the shadows. it was a whole other to raise his blade against his older brother. “ armature hocus-pocus. ” his head was shaking, disbelieving what he was seeing. what he was doing. what he’d done. who he’d become. “ don’t forget- ” voice caught in his throat as he stared gabriel in the eyes. how are he express such betrayal in his tears. “ you learned all your tricks from me, little brother. ”

he twists the blade, lips curling into a snarl. he does not blink from the light exploding from gabriels eyes and mouth. he must watch, must be witness to what he’s done. what the other made him do. his hand had been forced, but it was still his hand. he pushed the body to the floor.

when the light faded, the anger went with it to a point. in its place came waves of sorrow and heartbreak and, maybe, just a touch of guilt. a breath he’d been holding blew from his mouth in a rush. he sucked in another, exhaled, inhaled, backed away, blinking the tears from his eyes. yea, there was more than just a touch of guilt. he stared down at the imprint of wings spread out over the floor and one table, of the halo scorched into the other.

he was no better than michael. he’s worse, really. the realization settles into his mind like a cloud, dark and stormy and cold. he hates it so, so much.

taring his gaze up and away, he stared past the ceiling of the hotel, tears steaming freely down his face, teeth bared in rage. “ this is what you made me into! ” lucifer screamed to the heavens. to michael, and to their father. “ you made me do this! you- he- he gave me no choice! ”

unneeded lungs take in a sharp, painful breath. no pain flared in his back. nothing split his flesh. there were only hands and arms and a body against his front. blue hues blink a few times, bringing the present back into focus. the look down to a nest of soft brown hair slicked back from the face against his chest. lucifer doesn’t know how long he’s stood there, ramrod straight, prepared to die. when he comes to terms with the fact that he’s not, the floodgates open.

bending down just a touch, the morningstars own arms come up to grab desperately a gabriels shoulders, hands clutching the youngers clothes as though for dear life. as though the other would fade away into thin air should he let go. a sob racked his body. it’s harsh and ragged and ancient. head bows down into the crook of gabriels neck as ethereal wings manifest from his shoulder blades, white as a freshly fallen snow in the dead of winter. they close around their bodies, grace rolling off them like a waterfall at the end of a raging river. it washes over the two of them with a force that pushes lucifer deeper into his brothers embrace. it surrounds them, cold and sad and desperate and so, so sorry- another sob gouges its way through his chest and throat. arms tighten their grip, wings pressing in close, both shaking.

he wasn’t owed this. didn’t deserve it, frankly, but he’d take it. he’d take it all, even if it had come with a knife in his back.

[ven-uzumaki13]

A FROZEN DEVICE

In the middle of the Alpha 13’s centre room, a boy named Ven was in the kitchen making food for his friends Kree, Abby and Jake they were taking about what their next mission was until Abby brought up her past in joking manner saying, “Well my family thinks I'm a god or something” Kree then asked about Ven’s past “what about you Ven I couldn't find your proper file” Ven stop cutting carrots and leaned onto of the counter and says, “what my file said... that I was flouting in space for a thousand years with a celestial spirit inside me.” “so, nothing” Ven shortly followed up with “What about your name Ven that’s important... right.” Jake shouted across the room “Uzumaki...?” He whispered to himself “No I think it's all a gang now...” the glare in his eye fades “hmm what about you, Jake... those arms, are you ready...” Ven says with a knowing smile. Silence for just a moment until “yea...yea” he said staring at his metallic arms “it was that apollo game 2 years ago there was an attack everyone was running, screaming you know... I blacked out and woke up... with my arms gone they couldn’t find them; I lost my mom's bracelets they were everything... to me at least.” Jake then held his face crying, Abby who was sat next to him gave him a hug and held him “we have all lost something ether memories or families” Ven said trying to make the mood lighter “what about you Kree? How's your life.” “well, it's not that much better… my family was crushed in the same attack, Abby saved me.” Kree said holding back tears his green hair falling over his face.  

“I could have done better it's my fault.” Abby said with a deep angry in her voices, Kree and Abby arguing over who is to blame until Ven steps in “guys none of you are to blame it the ones who attacked... speaking of which did they catch them ye...” Ven is cut off by a large device smashing into the coffee table, covered in snow and ice, everyone jumps up and looks at it until it blinks away, Ven walks over and raises his wrapped hand and a wave of energy scans the table “This is new... a blink drive? hmm... we have them now?” Ven looking around at the others, Kree looking confused and says, “no we can't make it yet, were still decades away.” “Maybe it's not ours” Jake said standing from his seat, Ven eyes narrowed as he orders Jake to open a portal to the bridge of the eclipse, “thank you.” he says as he walked throw the portal.

The portal spins to existence in the rush of dust and lighting and as Ven walks out fairing his armour and helmet in a blaze of fire washing over his body his 2 red eyes breach the helmets tinted visor, staring at the captain, his white coat flows behind him as he says “Ven what are you doing?” “A blink drive just broke my coffee table and I'm here to find out more about it.” Ven says as his gun slowly materialises on his thigh “you're not going to use that?” the captain says raising an eyebrow “no” Ven says with a smile his helmet fades away his clothes returning to normal “so the blink drive was that you or?” Ven says looking around the empty bridge “no but we have tracked it to a planet not that far away I was about to call your team and then...” the captain pointing at Ven with his arms outspreaded “you and your team will be on the move in ten minutes.” the captain says this as Ven walks bye and goes back throw the portal, the rest of the team is watching kree spin his knife around his hands until Ven walks throw the portal and says, “ok the captain know where the device came from, get ready.” Ven and his team loaded into their ship the vanguard a smooth model curser class designed to get in and out and cause an explosion or 2, the ship was held in a small hanger just outside the communal area of the Alpha 13 command centre the ship engines turn on its clamps holding it in place released, and the ship started to fall into the deep void of space the vanguard meet up with 2 other ships before they jumped, it opened a chamber under the nose of the ship a slip-space cannon lowed itself and fired a single shot causing a large and loud opening to slip-space its edges violently trying to close the 3 ship enter the portal and it closes shortly after, the ship was shaking due to the energy bouncing of the hull “VIOLENT isn't it” Abby said fighting for control of the ship nav system, “OK when we land make sure that you’re wearing your cold-protection Armor” Ven said while putting on his coat, Jake starts to put on his vest until Ven says “Jake you'll need to cover your arms too, you don't want them freezing you won't be able to do much” Jake nods and grabs a bigger coat.

A slip-space portal opens with a grinding screech and loud blast of energy the purple vortex expands and 3 ships slowly crawl out and enter an orbit of a planet frozen in time, as the Vanguard was preparing to drop to the planet the other 2 ships would stay in orbit and bring backup if needed, the Vanguard’s engines turn on and it heads to the planet passing throw a snowstorm as large ice shards fall from the sky doges and narrowing missing the ship the Vanguard’s shield fairing changing from green to red, the ship passing throw the storm leaving a hole in the clouds revealing a white plane surface of snow with a small building the back hanger door of the Vanguard open and the ship spins to show the hanger, Ven, Abby, Kree and Jake all go to the hanger wearing there cold-protection Armor a gust of wind nocks Kree to his knee in reflex Kree grabs a railing as he is blinded by the snow, his eyes reeling in a small pain  to adjust to the snow “Kree” Ven yells as the wind blows by “are you ok” he continues the ships door reaches the snowy floor “okay everyone spread out try to find a door, it’s really cold”

Ven told the team on the radio the winds howl ringing in his ear, a static howl screeches throw the radio Ven concerned with this he jumps into the sky and a blast of energy is sent from his chest his eyes split like a dragon and can see 5 energy signals, 3 signals were intertwined almost dancing Ven realised there were fighting he calls this on the radio and the team charges the building Ven braking down from the roof the debris falling with him fire rising from the ground with him he looks up to see Abby who had delt with 2 unknown individuals “I expected something else, not going to lie” Ven said laughing a little “well I am an Alpha member Ven” Abby said with a smirk “yep” Ven said looking around the room “this place is really old” Ven said “yea these guys were tiring to delete some files they also tried to steal this" Abby handing Ven a smaller version of the blink drive “take this to the ship we need it” at this point Jake and Kree run throw an aged door slowly opening Jake uncovering his face from his red scarf “HURRY there are ships on the way, 40 of them" Jake gasping for breath.

Ven looking at Abby and says “go" as she starts running, “ok where're holding the line, none of them get to the Vanguard!” Ven ordering the rest of his team, Ven getting to the roof and can barely see the fleet of ships “scavengers” Ven whispered to himself as a large bright light is placed on top of the small stations hut the storm closes in and the hut’s lights fade into the dust and wind of the storm the presence of the ship cannot be forgotten the sounds of the engines were louder than the storm Ven blast the side of this ship it did not have shields Ven grind and jumped back down his entry hole “Jake I need a portal from lower orbit... I have a plan” Ven smiling as he puts on his helmet as Jake opens his portal the sky Infront of him he jumps, and dives throw while Ven was falling he was building up kinetic energy to part the clouds and allow a signal throw bringing the 2 ships in higher orbit as Ven is falling from the clouds Binary emerges from his shoulder in a small blaze of fire this small dragon says, “are you sure you can do this?” Ven nods does a spin and confuses his fall, Binary says “fine but hold on!" As she covers his in a flaming cloak of fire that tuns into a larger version of Binary they both breach the storm pashing the ships in a Blair but before Ven hits the ground he releases his built-up energy in a blast so powerful it pushes back the 40 ships along with the storm 26 of the scavenger's ships crashes into a frozen ocean of pure ice Ven’s blast had blown away all the snow around the hut making a makeshift wall.

The Vanguard spins up its engines and slowly flouts above the hut it weapons charged as the rest of the scavenger’s ship raise from the snow, the falling snow causes a mist under the ships the storm as its background and a loud horn can be heard as a hoard of smaller ships are launched “great they have attack ships now” Kree said holding his Eletronic swords hilt spinning around his hand and ignites his blades “the signal has been sent we have like 30 minutes” Jake said messing with a small panel “HOLD THEM OFF!” Ven said summoning his 9 spirit orbs, Ven them preforms a small hand sign interlocking his fingers and pushing them out launching a blaze of fire that transformed into Binary she then charges the largest ship latching on top of its hull ripping Armor pieces off until she can see the reactor of the ship, she tilts her back and blasts the ship with hell fire breaching the core and makes the ships engines explode dropping it to the snowy floor, Ven creating another hand sign to attack a different ship once binary is released Ven fly's up and forms a small sun in his hand he then throws it at a larger ship, Ven hit the ground and runs to attack a drop ship as he does the large ship flies over head and explodes as it hits the ground he raised his hand and fired a small blast witch destroys the drop ship in a ball of fire as he slides under a closing door of hut “11 left let get this done!” Ven calls over the radio.

Abby spinning the engines of the Vanguard and flies behind the rest of the fleet launching a barrage of missals a second horde of smaller ships start to chase the Vanguard, Abby realises and runs into the storm the horde follows her blindly, Kree blitzes throw a small group of scavengers until the Vanguard flies over head he throws his blade into a Scavengers head the lighting stored in the blade expels pushing back the rest of its group allowing him to grab his blade and kill the rest of the scavengers and run back to the hut “ok that’s like 3,4 ships maybe how's our backup going and where's Abby and the Vanguard?” Ven said loading his pistol “the backup ships are 2 minutes away and I think see flew back into the storm” Jake said with his face into a console “ok you fine here... right?” Ven asked “yes I'm fine go” Jake said trying to push him out of the room Ven grabs his helmet from the table and heads outside as Ven opens the main door a gust of wind hits him in the face and Kree is standing Infront of him and says, “alright what's the plan?” “we have 3 minutes until backup gets, here” Ven says holding up 3 fingers “so deal with that” Ven says pointing at a scavenger dreadnought.

Dreadnought pushing itself out of the storm “great, you said 3 minutes... right?” Kree said tired from fighting “ok yes let's try this” Ven said raising his hand pointing all 5 fingers towards the dreadnought, a small energy builds up on each of his finger and is released ripping throw the air the 5 beams intertwine and hits the dreadnought’s shield causing minor damage “great...” Ven said while his helmet folds into a cap and the smoke from his finger fades “that all you got...VEN” Kree said mocking Ven’s attack “do you want to try?” Ven said clenching his fist and a small flame emerging from it “nope do wana try punching it, that usually work” Kree said sliding down a wall, out of breath while Ven staired blankly at Kree tilting his head, Ven looking out into the snow-white ground the sky corrupted by the dreadnought presence he again tilts his head and notices a small crack in its shield and a small drone lacing it with an energy healing the ship “hmm that’s interesting” Ven said as Kree popped up from his small nap “What. Where. Who? oh hi... Ven what's happening” “Kree were you asleep really … anyway I found that the dreadnought has drones that heals the shield” Ven said while helping up Kree “get to the Vanguard and attack that ship with everything”.

Ven looking down at the ship he starts to run from the left side of the hut’s door he runs until the snow is built up too much to run so he jumps and starts to fly a blast of energy pushing him into his flite Ven lifts his right leg up to his chest and a second blast of energy pushes him faster the ships turrets start to aim at him, Ven pulls his arm and starts to attack the ship in a repetitive blast of fire, Ven releases binary to cover him while he charges a concentrated beam hiding himself inside the snow storm, Binary covering the ships shield in flames its turrets firing blindly throw it until the ship stops suddenly and turns to the storm pointing directly at Ven, the fire still raging on top of the shield the ship was detecting Ven inside the storm, the turrets aimed and fired into the storm until a bright white beam of light breaches throw the storm and charges towards the ship, the ship pushes itself up trying to dodge the blast but one of its engines stops, overloads and explodes stopping it from its escape then the blast hits its shield braking it under the weight shattering it too Pieces and all that remains from the dreadnought is a fire ball falling to the ground lighting up the storm.

