exophilelovings

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Good Rich Earth: A Science Fiction Retelling of "The Secret Garden"

Ever since Mary had become an orphan, all adults did was tell each other about her story.

"Raised practically by robots, the poor thing. On one of those military space stations. She's never stepped foot on a planet!"

They talked over her just as if she wasn't there. Mary hated it. But then, she'd gotten used to hating things. Earth had so many things to hate.

She hated the outside air that got too hot or too cold or too humid and couldn't be changed by flipping a switch. She hated the sky with its constantly-changing light levels. She hated the gray clouds that always seemed to hang low over the big stone house where she was supposed to live with her uncle. She hated the vast, barren lands with the short scrubby plants that were all that had managed to grow since the Disasters.

But she hated the echoing darkness of that big house most of all, and so she spent most of her days in the hateful outdoors, looking for something to do. Ben let her tag along sometimes as he tended to the grounds. He called himself a gardener, so naturally Mary asked what a garden was.

"Its where we grow plants on purpose," Ben said.

"Like hydroponics?"

Ben sneered. "Hydroponics!" He lifted a handful of dirt from the ground. "In good rich earth! None of those weak, wispy water-plants with no more nutrition in them than a wet rag!"

Mary couldn't get another word out of him after that--he was too busy muttering to himself about space stations and their unholy, unnatural ways.

But she kept wondering about gardens. She liked the word, liked the idea--having seen nothing similar in any space station.

"If only you'd been here when the mistress was alive," Martha said. "You'd have seen gardens enough then. Always tending to her plants, she was. Trying to bring back flowers what was lost in the Disasters."

But when the mistress was lost, so were her gardens--locked away and left to decay by the husband who couldn't bear to see the site of his wife's death. It seemed unfair to Mary--the one interesting thing on this planet had been abandoned, and now there was nothing left for her.

Or was there? The gardens weren't destroyed--just locked. And locks always had keys.

The search for that locked door became the sole pursuit that filled Mary's days. She searched every corner of the house, looked for cellars, searched among the outbuildings for anything that looked like the wall of a garden. As she searched, she found she noticed the wind and cold less--grew even to like it, as exercise kept her warm. She even found other things that, though they were not the door, proved to be worth finding. A stubby little plant with purple flowers that opened overnight. A stream of clear water from snowmelt. And--best of all--the robin.

He became a companion on her hunt, the little bird--a cheerful voice that flitted about and checked on her progress before returning to his little labors.

It was while following him one day that Mary found the garden. The robin, in his daily fluttering, perched atop a building that she'd passed by a thousand times, sitting on the very edge of the eaves. Then the robin twittered, stepped back--and disappeared, seeming to fall straight through the solid roof.

"Hologram," Ben explained later. "A protective field. Keeps the temperature beneath a bit more stable, lets in rain and birds for water and pest control, and keeps prying eyes from seeing what's inside. Mistress used it to protect her work--plenty of folks who'd steal a cutting and give it to the corporations."

At last! The lost garden!

But still no door. Mary spent days prowling around the walls, searching for an opening, and found nothing but solid brick.

Until one sunny day, when the robin landed on the ground at the base of the wall. As he folded his wings, one of them brushed the bricks, and Mary saw the faintest shimmer of light ripple across a section of the wall.

This, Mary recognized--EtherDoors were a fact of space station life. With the right key, the wall could become permeable enough to let a person through--no need for the extra space or machinery a door required.

The robin fluttered toward a short shrub and sang a cheerful song. As Mary's eyes followed him, she saw a patch of dirt beneath the branches--and suddenly realized that the rock she had seen there a thousand times was no rock at all.

Mary lifted the shining, convex piece of black metal--a simple piece hiding complicated electronics. She pressed it to the center of where the EtherDoor stood--and her hand went through the wall. With two more steps, the rest of Mary followed.

She found herself in paradise.

She had never seen so much green. It covered the ground, climbed the walls, twisted around posts. There were trees with flowers on their branches. Bushes with tiny lacy leaves. Rubbery green stems with silky red and yellow cup-shaped blossoms on top. Thousands of plants, tangled, matted and twisted together, but all alive, drawing food from the earth and reaching up, up, up toward the sun.

For the first time, Mary was truly on Earth, as it was supposed to be.

And she saw that it was magical.

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

What We Want and What We Can Have

Part Two- My Love, Don’t Fade Away

WHOOPS IT’S A PART TWO THAT NO ONE ASKED FOR (part one lives hither)!

Warnings: cannon-typical violence, angst, unresolved tension encroaching resolution, more of Ron and his big beautiful brain, Ron has like three feelings and you take up two of them, non-edited nonsense bc feelings don’t wait for approval

I listened to Reminder by Mumford and Sons as well as I Don’t Feel It Anymore by William Fitzsimmons. Let me know if any of you crazy kids are interested in my BoB heavy-feels writing playlist bc ya know i’ve got one.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The grey smoke from the burning church stung your eyes, and as you feel your tears trickle down your cheeks you wonder if they are soot-stained as well. 

 Around you, you can hear the screams of bombs whistling through the air- the harmonizing shrieks of the wounded and dying ringing in your ears as you watch Gene running towards the smoldering building, but you can’t seem to do anything other than watch. You know you need to do something, anything to help the medic save the handful of people bursting through the smoke like ashen fireworks.  

Yet all you seem capable of doing is dumbly stare at the ruins of the makeshift hospital you’d just watched explode. 

 The makeshift hospital you had been tasked to watch over.

For weeks, you’d been monitoring intel reports for any sign that the Luftwaffe had been intending to bomb the town of Bastogne. Weeks of pouring over intercepted and forwarded information and maps and citizen chatter that you’d been so sure indicated that the town was safe from harm, that the air attacks would be solely focused on the woods. 

Yet here you were, standing in the heart of a bomb-pocked town with ice in your veins and a terrible hollow in your heart.

 You’d failed. You couldn’t have been more spectacularly wrong.

 The irony of your mistake ending in fire was not lost on you, and as your eyes danced up with the flames and plumes of smoke you were filled with the same helpless feeling that had found you after learning of the fate of your mother, sister, and brother-in-law all those months ago. Only this time, you had no one to blame but yourself.

 You had done this. You’d missed something and now all of those wounded soldiers and brave nurses and innocent people were dead and trapped.

 When Gene grabs your shoulders you nearly jump out of your skin, blinking for the first time in what felt like hours and forcing yourself to focus on the drawn face of your friend. Something in his eyes gives you the impression that he’s been trying to get your attention for a long time.

 “Y/N!” he shouts, using his grip on you to pull you back towards the jeep. “We have to go, we’ve gotta go back—”

 “I-I should stay,” you stammer, limbs feeling like lead as you stumble along stiffly. “I don’t think…”

 Gene, ignoring your quiet mumbling, all but shoves you into the car and takes your previous seat as driver.

 Eyes having drifted back to the smoldering church, you try again to get your fumbling mouth to work enough to speak.

 “Gene, I think—”

 “You’re not staying here, Y/N.”

The way he says it leaves no room for argument.

“Bet you don’t even realize that your face is bleeding like a stuck pig….”

 When you raise your hand to touch your cheek you feel that he’s right, you are bleeding- most likely from the initial blast of debris that had hit you when the bomb hit.

As Gene whips the jeep around to take off down the road, you feel the cool wind sting at your eyes, the air so drastically different from the smoke you’d just been breathing that it makes you lightheaded.

 “I killed them,” you murmur, despite the fact that you know Gene can’t hear you. “I killed them.”

 Gene is crying when you look over at him but you can’t find it in you to offer him any comfort. What would the point be? What could you possibly say when everything you’d just witnessed was a direct consequence of something you’d missed?

 Ron was wrong, you think to yourself as you look back to the rapidly approaching forest. It is better to feel nothing. I want to feel nothing.

 Almost as if all you had to do was think about it- a strange calm settles bitterly in your chest, joining the hollow that had been deepening each day since you’d seen Blithe get shot through the throat.

 Just as you’d wished, you slipped into the numbness of nothing.

 ~

 Ron was worried about you.

 No, he was more than worried. He was concerned...deeply concerned.

He had been for a while now- ever since you’d come back from a scouting mission with Blithe’s blood on your hands and a grim look of defeat marring your pretty face. He’d tried to talk to you about it, going as far as to pull you aside and wash the blood from your hands in hopes of getting you to open up privately- ignoring the confused looks of your superiors and his colleagues as he did so.

You had been, were worth any rumors that could come from his intentionally infrequent sign of humanity.

 But you’d given him nothing more than a weak smile and whisper of thanks before slipping away to find Nixon. It was like that moment in the attic had never happened.

 Seeing you come back from the town of Bastogne had shocked him, too. Not as much in terms of the blood pouring from the cut on your cheek, but in the absolutely dead look in your eyes he’d found when he had begun questioning you as to what had happened.

 “I was wrong,” you’d said emotionlessly, barely flinching when Spina had brought an alcohol-drenched rag to your wound. “I missed something, and now the town is gone.”

 Before he could even begin to think of a reply, Spina had asked him to help get you to CP so the other officers could figure out the next course of action. And once he had, you’d had no more to say.

 That night, Ron had poured over the information you’d been given concerning Bastogne, glaring at Nixon until the other man had relented and reluctantly given him the small wooden box you kept your reports in. You hadn’t ‘missed’ anything- there had been nothing to indicate any sort of attack to the town for you to miss. You had done nothing wrong.

 Not that he’d be able to convince you of that. Ron knew you well enough by now to know that your stubbornness could rival his own if you indulge yourself in it enough. He’d learned that long ago in Georgia upon meeting you, that you had not gotten here by accident or through any sort of familial connection- but rather by sheer determination and steadfastness and unapologetic bullheadedness, not to mention a natural gift for finding patterns in behaviors and translating them into strategy.

Watching you work, then and now, had been nothing short of marvelous. 

 But this wasn’t you. This heartbroken husk of you that he had been seeing now made his already frozen body feel even colder.

 Ron needed you back.

 Unbeknownst to you (and initially to him as well), you’d become the reason he fought. At first, it had been a more practical explanation: you worked tirelessly to secure the information needed to build strategies and he felt the need to reward that hard work with his own successful execution of the plans you’d made. Then, upon completing the task, you would come in and use any of the information you found to build the next strategy. It had been transactional, an exchange of services that helped the both of you work towards the mutual goal of winning the war.

It was simple.

 There was no real event to precede his shift in perspective. One day you’d been Y/N and the next you were Y/N. He’d nearly said as much in the attic, when your eyes had burned him alive with their curious sincerity and your heart had called to him so sweetly he’d nearly kissed you. 

 Seeing you now, blinking slowly in the warm candlelight while the voices of the choir wrapped around everyone like a thick blanket, Ron wondered if he should’ve kissed you.

He wonders if, by doing so, he could’ve somehow stopped you from getting to this point.

 You hadn’t been at the frontlines earlier that day for the siege of Foy, yet you looked just as drained as every other man in the company who had. Even with his heavy jacket wrapped around your shoulders, your fingers still trembled as you picked at the dirt beneath your nails, making him wonder if you were shaking from something else other than the cold.

 You startle slightly as he reaches over and places his hand over yours, head quickly turning to look at him and the tiniest dust of pink coloring your cheeks when you realized how close your face was to his. Almost as if you’d forgotten that he was sitting beside you in the pew, that only an hour ago he’d forced you to accept his coat while he scribbled out the names of the men now under his command onto some paper he’d asked one of the sisters for earlier. He hadn’t bothered writing your name- you were not like all of the others, you weren’t something to oversee and keep in order.

And as far as Ron was concerned, you’d been connected to him since D-Day. 

 He didn’t need a note to remember that.

 A shy, small smile turns your lips up at the corners- the action not seeming to quite reach your eyes but Ron felt the sincerity in it all the same. Flickering your gaze back down to his hand resting over yours, he watches as you hook your thumb over his small finger, pleased at the warmth he feels as you momentarily play with the silver ring he always wore there.  Watching your profile, he only takes his hand away when you return your attention to the young girls in front of the altar, allowing his gaze to linger on you for a few moments before turning back to his list.

 Feeling another set of eyes on him, he looks up and catches Lipton looking over his shoulder at the exchange. The other man quickly turns back upon being caught, and Ron studies the back of the other man’s head for a few moments before making up his mind.

 “Y/N,” Ron says quietly, tilting his head towards the door of the church once your eyes find his again, standing and rolling his sore shoulder. “C’mon, I’ll drop you off at your billet on my way to Battalion.”

 The offer seemed to surprise Lipton, but you take a deep breath and nod shortly.

 “Alright,” you say softly, “let me go return Luz’s lighter and I’ll meet you at the door?”

As he nods, you stand up carefully and side-step in front of Ron out of the pew, meeting Lipton’s smile with a weak one of your own as you give the man’s shoulder a quick squeeze.

 “Night, Car.”

 Lipton pats her hand affectionately and then you’re striding over to the pews where Luz, Liebgott, Randleman, and Heffron have set up camp.

Ron watches you go as he loads his gear back on, once again feeling Lipton staring at him. There’s a familiarity in the way Lipton is looking at him- it’s a look everyone seems to send his way, ever since Donald Malarkey started the rumor on D-Day.

 “You wanna ask me, don’t you?” Ron asks, watching the other man fidget.

 “Ask you what, sir?”

 “You wanna know if they’re true or not,” he clarifies, sizing the other man up. “The stories about me?”

 Lip said nothing, and when Ron looked over his shoulder at the man he saw that Lip was looking away. The man amused him, to say the least. The man’s bravery was starting to show in ways that filled Ron with every confidence in him- glad to have a Lieutenant with a backbone in his newly appointed Company.

 “Ever notice with stories like that, everyone says they hear it from someone who was there, and then when you ask that person they say they heard it from someone who was there?” Ron steps from the pew to stand before Lipton. 

“There’s nothing to ‘em, really. I bet if you went back 2000 years you’d hear a couple Centurions standing around yacking about how Tertius lopped off the heads of some Carthaginian prisoners.”

 Lipton seemed to consider that for a moment before replying. 

“Well, maybe they kept talking about it because they never heard Tertius deny it.”

 Slinging his gun over his shoulder, Ron lets a smirk show on his face and squares his shoulders. “Well, maybe that’s because Tertius knew there was some value in the men thinking he was the meanest, toughest son of a bitch in the whole Roman Legion.” 

 When Ron looks over to where you are, he is glad to see that some of the tension in your posture has lessened. He can hear you mumble something that amuses Luz and Bull to no end, unable to help but feel a tinge of sadness at the fact that you’ve still got that hollow look in your eyes.

 “If I may speak freely, Sir?” Lipton says, breaking Ron from his trance and allowing him to look back to the other man. When he nods, the new Lieutenant dips his head indicatively in your direction.

“I’m worried about her….a lot of us are, Sir.”

 Ron keeps his expression neutral, nodding at the comment.

“Is there a question in there, Lipton?”

 A grimace crosses Lip’s face as he seems to ponder his words carefully. 

“No, Sir. It’s more of an observation, if anything.”

 “Go ahead.”

 “I know that, technically, Captain Nixon is meant to be her immediate supervisor,” Lipton says with a bit more confidence. “But I worry that he’s been, er….neglecting some of his responsibilities in favor of more cathartic activities….”

He cuts himself off, looking from side to side quickly before lowering his voice.

“Captain Nixon has been passing the brunt of the analysis work to Captain Y/L/N, if not ignoring it entirely. And, as great an officer as Y/N is, Sir—”

 “I understand, Lieutenant,” Ron interrupts Lipton just shy of insubordination, giving the confused man a nod before realizing that he’s unintentionally called the other man by his new title. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention. You were right to do so.”

 After informing Lipton of his promotion, Ron quickly turns on his heel and makes eye contact with you once more. As you fall in to step with him through the doorway of the church, Ron processes the new information he’s been given.

 While he’d never really liked Lewis Nixon, this revelation has only solidified his stance on the man. It was one thing to drink on the job and still be productive- whatever arrangement this was was unacceptable. 

 Your hand is soft in his as he takes it, the fumble in your stride telling him that you hadn’t been expecting him to do so. But you still don’t let go, you still follow him past Battalion and you offer no resistance when he guides you inside of the small cottage you’d been assigned to.

 When Ron gently takes your face in his hands, your eyes flicker down to his mouth before he even begins to speak.

 “Do you remember what you asked me in the attic, a few months ago? About what I cared about?”

 You nod slowly, and as your gaze meets his he could swear that you’re about to burn him to ask once more. You seem to lean into his touch, and while there is still caution in your eyes he thinks he may also see a flicker of intrigue in your irises as well.

 “Things you can’t have. Things you shouldn’t care about.”

 You say it as if you didn’t need to think about it very hard to remember- something that makes his heart stutter in his chest.

 “You, you know that I was talking about you.”

 Then, you do something that Ron will never forget.

 You smile.

And this time, it reaches your eyes.

~ ~ ~ (*looks over at all the homework/chores I’ve neglected in favor of writing this* WHOOPS

BUT FOR REAL HERE WE BE AGAIN. HOPE I DIDN’T DEPRESS Y’ALL TOO MUCH BC I KEEP DOING THAT WITHOUT INTENDING TO OK LOVE YOU BYE )

taglist: @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ @sunsetmando​ @ricksmorty​ @liebgotttme​

[sheabeeprime]

I Drive Me Mad

AO3 Link

By: @sheabeeprime for @superherotiger as part of @friendly-neighborhood-exchange -> I'm so sorry this is late. I worked really hard though and wouldn't even read my story until this was posted so I hope you love it <3

Rating: Teen + Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark

Summary:

Even though he couldn’t make out most of the distinct features that would confirm this figure to be human, let alone someone he knew, he wasn’t afraid. This man wasn’t scary like his captors had been. No, he radiated safety and warmth and through the armor plating that now gently caressed his cheek, Peter detected a familiar smell of expensive cologne mixed with motor oil which he recognized as home. “D-Dad? Please…help me,” Peter whimpered, fighting spirit returning ever so slightly as he resisted the need to allow his eyes roll back into his skull and fall into the forever slumber. It hurt to stay awake and to try and comprehend reality, but something inside of him said that he had to. He had to, if not for himself than for the blob of red and gold which held him close. He couldn’t imagine how terrible it would be for a father to lose their only child. “It’s okay Peter; you’re going to be okay." Or: In the aftermath of his kidnapping, Peter takes comfort from Tony during a Thunderstorm.

References to Torture

The first time Peter called Tony “Dad,” he was tired and 100% drugged out. Whatever his kidnappers injected him with was strong, with its effects still lingering even after his captors ceased their torture and left for him dead. Peter only hoped the reason they finally abandoned his husk was because they realized Iron Man and the rest of the Avengers were hot on their tail.

It took an additional 36 hours after that, however, before Tony and the others finally found him. At that point Peter was damn near dead.

Days prior he was still trying to fight through the toxins as they were administered. He tried to stay awake and learn everything he could about his captors... Now, the spiderling was just trying to save his energy enough to stay alive, to maintain his vital functions, even if poorly.

Peter couldn’t even hold his head up anymore; allowing it to lull from one side to the other when his mentor tried to shake him back into awareness. The unpleasant feeling of his head rolling about his shoulders, however, was just barely enough ignite the fringes of his mind with a semi-consciousness. He mentally reached for the feeling, trying to hold onto it as long as possible.

“D-Dad?” He asked, tongue thick and cottony.

It took all his enhanced strength, but Peter lifted his head up just enough so that when his eyelids fluttered open, he was looking at the blurred figure before him in their eyes.

Even though he couldn’t make out most of the distinct features that would confirm this figure to be human, let alone someone he knew, he wasn’t afraid. This man wasn’t scary like his captors had been. No, he radiated safety and warmth and through the armor plating that now gently caressed his cheek, Peter detected a familiar smell of expensive cologne mixed with motor oil which he recognized as home.

“D-Dad? Please…help me,” Peter whimpered, fighting spirit returning ever so slightly as he resisted the need to allow his eyes roll back into his skull and fall into the forever slumber.