Ven dropping to the snowy floor and as he walks to the hut he falls and laughs trying to breath before Ven can stand the Vanguard flies throw the storm and lands Infront of the hut a large ramp lowers from the back of the ship Abby and Kree walks out and points to Ven laughing in the snow and says “Jake is he okay? how long has he been like this?” “just a few minutes" Jake said leaning on the huts wall “WHERE ARE THOSE SHIPS, WE CALLED FOR!!!” Ven said getting up from the snow and brushing himself off, he then looks up into the shy to see both ships remains flying towards them “RUN!” Ven shouted ordering everyone into the ship as they prepare to take off, the remains catching fire from re-entering the atmosphere causing large explosions across the large empty snowy field the shockwaves shaking the ship as its engines push it into the sky, the clouds covering the bridge’s window until the Vanguard rocketing throw into orbit as the ship’s nose lowered to show 600 Scavenger ships surrounding the ship and its crew...

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer Chapter 21: The Awakening

I sprinted all the way to the Executive department, arriving out of breath. I saw that Caesar and Nono already arrived. Not only were students here but older people I assumed to be professors were here as well, sitting behind computer consoles. All eyes turned to me as I stood in the doorway out of breath.

My mind was trying to work out where in the world I should go when I heard someone behind me. I quickly stepped aside as Lu Mingfei tried to stumble to a halt having almost run full tilt into me. I panicked as he hit the floor, sliding a few inches.

“Lu-Senpai! Are you okay!” I tried to help him up.

He rubbed his forehead. “I’m fine! I’m fine!” He said as I followed him to his chair.  Then he looked confused. “You’re not going to sit with Johann?”

“He’s not here.”

Master list

Professor Schneider rolled out in a wheelchair. An oxygen mask on his face, he spoke in spurts gasping between phrases. “An artifact recovered from Siberia has activated. It contains valuable dragon genetic material. However, unless we can find a way to shut down its container, this material could be lost.”

"Our top scholars have placed the urn’s origins between 6,000 and 7,000 BC. Before the first dragon revolution, predating the four lords. We cannot lose its contents.”

I gasped. On a large screen was that urn, the one from the photo in Siberia - that same urn that caused the earthquake!

I averted my eyes but it was too late. Whispers came in waves even louder than before.

“We believe the activation is a fail save, to prevent the contents inside from ever being released or opened.” Schneider was continuing to talk, but I couldn’t listen for the growling voice demanding my attention, snarling and barking orders.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Lu whispered to me. "Are you okay?

"It's that-...” I whimpered. “-The picture!”

"What picture?"

"They shouldn't have-!" I wanted to cry. The voice in my mind was so threatening and cruel. The minute I started to speak it overruled me, screeching, startling me to silence!

“Carli, do you have something you’d like to share?” Caesar curled one fist under his cheek smiling, but his smile was short-lived when he saw that I was in actual pain. 

The mental voices didn’t need to breathe or take a pause to collect their thoughts. They were thoughts, running in a continual unending stream, robbing me of my own will.

I could feel Lu’s hands on me, shaking me. I looked him in the eye. He was beautiful, in radiant light. I smiled and placed my hands on his face as if to kiss him. Caught in a trance, the words in my head and the words coming from my mouth were one chorus.

“So indomitable is your strength that they sought to contain you. But you can’t be contained. Rise to your fated victory.”

Lu’s face paled. “Carli, what are you saying?”

A voice came over the loudspeaker. “Sir! The urn! It’s moving? Like a mechanical device!”

“Get a video on scre-” Schneider’s voice cracked and descended into coughing.

The screen came on anyway. The urn had unfurled mechanical wings and from the wings hung a hideous one-eyed worm with needle teeth . Its wings made a rapid chittering as it rose. Metal bells rang from its tail.

The last vision for the Cassell students who were unlucky enough to be in the lab where this creature awoke was of a spinning ethereal wheel surrounding it. They heard the hum as it gathered power and they felt, however briefly, its flash of obliterating dark energy. Their screams stopped short. The video cut to static.

The ground rumbled with the power of the blast, throwing me to the ground and waking me up out of my trance. Alarms sounded throughout the campus. “Dragon attack! Dragon attack!”

“Carli! Are you okay? Get up!” 

I pushed myself up to my knees. 

Caesar vaulted up over our desk. “Get up! Go!”

I got to my feet staggering out of the hall. 

Manstein was shouting into his phone. “Get Anjou on the line! Raise the restriction on Speaking Spirit!” He turned to another device connected to the PA system. “ All students report to the Library!”

The front courtyard of the library building had collapsed into a gaping hole in the pavement. The creature floated over it, hovering with its buzzing mechanical wings. It seemed half living creature and half machine. The sound of its wings were the whirring of gears in its joints. Its scales were augmented with metal plating.

As I looked up, some sort of protective shield was descending over the entire campus. “No one gets in or out until that thing is dead!” Caesar roared. “To the last man! For Gattuso!”

The dragon opened his putrid maw. Its voice growled out over the campus. "Kneel before the Great God or Perish!"

Caesar led the charge, sending a rapid fire barrage at the beast. The bullets whistled and roared, like no gun I’d heard in my life.

The dragon shuttered it’s mechanical wings around his fragile soft body, sending bullets pinging and sparking. Eyelets on their outer edges opened, whined with energy and discharged a hailstorm of glassy ink-black shards..

I screamed and threw myself to the ground. The shards exploded on impact with the pavement, pummeling me with sharp bits of shrapnel that tore my clothing and left me bloody. People fell, impaled in the face, neck and chest. People were screaming.

I crawled under a bench for cover. But what cover could ever withstand an attack like that? Ground-shaking booms sent my ears ringing. Cannons had surfaced from the tops of the buildings and rained down a constant bombardment on the beast. It shrieked in fury from the fire and the smoke. The spinning ethereal wheel of death whirled once more, letting out a threatening hum. Streamers of dark substance sprayed out from it and slammed into one of the buildings, sending rubble crashing down.

A dark aura burst from it blocking any return assault. Energy swirled around it, pulsating. Its single yellow eye glowed brightly behind the shield.

 I peered about for any sign of my friends and spotted Principal Anjou who tossed his lit cigar to the ground and threw out his arm. “Time Zero!”

True to the name, everything went frozen and silent. He turned and looked at me. “My dear.”

I looked up at him, feeling like I was so close to fainting.

“The creature is immature, it’s using its strength to grow to its mature state. The time distortion will only last three minutes.” He pulled out a gold pocket watch from his custom suit with a cheeky grin. “Let’s see how much damage you can do.” He started the clock ticking. 

I got to my feet and rushed forward, eyes closing. I didn’t have to see the light beam to know it was there.  “Ielia!”

She was beside me. 

There was no time to think or plan or strategize. I flung as many shards of light as I could at the dark bubble, knowing that everyone I’d met, everything I had left depended on it. With the same determination, Ielia, who was much more experienced in battle, turned to me, urging me to imitate her as she formed hers into a ball and tossed it at the protective hull. It exploded on impact. I stared in surprise, not realizing I had that ability.

The shell was starting to fracture under the bombardment. Ielia extended her hand and her shaft of energy grew longer, sparking like a comet. I looked at my own and imitated her stance, it worked. Its hissing grew louder and the light grew brighter. It started to smoke.

“15 more seconds!” Anjou shouted. 

It was starting to shake loose from my hand. I let it go and it hung in the air. Only by my mental say-so did it fly to the bubble and stick there, drilling its way through. I lifted my hands and raised ten more like it and threw them all at once.

Anjou held out his arm and snapped his fingers.

The entire campus exploded with a burst of light, bright like a sun. People shielded their eyes as everything I had done seemed to happen all at once.

The bubble collapsed. One mechanical wing was shattered. The dragon listed to one side as it came under unrelenting cannon fire. It smashed into the ground and thrashed, screaming. 

Anjou retrieved his cigar where he’d tossed it and brushed it off. “Very well. That’s quite enough.” He said into a device on his wrist, his voice coming over all channels. “We need to leave something to study.”

The thunderous artillery fire went silent. The moans and cries of the wounded filled the courtyard.

He approached me. “Well done.”

“This was my fault… I woke it up…” I whimpered.

“I’ve been at this war for many decades. This goes far beyond you my dear. However, having you at my side… It’s enough to give me hope.” He solemnly watched the medical personnel sort out those they could save from the hopeless.

I looked up at him. “But I woke it up. People are dead now. People always die around me!”

“It is not…” He said sharply, before softening his tone. “... your fault. There is an effect called the Blood Call. In short, those with high purity can stimulate the awakening of dragons. It could have been any of us. But even if it was you, that’s hardly your problem.”

I twined my fingers and hung my head. “Yessir.”

“This dragon was exceptionally strong and strange. Its words… concerning.”

He walked away as Manstein approached wailing about the massive damage that had occurred to the campus and his students.

That thing had woken up and it attacked so harshly, pitilessly and immediately. It was so different from my father.

Already, the gear department was working on getting the pieces of the dragon onto a truck.

Lu walked up to me, clear concern on his face.  “Are you going to be okay?”

The way he was looking at me. Expecting me to turn servitor again? “Yes. My blood is up but… not that far yet.” 

“I… I didn’t mean that.” He said quietly. “I mean, you’re okay… right?”

“I… don’t know.”

I watched Caesar. He was gathered with a few of his club members, no doubt accounting for their losses. He had so many people willing to throw themselves into the breach for him. Maybe if things had been different I would have been the same way. 

He seemed alright so I wouldn't approach. I was sure he lost more than one of his club members.

Instead, I said, “I’m thirsty.” 

And I walked away from the battlefield. I was feeling strangely numb. The danger was over, gone. But I wasn’t a shaking mess like I had been after the party just a few days ago.

I checked my phone. I had a message from Johann. I responded that I was okay. And that I was happy he was okay too.

Lu retrieved a cola from a vending machine for me. We sat in silence on a bench. I was feeling a little more now. The image of Lu, shining bright, had stuck in my head, the words of the dragon regarding him we're pure admiration, whereas towards me, they were anything but adoring.

He looked over at me and I realized I was staring.

"What is it?"

"If I told you, you'd get upset."

I may have stirred the dragon but it didn't wake up for me.

[main-to-card-games-and-pain]

fifty-four

I'm back on that angst train y’all! I just started university, I’m stressed to all Hell, and my most dear and wonderful friend - blondsak - wanted some angst, so here we are. I really hope you enjoy this piece, I worked on it for literal months. Reblogs are always appreciated. As always ST*RKERS CAN F*CK OFF. 

Read on A03

...

Tony Stark, despite popular belief, felt fear quite regularly. He had PTSD and frequent panic attacks, of course he did. The fear he felt when he woke up chained to a wall, the Hydra emblem gleaning at him in the red light of his cell was unmatched to anything he’d felt before. 

He remembered the attack in Manhattan, it had come out of nowhere, sudden charges of power exploding and taking out buildings in their wake. He’d felt the explosions throw his suit like little more than a plaything, all the civilians running, screaming, devastated. Then he was falling, the suddenness of it making his heart stutter in his chest.

Peter had called for him- Peter. 

Oh God, what if they had him too? They couldn’t have got him too. Please.

He didn’t remember what happened after he hit the ground, but he could guess. 

He was here, after all. He was here and he was terrified. 

Tony debated whether or not he should move and attempt to escape his restraints, at the risk of alerting his captors he was awake, or stay still and bide his time a for a little longer, when the door opened with a metallic screech and four silhouettes entered the cell. 

Perhaps in another situation the inventor might’ve made a sarcastic comment, but this was Hydra, and even Tony Stark wouldn’t dare. 

“We know you’re awake,” one of the silhouettes singsonged in an English accent. “You can’t hide anything from us here.” 

His voice sent goosebumps up Tony’s spine, like the brush of a razor blade - not painful but ever so threatening. He responded by lifting his head to face the man. 

He watched in mild fascination as the Hydra agent tapped his watch and activated a hologram which projected Tony’s heart rate, location, and a counter which at the moment said zero. The cuffs, the billionaire realized belatedly, the cuffs must have sensors in them. 

Swallowing, Tony made his first attempt at a reply. “Why am I here?”

Without warning the lights burst into existence, attacking Tony’s eyes with their fluorescence. He bit back a cry and shielded his eyes as best as he could, tilting his head to the side and furrowing his eyes shut. 

The room glowed it was so white.

Tony’s fingers itched for his sunglasses, the brightness of his surroundings pounding into his corneas and piercing the back of his skull. Warily he let his eyes relax open, hoping that they would eventually adjust and allow him to see his captors. 

They were grinning at him, sinister, dangerous things that reminded him of snakes more than people. He knew which one had spoken to him; the man was the only one dressed in a business suit whereas his colleagues all sported crude Hydra uniforms and were armed to their teeth. He had light skin, chestnut hair, and eyes so blue they appeared ethereal. 

“You’re here because we felt like it,” the man finally replied, touching another button on his wrist and releasing Tony’s cuffs from their chains. Tony landed with a grunt, his ankle giving out and sending him crashing to his knees. He made to get up but was halted by that man’s cutting voice once again, “No, stay there.”

Tony did, but didn’t shy away from making eye contact with his captor. “I like to know the name of my kidnappers,” he grit, clenched fists hanging uselessly at his sides. 

“Warner,” the man supplied, an amused smirk pulling his lip upwards. He bowed exaggeratedly. “At your service, oh Highness of Death.” 

“That’s not my title anymore.” It never was, Tony thought. 

“We’ll see about that, after we’re finished with you.” 

Cold washed through Tony’s veins. Before he could properly think about his words he was blurting, “I won’t build you anything, no matter what you do to me.”

Warner laughed. “We are not some low grade terrorists who want you to build us one of your infamous weapons. Firstly, we’ve our own; a fact you were made privy to in Manhattan today. Secondly, we know you’ve some experience with... physical coercion... but let me assure you that that is nothing compared to what we have in store for you.” 

Tony watched with dejected expectation as Warner pressed another button on his watch and the cuffs instantly began to shoot streams of agony through his veins. He collapsed to the ground with a hoarse shout, going boneless in the fire’s wake. His muscles were going to spasm but he could hardly care when his entire body was screaming in agony. 