It hurt to stay awake and to try and comprehend reality, but something inside of him said that he had to. He had to, if not for himself than for the blob of red and gold which held him close. He couldn’t imagine how terrible it would be for a father to lose their only child.

“It’s okay Peter; you’re going to be okay.”

He clung to the feeling of hope that being in this figure’s arms brought him. Hands still bound behind his back with vibranium cuffs, Peter simply nuzzled into the neck of who he hoped to be his father, breathing in a heavy and ragged way while trying to hold back tears as the man cradled him and whispered sweet nothings, only stopping on the occasion to bark orders at the other Avengers.

Peter tried to ignore how every fiber of his body seemed to suddenly be subjected to hot flames when he was finally lifted up by the red and gold. As they took off into the air, Peter moaned, head throbbing to the same rhythm of his uneven pulse. His senses were both still dulled and on overdrive. He couldn’t even enjoy the way the cool air that filtered past them brought relief to his burning body because of the simultaneous wind sounds and air pressure that pounded in his ears.

Landing had to be worse than flying though. Peter wasn’t sure how long they’d been in the air for prior to hitting the ground, but the jostle it wrought was enough to displace Peter’s empty stomach such that his body, tired as it was, instinctually lurched forward in an attempt to dry heave. The strong arms holding him tightened their fatherly grip as Peter trembled in the aftermath, praying that the numbness he felt before might return and mask this pain once again.

There seemed to be no time to try and relax though. Almost immediately after his stomach attempted to turn inside out did a group of hands try to pry the crime-fighting-spider from his human safety blanket. Peter half expected the metal man to defend him, so when the man instead began the relinquish the hold he had on Peter to the group of strangers, Peter felt fear strike his heart.

“No!” he cried out, pushing back into the chest of the one person he knew was safe while trying to violent kick at his attackers.

“Pete, it’s okay. They just want to help. You’re safe,” The figure spoke in his ear, voice smooth and even, never once showing there was a reason to panic.

The words seemed to cocoon the spiderling up like his favorite MIT Hoodie. They allowed just the smallest morsel of comfort to sink into his skin and convinced him to momentarily stop bracing against the mass of hands just long enough for them to somehow release him from confines of the vibranium cuffs.

When Peter felt the pressure on his writs dissipate, his arms immediately snapped forward to wrap around his red and gold savior, gripping into the alloy mixture without fear of denting it. The person behind the armor didn’t even flinch he crunched the suit like aluminon foil.

“Don’ wan you ‘o leave me,” Peter slurred.

A couple minutes of silence passed, where the figure just hushed Peter by massaging his arms with one hand, supporting him still with the other, until the teenager could be coaxed into letting go and laying onto a gurney. When he finally relinquished the last of his grip and the medical staff began to work, Peter felt a stab of panic into his heart again. Behind his eyes, he could see the masked faces of his captors, taunting him in his intoxicated, helpless state and reaching to inflict more pain. Before Peter could open his mouth to scream, however, the sensation of someone holding his hand cut through the vision, anchoring him to reality.

The hand was about the size of the metal ones holding onto him earlier, except this time they were made of flesh. They felt soft yet calloused; gentle yet firm.

“Dad?”

Peter blinked a couple times, double vision lining up long enough to see Tony Stark’s face hovering over his own, concerned eyes and a worried smile. He ran his free hand over Peter’s sweat and blood matted hair, just like a parent would.

“It’s okay, little Bambino. I’m not going anywhere.” ~~~~~~~~

Peter didn’t remember calling Tony “Dad.” Actually, Peter didn’t remember much from his recuse at all. He wasn’t as embarrassed about it as his mentor, and even he himself, thought he was going to be though. Peter had recused people from kidnapping situations before and accepted that sometimes they say and do weird things. Never mind the fact that he had been fighting off calling Iron Man “Dad” in everyday conversations about a month prior to the incident.

Surprisingly, Peter was more flustered to find out that, true to his word, Tony stayed with him through all the poking, prodding, and evaluating. Even when surgery was deemed necessary

to reset some broken bones Peter had, Tony was there while he was put under and prepped for surgery. It was not until the lead doctor, Helen Cho, insisted that his presence in the surgery suite would be unsanitary and could inhibit the team of doctors that the billionaire finally did step aside. And even still, Tony’s face was the first he saw when he woke up.

Peter made a pretty quick recovery after that, all things considered. Once he gained enough weight back for his super healing to begin and work again, his bones and wounds seemed to knit themselves back together at an astronomical rate. 48 days after the incident and Dr. Cho even cleared him to be Spider-Man again, to Tony and May’s disgruntlement.

But Peter figured, this kind of thing…it happens to heroes. It happened to Tony. Sure, that was before he became Iron Man, but it still counts. And anyway, he didn’t want it to stop him from helping people; from preventing that kind of thing from happening to anyone else. He did the time in the hospital, he went to Tony’s mandated therapy, he should be able to be Spider-Man. It was the best thing for him anyway; to just move on.

Because that’s what heroes do.

Right?

But while he may have recovered from his physical wounds, his mental ones seemed tattooed with ugly ink on the back of his skull

Peter found he no longer felt safe in the apartment, with the sounds of the city beneath him. Whenever he closed his eyes, the dripping of their old bathroom faucet, or the sounds of his neighbors arguing, or the smell of the trash on the curb somehow brought him back to that grimy warehouse he had been kept in.

And when he was out and about, Peter’s Spidey Sense would constantly thrum. It made him seem paranoid. He would jump at just the sound of car doors closing or cats meowing or even just his friends approaching from behind. Everyone felt too close, but also too far.

The nightmares had to be the worst of it. Every night, he felt tortured again. Sometimes they were memories, sometimes imaginative scenarios, but always his fears playing out before his eyes. He tried to immerse himself with Spider-Man patrols and schoolwork in the late hour of night when sleep felt like imprisonment, but that wasn’t helping his mental state either.

That’s how Peter found himself sleeping at the Tower.

Peter wasn’t sure if being so high up and far away from the streets was what helped him calm down, or the bullet proof windows, or if it was just being close to Tony, but something about the Tower allowed him to sleep, even if only a little bit.

May was the first to approve of the arrangement.

“Anything to help my baby get better,” she said.

Tony had been pushing for him to stay anyway.

“It’s safer,” the genius would claim. And he was right, but there was more too it than that.

Either way, the Spiderling now had his own Star-Wars themed room in the Stark penthouse, down the hall from the master bedroom. And he would be lying if he said staying with his mentor hadn’t been great. The long lab days, the movie nights, the expensive family dinners, all of it was wonderful…except for one thing.

Thunderstorms.

KA-DUUUM!

Peter snapped forward in his bed, a mangled shout caught somewhere in this throat, never to make it out into the open. His eyes darted to the window which was being battered by rain. Part of him was thankful for the thunder for waking him from his impending nightmare. The other part of him, however, knew that this was almost worse.

FU-FOOM!

Another burst of noise had Peter jumping from his bed and into fighting position, hands balled into fists to keep them from shaking.

The tower was not soundproof. And being so high up, Peter felt the sounds of the storm were the only things that were made to be even louder.

Peter could feel see his veins throbbing with increased blood pressure. He squeezed his eyes shut to try and focus on his breathing, but the darkness behind his eyelids made his mind swim with anxiety.

“There is nothing to fear. There is nothing to fear. I’m safe here. I’m safe here,” Peter whispered to himself.

Logically, Peter knew this was just a harmless storm. He used to love watching them out of the massive windows in the tower. But ever since he came home from being kidnapped, he couldn’t handle it. The noises, the flashes of light, the way the tower seemed sway in the wind, all of it was too much for his heightened senses. The worst of it was, he didn’t know why. Maybe it was because it had been storming the night of his capture, or maybe it was just his PTSD, but either way it was driving him insane.

BARROOOM!

This time, Peter darted out of his room and into the hallway. Instinctually, he wanted to seek out comfort from the only other person in the house: Tony Stark. However, Peter was also trying to hide his fear of thunderstorms from his mentor, and up to this point he thought he had done a pretty damn good job. He had even had Ned hack FRIDAY so she wouldn’t alert Tony when he wasn’t sleeping well. He just didn’t want anyone to worry about him more than they already did. Which was a lot, by the way.

Tony didn’t need anything more weight on his mind, in Peter’s opinion. Despite how he hid behind a mask of sarcasm and sunglasses, Peter knew his mentor blamed himself for the world’s problems and carried that weight on his shoulders at all times. What kind of person would he be to add to that weight?

So, the young superhero padded past the Stark master bedroom and instead went into the kitchen to grab some water. He was about halfway done with his glass when another flash of lightening caused the kitchen-living area to momentarily flicker to life with a blinding white light. He could feel his stomach drop and hairs stand on end in the pitch black that followed, waiting for the room to be filled with sounds of thunder.

WA-BAMM!

CRASH!

Peter dropped his glass to the floor and jumped to the ceiling, whimpering when the glass he was using shattered beneath him. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as he crawled into the safety of a corner.

“Peter?”

Tony poked his head up over the back of his luxury couch, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes to help them adjust to the dark as he scanned the room for the spiderling. It wasn’t long before he spotted the human-sized form on the ceiling, huddling in a corner, silently sobbing.

“Oh Pete…”

Before Tony could even get up to go collect his kid, thunder struck again.

BUUU-DUDUMM!

Inhibitions falling, Peter scurried across the ceiling and dropped down on the couch next to Tony, curling up into his side like an infant.

“Dad, I’m sacred…” he mumbled into the genius’ oil-stained shirt, fear completely taking over.

Tony was sure Peter was unaware of what he had called him, but one look into the teen’s desperate, pleading eyes, and Tony decided he would let it be. The title gave him a warm, tingling feeling anyway. He knew in a second, he would be honored to be this kid’s Dad.

So, Tony did what any Dad would do and wrapped his arms around the boy, rubbing circles into his back and told him it would be okay. And they sat like the for the whole duration of the storm, until sobs became sniffles.

Peter was the first to break away, although not far enough that he was out of his mentor’s strong hold.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I don’t know what came over me,” he said, faced flushed from both crying and embarrassment.

Tony gave him the same concerned eyes and a worried smile that he vaguely remembered from his rescue. The man then ran his hand through the boy’s curls and, in a move that surprised them both, kissed the top of Peter’s head.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of. I know how difficult recovery can be. After Afghanistan…well…I guess you could say storms bothered me too, and I don’t have your senses,” the billionaire admitted.

Peter was shocked.

“Really? Is that why you were sleeping on the couch?” he asked.

“Uhh, actually, I just stay out here because I worry about you…ya know, in case you need me,” Tony answered, looking away a little nervously. He felt exposed, although deep inside knew his kid would never exploit that.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Peter said quietly.

Tony noticed his guilt sinking in and immediately looked back at the kid and squeezed his arm so Peter would do the same.

“Hey, don’t be sorry. I really don’t mind.”

Peter looked skeptical.

Tony sighed.

“Listen. You are so good, Pete. What happened to me, I deserved that. But you? You do nothing be help people who have no advocate. I am so proud of you and the least I can do is be here when you need me. I’m not particularly good with my emotions but know that just how Iron Man will always look out for Spider-Man, Tony Stark will always look out for Peter Parker. Okay?”

Peter smiled. A genuine smile. Tony could swear it stopped raining in the moment and the room seemed almost brighter.

“I’m here for you too,” Peter said.

Damn this kid was too good.

“It won’t always hurt like this. It’s okay to lean on other people. I guess that’s something I’m still learning too.”

“We’ll get through this, Mr. Stark. Together.”

Tony smiled down at his kid, but a sudden thought turned his sweet smile into a mischievous smirk.

“Don’t you mean ‘Dad’?”

Peter flushed.

“Mrrrr. Starrrkkk.”

[milstrim]

Flesh and Bone and Heart

Chapter 1: “You have to let go.”

AO3 Link

Everything was bleak. Russet red skies painted a deep orange over every building and skyscraper. Over bodies of sickly green skin and the newly familiar sight of pools of blood stained to sidewalks and walls.

Peter hadn't quite gotten used to the bleakness yet, and he didn't want to. There was still hope after all. Even if he and Happy were the last New Yorkers left in a city of 8.4 million. There had to be other people alive, other groups of survivors across America, waiting for a cure. Because there had to be a way to more than survive this, even if the virus had wiped out the Avengers in a day...

He shook his head of the thought, squaring his shoulders and resuming his vigilant watch from atop the nondescript gray building he had called home the last couple of days. There was hope, and Peter would help the ragtag team that adopted him into their ranks to see it, even though he was sure they didn't see it like he did. There had to be hope after all. Humanity couldn't end because of one mistake. Aunt May couldn't be gone forever. Ned couldn't be a zombie without being allowed to have had a nerd-freak out over the whole thing. Mr. Stark couldn't be replaced by a husk of his former self.

It was impossible for Peter, to stare out at the city every day knowing about the looks the others shared when they thought he wasn't looking. How Happy would stare sullenly. How Sharon would always speak to him a little softer than the day before. Even Kurt, who had been the only one willing and able to match Peter's enthusiasm and attempts to keep everyone's spirits lifted, would drop the act the moment Peter wasn't in the room. He knew. He could hear everyone in their building, after all.

Which was why Peter sat on the building now.

The group had all formed three weeks into the apocalypse, not so easily fitting together but still managing to find how they all worked. His powers definitely made Peter one of the most powerful assets to the team, which was why he was usually on watch or patrolling around for where most of the infected were concentrated. Where once he might have preened at finally feeling so important--so seen--now he wished more than anything that he could shrink away. That his powers weren't needed so badly to keep a handful of survivors away from a fate almost worse than death.

He wished that everything was okay.

Even if it wasn't. And it might never be.

The screen of his mask caught something. Peter readjusted, narrowing his eyes as Karen zoomed in. He relaxed. It was just a small group of normal but infected New Yorkers. As long as everyone inside was quiet and kept up their normal routine, there was little danger there. It wasn't like it was Mr. Stark or those weird portal guys that would've gotten Peter weeks ago had Hope not shown up. They were dangerous, and usually who Peter kept his eye out for. Karen was always on the job tracking Mr. Stark, but the teenager had gotten used to training his eye for the familiar glinting red regardless.

With a quiet sigh released in a huff under his breath, Peter wiggled into a more comfortable crouch, watching the zombies until they filtered away onto a different street and out of his sight.

"Is there a street camera around there, Karen?" he asked, his voice a strained whisper. Two months into the zombie apocalypse the teenager had finally trained himself to make every word small. To treat every sentence like a danger. Sometimes Peter thought it was funny, that he'd had to learn to be quieter. May had always been so loud she'd been confused as to why he was so soft-spoken and he would joke that she was losing her hearing in her old age. But those smile-inducing thoughts would make his features fall with regret and guilt and he'd shove them away as quickly as they came.

"Of course, Peter. Here," his faithful AI responded, the video popping up on his screen. It showed the people continuing to stumble away, so he waved the video away. No real danger. Just a normal, boring, and tense day in the apocalypse.

The high schooler thanked the AI as the video disappeared, forcing his strained shoulders to drop and relax. It was something he'd found himself doing a lot recently. The apocalypse was, well, it was the apocalypse. It was dangerous and nerve-wracking and every breath was filled with a tired guilt that made his chest feel stale. But it also lacked a lot of action. Especially recently. The past two weeks had been a strange mixture of the constant need to be vigilant but with a significant lack of things to do.

It wasn't incredibly hard to get food. Most zombies had moved from being indoors to try and hunt better--like there was really anything left to hunt--leaving supermarkets vacant and easy to raid. It wasn't hard to watch out for infected intruders. Two people were always on watch. Important items were always ready to be moved and Karen kept a constant eye on security cameras around whatever building they were occupying that week. And Peter was left with little to do to occupy his thoughts.

He didn't want to think. Not about his situation. Not about the world. Not about his family and friends. He wanted to fight. He wanted to do.

Sometimes the teenager would try and piece together a semblance of a cure. Many zombies had rotted away completely, and there were vacant labs dotted around New York. He could try his hand at his chemistry knowledge and combat what he could. But every attempt, no matter how promising, had always ended in failure.

Peter couldn't make a cure. He was smart, but he was only sixteen and a half. He was a kid and he couldn't do it.

But there was a different sixteen year-old that maybe could.

Miss Okoye had arrived yesterday, in a shiny ship that had bled out of the air and landed in the open space in Avengers tower where the Quinjet should have been. Peter had been on watch then too, but he hadn't seen the plane land at the building across the city, it was invisible after all. Instead, Karen had alerted him and the teenager had immediately leapt off the building towards the tall and lonely ghost of a tower.

  (His first day in the lab had been so tense and awkward. He hadn't known what to say and Mr. Stark hadn't known what to do. Peter had been so nervous he'd nearly burnt his hand off while doing simple wiring. Mr. Stark had panicked so bad--grabbing his hand and having Friday scan it and double-checking it himself when he didn't quite believe the AI--his cheeks blazed red and then Peter had burst out with loud giggles at the panic.)

  Peter had arrived quickly and without interruption from a certain flying zombie, with enough time to warn Miss Okoye that Mr. Stark's suit also got alerts when something entered the tower and that they needed to leave immediately. Thankfully, he and the warrior had left before anyone could arrive and Peter had gotten to ride in a super-freaking-cool Wakandan ship. It hadn't quite distracted him from being back at the tower, but he'd let everyone think it had.

Now the group was making a decision. He could hear them faintly a few floors below, their voices murmured and concerned. It was hard to make out what they were saying exactly, but he couldn't quite say he cared. Certainly not enough to have Karen enhance the sound and let him know every word that was being said below. He had found that happening a lot recently. Not caring. At some point everything had become too much and his brain felt much too much like wet tissue paper to try and purse through anything in there other than I wish I wasn't awake. I wish I wasn't here. I wish someone else had survived instead of me. Someone who was ready.

But there wasn't anything else. And Wakanda would be safe, if they managed to make it there.

That was the debate.

Did they go search for a man who'd been thought to be dead and lost days into the apocalypse, or pack up and go to the last safe haven on Earth? Miss Okoye had her goal, with or without them--that, she had made very clear. But the rest of the group was split, and something they had decided when they'd first met was that the group should never split. And so, the debating. The arguing. All in whispered murmurs that had to be stifled to nothing if Peter ever gave the signal that an infected group was nearing too close for comfort.

The teenager hadn't heard much of the argument, hadn't made much of a point to pay attention to it, but he knew where everyone lay. Happy was ready to retreat to Wakanda, and Peter couldn't blame him. He didn't have superpowers, he wasn't trained, and the teenager was sure that it had been quite a blow to not only lose all of his friends but to have to depend on a snot-nosed teenager afterwards. Peter wanted Happy to go too. Traversing the zombie-infested country was a death wish for anyone who wasn't in better-than-peak fighting condition.

Kurt wanted to go. Bucky and Sharon wanted to fight.

Hope wanted to fight, but she wanted Peter to go.

Peter didn't want to go.

He wasn't an Avenger, but neither was she. There were no Avengers left. But he was the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. It was his responsibility to help his community, and hiding in Wakanda wouldn't help. If there was a fight, some way to help, Peter would take it.

Finally tired of the silence, he opened his mouth to ask Karen to let him listen to the debate, when a tingle--shocking and cold and running a shiver of goosebumps along his arms--stopped him. Immediately the teenager was on high alert, his muscles tightening in anticipation as he searched for the danger.

"Where's the Iron Man armor?" he snipped quietly to Karen. A screen popped up immediately, showing the armor still in Manhattan. He furrowed his brows. "Okay. Okay. Is it the wizard guys? Karen, search through security cameras nearby and alert the others that something is--"

He cut himself off at a painfully sharp tingle, instinct directing his chin up to stare at the tired russet sky. Except the laziness of it was gone now, replaced now by a fierce fire of ruby red, leaching out from a strange bright spot in the sky. A meteor. Great. The zombie apocalypse, now a meteor, what next? Nuclear war between the zombies?