It stopped as suddenly as it came, leaving the inventor panting on the ground. 

“A little more complex than simple waterboarding, yes? More effective I suspect as well.” 

“I told you, I won’t build you anything.” 

The entire group suddenly advanced on him, quickly invading his personal space as Warner knelt next to him and harshly yanked his hair back. 

“And I told you that that’s not what we’re after. No, you’re going to kill many, many people all because we want you to.” 

Tony blinked, his confusion evident. Flashes of the Winter Soldier invaded his mind and he wondered if the same fate awaited him.

“No,” Warner smirked like he could read his mind, his voice condescending, “we’re not interested in another of Steve Rogers’ ex-boyfriends becoming our newest assassin.” 

Tony couldn’t restrain his eye-roll. “Then what,” he grunted, “what do you expect me to do?” 

“You never had children, did you?” Tony’s body tensed at the sudden change in topic. 

“No,” he replied warily. “Never got around to it.” It was a lie, but not on paper.

“But you’ve a wife?”

“Never got around to making that official either.”

Warner hummed. “I don’t appreciate being lied to, Mr.Stark,” he tutted. 

“I haven’t-” he was cut off by a scream tearing its way through his throat, jerking messily against the ground as the cuffs reactivated. 

“I told you, you can’t hide anything from us here, including your whelp,” Warner hissed as Tony writhed, the inventor’s eyes widening in fear. “So I expect you to do as we say, or you can expect to watch dear Peter Parker be tortured until he begs for death, and then we’ll slit his throat and you can watch him bleed.” 

“N-no,” Tony gasped, “y-you don’t have him-” another wave of pain cut his sentence off. 

“Not yet, but we have you, how hard do you think it’ll be to get him here?” 

The pain ended abruptly, but Tony felt a new kind of pain rip through him at the thought of Peter being brought here. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” he hissed, “don’t bring him into this.”

“Good,” Warner smiled, standing straight and stepping away from Tony’s collapsed form. “In a few moments you’ll hear that door buzz open, when it does one of our more... disposable men will enter, unarmed of course. You will kill him, and if you fail you know what will happen.” 

 Eyes widened almost comically, Tony sputtered in response to the demand. “W-what? You’re insane! N-”

“I’d think very hard about what you’re about to say, Stark.” The man’s voice promised nothing but pain and blood and screams, gone was the false sense of amusement. “And the consequences of your actions.”

Something beeped and a projection flickered onto the wall opposite Tony’s restraints. The inventor gasped in dismay. “No. How did you...?”

“We’ve your suit, and you had quite a surveillance system set up for your boy. Poor thing, look at him, crying for his father.” Peter’s eyes were rimmed with red, and he looked truly wrecked as he stared aimlessly at his wall. It was a live feed, Tony could tell, Peter’s alarm clock blaring the time back at him. “Hydra is closer to him than you thought, I hope you realize.”

Tony’s suit was supposed to be un-hackable for this exact reason. He was supposed to keep Peter safe; the thought of him being taken and tortured because of him was unbearable. So he would do whatever they said, for he could handle blood on his hands but he couldn’t handle Peter’s. The feed cut away away and Tony felt such an immense sense of loss he couldn’t breathe. 

“Fine,” he whispered. “Fine, I’ll do it.” 

Warner smiled at him, reminding Tony too much of a shark. “Good,” he said, “I’m going to enjoy this.” 

Tony was only alone for a moment after they left, only able to try and come to terms to what he’d agreed to for a moment before an ugly, blaring, buzzing, sound went off and held for one second, two, and the door opened. 

The inventor stood, determined to face down his opponent with as much dignity as possible. But it was just a boy; he was in a Hydra uniform and looked very intent on killing Tony, but still, he was just a boy. 

Ten minutes later Tony collapsed back to the floor, the white room stained with a growing red, and he sobbed. 

And somewhere in the facility the counter in Warner’s watch beeped and the counter flickered from zero to one. 

...

Two months later

Peter knew that Mr.Stark was still alive, he would’ve felt if they killed him. When Rhodey found out it was Hydra behind the attack he’d taken Peter aside and told him that even if he was right Tony was as good as dead. 

Peter had pushed him, yelled at him, accused him of indifference and abandonment. 

The words felt like lead on his tongue as soon as he saw the flash of pain in the colonel’s eyes. Rhodey had lost his best friend, he missed him just as much as Peter did, and Peter had been cruel to him. The teen apologized the next day, but explained that he couldn’t just give up. 

Now he’d finally found a way to locate Mr.Stark, knew which warehouse he was being kept in, and Rhodey didn’t want him going. Talk about adult hypocrisy. 

“But I’m the one who found him,” Peter argued, pacing frustratedly. “You didn’t even want to try!”

“I did try, Peter,” Rhodey groaned, “and I’m proud of you for finding that warehouse but you have to understand why I can’t let you go.”

Peter wasn’t stupid, he knew what they’d all been doing since Tony went missing. Rhodey, Happy, even Pepper had gotten it into their heads that since they thought Mr.Stark wasn’t coming back it was up to them to protect Peter. 

“No, explain it to me. I’m enhanced, I can help.” 

“And what would Tony say to this?”

“Don’t do that,” Peter ground out. “Don’t use him as an excuse, if you won’t let me go you tell me why.” 

“Because I don’t want you seeing something you won’t recover from,” Rhodey finally hissed. “This is Hydra, Peter, do you understand what that means? That means that we have no guarantee that Tony is alive, and if he is, what condition he’s in. I don’t want you seeing that. And I don’t want to put you into that kind of danger, bringing you there.”

“Tony would go for me in a second.”

“Of course he would, Peter, but he’s an adult and you’re a-”

“Don’t call me a child, I’m not-”

“Yes you are. You’re Tony’s kid, and I can’t let you be hurt.”

“The other Avengers aren’t here anymore. You need me.” Grim satisfaction overtook Peter as he caught Rhodey’s jaw clench. He was right. Hydra was definitely Avengers business, and without the others the police may not be enough. “I won’t do the fighting bits Rhodey, just let me look for Mr.Stark, please.” 

Before, the colonel had always wondered how and why Tony always caved in whenever Peter begged him for something. Now, he understood just fine. 

“Fine, but things go south and you’re gone, promise.”

“I promise.” 

Peter had never needed anything as much as he needed to be there when they rescued Mr.Stark. It was like a primal instinct, the same instinct that had driven him to continue a seemingly hopeless search, or told him to cling to that spaceship when everything else told him to let go; he was quite sure he’d never have been able to sit idle on the sidelines. 

What the teenager hadn’t anticipated was the vehement resistance from Happy. 

He’d actually shouted at Rhodey about Peter’s attendance. Yelling about responsibility, and risk, and really yelling about Peter’s safety. In the end, he knew it was a losing battle, so in a moment of uncharacteristic tenderness he grabbed Peter by the arms and made the teen look at him. 

“You stay safe, you hear?” Peter nodded his head, trying to reassure the man with his eyes alone. “No, I want to hear you say it.”

“I already promised Rho-”

“Well, promise me now,” Happy insisted. 

“I promise I’ll do my best to stay safe.”

“Good.” Happy released him. “Because we are not-” the bodyguard cut off his sentence but Peter knew what he meant. We are not losing you too. “We’re not dealing with the paperwork of an injured intern.” 

“Of course not,” Peter grinned. “I probably won’t even be noticed, I’m going in in one of their uniforms.”

“Alright,” Happy said softly, taking a step back from Peter. He locked eyes with Rhodey and the two shared an understanding. 

Take care of him. 

I will. 

...

He remembered when the room was white enough to hurt his eyes. 

The blood had been so noticeable then, a splash of crimson that demanded his attention. Look at me, it shouted, look at what you did!

It shouted and it whispered and somehow it did both. 

Then the tenth body had been removed, the fifteenth, the twentieth, and the blood itself wasn’t so noticeable anymore, spread as it was around the room. The whispers, however, they were ever constant. 

But there was a routine. Rules. An order to things. They had never been unpredictably cruel to him and Tony didn’t know if he should be grateful or not. 

Because yes, he’d had his fair share of torture in the past weeks, agony that erupted from the cuffs and spread through his veins like liquid fire, but at least he always knew why. Why, and what he could do to not upset them in the future. 

And if he was good they let him watch Peter for a little while, sometimes he was patrolling (which wasn’t all that often anymore) and sometimes he was sleeping, but it was Peter and Tony knew it would be the only way he’d ever get to see the kid again. 

And then the signal would go off and the door opened and Tony attacked. Because that was the rule: noise=attack silence=kneel and if he got it wrong they’d make sure he was sorry. 

When he was done and the bodies were taken away he still felt the same guilt as his first, but he didn’t cry, not anymore. He felt shame too, he was little more than a trained dog and he knew it, despite being called his former moniker. Prince of Death indeed. 

Had they not threatened to take Peter if he died Tony was sure he’d have taken his own life by now. 

...

Peter heard the shouts and the bullets from above, enhanced hearing and all, and he winced every time a bullet cut off a shout, but it was necessary. 

No one really shot him a second glance, dressed as he was, face hidden under the standard issue ski-mask and uniform matching them all. Everyone was running around after all, no one person really in charge of what should be done about the twenty plus Iron Man suits attacking their base, headed by the War Machine. They were all just attacking the threat willy-nilly. Peter had a suit on him as well, underneath the Hydra uniform Spider-Man was waiting - more bullet protection than anything, he didn’t hope nor expect to be taking off his disguise - and in a buttoned pocket one of Mr.Stark’s nanobot watches. For when they took him home. When, not if.

He rushed through the corridors, mindful how the security progressively got tighter and tighter. The prison cells were around here, he knew it. 

574RK, one read. Peter recognized its other meaning instantly. STARK 

Huh. For the most deadly and cruelest evil organization in the world they sure had a lame sense of humour. 

Peter removed the Trojan drive from his belt, inserting it covertly into the keypad on Tony’s cell, waiting patiently as it flashed orange. The door would be open soon, and Tony would be on the other side, and he would be alive. Peter knew it. 

He had to be.  

...

By the time he’d breached the control room Rhodey was exhausted. Emotionally, spiritually, physically, you name it, he was tired. He didn’t like killing and yet he’d done enough of it today to last a person their lifetime. 

But then Peter’s voice had flickered through his comm, a hushed whisper of “I’ve located Mr.Stark’s cell, retrieval time is an estimated three minutes,” and Rhodey found within himself a new vigour. 

He prepared himself for another fight, so it was a jarring shock when he breached the control room and found not twenty men but one. One man, with light brown hair and piercing blue eyes, lounging with his feet propped on the desk and playing with a holographic image above his watch. 

Frankly, it stopped Rhodey in his tracks. 

“Good afternoon, Colonel Rhodes,” the man drawled with an English accent. “Did you make it here okay? I’ve found traffic in America doesn’t fare much better than London.” 

Rhodey would bet his entire life-savings that this man was in charge. He raised his blaster. “We got here fine, thanks.”

“Yes, you and the Peter Parker boy.” Rhodey froze, his heartbeat drumming obnoxiously in his ear. “Don’t worry,” the man teased, “we won’t touch him; our little deal with Mr.Stark.”

“Tony’s alive then?” Rhodey hoped it did not sound as desperately hopeful as he thought it did. 

“Of course,” Warner hummed, finally swivelling to fully face Rhodey. “Would you like to see?”

Rhodey watched tensely as Warner fiddled with his watch. His blaster twitched, unsure if there was a threat or not. The man seemed to see this, slowing his movements almost mockingly and displaying a new hologram. 

Tony’s face glared at Rhodey, right above his location - the warehouse they were in - and next to his steady heartbeat. It released a knot in Rhodey’s heart he hadn’t exactly known was there. Then something else caught the colonel’s eyes. 

Swallowing past a lump in his throat, he regained his voice. “What does fifty-four mean?” 

The Englishmen smiled, and it sent goosebumps up Rhodey’s spine. “You’ll see.” 

SHIELD definitely wants someone like him. “Get on your knees,” Rhodey said, regaining his nerve slowly, “hands up.” 

Warner complied, sinking from the seat in surrender. And still, Rhodey felt like he was the prey and this smirking, mild man the predator. 

“Before you take me in, I’m afraid there’s one more thing I must show you,” Warner said casually. “For I see that the boy hero is close to entering Anthony’s cell.” 

Rhodey’s eyes flickered to the security screens. He was right. “Don’t move,” he hissed. 

“Oh, but colonel,” the man grinned, “I assure you, you will want to see this.”

“I said don’t move!” Warner’s hands began to drift down from their surrender. “Stay where you are!” 

“Our final curtain;” Warner announced, “what we turned Tony Stark into...” And his hand shot for a button on the desk. 

Rhodey’s blaster fired, killing on impact.

But it was too late, because at that very same second four floors beneath them a cell door opened and a signal alarm blared through the air. 

...

Peter huffed a sigh of relief as the locking mechanism released. He was antsy to get in there and get Mr.Stark out. The noise that followed the door opening almost collapsed the boy where he stood, loud and shrill and so very ominous, but it ended after a few seconds and he was still standing, so he carried on. 

“Mr.Stark,” he called into the bright room, “Mr.Stark?”

It smelled overwhelmingly like copper. Peter realized belatedly that it was the stench of blood, the place positively was covered in it; Peter turned to the side, struggling not to vomit. 

A fatal mistake on his part, it turns out, because the next thing he knew he was being slammed to the ground by something - someone. Mr.Stark, specifically. No wonder his Spidey-Senses didn’t go off, Mr.Stark could never hurt him. 

Well- he definitely could, but he wouldn’t. Right? 

Tony’s fist slammed into his cheek, forcing his head against the cement-hard floor. Right. 

“Tony stop!” Peter twisted underneath his mentor’s knees, wrapping his own around the inventor’s waist and flipping them over. “It’s me! It’s Peter!” 

The man let out a guttural yell, pulling his fist back and swinging. Peter caught it easily, pushing it back towards the ground; he felt Tony’s wrist snap underneath his grip, and Tony screamed. 