Karen zoomed in on the meteor heading straight for Manhattan and--no. That wasn't a meteor. Was that--a person? Oh my, God, it was a person.

Said person zipped out of sight just as that thought registered, disappearing among the buildings. Towards where he knew Mr. Stark was.

Peter didn't even weigh his options. A person (alien or possibly already dead) was heading towards the most zombie-infested area of the city. He had to try.

And without a second thought, he slipped off of the building and began swinging.

    "You're not going to convince him!" Happy snapped, his frustration bubbling over. The argument had taken up much of the night before and pretty much all day now. All held in stifled and angry whispers that only made the man angrier as he was forced to keep his voice low and repeat what he'd been saying for hours now. "You've known him for months now! You know you can't."

"He's a kid," Hope pushed back, her voice just as steely as when the argument had started. "He doesn't need to be in the middle of this--even if you and Stark thought it was a good idea. If there's a safe haven in Wakanda, that's where he needs to go."

"And lose one of our most powerful members?" Sharon said. "Look, I don't like the kid fighting any more than you do, but we can't really go anywhere without him. I doubt we'd ever even get out of the city without him."

Hope glared at the agent, aghast. She'd been backed into a corner for hours now, but the woman had refused to back down, spitting and snarling her argument through furious whispers and an exaggeratingly patient voice. Her hard stare examined the faces around the table, looking for some sign of agreement that Happy wished he could offer.

Happy had seen what had happened to Tony. He'd been there when Pepper had turned. When Peter had come bounding through the window of the tower and snatched him towards their new semblance of safety while blubbering about his Aunt and his friend and the state of the city. All in one afternoon.

The former bodyguard thought back to that afternoon a lot. It was clearer in his mind more than almost anything in his life. It had been a gray day. One that turned the sky white and hung heavy in the air and cooled the once bustling streets of New York. It had been strange for the end of spring, but appropriate for the world.

Tony and Rhodes had both been infected, along with the rest of the Avengers, that much they'd known since Friday had reported their vitals completely askew. Happy hadn't told Peter yet, but he'd assumed the kid had already known. The entirety of the West coast had been swallowed, but shaky live footage of people's last moments and journalists as brave as they were stupid had been on a repeating cycle of news for the last thirty-six hours. Peter had never been particularly on top of the news, but Happy had heard how he'd begged Tony to go and help the Avengers. He'd remembered the heart-breaking anxiety and the admittance of a terrible feeling from his Peter Tingle.

But Tony had made Peter stay. He'd told Happy to make sure the kid didn't run off or 'stick his nose into anything that he shouldn't.' Happy's best friend had left with a tight smile. Happy had said good luck.

And now Tony was gone.

Or, more accurately, Tony had spread the infection among the entirety of New York in four hours.

Happy remembered a lot about that day, but he still wasn't sure why Tony had come back to the city. The bodyguard couldn't read brain scans, but Friday had said Tony was practically a shell after fifteen minutes. And a shell had no reason to return home.

He guessed the why wasn't terribly important, because Tony had returned, heading straight toward the tower.

Happy had been about the leave, actually. After watching news footage of Natasha--on her own, bloodied and torn and still trying to fight--finally losing an impossible battle, he knew he'd needed to pick up Peter and May. They needed to get to the compound and try to figure out how to keep the world from breaking. With the Avengers gone there had to be another solution. Maybe it was going to be harboring scientists on a heavily fortified government base. Maybe it was going to be finding other heroes, like Fury had done. The world was so big, there had to be more superheroes--but it hadn't worked out like that.

He'd been on the phone.

"I'm leaving now," he'd said to Pepper, stepping into the elevator. "I'll get Peter and May and take them to the compound. I think you should get in the car with me."

"No. I'll drive myself after you in a couple of hours," she'd said, the dryness of grief clinging to her voice. "The governor's meeting with me soon to discuss how to best lock down the city and prevent an infection."

Happy had thought they'd have at least a week or so. The infected Avengers were fast killers, but they were thousands of miles away and hunting their way through the country.

He'd thought they'd had so much longer.

"I don't know how we'll prevent anything without a cure or a forcefield," he'd said.

"Wakanda's providing aid all over the world. I'll hold a meeting with Queen Ramonda and the President this evening to discuss protecting vulnerable hotspots around the country. New York should be able to--"

The phone had crackled as it crashed, whatever Pepper was saying being completely lost to a thunderous boom of glass. His heart had begun racing before he even found the ability to speak.

And then the red. Lights and alarms flashing overhead in a terrifying headache that Happy remembered even now. The fear. The fatigue. The overwhelming wish that everything would just be okay.

But it wasn't. And it likely wouldn't be.

"Pepper?" he'd finally said. No response. "Pepper? C'mon--what happened? Friday, take me up to the penthouse. Now."

The AI obliged, the elevator stopping and shifting as it began to zoom back up.

When the doors had finally opened, Happy had wished he had just left. That he'd just gone for May and Peter hours ago. He knew it made him a coward. He knew it was a betrayal to Tony's trust. To Pepper's. But...

The smell had been strong immediately. Rotting and stomach-churning and burning the hairs of his nose. It was a smell he would come accustomed to in the coming weeks, but then it had been new and terrifying.

The sound had been low. A growl upon the still and charged air. A low hum that had taken him a moment to register past the smell.

And then he'd finally taken in the sight.

And it had been Tony.

But it hadn't been Tony either.

Tony had always had such a distinct posture that Happy could pick him out in the biggest of crowds. His skin was warm and his eyes a deep familiar brown. The suit had been an oxymoron for years. It had meant safety in a lot of ways. It had meant protection and the world and the knowledge that Tony would look out for them, and that he would avenge them if need be. But it had also meant that his friend was in danger. Every damn day. That he had left to go face danger, and that the danger had finally bested him.

Now the suit was the danger. Now it held a rotting corpse, with eyes white and red and veiny. With skin gray and blue and green and grafting off onto the expensive tile floor. Now the arc reactor shined on a collapsed body, twitching in tune with the ringing of the phone beside it.

Bulging eyes had turned to the opened elevator door. Pepper's red hair had begun to shift and turn until a matching pair was facing him.

Happy had pressed the close door button just as he had heard a shouted, "Oh, my God. Mr. Stark I saw you fly in through the window! What--"

The bounding figure of Peter Parker had leapt through the broken window, landing lightly on the shards of glass littered on the floor like sand. Fear had so tightly taken over the excitement held tightly in the kid's shoulders. The imposters had stared. Peter had taken a step back.

And then there'd been a fight.

That was where pieces of the day had gotten blurry. He remembered Peter yelling something at Happy, something about getting out of the building, but Happy didn't remember going down the elevator. He'd rushed out, knocking the couch into Pepper's way while Peter had grappled with Tony. In a flash of panic and skills that Happy hadn't known Peter had had, Tony and Pepper had been flung into the elevator. Peter had grabbed Happy. And they'd swung.

Of course, that elevator hadn't lasted for long. It was a pitiful prison for Tony. No, he'd escaped within minutes. Long enough for him and Peter to get away, but not long enough to warn the city. Not to save May.

Hope's voice snapped Happy back to the argument and out of his hellish memories.

"So Peter comes with us," she said, defeated. "But where are we even going? If he's coming, we're not leaving without a solid and airtight plan."

"There is no such thing," Okoye responded. "Not anymore. Not here."

"But--"

"She's right, Hope," Barnes said, his voice as steely and cold as usual. "The best we can do is not argue and keep moving. When we have T'challa, we'll call for backup and head to Wakanda."

"Sounds like the best plan we'll get," Happy said.

"Great. We'll leave in the morning," Sharon declared. There were nods all around, except for from Hope, who had turned from her arguing to fiddling with the high-tech gauntlet on her wrist, her brows furrowed. And, suddenly, Happy had a bad feeling.

"Or we'll leave right now," Hope said.

"What?" Kurt exclaimed. "Why would we--"

She raised her forearm, displaying the screen on her wrist. "Peter just left. And Karen just alerted me to breaches in the atmosphere."

Oh yeah. Super bad feeling.

"Of course it got worse. How could it not get worse?"

    Peter was only halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge when he saw it. The second thing to interrupt the russet sky of the day. A spaceship. Great. Let's just spread the alien virus to the rest of the universe, yeah?

Crouching on top of a bridge spire, he stopped for only a moment to observe the circular ship taller than a skyscraper. It was definitely different than the Chitauri, so he guessed that didn't mean they were going to attack. Of course, it didn't mean that they were going to not attack either. Part of Peter hoped that maybe some friendly visitors had heard of their troubles and were descending with a cure. A more realistic, and more bone-crushingly tired part of him knew that that was most definitely not the case.

With a rallying breath, the teenager kept going.

"Okay. Just gotta make peace with the new aliens and hope backup arrives. Oh, Karen. Send an ask for backup to Hope please? I've got a feeling Mr. Stark is gonna be here."

"Done, Peter."

"Great. Thank youuu," he sung, dipping low and skimming the water for a few seconds before swinging back up and finally making it into Manhattan.

The spaceship was stirring up dust and its gusts of winds were whipping around trash (a months-old Starbucks cup ended up hitting him right in the face, so nature wasn't quite healing like they'd thought). But, most dangerously, it was attracting a crowd. Hordes of zombies lining the streets were snapped out of their trance and were beginning to amble towards the disturbance. Some faster than others, but as long as Peter was quick they wouldn't be the main disturbance of the afternoon.

Karen kept up a map of Mr. Stark's rapidly approaching location.

    Peter arrived as the dust settled upon the street, revealing a strange mixture of figures, a low thunder of throaty growls, and the sound of at least one regular guy. The teenager recognized three of the figures, and had expected them too. Iron Man and the Wizards. If they ever lived through this, he needed to tell Mr. Stark they'd be a good band or something.

The other two infected figures were--you had to be kidding. The aliens were infected. Amazing. Thank you, Universe for being ever so helpful.