“Shit,” the boy yelped, scrambling away from his mentor. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-” 

Peter watched wide-eyed as Tony tried to overcome the pain. His stomach churned with guilt, he was here to help Mr.Stark and he just broke his arm. The man was too weak for someone like Peter to handle roughly. Mr.Stark just didn’t know it was him, if he took off his ski-mask he would recognize him and it’d be fine. 

So he did. And it did nothing. Mr.Stark writhed for a second more before turning himself over, standing, and setting his eyes on the teenager again. It didn’t even look like he recognized Peter. 

Tony advanced on him still, clutching the fractured limb close to his chest. Peter began backing himself up towards the wall, determined not to fight the man. 

“Tony stop. It’s me, it’s Peter.” He felt his back hit the wall as the mechanic closed the distance between them. Peter lamely pressed his palms against the man’s chest, trying to gently push him away. “Mr.Stark, it’s me!” 

Even with the broken wrist Tony was able to strike Peter, the teen felt the fist collide with his cheek once, twice, and finally it twisted into his hair and smashed his head into the wall. 

The boy collapsed with a gasp, stars bursting across his vision. Tony didn’t waste any time, taking the opportunity to kick Peter’s ribs until he was sure one cracked. 

Now Peter’s Spidey-Sense was going off full gusto but he was too dazed to do anything without hurting his attac- without hurting Tony. 

“Stop!” He curled into himself as Tony’s blows began to escalate in force. “Tony, stop it,” he shrieked, “Stop it!” 

The inventor’s weight settled on his chest, the pressure of his knees adding a new layer of bruises. Panicked hands scrambled for purchase as the inventor made his intent to choke Peter’s life away very clear. Peter pushed the grip around his throat away as forcefully as he dared, flipping them over again. 

He was so dizzy, and a pain had spread to his entire body, permeating his muscles and blood vessels and bones. Tears trickled down his cheeks and splashed against Mr.Stark’s chest. 

Peter took his chance, knowing moving his arms would allow Mr.Stark to attack him again, he desperately smashed the button against his ear that opened his comm-link to Rhodey. 

“Rhodey!” he shrieked, his pain too intense to even try and hide the tears in his voice, “Rhodey I need hel-!”

Mr.Stark drove his knee into Peter’s stomach, earning his release and grappling with the teenager for his position. Knowing he’d be unable to get to his neck the inventor flipped the pair over and drove his elbow into the boy’s chest. 

Peter cried out before suddenly cutting himself off, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. It was like a vacuum had opened in his lungs, he was breathing but he wasn’t getting air. It felt... wet. 

Tony hit him again. And again. And again. And Peter realized he was sobbing because it hurt and it was Tony and he didn’t want to hurt him and he wasn’t even sure if he could at this point. 

Tony Stark was beating him to death. 

It was a disturbing reality to face because, by all means, it made no sense. Peter’s own brain was having a hard time even understanding that that statement was truth, reality, not a nightmare he could wake up from. 

That was the scene Rhodey found when he finally made it to the cell. His chest heaved with the efforts of his mad dash down there, but when he crossed the threshold into that horrific room he froze. 

He thought, when Peter had screamed for him, that he’d find his best friend dead and his kid being attacked by some Hydra agent; the mere thought of it had gripped his heart with despair but it was somehow better than this. 

Because this, this Hell of a scene where his best friend was beating Peter, meant that they’d well and truly broken Tony Stark. Because Rhodey knew with certainty Tony -two months ago - would have rather died than hurt his kid. 

“Tony!” He sprinted across the room to where the two were struggling with each other, ripping the inventor away from the teen. “Tony, what are you doing?!” 

Rhodey didn’t expect the ferocity that Tony fought him with, animalistic struggles desperate to attack the boy. “Tony! It’s Rhodey! You need to stop! It’s over! It’s over!” 

Tony blinked a few times, the change in routine disorientating him away from his now automatic response. It was like something had cut all of his strings, he sagged in Rhodey’s arms, unable to hold himself up anymore. 

The realization of what he’d done came crashing through his mind and ripped horrified wails from his throat. 

“No... no, no, no, no, no, Peter-” he sobbed, “Rhodey please! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, help him.” 

Peter watched the scene through blurry eyes, his tears and blood obscuring his vision. He didn’t understand what was happening; why Mr.Stark started nor why he now stopped, why he was desperately sucking air and yet still felt like he was drowning, why he hurt everywhere and yet felt absolutely numb. In a kind of displaced way, he could feel his body’s efforts to heal him, had he been unenhanced he’d be dead, because none of his injuries were mending. He knew everything he had was being spent keeping himself alive. 

Rhodey reluctantly let his grip slacken, wincing a bit when Tony collapsed to the ground in both pain and anguish. The man was gasping wretched, horrible breaths, rocking and pulling at his hair, almost unaware of the unnatural angle of his arm. 

Dear God, what happened to him?

The thought didn’t have long to settle in the colonel’s mind before his attentions were turned back to Peter. 

Peter, who had blood dribbling down his mouth, and was making awful wet sounding noises that might’ve been gasps for air, and was slowly beginning to slow his movements as he fell unconscious. 

Rhodey rushed to him with widened eyes, terror making his limbs clumsy and stiff as he examined the child. Tony made another desperate plea and stumbled towards them. It was instinctual, and Rhodey didn’t mean to, but everything was so confusing because Peter had been attacked and the attacker was still there, but it was Tony and Tony looked and sounded devastated, but he was the attacker. 

And all of this left Rhodey confused and desperate to protect the both of them. So when Tony rushed towards them the colonel hadn’t had time to sort through everything that happened and just reacted.

Tony stumbled forward only to halt like he’d been hit as Rhodey rounded on him and protectively shielded Peter. “No, stay there,” his friend barked, half looking like he was going to shoot him. 

He could. Tony was a threat. Look at what he did. 

Something snapped in his chest at the thought. Rhodey saw it break and immediately regretted his actions, but he didn’t know what to do. Shaking away his own anguish the ever in control solider fished the watch from Peter’s pocket and approached Tony as fast as he dared to. 

It was hard to talk through the tightness in his chest as he watched his friend kneel unprompted in front of him with practiced ease, tears gathered on his lashes and staining his face. He took Tony’s arm gently and snapped the watch on, his fingers brushing over the cuffs despairingly. “We’ll find a way to get these off soon,” he mumbled. “Until then, FRIDAY take us home.” 

The nanobots encased their creator, responding both to and for him as they formed his suit, following taking flight with their pre-designated route. Meanwhile, Rhodey awkwardly picked Peter up and followed, hoping to God that he wasn’t too late, for either of them. 

...

It was a rush from there, they’d expected a mad dash back to the medical facility, so the med team was ready, but they weren’t expecting two patients in such critical condition.

Not that Tony was accepting any medical attention, oh no, some things never change. 

As soon as the Mark had released him he’d collapsed away from it, not waiting for the nanobots to degenerate back to his wrist and instead ripping away the watch and throwing it away from himself. 

Despite his absence he could still maneuver the suit like it was a second nature, he simply didn’t have the energy. 

Happy had been waiting for him, the hope that lit in his eyes when he saw his boss and friend return alive might’ve endeared Tony before, but now it just nauseated him. 

The inventor swayed just enough to snap Happy out of his stupor and the man rushed towards Tony just in time to catch his collapsing form. 

“We’re gonna take a trip to the MedBay now,” he murmured shifting Tony in his arms a bit. He didn’t expect the resistance he was met with. 

“No!” Tony tried pushing himself away from his friend’s grip. “Peter-” he gasped, and Happy felt a jolt of fear freeze his blood, “Peter needs it more than me - help him- oh God,” Tony wailed. 

Struggling to keep his composure Happy angled the inventor so he had a grip on both his arms but they now faced each other properly. “What happened to Peter, Tony?” There was an urgency in his voice that pulled Tony out of his tormented ramblings. “Tony, Peter and Rhodey aren’t back yet, you need to tell me what happened so I can tell the med team.” 

“I did,” he whispered. 

Alarm bells rang in Happy’s head but he persisted. “What exactly happened?”

“He took a beating,” Tony swallowed, looking haunted as ever, “his rib broke, I felt it go... he- he was spitting blood; I think his lung collapsed. And, and internal bleeding. He might have internal bleeding too.” 

Happy nodded frantically and released Tony for a moment, nervously glancing at him every few seconds, making sure he didn’t collapse as he called Cho. When he returned it was like the inventor had just... shut down. 

“Okay,” Happy said as softly as he could. “Okay let’s get you to the MedBay now too.”

“No,” Tony snarled, “I told you, Peter needs it more.”

“Boss, you need to go to the MedBay you’ve been-”

“They made me see a... someone, every few weeks. Or if I was hurt. I’m fine.” Happy didn’t look too convinced. “Look, if I died or couldn’t put up a fight I was no fun, okay? I’m fine.”

Happy might have fought with Tony more had Rhodey and Peter not arrived in that moment. Tony stiffened, too ashamed and too frightened to turn and see his carnage up close again. Instead, he watched as Happy’s breath hitched in dismay, his eye widening at the sight of Peter, bloodied and mangled. 

“End of the hall,” he managed to bark. “Helen’s waiting. Tony already told me probable injuries.” 

Rhodey nodded silently, casting his own worried glances at his friend while rushing the teenager away to his hopeful salvation. 

As soon as the mechanic lost sight of Peter it was like his last shred of hope and goodness and light had disappeared too, because he absolutely lost it. Happy darted to catch him again as his knees gave way to his grief, pulling the friend he thought he’d lost for good closer to his chest while he sobbed. 

“I did it!” Tony finally cried, unprompted and innocent but still confessing. “I’m the reason Peter- I was the one who-”

But Happy didn’t care, he gripped Tony tighter and let a few of his own tears loose. 

Eventually, when Rhodey was finished helping prep Peter, he made his way back to where the crumpled pair sat. Gently the colonel lowered himself to their level, crouched where Tony could see him. 

“You were right about the lung,” he whispered. Tony flinched. “They’re going for emergency surgeries now. Now it’s time for you to-” 

“I already told you, no,” Tony hissed. 

“Peter broke your arm Tony,” Rhodey growled. “And I know there was other stuff that... happened.” 

Happened. Past tense. Like it wasn’t still happening as Peter bleed into his lungs. Like this wasn’t the worst thing they’d done to him, could do to him. 

“He needs-” 

“Not everyone on your team is a surgeon Tony, we’ll just go see someone not working right now to set your arm.” 

Maybe it was because he was so, so tired, or maybe it was because he simply didn’t have the energy to fight anymore, but Tony finally agreed. 

Outside the observation windows Happy pulled Rhodey to the side and hissed, “What the Hell happened?” 

“You think I don’t want to know that too?” 

“How did Peter-”

“Tony did it.” 

“What?”

“I got there and Tony was beating the crap out of Peter; he was trying to kill him.”

The statement hung heavy in the air, neither man knowing what to say to that. 

“Colonel Rhodes,” the doctor finally called, “he’s asking for you.”

Rhodey nodded and followed her into the small sterile med-room, where Tony was laying on the cot with a newly cast arm. He glanced at Rhodey indifferently but sat himself up nevertheless. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Like I look,” Tony replied, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. So, terrible. 

Rhodey huffed and slumped down on the bed as Tony shifted over, and they lapsed into an awkward silence. Silences weren’t usually possible with Tony, he’d always rambled when he was nervous; so this was wrong on so many levels. Everything was wrong. From the moment they got to the facility- no, the moment Tony was taken. 

 “I wasn’t mind-controlled, brainwashed, drugged, or otherwise unaware,” the inventor finally stated matter-of-factly. “I was completely in my right mind when I attacked the kid.” 

“We both know that isn’t true,” Rhodey growled, just barely tipping his head to watch Tony’s facial expressions - he didn’t really have any. “I took an external drive of their file for you; what are the chances I find they didn’t just leave you in a cell for two months?” 

Tony quirked an eyebrow like he was amused and huffed a laugh. “Is that how long it was? Felt longer.” He laid down again, the world once again too heavy. “Did he show you the watch?”

Shifting uncomfortably, in a way only Tony knew he did, Rhodey hesitated. “Yeah, he did.”

“What was the number there?”

Another hesitation, another unknown territory. “Fifty-four.”

A sharp laugh that was too much like a sob escaped the inventor, and a wince in a way only Rhodey knew he did. “Christ that’s a lot. That could put me in a record book somewhere for that.”

“What does fifty-four mean?” Rhodey snapped. Tony went quiet, and then turned himself away from his friend, the broken arm cradled close. 

“People,” he finally mumbled. 

“Excuse me?” A million scenarios rang through Rhodey‘s head, each somehow more horrifying than the other, and he found himself blanching. 

“People,” Tony repeated, softer. “People who I killed while I was there.” 

Rhodey felt the breath leave his lungs, but not like he was choking, like he’d been punched. Tony still wasn’t looking at him, but the colonel could imagine the guilt-stricken, pained expression ruining his expression. 

“So, uh- how long until we find out if it’s fifty-five?” 

“Tony,” Rhodey warned, “stop it. Peter’s going to be fine, and it wasn’t your faul-”

“I wouldn’t have stopped. I would have kept going until he was dead, and then I would have been glad. Just for a bit though, before I realized I just beat my kid to death.” And wow was there a lot to unpack there.

“Why would you have been glad?” His voice was so soft a draft could’ve carried the words away were Tony not clinging to them.

“No torture, food, they would have maybe let me see Peter.” It seemed so simple now, what he’d been living and killing for, but he remembered the complicated mess of his mind every time the buzzer went off. He didn’t remember fighting for those things when he’d do it, not after a while, after a while he would just do it. 

“Show you Peter?”

“They hacked my security.” The statement wasn’t as horrifying as it’d first been, he’d come to realize he couldn’t actually do much good to his loved ones. “Sometimes he’d let me just watch him. They said if I didn’t- if I didn’t do as I was told they’d take him instead.” 

“You didn’t have a choice then Tony; you were forced, conditioned even.” 