The man--not infected and hopefully human--let out a strangled exclamation of surprise as Mr. Stark raised his arm, once again on the attack. Peter pulled harder on his web, willing himself forward faster. He was so close and yet so far. Mr. Stark and the wizards were still approaching but he still wasn't even close enough to strike what was he going to do--

A flash of red. With a determined flourish, nothing but a floating piece of fabric declared itself in the street and dove. And then, quickly and efficiently, Mr. Stark was thrown. And now Peter was in range.

The young superhero landed just a little too harshly in front of the uninfected man, not even taking a moment to examine his face as he flicked out a hand at the nearest creature. The wizard's jaw was hanging loosely from his cheeks as he raised his hand, a dangerous path of orange following the trail of his fingers.

At the same moment Peter shot a web at his wrist the fabric wrapped around the zombie's head. Peter pulled and the cloth tugged. He stared at the thing, confused as to what it's plan was--could it have a plan? It was an inanimate object. A floating one, but still--before this time tugging with it. In a strong and swift motion, the wizard zombie was knocked into a car, making the vehicle dent in its doors and fall to the side.

"Nice!" Peter exclaimed as the fabric zipped off the guy's head before it was slammed into the car door, the thing was by his side in a flash, finally allowing him to see it was a cloak. "Woah. Wizard stuff is pretty cool."

"I'll tell you what's not cool," Peter turned towards the new voice, his jaw dropping as the man continued to speak, "sticking around here! C'mon, move it!!"

Bruce Banner--literally Bruce Banner oh, my God. Where had he been? Why was he here now? Wait, did he maybe have the cure? Was that where he'd been or something--grabbed his arm and began running. Confused and shocked as he was, Peter followed, allowing his legs to be pulled into motion.

A shock ran up his spine, but it wasn't fast or strong enough to completely warn Peter of the sparks that turned into a window twenty feet behind him before he could even blink.

Wizard whose face was still attached lunged. Bruce Banner jumped back with a fearful exclamation, backing the two into a nearby car. The zombie's teeth clicked and snarled, its rotten stench burning at his nose and making his eyes water. But the teeth never came, not close enough to bite. To infect.

"Don't eat me!" Dr. Banner yelled. And, surprisingly, it didn't.

It took Peter a moment to realize what was holding the incensed zombie back. Cloakie had grabbed onto its arms, tugging back harshly. The cloak tugged, the zombie chewed the air, the portal dimmed. And then the portal was gone, snuffed out as quickly as it came and leaving nothing but a lolling head on the ground beside Peter Parker and Bruce Banner.

Peter, so numb and so wired on adrenaline at the same time, had no reaction but a small flinch and a hitched breath. Dr. Banner fell, scrambling to get away from the head as he still backed himself into the car, strangled and horrified yells escaping his lips.

"Oh!! Ugh! Ah, ah, go away go away!!" the Avenger said, kicking the head away in his panic. Peter watched it go before turning back to the fight still continuing behind him.

Mr. Stark was blasting at Cloakie, who still held the zombie's headless body as it looped around in the air in a flurry of motion. Peter watched his mentor for a bit, debating on whether he needed to attack and trap him while the man was distracted, or grab Dr. Banner and run, when the decision was made for him.

"Agh!!--" he exclaimed as his legs were tugged and pulled into the air. A confused scream escaped past his lips at the lack of anything physical pulling him, but there was no time to ponder.

Instinctively, Peter stuck his hands to the pavement, grunting as his legs were still pulled straight up in the air. Now essentially in a magic headstand, the teenager could make out the approaching zombies. Mr. Stark, Goatee Wizard, Squidward, and Gray Hulk. Squidward seemed to be doing the magic in this scenario, its hand held out in a probably magic but threatening gesture.

"Hey! No, put me down! C'mon, I'm not good meat, guys. Really. You'd be better off finding some rats or--" There was a crack. Peter looked down at the pavement he was sticking to now crumbling around his hands. "That's not good."

And then Peter was fully in the air, the cement still attached to his stretched out hands and the zombies still approaching.

"Heyyy, guys," he said, trying hard not to look at Mr. Stark. "Y'know, I feel like you just had something to eat and I hate to spoil dinner so I'm just gonna--"

Buzzing filled the air, choking the rust sky in clouds of black. Peter closed his eyes even as the figures stopped only a foot from his face, unable to watch the spectacle and glad to fall to the ground. Wind gushed overhead, a hot air following the streaming wave of ants as they thundered forward.

Remembering that Mr. Stark was there, Peter forced his eyes open in time to see his mentor be completely surrounded and engulfed by a flurry of ants as thick as smoke. The husk of the hero growled and snarled, swinging and snapping at the pests now swarming around him.

The other three wasted away, their soft and rotting flesh eaten completely by Hope's army of thousands, but Mr. Stark still stood, dead yellow eyes staring straight into Peter's.

Mr. Stark didn't recognize Peter. Peter didn't recognize Mr. Stark.

Hope warped back to her normal size, mounting a defensive stance between him and Mr. Stark with her arm outstretched. Mr. Stark's repulsors whined and Hope's gauntlets charged. It took the teenager a split second to realize what she was about to do.

He made to his feet.

"NO!! HOPE DON'T--"

Mr. Stark's body careened. His head rolled, stopping just by Peter's foot.

He couldn't look away.

Mr. Stark had always been such an infinite figure in Peter's mind. Uncontrolled and ungoverned by terrors of death and incapable of causing grief. So the teenager hadn't let himself feel grief, because it was too unreal--too impossible--to feel grief for his mentor. To feel grief for the world, because the world couldn't end like this. He'd repeated that every day. Every morning. Every night. Every minute. Humanity couldn't end because of one decision. One mistake.

But Peter had made a mistake too. He had made the mistake of locking misery and his mourning away, of moving every thought towards something different. Something productive, something positive, something uplifting. He'd made it his role, and his role alone, to keep the group going, no matter how much denying he had to do to get there.

And that had been a mistake, because now there was nothing stopping two months of fear and regret and anguish as it piled and piled and piled. It flooded in like a torrent of mud, slimy and all consuming through his head and his stomach and even towards his limbs until everything was numb and he had only thought left.

Mr. Stark's gone. He's gone. He's gone.

An ant, as huge as he was, grabbed Mr. Stark's head and left.

Peter stared at the spot where it had been, unblinking, breath short, limbs taut. Hope kneeled beside him, her helmet retracting.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I know you two were close."

He ignored her apology. "There could have been a cure. There could've--and now--"

"I'm sorry," Hope said again. "But you have to let go, Peter. We can't save everybody."

Peter didn't hear her. A new thought replaced the old one.

But why couldn't we save him?

Someone cleared their throat. Peter and Hope turned to stare as Dr. Banner stepped over a now rotten skeleton.

"Would anyone care to explain, please?"

Hope sighed. "Where to start."

2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 |

[arandompostarchive]

Inure - Ch. 3

SAVED WORK

Summary: To some, The Specter is a serial killer. To some, a hero. But to everyone, you were entirely a mystery. You had no history, just a list of victims a mile long. No matter how many people searched your name, they could find anything. If only they had the spelling right. Now, you’ve come across some unfortunate information that drives you out of your usual shadows and into the path of the Avengers. Including two of the more reclusive members of the team. And it’s hard to pick only one of them.

***

You had finally showed up on the doorstep of a long awaited target. You had gotten the tip from a morally questionable FBI agent who really needed a break. Apparently, this target had been leading quite the operation.

Managing drug rings, human trafficking, and murder. Not to mention the amount of people she had killed on her own. Even that sounded like your usual case. A major criminal who you got to take out. Just your average job. Until you looked into her a bit more.

She didn’t just murder. She tortured. All of her victims had gone through days of torture, maybe even weeks. Apparently, even forensics investigators weren’t sure exactly how long these people had to suffer. It made you sick.

“Violet.” You said, rounding the corner. Unlike most of your targets, she had an office of her own. You had caught her at work late, one of the last people there. You didn’t mind people being in the building. There wouldn’t be any gunshots to hear. Maybe a scream or two.

“Yes? Can I help you?” You walked into the room. It was neatly decorated. The token and artifacts around the room were no doubt extremely expensive and probably stolen. Her accent stood out. It was heavy, though her words were still clear. She was certainly European, though you couldn’t remember what country and couldn’t place it from sound alone. “I have things to do so if you wouldn’t mind hurrying?” You walked a bit quicker, trying to avoid her yelling. You didn’t want her making that much noise just yet, it might attract unwanted attention.

You stepped into her office, walking toward her desk. The room smelled like lavender, a candle or two rested on side tables around the room. The smell was heavy, almost nauseating.

“What sort of outfit is that supposed to be? Are you one dressing up?” She gestured to your suit. It was less fancy than most suits you’d seen. Black with a few red accents. It made it easier to blend in and the hood and mask over your mouth helped keep your identity secret. There was a small filter on the side of the mask though, to help you breathe and disguise your voice when you spoke. Not that anyone would recognise you. In fact, you didn’t care much about people knowing your name, but if your face was plastered everywhere you’d never be able to be in public again.

“That’s not important. What is important is you, Ms. Wagner.” You said, your eyes focused on her. Your eyes were clear under the hood as you looked up at her. You were calm. You’d done jobs like this a million times, she wasn’t special. Though, you always appreciated time to exercise your powers. They were destructive and dangerous, so you only used them on the worst of the worst. Those people got locked up in a prison or mental institution, but as long as you were alive, they couldn’t be helped.

“What the hell do you want? Say it quick then get out.” She was short tempered, that was for sure.

“Alright then. You used to work for Hydra, then you got too much for them to handle. You torture and kill, you did this in your old home too. And now, you’ve moved countries to start all over. Not to mention the drug rings you’re tied to,” You said, your voice calm and steady. That was always the most terrifying part for them. You were so collected, sure of yourself. You knew they weren’t going anywhere. And the second they heard your mellow voice, they knew it too.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?! Accusing me of things like that.” She remarked, standing from the large leather chair she sat on. She was clearly nervous though, the slight shake in her voice gave it away. “Get the hell out. Now.” She pointed toward the door. You didn’t move. “I said now. Can’t you hear, bitch?” She said, this time crossing her arms. “I’ll call security.” She said. It wasn’t an empty threat, you could tell, but you weren’t worried.