“Still fifty-four people dead because of me,” Tony hummed. “You took care of him, when you thought I was dead.” 

The abruptness of the topic change left his companion scrambling for ground, Tony could tell, but the whole affair was rather shaking to begin with. “Yes,” Rhodey replied eventually, “we knew it’s what you would have wanted.”

“I do,” Tony whispered, choking on a lump in his throat. “And it makes me feel better that you’ll do it again, right?” 

Every muscle in Rhodey’s body went rigid. “What does that mean Tony?” The inventor didn’t answer and Rhodey’s mind was assaulted by image after image of a drunken college student confessing he was ready to die at twenty years old. That was then, after what’s happened now? “What does that mean?” 

“I can’t see that kid after this, I mean Christ, look what I did to him.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous Tony! Peter was the one who fought to find you! He wanted you back more than anything else!” Tony had not said Peter’s name through the entire conversation. 

“Yeah, and look what I did! Some gratitude right? Punctured lung, internal bleeding, pain for weeks!” 

“You thought you didn’t have a choice! You are not walking away from him after he-”

“This is not your decision to make! You’ll see, he’ll never want to see me again, I guarantee. He shouldn’t have to! If he knew what was best he’d pack up and get as far away from me as possible! So just- just look after him, okay?” 

Tony sat up faster than he had any right to do, with the shape he was in, and stormed away. 

“Where are you going?” Rhodey followed him, too wary of his injuries to reach and grab him back. 

“I’m going to see if I can still do something worthwhile with my fucking time or if I forgot how to do that too! Tell me if I killed the kid or not but otherwise leave me alone.” 

He’d descended the stairs to the lab and locked the door before Rhodey could even think to reply. 

...

The next few hours were a painful blur for all involved. 

Peter, not having Tony there to calculate his anesthesia, woke up once during his operation. It was bad; the boy had woken up howling in pain, and for a moment the surgeons had thought his flailing would be so bad that they wouldn’t be able to safely approach him. Luckily for all, Peter had stilled on his own and mewled in pain instead. 

It was not easy for Rhodey and Happy to watch, but they both agreed - no one tells Tony about it; it’d just be more ammunition for him to hate himself with. 

If Happy had to excuse himself to throw up, and Rhodey later had to go to the training room and take out his frustrations destroy it, that was no one’s business. 

In truth, they’d both hoped for this day, dreamed about it, as much as Peter had. But unlike Peter, they’d known there would be a price to pay for their friend’s return. If this was the price they weren’t sure they were ready to pay it. 

But Peter survived, he was brought into the recovery room Tony had once jokingly called his. (It was the nearest to Tony’s bedroom.) Now, the joke was just a bit too close to home to repeat. 

Pepper was told of Tony’s rescue over a phone call, because Rhodey was a coward. There was no sobbing in relief, or soft exclamations of gratitude to a higher power. No, there was only a breathless gasp and nimble whisper of, “How bad is it?” 

“Bad,” Rhodey replied. “It’s real bad Pep, I don’t think he’s ready to see you yet.” 

“Alright.” And the call ended. 

But Tony was the worse of them all. 

He didn’t remember how to tinker, as he’d so hoped he would - just to get that agonizing screaming out of his head; sometimes Peter, sometimes one of the others, sometimes Peter but dying like he’d killed the others - and had instead opted to destroy whatever he could find. 

He screamed at a god he didn’t believe in anymore, asking Him why, why he’d been so cruel. What was the point? Of Tony doing all of that to keep Peter safe only to kill him himself. He understood wanting to punish him, but Peter was just a child, he was innocent. 

Jesus Christ, he’d killed his own kid. He- he begged Tony to stop, he was confused too. Tony had wanted to kill him, he remembered what was almost pure instinct running through his veins and all he could think of was the possibility of seeing Peter if he did this right. 

Peter hadn’t wanted to hurt Tony. He wouldn’t even raise his hands after he broke his wrist; he shouldn’t have stopped with the wrist. 

Tony was absolutely certain that if Rhodey came down and told him they’d lost Peter that he would follow shortly after. 

Though, he doubted he would be going to where Peter would be; Hell is a much more appropriate destination for murderers like him. 

His body, as it was, was beginning to fail him. Holding on to any thought was growing more and more difficult, trickling through his fingers like water. (Or blood.) His fingers bled from his rampage, both in his lab and in his Hell, as did the soles of his feet. He was bruised in so many places it was easier to say where he wasn’t bruised. 

It had nothing on what his mind was doing. 

MurdererMurdererMurderer- FIFTY-FOUR - I wonder what their names were; no,no,no,no! Peter’s dead because of you. You you you always you. You’re poisonpoisonpoisonpoison you should take poison, you deserve it. Peter’s dead. Dead dead DEAD DEAD. You liked it you liked killing him you wouldn’t stop he begged you to stop and you didn’t. Monster. Monster. MonsterMonsterMonsterMurdererMurderer- fifty-four is a lot. Listen to him scream he screamed they all screamed and you didn’t stop murderer murderer murderer monster. WHY? you know why you know it’s because you’re poison. Anything you touch is ruined. Fifty-four is a lot - fifty-four? Fifty-five. 

So many. Too many. 

No matter how much he screamed his agony, or sobbed bonelessly against the floor, or sat numbly against a lab bench which had once felt like home, his mind kept screaming. He didn’t think it’d ever stop screaming. 

That’s how Rhodey found him, hours later. After Peter had finished his disaster surgery. Tony sat against his and Peter’s old bench, staring at nothing, looking absolutely destroyed; looking dead.

“Peter is alive,” he announced first, knowing it was the only thing Tony cared about right now. “He’s in recovery but they’re pretty confident that with the healing factor he’ll be okay in a week or two.”

Tony nodded minutely, the only response he’d put his battered body and throat through. 

“Do you want to see him...?” Rhodey crouched in front of him, taking stock of every injury big or small, of the burns and abrasions on his wrists, of the bruises, of the hollowness of his eyes. 

“No,” Tony croaked. “No, I told you what’s going to happen.” 

“Peter wouldn’t want that Tones- doesn’t want that.  He won’t blame you for any of this.” 

“Yeah, well, Peter’s always been too trusting for his own good.” 

I should have never knocked on that kid’s door. 

... 

So for the first time in the two years they’d known each other, Peter woke up in the MedBay alone. 

He was sore pretty well everywhere, aching in a way he’d never experienced before. His head pounded something fiercely and his chest positively screamed. 

But all of that didn’t matter; Tony wasn’t here. Tony was always here. 

And then he remembered what had happened - all of it - from Tony’s capture to the moment they got him back. 

He broke Tony’s arm. 

Tony would obviously never really want to hurt him, he’d just been confused, and Peter broke his arm for it. Maybe that’s why Tony wasn’t around. Or what if he was hurt before all of that (he probably was, he was with Hydra for two months) and it was all too much and he collapsed or something? 

His heart monitor gradually increased speed until it was going crazy, and with its sudden appearance also came Happy. Peter’s breathing shuddered in his chest, causing quick jabs of pain to radiate through his lungs, but it slowly slowed as Happy rubbed his back as gently as he could. 

He appreciated it, he did. He loved Happy, and he’d been great for the past two months, but he wanted Mr.Stark. 

“Where’s Mr.Stark?” He drew away from Happy, not liking the look of foreboding on his face. “Is he okay? What happened after I passed out? Happy?” 

“He’s okay, kid,” Happy finally responded, unable to mask his trepidation, “physically, anyways. But- uh- mentally he’s not doing great. For a while there it wasn’t looking good...” the bodyguard trailed off before gasping once in relief. “You have no idea how good it is to see you awake Peter.” 

“How long have I been asleep...?” He was sixteen years old, he shouldn’t sound like a child, and yet in that moment that’s exactly how he sounded; scared and unsure. 

“Just a day, but they thought it might be longer. No one really knew how your healing factor would react to what happened.” 

“Right, yeah, I remember feeling it work really hard on the inside and not so much on the outside; must be why I’m still so sore,” Peter huffed a half-hearted laugh. “So, I uh- I got close hey?” 

There was a silence that could cut and then, “Closer than anyone ever wants repeated. It was terrifying.” 

Peter broke eye contact first, fiddling with his bedsheets instead. “And Tony doesn’t want to see me, because of it?” 

It didn’t take a genius to work out that Tony would be feeling guilty about this, he thought he was responsible for the world when it came to Peter and so this? This was probably ten times worse than usual. 

“-but he wants to see you, Peter.” Peter blinked, suddenly realizing Happy had been talking. “Are you okay kid, you look a bit spacey... I don’t think they gave you any morphine...” 

“No, no, it’s- I don’t know, I feel a bit woozy to be honest - I’ll sleep it off. I probably just have a bit of a concussion or something, so just wake me in a few hours.” 

“Sure kid.” Happy turned away to leave but stopped- “Peter, do you remember your surgery?” 

“No...” 

Oh thank God.

“I’m guessing I woke up? Otherwise you wouldn’t ask.” Happy winced, Peter was so clever, too clever sometimes.

“Just go to sleep, kid.”  

... 

When he woke up again everything felt much better, except his head, which had zeroed in on one spot and promptly decided to do its best ice pick impression, but he normally had a bit of a headache after a concussion, so he ignored it and focussed on his company. 

No Tony, yet. But Rhodey was visiting with Happy and Pepper. He’d asked of course, but figured it was rather a pitiful sight when his “Is Tony coming?” Was met with a quick shaking head and his own crestfallen expression. 

Tony always made sure he was okay. 

He’d been filled in on everything that had happened to his mentor in the time he was gone, possible triggers, why things had happened as they did, etc. He felt sick just thinking about it. 

He hacked Rhodey’s servers, watched some of the footage, and did get sick. 

But they’d moved on from grim topics for now. Now they were chatting not-quite-happily as Peter adamantly defended his position on why Hercules is the best Disney movie of its time, and Rhodey tries to rebuff that anyone else would say The Lion King had Hercules beat by miles. 

“But you can un-ironically bop to the music from Hercules though,” Peter rebutted, “I don’t know anyone who parties to “Under the Sea.”” 

“Wrong movie, and you’re just not hanging out with the right people then, kid.” 

“Jesus, kid, what is your morphine on?” Happy interjected, leaning in close to Peter’s face. “Your eyes are absolutely blown.” 

“ ‘m not on morphine,” Peter mumbled, confused. “Wish I was, my head is killing me.” 

“Want your water?” Pepper asked, already standing to fetch it. 

“Sure. Yea’wat’r soun’s good,” Peter slurred, furrowing his brow when the words wouldn’t come properly. Everyone else was watching him intently too, wearing similar masks of confusion and concern. 

Pepper held the plastic cup towards him, he reached to grab it and tipped it onto Pepper’s shirt, having pushed it towards her instead of holding it. The woman gasped but was unconcerned about the blouse, Peter shouldn’t be behaving like this. 

“Sorry! I’m s’ sorry...” he tried, wincing again. “My head... h’rts.” 

“Rhodey,” Happy looked to the colonel, who looked just as alarmed, “what’s going on? Is he on a new medication?” 

“Two plus two, Peter,” Rhodey demanded, catching the teen’s attention, “what’s two plus two?” 

“Five...?” 

“Call the doctor.” Rhodey whipped around to order Happy, but the man was already off, pressing the call button and waiting for Cho’s appearance. “I didn’t see him hit his head, but if he did and it was hard...” 

Pepper stripped Peter’s bed of all the various objects he’d had strewn about. “Stay awake,” she snapped at the boy as his eyes drifted shut. “Don’t sleep Peter.” 

Too late. He slipped unconscious and his heart monitor gradually began to slow. 

“Rhodey!” 

“I know Pepper, there’s nothing I can do until-”

“Cho’s here, what the Hell is going on?” 

How could something that had been so mundane go so wrong, so quickly? 

“Someone needs to get Tony,” Pepper finally hissed, “he needs to be here, whether he wants to or not.” 

No one dared argue against Pepper Potts when she used that tone. 

“I’ll get him.” Rhodey cast one last look at Peter, who wouldn’t wake up no matter how hard Happy shook him. The doctors were rushing in now, ready to assess and diagnose and hopefully treat. Happy and Pepper were going to be removed from the room soon too. 

He darted away, leaving Pepper and Happy to listen to Cho as she began to dictate to her team. 

“We missed the head wound during initial surgeries and I don’t think his enhanced healing is able to combat this,” she said as she began her assessment. She shone a light into Peter’s eye and stilled. “ICP is at critical; prep the surgery room.” 

Happy and Pepper knew better than to get in their way while they helped Peter but as soon as the flurry of doctors and movement had begun to take the kid away they grabbed onto Cho. They needed an explanation, he was recovering - what the Hell happened?   

“His ICP is dangerously high, we need to release it immediately.” 

“We don’t know what that is,” Pepper ground out, “just- what is wrong with him? 

“His intra-cranial pressure has been increasing since he was hurt; it’s caused by a brain bleed.” 

...

“Tony you need to come see Peter, now.”

“I already told you-”

“Something’s wrong!” That stopped the inventor in his tracks. “He was talking with us, he kept saying his head hurt and then all of a sudden it was like his brain just shut off. Slurred speech, no motor control, no comprehension; Tony, you need to be up there.” 

In case he dies, was left unsaid.  

Tony was standing stock still, his whole body tense as he listened to Rhodey, but only for a moment - the next he was gone, sprinting for the MedBay. 

There were many, many, things he’d never forgive himself for - this was one of them - but he’d realized last time that sitting and waiting for news was worse, cowardly.

Before then, he’d always wondered why dying patients had their loved ones called; why would you want a family to watch their loved one die? 

Now he knew, it was about being there to the very end, about showing that person - if there was something afterwards - that they’d impacted their life. Peter Parker had done that with Tony Stark more than could be possibly put into words. 

He wasn’t prepared for the moment he skid to a stop outside of the surgery room, only to be met with a devastatingly flat heart monitor. 

The doctors shocked Peter’s chest, no change. 

“No,” he gasped breathlessly, “no, no, no... Peter- c’mon buddy, come back.” 

Happy had his fists clenched by his sides as he watched, nails creating little half-moon shapes in his palms. Pepper had looked away. Rhodey gasped as he caught up. 

Tony’s world was ending. 

“Come back,” he wailed, “come back Peter please.” Another shock, more compressions, no change. “I’m sorry- I’m so sorry Peter. Please...” 

Another shock. Tony’s legs wouldn’t hold him anymore, Rhodey caught him. “I’m sorry Tony,” he was murmuring, “I’m sorry- we shouldn’t have- you shouldn’t have to watch this.” 

The billionaire wailed again, fighting Rhodey’s hold to desperately hold onto the window ledge. “Peter, please. You can’t go; you’re supposed to be safe. I was supposed to keep you safe.” 

The doctors were still trying to bring him back. 

This was somehow so much worse than the first time around. Rhodey understood why Tony had retreated to his lab now - he wouldn’t have been able to handle the first surgery. 

Tony’s sobs echoed down the hall, no one daring to make any other sounds. “Come back, come back, come back, come back...” 

It felt like all the air in his chest had been ripped away, he wished it was, because this hurt. It hurt worse than anything he could have possibly imagined - and it was his fault. 

He wanted to scream, he wanted to sob, he wanted to die. 

And then Peter’s heart started beating again. 

“Oh my God,” Pepper breathed. Tony couldn’t do anything but gasp, watch the line move with Peter’s heartbeat. He hiccuped, watching the monitor for any change until they’d finished. 

Alive. He was alive. AliveAliveAlive 

No thanks to you. 

After what was wrong with Peter was explained to him he felt that gut-twisting sense of guilt again - he remembered the exact moment Peter had been hit hard enough to cause a brain bleed; he’d slammed his head into a wall. 

He followed Peter into recovery and watched him sleep for just a moment, he turned to leave, stopping only when Pepper’s slim hand encircled his own. 

“You can’t disappear again,” she whispered, “he was crushed. You need to do what’s best for him - even if you feel it’s not what you feel is best - and stay. I know it’s hard, but Peter needs you here.” 

And God, Tony had never wanted anything more. But-

“Pepper, I did this to him.” 

“He knows, and he still wanted to talk to you. If you’re going to cut yourself out of his life at least let him say he wants it that way, otherwise you’re just punishing him as well as yourself. He understands what happened to you, and I think- I think you will too, eventually, after we get you some help.” 

Tony nodded, his gaze going back to his sleeping son. “He- we almost lost him.” 

“And he almost lost you. Don’t waste anymore time - just sit with him.” 

Tony swallowed, pushed away the screaming in his head, and sat stiffly next to the boy. Pepper’s heels retreated, shutting the door behind her gently. Tentatively, hesitantly, like an abused dog, Tony reached out and and grasped Peter’s hand with his own. 

It felt like home. 

The blood had been removed from his brain, the pressure had been released, his vitals had been stabilized, the only thing left was completely up to Peter - he needed to wake up. 

At some point after the first three hours Tony had begun talking to him, anything and everything really. He talked about old memories the two had shared, and he made promises for new adventures for them to partake in; he bargained with Peter to wake himself up, and if the universe had worked like that he would’ve willingly given it anything. 

“You know,” Tony said softly, rubbing a circle on Peter’s wrist, “when I first woke up in that Hydra facility I was so terrified that they had you too. You were my one mercy - that you weren’t with me was both a blessing and a curse, but I missed you so much, Pete. I stayed alive for you; kept living in hope that I’d see you again, safe and sound, and I knew that if I died they’d take you anyways.”

Tony huffed out a laugh, tightening his grip around Peter’s wrist. “It ended up not being them that hurt you, it was me. And I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that,” he took a shaky breathe, steeled himself to say words that needed to be said, “and because of that, I figured I’d leave you alone. I didn’t want to be reminded of what I’d done to you, or ever have the chance of doing it again. But I was wrong Peter.” 

A sob ripped itself from his throat. “I was wrong to do that, and it was selfish and cowardly of me and I’m sorry Peter, I’m so, so sorry. I love you so much, I can’t- I can’t lose you. And I can’t run from you, I won’t, never again. And I need to say this to you but you need to wake up for me to do that so please - whatever you want, whatever price I have to pay, I’ll do it; just wake up.” Tony wasn’t sure who he was talking to by the end of it. 

If this were a fairytale, or a movie, Peter would wake up then. But it wasn’t and he didn’t. So the only thing that met Tony’s emotional declaration was the sound of the teenager’s beeping heart monitor, but honestly, Tony would take it. 

Much better than the silence he never wanted to hear again. 

As it turns out however, life had its own mercies. One of them was that when Peter Parker did wake up it was during a time when Tony Stark was also awake. 

He hadn’t liked waking up alone, before. So when his eyes blinked open and he saw his mentor there, holding his hand, his face split into a grin. 

“It’s you,” he breathed. “You’re here.” 

Tony’s head snapped up, his eyes searching Peter’s face in a desperate kind of hope. Peter met him with all the trust and love in the world, still contently smiling purely at the man’s very presence. 

“Peter,” Tony whispered, standing a bit faster than he could. “How- You’re- How do you feel?” 

“I’m alright,” Peter answered easily. “I’m really glad you’re here.” 

“I... I messed up kid, I know that, and I’m so, so sorry but-”

“Mr.Stark, it’s okay... I heard you.” Peter’s voice sounded brittle, Tony knew if he tried to speak his would be already broken. “I, um- I know what happened at that place. I was told and... I saw some of the footage.” Tony turned away, the whispers of murderer gaining volume. “I don’t blame you for what happened, I never have, but what they did to you there-”

To the inventor’s horror, tears formed in Peter’s eyes. “Oh, no, bud- don’t. It’s okay, don’t cry.” Tony wanted to hold him, his fingers absolutely ached with the want, but he refrained. “Don’t cry Peter, it’s over now.” 

“No, it’s not! Cause they hurt you so many times and it was because of me and then I hurt you, and now you won’t even touch me, you didn’t want to even see me.” Peter’s tears fell unbidden, his distress palpable. 

“No, Peter- You did nothing wrong, and I wish you would have fought me harder. I... I didn’t know if you’d want me to be around anymore, after what I did.”

“How could you wonder that? I missed you; I know you’d never intentionally hurt me, and... and I know you love me.” The last point Peter sounded unsure about, which was absolutely unacceptable. 

“Peter, look at me,” Tony realized belatedly he’d taken hold of the teen’s arms “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything before. You’re my kid. You mean the world and beyond to me, and losing you... that’s my Hell on earth.”

“Don’t leave me behind then,” Peter whispered, drawing his arms up and around Tony’s neck. “We’ve got a lot to talk about, but you taking the blame for this isn’t on the agenda. Just don’t- don’t disappear again.” 

Tony hesitantly reciprocated the gesture, wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist and just holding him. “I won’t,” he promised, “not like that again.”

Peter let out one more sob, his arms tightening around his mentor’s neck. “I thought I was never going to see you again,” he cried, burrowing his head into Tony’s neck. 

“Me too.” Tony pulled him closer, mindful of the still sore ribs. The cast lay awkward and heavy against Peter’s back, but Tony could live with it. Tony could live with anything, so long as Peter did too. 

They both calmed down a bit after, but didn’t release the other from their hold. Right now, this was what they both needed. Peter fell asleep nestled in Tony’s embrace, the inventor felt the moment the breaths on his neck evened. 

This used to happen a lot, before everything had happened. He’d taken it for granted then, but he wouldn’t now; like Pepper said, no more wasted time. 

He carded his fingers through Peter’s hair, traced circles on his back, absentmindedly place a kiss against his forehead. It had been hard to find the courage to touch Peter again, now it was doubly so to let go of him. 

He eventually got Peter tucked back against his pillows, detangling lanky teenage limbs from his neck. 

The inventor cast one more fond smile at his kid and rose to leave. Peter’s hand shot out and caught his uninjured wrist. 

“Don’t go...” he mumbled sleepily, not opening his eyes, “stay.”

Tony had always been wrapped around Peter’s finger, but he was quite happy to be there. “Alright,” he replied, taking his seat again. “Alright I’m right here.” 

Peter was right, they had a lot to talk about. And so was Pepper, he needed to get someone to help him. But right now he felt what had been so cruelly ripped away from him in that facility; hope. 

Hope, and his kid.

... 

Do I say sorry? It ended happily, so no, right? xD Thank you everyone for reading, I hope you all enjoyed it! Please tell me what you thought of it, much love to everyone! 

taglist: @just-the-daydreamer @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @ladyreyreigns  @thetranslucentwallaby @friendly-neighborhood-ash @delphinium2 @the-persian-slipper @four-am-fangirling @steamypanda @mysterio-is-a-little-bitch @my-name-is-marcy @autisticbabynurse @blondsak @wicked-starlight-collector @selling-my-soul-for-tony-stark 

let me know if you want to be added! 

[atamascolily]

lily liveblogs the “terminator: dark fate” trailers

Teaser trailer:

Ohhhhh, we open with soft piano on a speeding highway, just like Judgement Day, it’s been two seconds, and this trailer GETS me

V/O of the new protagonist, explaining about how her life is now a nightmare - I'm so sorry kiddo, it’s probably only going to get worse.

angelic choir singing with soft piano, so ethereal...

.. and a truck plows through a wall. Good times.

a man is now crooning in a throaty voice, and it's minor key, and it's so deliciously subdued and creepy juxtaposed with all the mayhem on screen omg omg omg

New Terminator is driving the truck with some sort of plow device through the highway, cars are flying everywhere, MacKenzie Davis flips into the back of a pickup truck at full speed, and it's amazing

she tosses a piece of rebar through the windshield of the semitruck as the singer croons, "I am not stopping," and she hits him, but then he uses the bar to congeal and pull himself forward until he's standing on top of the engine OH MY GOD he has multiple bodies holy fuck asfghkdkdgk he's simultaneously driving the truck AND fighting her HOLY HELL THAT's CREEPY AS *FUCK*

This scene will probably be loud and epic in the actual film, but it's so eerie and quiet here...

New!Terminator throws the rebar back at Grace, and it slices her arm, and you can see she's literally metal as fuck because she doesn't bleed, and the wound gleams...

cut to her grabbing Dani and jumping from the pickup cab just as it gets smashed to pieces by an oncoming car

God, Gabriel Luna has that dull-eyed stare down. They're on the highway, his hand shifts to a sword-blade, singer croons "I am a hunter.... I'm going hunting..." as he runs towards them...

OH AND THE OTHER PART OF HIM, THE PART THAT LOOKS LIKE A NAKED C-3P0 IS *ALSO* stalking them AHHHHHHH

An SUV pulls up. Dramatic boot cut and we see it's Sarah Connor. With sunglasses (signifying dubious morality and capacity for extreme violence) in a bulletproof vest and a GIANT FRICKING GUN oh my god.

She shoots the human-looking Terminator, who runs towards her... only to switch to a FREAKING BAZOOKA, I CAN'T EVEN.

(this is everything I've ever wanted and I don't care if the rest of this movie is awful, I will never be OVER this)

She hits the metal!Terminator dead-on and he explodes. Grace's astonishment as she turns to see their rescuer is amazing as the smoke clears to reveal Sarah, aiming the bazooka at them....

Cut to a dodgy motel room, where Grace and Dani are trying to figure out who this woman is. Sarah just tilts her head sidewise and we immediately cut to black and AHHHHHHHHHHHH IT'S SO PERFECT

angelic choir intensifies

aerial shots of the desert. Sarah has a voice-over. You can hear the disdain in her voice when she says to Grace, "Never seen one like you before. Almost a human."

Shots of medics (?) tying grace down and poking at her wounds as Grace breaks free. Cut to a naked Grace attacking police officers. "I am human!" Grace protests in voice-over

"I am a hunter.... I'm going hunting." OH SO CREEPY AND PERFECT LYRICS. Helicopters over desert scrublands (ok, probably chapparral, don't get me started).

Grace asks Sarah "Why do you care what happens to her?"

"Because I WAS her." WHAM. OH MY GOD YES YES YES IT'S PERFECT.

They walk through the woods to a cabin, open the door, and... it's old!Arnold! Can I just say how grateful I am to see him as older, instead of all this creepy de-aginging CGI?? Honestly, I like him much better here than I ever did in the first two films - but it looks like he might also be way more human now, too.

Dramatic chase scenes. Terminator with slashing blades in a crowd. PLANES THERE ARE PLANES THE CLIMAX FEATURES GIANT JUMBO JET PLANES THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

now the planes are RAMMING EACH OTHER, TERMINATOR IS JUMPING FROM PLANE TO PLANE, GRACE AND DANI ARE CLINGING FOR THEIR LIVES WHO THE *FUCK* IS FLYING THIS THING (is it the T-800? is it Sarah? some poor random dude? I DEMAND ANSWERS)

Dani and Grace and Sarah are sitting in darkness. Dani asked "How do we win?" Sarah looks over at Grace. Grace says, "By keeping you alive."

Cut to Grace battling with the Terminator with a metal axe HOLY FUCK.

Watching his face shift from metallic to Diego Luna's dead-eyed stare is so FUCKING CREEPY y'all THEY NAILED THIS.

Black. Film title. Singer croons, "I'm going hunting..."

11/10, this is everything I could have hoped for, like a professionally done fanvid, I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS. PERFECT MUSIC AND FILM CHOICES, I will be humming this song for the rest of my LIFE

____

Okay, so that was great. Let’s go to the official trailer.

Sarah Connor points a gun at Grace in the crappy motel. "Talk. Talk fast." Grace disarms her and pins her against the wall. "You first," Grace whispers. No sign of Dani.

First bars of Terminator theme. Sarah surrounded by flames. Sarah's voice over: a recap of the events of Judgment Day, as we see human skulls on a beach as metallic new Terminators emerge from the ocean and began firing. "Enough of a resume for you?" Sarah challenges.

"No," Grace says. "You may have changed the future--but you didn't change our fate."