They wouldn’t get here in time anyway.

You focused on her. Her mind. What she was thinking, what she felt, anything about her. Then you heard it.

“Who does she think she is? March in here like she owns the place. Pathetic.”

Her thoughts. You focused harder. This time on her fears. Everything she regretted, everything she hated, things she was scared of. You found every last one of the monsters in her closet. And then you made them real.

She looked left and right, probably hallucinating something awful. You could never completely see what you created, unless it was an illusion, but you could usually guess what was happening based on what they said.

“Mother?” She asked. She was only staring at a wall, a painting of flowers hung on it along with other paintings she had collected. The look on her face was horrified. You wondered what the story was there.

It was an ability you’d had since you were young, though it was much weaker before you ‘died’. Now, it was one of your most useful skills.

“Stop! Dear god, stop, please. Fuck. Please!” She said. There were tears forming in her eyes already and her voice was cracking. She looked up at you. “You! What did you do to me? What the hell did you do?!” She continued yelling at you but eventually her words became jumbled, the occasional scream cutting in. She’d glance from side to side occasionally before squeezing her eyes shut and looking down. They always acted like that. Strong, determined to stop you, then reduced to nothing but mumbling husks.

You focused on yourself now, this time disguising yourself with an illusion. Another woman walked into the office. Her skirt was short, though professional and you could see a red collared sweater tied around her hips. You’d left the door half open, her screams could be heard down the hallway, so it wasn’t a huge surprise to see someone else come in.

“Miss Wagner?” The woman said. She looked like a college intern, twenty years old at maximum. “Oh my god.” She walked toward the desk until she spotted the broken woman. Violet’s artificial tan didn’t help how pale her face had become. Her legs had given out and now her arms were struggling to support her as she sat on the ground, tears running down her face. She was mumbling things about her mother, father, and ‘the children’, which you suspected were the ones she tortured. Hm. Maybe she did feel some guilt about that. She’d glance back to where you stood. You made sure she could see you, though the intern was oblivious to your presence.

“Miss Wagner? Miss Wagner? Are you alright?” The girl asked, clearly unsure what to do. Violet didn’t respond. She continued staring down at the floor, mumbling and sweating. “Violet?” The girl tried using the woman’s first name instead. She flinched back like she was expecting some huge outburst. Her employees must be treated poorly as well.

“I-I…” the girl paused. It seemed like she didn’t want to help the crying woman on the floor. You figured Violet wasn’t a very nice boss. The girl shook her head a bit, standing up. She took a deep breath before speaking with confidence, “I’m going to call an ambulance. I’ll be back, I promise.” She ran off, back to her desk presumably to make the call. You nodded, appreciating her morals to do the right thing for an awful person. Sadly, you didn’t live by the same rules. You could hear her talking to someone as you made your way over to Violet.

“Awe, darling.” You lifted up her chin with your fingers. You met her eyes. They were filled with pure terror and they kept glancing over your shoulder. You laughed at her. The ways her eyes seemed unable to focus and how clammy her face felt.

“Please…” She started. “I can’t live like this, at least kill me. I understand. I’ve learned. Is that what you want? Learning?” You shook your head. Of course she tries now. Now that you’re torturing her like she once did to others and now she wants to ‘learn her lesson’?

“No. That’s not what I want. I want you to rot somewhere. And maybe someone out there, someone much nicer than me, will take pity. And kill you.” Your hand left her chin and she was left, crying out for as long as the strain in her voice would let her.

***

The next few days consisted of mostly theorizing with the team. Besides that, you and Loki had your own two person ‘book club’ and you learned about some new weapons with Bucky. He had an appreciation for the development in weaponry over the past decades and you didn’t mind learning with him. It also turned out the two of them were friends, so the three of you sometimes had lunch together, though you preferred having one on one time with either of them.

The rest of the team was anxious to find the new SPECTR machine as soon as possible and get you out of their house, not that you could blame them. A very small part of you didn’t want it to end that quickly though. You hadn’t had a real home since the 40’s and before you died you spent all your time in a military camp or in a science lab. That, and you had real friends, well, as close to ‘real friends’ as you’d had in decades. Of course, it helped that they were both extremely attractive, but hey. No one could blame you for that train of thought.

Most of the team still wasn’t happy to have you with them. Though it felt bad to be on the outside, you were used to it. If you had it your way, you never would’ve come there at all, but there were lives on the line and you really needed immunity.

“Everything alright?” Bucky asked as he adjusted the tape over his hands. The two of you had tried out sparing since you could take one hell of a hit so he was free to use his metal arm on you. He had even consented to letting you study it for an hour or two. The two of you got along well and both he and Loki had moved up from the position of ‘not-enemy’ to ‘associate’, though it wasn’t much of a leap. You were hardly ready to trust them, it had only been a few days.

“Just fine. Whenever you’re ready, Barnes.” You said, tossing aside your sweatshirt as you stood across from Bucky. You readied your stance and waited for him to say the word.

“Go.” You took a step forward but Bucky rushed toward you, taking a swing with his metal arm. You knew he appreciated an opponent who could take a hit from a weapon like that, though it took some convincing for him to go all out. You were certain he still wasn’t using 100% of his strength, but it was a start. You ducked, sliding next to him before getting up on one knee and taking a jab at his leg. He stumbled a bit, but stayed standing. Although it wasn’t as effective as you hoped, it gave you time to stand without interruption.

The second he turned to face you, you punched him in the chest, sending him back a bit. He stepped forward and swung his leg into your side, making you stumble too. You kept your hand out to help you balance. You lowered yourself and swiped under his legs. He tripped, but caught himself with his flesh arm. You stood up, jumping back.

He stood again, rushing toward you, metal fist raised. You caught his punch and you could feel the sting against your hand. You were definitely going to have a bruise or two after this. You threw his hand aside, setting him off balance and kicked into his side. He landed on his stomach with a small thud and you kept your foot against his back and kneeled down, arm held against the back of his neck.

“Not bad.” He said, you stood and helped him up.

“Same to you.” You nodded as a small sign of respect. “I’m going to take a shower, I’ll need it before the rest of your group calls some sort of meeting.” You rolled your eyes and Bucky nodded. You could tell he didn’t really like you making fun of his ‘team’, but he never said much. It made you feel a bit bad, but on the other hand, the do-gooders were about as annoying as it gets.

The elevator felt slower than normal, though it was probably just the uncomfortable feeling of sweat on your skin. You stepped out onto your floor. You shared it with Clint and Natasha, probably so they could keep an eye on you. You didn’t mind too much, Clint wasn’t too bad and you had a certain amount of respect for Natasha. She used to have a similar career to you after all. She’d made her way onto your radar for a while, though there were bigger fish to fry and SHIELD was already on her tail. Still, you’d much rather be alone.

You were about to open the door leading to your room when you sensed something was off. Your abilities were helpful in your line of work. Sensing other people had become a skill of yours and right now, something was wrong.

You were on high alert, though you knew it was probably just a team member. You opened the door slowly, prepared to fight if need be. Instead, Natasha sat on your couch, cleaning some of her guns.

The weapons didn’t bother you too much. They were all disassembled for cleaning, the magazines sitting on the table, completely empty. You were sure she’d done that part on purpose, just so you’d know she wasn’t here for a fight, but she’d fight back if need be.

You walked often to your makeshift kitchen and pulled out a bottle of vodka. Whiskey was more your thing, but you’d make do with what you had. You poured a full glass, not caring much for how you were ‘supposed’ to pour it, Natasha was silent the whole time, waiting for you to come over to her.

You moved toward the couch and sat next to her, waiting for her to talk.

“Good to see you again.” She said, not looking away from her weapons. You smiled, taking a large sip of your drink. It burned a bit in your throat, though it wasn’t anything new.

“I’m glad you cleaned up your act.” You said, not offering her any greeting. You could see her smile.

“Why did you let me go that day?” She asked, this time looking up at you. She looked genuinely curious. She didn’t waste any time getting to the point, huh?

“You were finally on the right path. After spending so long killing who you were told to, Clint got you where you were supposed to be.”

She shook her head, not quite understanding. “I was about to kill him. That target, I was going to kill him, I did kill him, and you walked away and left him with me. Why.”

You relaxed against the couch, realizing your shower would have to wait a little longer. “He deserved it. SHIELD was right to send you after him, his death saved lives. I was just making sure you were staying on task. And staying on the right side of the tracks. So to speak.” You took another long sip, hoping you’d feel the effects sooner rather than later.

“You were watching me?” She asked. You were a bit surprised. Natasha was a talented assassin, someone capable and good at protecting herself. Though you doubted that she would know it was you, you did think she’d figure out that someone was watching her. It gave you a small confidence boost.

“I watch a lot of people, Natasha. I like making sure that people in powerful positions really want what’s best for society. Sometimes, they become a target.” You took another gulp of your drink, slightly anxious to finish it as quickly as possible. “Like that Stark.” Natasha began putting a few of her guns back together and into a small black bag next to her.

“Stark was a target?”

You shook your head. “No, but he was on my watch list. His dad wasn’t my favorite guy and for a while he made some rather destructive weapons. I had to make sure he wouldn’t turn into some power-crazed nut job.”

Natasha laughed a bit, “Yeah, pretty sure he did that anyway.” You laughed. Making fun of a Stark was something you did with Peggy. It felt familiar. Sitting down with ‘the other woman on the team’ and having a chat about your friends. Familiar, but not the same.

“Tell me, if I hadn’t been doing the right thing, if I had let him go or left him alive, would you have killed me?” You didn’t pause, you knew your answer.

“Without a second thought.” You took another sip, this one longer than your previous ones. Natasha nodded, understanding. Of all the people in the tower, she was probably the one who would understand most.

She finished up cleaning another gun before Friday’s voice was heard in your room. Great.

“Spectr, Miss Romanoff, you’re wanted in the meeting room. There’s been a robbery.”

You downed the rest of your drink, ignoring the burn in your throat. Natasha gave you a slight side glance, probably worried for your health. Not that it was a real concern for you anymore.