OH MY GOD, I LOVE THIS. Poor Sarah. Poor everyone. But yeah, "there is no fate but what we make for ourselves," has ALWAYS been a rallying cry, not a statement of objective fact. GLAD TO SEE THIS FILM WILL EXPLORE THIS.

The new hunter-killer terminators attack in the future--they can split into multiple bodies controlled by one intelligence, this is so frikkin' creepy and lethal, I can't even--

Electric ball of a Terminator descending in what looks the courtyard of an older Mexican apartment complex. Naked Gabriel Luna! Still with that dead-eyed, inhuman stare. He's muscular, but not defined like the original T-800 or even Kyle Reese... like he's liquid. SO WELL DONE.

Grace is defending Dani on the highway with her body and a piece of rebar. "I know you're scared, but I am here to protect you." YAY UPDATE AND TRYING TO BE GENTLE ABOUT THE WHOLE BUSINESS, YESSSSS.

Sarah's and Grace's exchange from the first teaser about Grace's humanity. Grace adds... "just enhanced," as a clarifier. The "Why do you care what happens to her / Because I was her" exchange.  I LOVE IT.

We see them meeting the T-800, and this time Sarah tries to shoot him in the face. Grace shouts "Sarah!" and stops her. Ooooookay. So Sarah and old!Terminator are NOT friends, good to know...

Sarah shoots the porch roof. T-800 deadpans, "I can see you're very upset." OMG THIS IS GOING TO BE GOOD.

Grace steps on a button. All sorts of holographic things pop up around the house. Mines? Traps? No idea.

T-800 continues, "I am going to help you protect the girl." Cut to all four at a backyard shooting range with Dani shooting a rifle. FUCK YEAH I LOVE IT.

"Nobody else is going to die because of me!" Dani screams. Oh, honey, I'm so sorry, but that's probably not true.

Sarah and Dani are in a helicopter. The Terminator leaps for them, as Sarah shoots him. I think Sarah is also flying the helicopter? No wonder the new Terminator gets a plane to go after them.

"If you don't make it, everybody dies!" Grace shouts back to Dani as everything goes up in flames.

Cut to: Gabriel Luna in a Border Patrol uniform at a security checkpoint. The guard banters with the Terminator as he surrenders his gun. "My whole body is a weapon," the Terminator says with a very human swagger and wink. “Save it for the ladies,” says the guard.

the pun here OMg i can’t even.

The Terminator walks through the metal detector and all the lights go off.

"Sorry," says the Terminator, before we cut to him slashing his way through a crowd of agents and civilians. Grace battles him with a chain. She slices him in half, but it's clearly not going to take.

"When it's all over," Sarah challenges the old!Terminator, "I am going to kill you."

"I understand," he replies.

Lots of explosions. Car chase. Helicopter. Fiery planes going down. Arnold grabbing the other Terminator, pinning him down, and shooting him in the face multiple times. When the shooting stops, there's no flesh on his face, only metallic parts and glowing red eyes. CREEPY AS FUCK.

Title card. Cut to the highway bridge. Sarah drops a grenade over the edge, as Grace grabs Dani. "I'll be back," Sarah deadpans, and strides away as Grace runs for cover with Dani. The grenade explodes. Sarah doesn't even break stride, just grabs another gun, as Grace shields Dani from the explosion with her body

AHHHHHHH. AMAZING.

So I give this a 8.5/10, because while it's a perfectly effective trailer and explains the story very well regardless of how many films you've seen, it doesn't have that perfectly creepy blending of music and imagery like the teaser. I don't like the opening as much, since Sarah's first introduction to the audience should be her as a badass, not her getting taken down. But hot damn, does it make up for that will all the great lines. Sarah is obviously still Chaotic Good/fighting with all her issues, and I'm looking foward to all the drama between the characters.

Also, I watched some other promotional material: not a ton of new stuff, but apparently, they did let Sarah Connor say “fuck,” which I approve of.

EDIT: I wrote “Diego Luna” instead of “Gabriel Luna” by mistake because of Star Wars, which is an embarrassing but also kinda hilarious mistake to make.

[saltnhalo]

noctuary

Noctuary: a record of what passes in the night; a nightly journal.

In the early days of his childhood, before he knew of monsters and demons and things that went bump in the night, Dean Winchester kept a diary.

Most of the entries were normal—just documentations of everyday life.

Dad taught me the proper way to throw a baseball. I can’t wait until I can start playing for reals.

Today we made apple pie for Thanksgiving, and mom let me have the biggest piece.

Sammy read his first book today. He’s going to be smart, I can tell.

He would write an entry every night, just before he went to bed, and he did so for many years. Every day written down, in a special journal that Dean kept in a box under his bed. To him, it was just a nice routine, a bit of fun.

Until all of a sudden, it wasn’t.

It began when Dean was ten.

Dear diary.

I think there’s something in my closet.

The door opens without me touching it, and sometimes I hear noises coming from inside. My room feels cold some days, and it moves around while I’m asleep. I keep my eyes closed really tight when I can hear it, and hope that it will go away.

When Dean tells his dad, John laughs it off. “There’s no monster hiding in your closet, Dean. Monsters aren’t real.” To placate him, though, John wedges a chair under the closet handles that night before Dean goes to sleep. “There you go,” he says jokingly, “the monster can’t get you tonight.”

Dean is relieved. That night, he doesn’t write in his diary.

In the morning, when he wakes up, his chair is back under his desk as though it was never moved in the first place.

~

Dean’s dad doesn’t believe him when he tells him about the monster, and his mom doesn’t listen at all, just brushes it off as his overactive imagination. His diary becomes his only outlet.

Dear diary,

I heard the monster tonight.

Dear diary,

I’m scared. Please send someone who can help me.

Dear diary,

Dear diary,

Dear diary.

~

Dean writes in his diary for weeks. And in those weeks, the darkness he can feel lingering in his closet spreads dark tendrils of fear into his room. Things move, deep growls rumble through his room at night, lights flicker on and off—but it never touches Dean. Just lingers.

What it’s waiting for, he doesn’t know, but he knows it’s there, even though the closet is always empty whenever one of his parents open it.

For weeks, the thing spreads, and nothing happens.

And then one night, everything happens at once.

~

It’s very late on a Sunday night, and the whole house is asleep.

The whole house, bar one.

Dean had almost been asleep when he’d heard it—the sound of claws rasping against wood, something dragging, slithering. The sounds are coming from his closet.

He pulls his covers up over his head and trembles, hoping the blankets will muffle the sound that only he seems to be able to hear—but they don’t. The scraping gets louder. He can hear the monster breathing, and fear wraps around his heart in a cold grip. The monster has lain dormant for so long that Dean can’t even begin to imagine why it’s here, or what it wants from him.

He knows, though, deep in his heart, that whatever its plan…

It’s happening tonight.

The closet door creaks as it slowly, slowly swings open.

Dear diary, Dean thinks. Please, I need someone to help me, I’m—I’m so scared. Please help me.

And then he hears something else.

Something new.

It’s like a hum, except made of a thousand different voices each singing a slightly different tune. They blend into an overwhelming harmony that at first makes no sense, but slowly… the sounds recombine into syllables, and then into words, and then Dean can hear.

“You’re sure this is the place, Castiel?”

A second voice speaks, now, in a different harmony, made of a thousand new voices. Dean likes this one better than the first. “Yes. I can feel it. There is something sinister in this house, Anael, of such intense malicious intent and so strong that I can feel its power growing with every passing minute. We must hurry.”

Their voices are in Dean’s head, but somehow he knows that these people—are they people? Whoever, or whatever, they are—are nearby.

He holds his breath. In his closet, the monster growls again, louder and deeper than Dean has ever heard it. The house is otherwise silent, creaking occasionally in the wind, his family surely all fast asleep. A cold sensation starts in Dean’s toes, slowly creeping upward along his legs. The wooden end of Dean’s bed creaks and snaps beneath the strong grip of claws, and he trembles harder.

Please, please, please. Help me.

And then the windows of Dean’s room shatter inwards.

His head still tucked under his blankets, Dean is protected from the shards of glass that rain across the room, but he hears the monster screech horribly. The sound is like talons on metal, and he cries out as the pain of it lances through his head.

“Protect the child!” the first voice orders, and all at once, Dean feels the cold that grips his body subside. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly and stays where he is, curled into a ball beneath the covers. Whatever is going on out there, he knows he doesn’t want to look until it’s all over.

The monster shrieks again, knives and nails and the screams of so many tormented people, but this time there are words laced into the earsplitting sound. “Mine,” it snarls, in a voice so awful that every single one of Dean’s hairs stand on end. “My chosen prey. You angels have no right.”

The harmonic voices come again, filling Dean’s head with light and sound and more stimulation than he can possibly take.

“He has prayed. He is protected. Leave this place.”

“Not until what I get what I have been waiting for. Preying on. Biding my time to consume. You will have to kill me before I give it up.”

“So be it.”

Dean’s mind implodes.

He covers his mouth with his hands and screams silently as the room explodes with cold— light—sound—darkness. Everything changing, too quickly for him to process and so overwhelming. He shakes under the blankets as outside his protective cocoon, the two voices—angels? Could it be?—fight against the monster that has been lingering at the edges of his nightmares for so long.

He is protected.

The noise—the unearthly screeching, and the sound of bells and voices so loud that Dean’s ears must be bleeding—continues and continues for a timeless age, until the foundations of his house creak and groan and shake, until Dean can’t take any more, until—

All of a sudden, it stops.

There is silence, and then the second voice says, “Track the creature, Anael. Don’t let it escape. I will tend to the child.”

Dean is blissfully empty. Free of unbearable cold or burning heat, earsplitting sounds or lights so bright they seem to have burned themselves into his mind, despite his eyes being so tightly closed. For one pure moment, he just is.

Slowly, shakily, he uncurls from his defensive ball and opens his eyes.

From under the edges of the blankets that he’s pulled over himself, Dean sees a soft, blue, glowing light.

“Dean Winchester?”

The voice seems… softer. It’s still a thousand different voices in his head, all combined into one, but the words are quiet. Tentative. Whatever is speaking to him, it doesn’t want to frighten him.

When Dean blinks, his lashes are wet, and he realizes he’s been crying. “W-what?” he whispers quietly. His voice shakes.

The light outside his blankets shifts and brightens. “You can… you can hear me?”

It sounds almost surprised.

“Yes,” Dean says quietly. He curls his fingers around the edge of the blankets, and the glow gets brighter as he lifts them up just a little. “I could hear you, and—and the monster.”

He wants to see the angel, and he sits up, pushing the blankets off himself.

“Wait—“ says the voice as he moves, but it’s too late.

For a few seconds, the blue glow filling Dean’s room is too bright, to the point where he has to squint against it and hold his hand up to his eyes to shield them. And then it slowly fades away, and Dean’s eyes widen at the sight before him.

Crouched in Dean’s room is a creature so big that it shouldn’t possibly be all fitting in here—and indeed, the room feels off, like it’s been modified and stretched and manipulated just to be able to accommodate this… angel.

It has three heads; one lion, one crow, and a human one in the middle that watches Dean with ethereal, blue, too-large eyes. It has paws and hooves and feet and it’s so squished into Dean’s room that he can’t see just how it all fits together, but the one thing that stands out are the two blue-black wings pressed against the walls of Dean’s room.

They shift and sparkle, constantly moving, stars and galaxies confined within those ink-dark feathers as though this creature holds the entire universe on its back.

Dean can only stare, completely lost for words.

The angel blinks once, slowly, then leans in closer to Dean. None of its mouths move, but Dean clearly hears it say in his head, “You can see me?”

“Of course,” he replies, like it’s the plainest thing in the world. “You look nice. I like your wings.”

In Dean’s mind, there is a sound like bells and wind chimes. The angel is happy. He smiles.

“Thank you for saving me from the monster. Mom and dad thought I was lying about it, but I told my diary. Is that why you came?”

“We came because you needed us, Dean Winchester,” the angel says in his head. “You are protected.” It reaches out one huge paw and settles it gingerly on the end of his bed.

Dean puts his hand on the glowing, blue fur. It feels soft and solid, but a shiver runs up his arm, and a taste like static electricity sparks across his tongue. When he looks back up, it almost feels like the angel is smiling.

“I am the angel Castiel,” it says. “I must go now, but I am sure we will meet again, Dean Winchester.”

It spreads its wings, and they ripple with the shifting of a million tiny stars and galaxies. The room is filled with a flash of light, so bright that Dean finally has to close his eyes against it, and when he opens them, the angel is gone. His hand falls to the bed.

The house is silent once again, as though nothing had ever happened.

At the foot of Dean’s bed, though, balanced atop the quilted covers, lies a single black feather. He picks it up and runs his fingers along its length; it feels impossibly, ethereally soft.

Dean smiles and holds it to his chest.

I am sure we will meet again, Dean Winchester. 

[startrek-writings-for-the-soul]

Intuition | Reader Insert

Part 4/?

Words: 1000

Scotty was wearing a scowl as you approached his desk. He was tapping his foot foot and muttering under his breath to himself. In your mind you laughed but to him you only smiled and asked how he was.

"Me? You want to know how I am?! I want to know what's been going on with you!" And there it was.

"Well, I'm slowly coming to terms with the craziness of this ship. Something's amiss on this ship of yours Scotty." You taunted playfully. He eyed you for a second.

"I heard Giotto was furious with you. Now why would you, an Engineer, be talking to Head of Security?" He questioned. You had a bad feeling. It was gross and awful. Uncomfortable. *Nails scratching scalp too hard. Blood running down. Old bruises being hit.*

"I needed answers, Sir." You whispered. It felt like the feeling had taken you by surprise, entranced you for a beat of silence.

"And did you get them?"

His question barely registered in your mind as you slowly nodded. A faint, *yes, sir* snuck past your lips. You blinked, slowly, and when you opened your eyes you were in a Jeffries tube. Wrench in your left hand and your right pressed against the warm metal. Where had you gone? Where had your time gone?

A beeping noise was jarring enough to throw your head up against the short ladder and make you curse. You peered out into the large room and read the clock, your shift finished two hours ago. Now you weren't so spacey and ethereal. Now you were angry.

"What. The. Hell." You grumbled out, rubbing your head as you threw down the wrench and observed what you had done. The beeping was getting louder and more screechy like. And the Jeffries tube was heating up. You got out quickly, the mental picture of what you did searing through your neurons. You had opened the inside and tampered with the wiring and the frame. You broke it. You gave it what looked like long metallic legs made of carbon fibre.

A loud explosion threw you against the wall opposite and cracked your head against it. Your arms were sore already and you heard your spine cracking. Coming in and out of conciousness as you tried to stand presented an image of the exploded Jefferies tube ablaze. Engineers and security were already running around, to you, to the tube, to safety. Scotty appeared as you tried to wake up. He crouched next to you and put a hand on the back of your neck. Checking for something. Feeling around. Gently, like Spock had. You almost didn't feel it. But you certainly saw it as he drew his hand back to present the device. Had it ever truly left your body? He was wide eyed looking at you but his face was disappointed.

You were still coming to conciousness and blacking out over and over again on your way to med bay. Leonard was there. You saw him. Sitting in another room as you were dragged past it. He was sitting in his uniform staring at you. Finally you gave up and surrendered to the darkness. It was just too strong.

But Jim had another idea. You were startled and gasping for breath as he stabbed a hypospray into your neck. He grabbed you by the chin and forced you to look at him as you were wrongfully pulled out of the dark. His face was red and his veins bulging as he demanded in a stupor where the camera was. He accused you of stealing it, of hurting it.

"You made it angry!!" He spat. Shoving you back. You realized you were on a bed. Nurses were checking your head and your burns and your back. None tried to remove Kirk from you. You struggled, with every dying muscle in your arms, to reach out. To touch his face. You cupped his face and he looked like maybe he was calming down. You studied his eyes, his face, his neck, everything.

"I'm, so, so s-sorry, J-Jim." You tried to tell him. You had to fix things now.

Pulling him into an embrace, he was complacent and calm. He accepted it and hugged you back. He cried. Your hands moved to his back and his neck. You gently stroked your thumb up and down his neck. Feeling. For a lump. A scar, perhaps. And there it was.

"I'm so sorry." You whispered, digging your nails into his neck. He screamed as you held him down and grabbed it. My god, how it fought you. It was stung and it wrestled your fingers. Blood made your grip loose but you grasped it hard and pulled it out. He fell to the floor. A horrified look on his face as you clutched it in your hand.

The nurses and now doctors ran to Jim and to you and were a mess of people. They lifted him onto a bed in a panic and were setting him up with vitals and an IV. You were out of breath. Through the open door you saw Leonard. And he saw you. You smiled. He shuddered. His face was hardened and you noticed the burn marks on his face. Where the hell did he get those?

You heard crying. From a few nurses who wouldn't approach you. It was so confusing.

You got up, carefully, trying to walk properly. You looked down at your hand, a mass of muscle tissue and blood pressed into your palm. You opened it, looking at what you had removed Jim's neck. It wasn't grey like the device Scotty pulled from your neck. It didn't have legs either. It was white. It was small and cube like. Oh god. It was a piece from his vertebrae.

Maybe it was shock, maybe the hypospray wore off, whatever it was you were seeing stars again and this time, you did not go into the darkness without a fight.

-

End of part 4

[aardvark-123]

Gensokyo Festival day 6: Danmaku

~Note from Toyosatomimi no Miko~

Dear reader,

There was recently a fracas involving myself, three of my allies and a group of Budhhists. People on Both Sides did things they would later turn out to regret, but public opinion has, as per usual, shifted in favour of the vegetarian youkai-loving crowd. Through no fault of his own, the young scribe writing these stories fell for the Myouren Temple's propaganda and wrote a heavily-biased and inaccurate version of the incident based on Shou Toramaru's account.

I reached out to Aardvark123 in order to clear up some misconceptions about the Taoists; namely, that we are all arrogant bullies who say "ohohohoho~!" and use tickling as a method for conquest, and that we lost the fight. The result was actually a tie. It is true that Byakuren force-fed me my earmuffs, but I succeeded in shoving that ridiculous straw hat up her nose shortly afterwards.

The following story has been fact-checked by Hieda no Akyuu and is an accurate representation of me and my companions. A little artistic license has been employed, but not so much as to mislead the reader. I hope you enjoy it. Now, um, what was that phrase the scribe used to keep using which he thought made him sound cool...? Oh, yes. On with the story!

~Do I Have to Spell it Out For You?~

"Futo, you brought the amulets, didn't you?"

Futo nodded and held up a sack of paper charms.

"Lovely. Tojiko, how are we for provisions?"

"Six peanut butter sandwiches, as promised."

"Good show!" Miko vaulted over the rusted gate. "Keep an eye out for the phantom and don't touch anything. All right, follow me!"

Futo stepped over the gate. Tojiko drifted through it. They ran/floated quickly down the overgrown path in Miko's wake and stopped in front of the Forbidden Pagoda.

Miko kicked through the half-rotten doors, spilling splintered planks onto the cracked floor. She drew her sword and set it aglow with a warm yellow light, turning the dark, cluttered hallway into a patchwork of shadows and faint light.

Futo gasped as something crunched under her feet. She looked down in amazement at a pile of broken pottery in the middle of the floor.

"Now, Lady Sato told us there were sixteen floors in this tower, so we'll have to fight our way through two floors an hour if we want to be done in time for dinner. Are you up for it?" asked Miko.

Futo groaned. "Thou settled upon a fine moment to reveal this detail, O Prince... I hath a date with the fair Lady Kumoi."

"You'll live," said Tojiko. "I brought enough food, right?"

"Aye," sighed Futo. "Dost thou feel she wilt understand mine dilemma?"

"Nope!" smiled Tojiko.

The trio made sure to check all the rooms as they crept down the hallway. Tojiko was almost disappointed by the lack of ghosts to fight. Futo tested the first flight of stairs with a plate and stepped slowly up to the second floor.

"It is safe," whispered Futo.

As soon as the words had fallen from her lips, blinding white light filled the room. Futo yelped and covered her eyes.

"Futo! What happened?!" Miko ran up the stairs. She cried out as she full force of the light met her eyes, searing a yellow afterimage onto her eyelids. "Oh, my gods! Put it out! Put it out!"

The light faded to a soft white glow. Futo and Miko's vision returned after a few seconds.

"I don't know what you two were complaining about. It's not that bright..." said Tojiko, emerging from the stairway.

They were standing at the end of a long, wide hallway lined with torn paper walls. The white glow seemed to come from everywhere, casting no shadows and leaving no bright patches. Futo's skin turned eerily white as she stepped away from the stairs.

"Well, this is weird," Tojiko bravely declared.

"Those boys said they saw a white light coming from in here, didn't they?" said Miko. "Maybe the phantom's scared of the dark."

"What a strange thought," said Futo.

Miko cupped her hands over her mouth. "Yoo-hoo! Hey, ghost, we're here to exterminate you! As in duel you and take you home for tea! Come out, come out wherever you are!"

A tall woman dressed all in white drifted down through the ceiling. Her greasy black hair hung over her eyes and waved slowly as if caught in a breeze.

"Didn't think that would work," muttered Tojiko.

"We've been hearing some complaints about you, ghost woman," said Miko, ignoring Tojiko magnificently. "Trespassing, rattling wind chimes, stealing jam tarts... Does any of that ring a bell?"

The phantom opened her mouth to respond, but all that escaped was a long, low moan like a gale blasting through the pagoda. The hall  grew a mile wide, a mile high and two miles long, leaving the startled Taoists in midair.

The phantom smiled. A bright white orb formed between her outstretched hands and drifted forwards.

"Here it comes..." Miko raised her sword. "Get ready, sisters!"

An ethereal golden teapot formed above Tojiko's head and there was no more time for words. The white orb rocketed towards the teapot. Tojiko dove aside, the orb sparking against her tails as it flew, but the teapot teleported a split second too soon.

Miko felt a sudden warmth around her knees. She looked down in some alarm to see the teapot hovering behind her. The orb was screaming towards her knees. She shot upwards. "Futo! Move!"

Futo moved, just in time to fly through the teapot as it materialised in front of her. The taste of tea pulsated through her soul, then the orb smacked into her head with a decisive pichuuu~n.

"Are you all right?!" cried Tojiko.

Futo groaned and rubbed her nose. "I shall be fine..."

A dozen deep blue orbs popped into the air around the phantom. She moaned again and hurled them forth. The golden teapot shattered in a burst of sparks, leaving the white orb at a bit of a loose end.

The blue orbs were screaming towards the Taoists. "Dive!" shouted Miko, launching herself towards the distant floor.

The orbs streaked overhead. The white sphere shot into the sky as they drew close. It soared out through the hallway, the blue orbs in hot pursuit.

Futo looked at Miko. "Hast thou any theory on what may be afoot?"

"I don't know..." Miko's eyes widened as the white sphere arced back around and started coming towards them. "Heads up, you two!"

The trio wove between the rushing blue orbs. They barely had time to react, so fast were the bullets, but they came through unscathed.

"I'll fix her," snarled Tojiko. "Thunder Arrow: Gagouji's Tornado!"

Zigzagging bolts of lightning fanned out from Tojiko's sparking hands. The phantom just sat there, motionless, as the lightning fizzled past her. A bolt eventually struck her, eliciting a piercing shriek of pain.

The ghost's glowing orbs trembled in the air. The white sphere turned abruptly and rushed towards the blue swarm. It struck an orb, shattering it into hundreds of glowing shards that quickly turned blood-red.

Miko cried out in pain as a shard struck her chest.

"Beware, sisters! These shards are bullets!" Futo warned her a couple of seconds late.

The white orb smashed through two more blue spheres in quick succession. The Taoists braced themselves for the tide of crimson shards and wove deftly through it. A shard tore a hole in Futo's sleeve.

"I have a plan! Get under my cape!" Miko ordered. A slightly confused Futo and Tojiko dove under the garment just as three more blue orbs bit the dust and thousands of bullets poured towards them.

"Hermit Sign: Emperor of the Land of the Rising Sun!"

A wave of golden light pulsed out from Miko, overwhelming the crimson bullets with ease. The light burned like the sun. Huddled behind their friend, Futo and Tojiko found themselves sweating from the heat.

When the light cleared, all the blue orbs were gone and the phantom was curled protectively around the white one. She hissed angrily when she caught sight of Miko and tossed the white orb up over her head.

The white orb flashed three times and grew dim as three smaller orbs materialised around it. One was yellow, one was green and one was sky-blue. The phantom raised her arms and roared.

The blue orb surged forwards, throwing teardrop-shaped bullets in all directions. The yellow orb shot blazing spears of yellow light through the barrage. The green orb hung back and spat out a slow-moving web of electricity.

"Is she making fun of us?" Tojiko did not look best pleased.

"She'd better not be." Miko's muscles tensed as the bullets drew near. "All right, follow my lead! I can see a way through-"

A blue bullet struck Miko in the knee. Futo dove to catch her and took a yellow spear in the face. Tojiko wove desperately towards them but the web of lightning caught her, zapping her until her hair stood on end.

The phantom laughed triumphantly. Energy poured out of the coloured spheres and into her chest. Above her head, the golden teapot reappeared.

"Yes, Tojiko, I do believe she's making fun of us..." groaned Miko. "Are you two all right?"

"I am fine," said Futo bravely.

"I'll live..." said Tojiko.

"All right, then. Charge!"

"What?!"

"You heard me!" Miko launched herself at the yellow orb. She raised her sword, bellowed a fearsome battle-cry and cut the orb in half. It burst in a shower of yellow stars.

Tojiko could hardly believe it worked, but she wasn't about to complain. The twin-tailed ghost charged the green orb and zapped it until it exploded.

Futo took aim and threw a plate at the blue orb. It bounced off and sent Tojiko's hat tumbling downwards. Ignoring the angry tirade, Futo summoned Ame no Iwafune and shot forwards. The orb burst on the boat's wooden prow.

"Good work, sisters! Now let's get her!" suggested  Miko.

"Give me a moment, will you?!" Tojiko was still flying after her hat.

Miko breathed a deep, heartfelt sigh. "You're ready, right, Futo?"

"Aye. If we surround this phantom, we should be able to, um..." Futo paused. To her amazement, the ghost was crying into her phantasmal teapot. "Hold on. Why would she cry at a moment such as this?"

"Obviously she's trying to lull us into a false sense of security! Come on, Futo, you know better than this!" said Miko urgently.

"No! Crown Prince, this maketh no sense!" Futo took a deep breath. "The teapot. The orb chasing the teapot. The orbs chasing the first orb. The first orb retaliating. And then more orbs, based upon ourselves, that allowed the phantom to regain her teapot... I believe she is trying to speak unto us!"

"You... You do?" Miko's eyebrows rose. "About what, exactly?"

"I... Perhaps the white orb representeth the ghost, and the dark blue orbs... The villagers she slew? In which case, the tea pot should represent..."

"Something she wants us to give her!" said Tojiko, reemerging between her friends. "Those three orbs weren't her making fun of us, they were her way of asking for a favour!"

"But what?!" cried Miko.

"The crockery I did step on!" squeaked Futo. "By Jove, the phantom desireth her teapot! Forsooth, without it she shall never be able to rest!"

"YES! YES! You got it! Finally!"

The Taoist trio started at the phantom's shout.

"I was going nuts waiting for you to figure it out! I mean, come on, that last spell-card was sooooo obvious! Anyone could've worked it out from that." The stringy-haired phantom was drifting towards them. Her voice was normal apart from a slight echo. "Yes, as a matter of fact I am a vengeful spirit, here 'cause my stupid sister broke my favourite teapot. Your job is to put it back together!"

Miko looked at Tojiko. Tojiko looked at Futo. Futo looked at Miko.

"I didn't bring any glue," said Miko nervously.

"We'll use the peanut butter," Tojiko decided.