“Uh… do you guys usually answer robberies?” You asked, setting down the glass. Natasha grabbed her bag, bringing it with her out of the room.

“No, there’s something else to this.” You nodded, accepting her answer. You internally groaned at the feeling of sweat still on you. At this point, you’d even settle for a five minute shower. You ran to your room quickly, pulling off the tank top you were wearing and grabbing a t-shirt. At least you wouldn’t have to wear a soaked shirt. It was just you and Natasha in the elevator in silence. It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t a situation you wanted to be in.

The room was almost completely full, though Wanda and Vision were right behind you. You took a seat toward the end of the table next to Steve. You were sure they put you there just in case someone needed to knock you out in a worst case scenario, though you didn’t care.

Steve set down a few papers just as Wanda sat down.

“Alright, everyone’s here.” He pulled his seat closer to the table. “There was a robbery earlier today.”

“What, did some kid swipe a candy bar? How is this our problem.” Tony asked. He was wearing sunglasses despite being indoors. Though the normal assumption would be that he just came inside, you somehow doubted that.

“Not exactly. The focus is what was stolen. It was at a nearby museum, the owners themselves weren’t sure what it was since it didn’t have any sort of identification. Just that it was World War II memorabilia.”

“Oh I see, someone took your old helmet?” Tony said, interrupting again. Your eyes narrowed. You were getting annoyed with his constant comments, though the rest of the group seemed unbothered. That, or they had grown used to his obnoxious personality. You saw Loki’s face shift though, so he was probably feeling similar emotions to yours.

“The owners said it was part of an unfinished project, we think it might be a piece of Project SPECTR.” A few eyes turned toward you, including Steve’s. “Do you recognize this?” He asked, setting a photo down in front of you. It was most certainly a piece of your machinery.

“It’s what we used to stabilize our core. I built it forever ago just tinkering with supplies, no blueprints. It’s one of a kind. I doubt I could remake it myself.”

“Well, that explains why it was robbed.” Natasha said, just loud enough for the few people around her to hear. You were seated next to Loki on the end of the table. Bucky was across from you and avoiding your eye-contact, which is what he usually did during meetings.

“So, what now?” A man asked. You now knew him as Sam, or ‘The Falcon’, the other bird-themed hero.

“We find anything else we can.” You said, choosing to look at Steve. It felt odd talking to a room, so you tried to focus on one person instead. You were used to creating plans by yourself, not brainstorming with a group. “I left plenty of materials and blueprints behind. I never got a chance to examine why it malfunctioned, but I’m sure a good percent of the original machine is usable.”

“So, where is it?” Clint asked, contributing to the discussion.

“Well, it’s been almost 70 years so I have no idea. Didn’t have a reason to keep track of all that junk.” Steve nodded, though some of the group sighed out loud.

“Let’s check the site and see what else turns up. We hardly need the whole group for this, though.”

***

Steve had sent a group of only a few people. Natasha, who was acting as the temporary leader. Loki, who could use magic to help track down people with any evidence left behind. Steve had been against sending Loki since he was technically still confined to the compound with the exception of missions. Natasha however argued that this was a mission and that Loki would be a useful team member. Of course, she was right, so he was along with the group.

He had also sent Clint and Bucky along, more to act as guards while you, Loki, and Nat looked around the area. The police had done their job and found any evidence left behind, though Loki was trying to use magic to find anything else. So far, no luck.

The group of you were talking to one of Fury’s remaining agents at the site. SHIELD may have disbanded, but Fury still had quite a few people on his side. Some of which apparently still helped him out now and then. It was like a much smaller version of SHIELD.

“Best we got is some DNA evidence. We matched it in our system, according to the evidence, he was one of us, back when we were active.”

You were a bit confused. “An agent?” Natasha asked, sharing your confusion. You masked it better than her though, it was probably because she was more familiar with the former agent in front of you than you were.

The woman nodded, showing you her screen, a picture of an average looking 30-something year old guy looking rather bored in the picture.. “Jackson Hastings. Odd thing is, he went missing on a mission a while ago. Hasn’t been seen since.” Natasha took the tablet screen from her and you looked over her shoulder.

“Holy shit.” The group looked at you.

“You know him?” Natasha asked curiously.

“He was one of my targets.” You said, sure of yourself. He was a corrupt member of SHIELD. It was before SHIELD completely dismantled. You couldn’t prove that he was connected to Hydra in any way, though you had your suspicions.

“You’re sure?” She asked and you nodded in response. “Let’s head back, I think this is about as much evidence as we’re getting.” The group agreed and you thanked the woman on your way out.

***

“And you’re positive you targeted this man?” Steve asked, staring you down.

“Very. I don’t forget targets.” Besides, Hastings was a case you would remember. Fury had sent you a file or two himself, not that he’d admit it, including this one. He couldn’t prove Hastings was guilty. He knew you’d kill him if he was, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Hastings had access to files that could end important operations and expose several undercover agents. So, you just ‘happened’ to run into Hastings’ file. Sure enough, he was more than guilty.

“Some of your targets are still alive, right?” Clint asked and you nodded.

“Wait, so you just let some of these guys go? What, were they suddenly innocent?” Tony asked. Though his tone was sarcastic, the question was genuine so you decided to answer.

“Innocent? Hardly. But life holds things much worse than death. Much worse.” The group tried to ignore that statement, though you could see curiosity written over their faces.

“Is he one of them? The alive targets, I mean.” Steve asked, getting back to the topic at hand.

“No, he didn’t deserve punishment that bad. He’s only dead.” Hastings was one of the more straightforward cases. In any court, the way you got your proof wouldn’t be admissible. In fact, you’d probably get arrested too. That’s why you’d turned into judge, jury, and executioner.

“Alright. So, a dead man walks into a museum. Sounds like the set up to a shitty joke.” Tony remarked under his breath, though most of the table was able to hear the comment.

“If you killed him when he went on that mission, then he’s been dead for years. Now, he’s able to steal a highly guarded museum item but leaves behind blood?” Natasha said, posing the question to the group.

“Clearly, it’s not impossible for people to come back from the dead. I mean…” Tony gestured to you, Bucky, Steve, and Loki on your side of the table. Though your situations were wildly different, Stark did have a point. All of you had been labelled ‘dead’ at one point or another.

“Well, our cases are different, don’t you think?” Loki asked, actually contributing to the conversation. You were certain that was the first time you had heard him speak in a meeting. “The Sergeant, the Captain and I were never really dead in the first place.” You heard Thor grumble something on Loki’s other side, though you were unable to make out his words.

“I’m definitely an exception,” You continued, “but it took me about 50 years and a huge malfunctioning healing machine. Considering the fact that he’s trying to build SPECTR, I doubt he died the same way.” You concluded landing the group, once again, on ground zero.

“Okay, so no more zombies. What’s going on then? You sure you killed him?” Tony said, the last part directed at you.

“Certain. His head was very much detached.” You didn’t share too many of the details since the group never seemed to like that, but you had to slip in the occasional dark joke. Ask a psychopathic serial killer to join your team and you’re inviting in murder-based comedy.

“Alright. Any other ideas?” Tony asked, slightly disturbed.

“What if we have a shapeshifter? A dead man is a good disguise for a robbery, no?” Wanda asked in her accent. Her voice was pretty and the accent certainly helped. You wanted her to read something to you while you intently listened on, enjoying the sound. You did your best to stay focused though and thought over her question. The other scientists of the room looked like they were doing the same. Finally, you found a bit of a flaw.

“Down to the molecular level? Even after the material has left his body? Is that possible?” You questioned. A shapeshifting person was incredible on it’s own, now they can manipulate their form even when not connected to the DNA. A fascinating person indeed. In any other situation, you’d be itching to meet them. Maybe study them for a few hours. But this didn’t seem like the kind of guy who just wanted to have a chat.

Clint shrugged. “I’ve seen weirder.”

He did have a point. After all, you were sitting between a superhuman soldier who had supposedly died 70 years ago and a Norse god, things had changed since the 40s. Not to mention the fact that you were essentially a psychic zombie.

“So, what do we do now? Wait for the next robbery? If it is a shapeshifter, which is only a theory by the way, we have no way of finding anyone.”

Steve looked around, seeing if anyone had any ideas. When no one spoke up, he sighed. “Then I guess we wait.”

***

You walked out of the meeting with way more questions than you’d hoped to have. You made your way upstairs and finally took a decent shower and sat down with a proper glass of whiskey. You weren’t even sure if you’d drank water while you were at the tower. Not that you really needed it.

The TV was playing some new show you weren’t familiar with. You didn’t get any of the ‘comedic’ references, nor did you understand the plot, but you were too lazy to search for something else.

There was a soft knock on your door. You groaned a bit, not wanting to answer.

“What do you want?” You yelled, loud enough so the person on the other side could hear you from your couch.

“It’s me.” You recognized the accent and sighed, getting up without bothering to pause the TV. You opened the door, waving the person in and sitting back down, taking another long sip of your drink.

“I’m fairly certain drinking that much is bad for you.” Loki said in a joking manner. He didn’t get to do that too often. Everyone assumed there was some malintent behind the joke.

“It’s not exactly gonna kill me.” You sat back, finally grabbing the remote to find something more interesting.

“Still, I can’t imagine it being good for you. Maybe try something else?” He suggested calmly.

You rolled your eyes a bit. He may have been more fun than the other caped crusaders, but he was hardly close enough to give you health advice.

“What do you want.” You didn’t look at him.

He sighed, accepting that he wasn’t going to get a better answer than that. “You said that life holds things worse than death.”

When he didn’t continue, you responded. “Yeah. And?”

“What did you mean?”

You didn’t really want to have this conversation. The team already thought you were horrifying, talking about your abilities certainly wouldn’t help.

“Sometimes it’s better to just die than live in torture, that’s what I mean.” It wasn’t exactly an answer, but it was sort of true. That’s close enough, right?

He considered this. “So the people you leave alive, they’re worse than the dead ones?” You nodded.

“Yup. Are we done with this conversation now? I’ve got 70 years worth of movies to watch.” You flipped through more channels to find something tolerable.

Loki looked like he had something else to say, you were certain there was something else. “Yes, that’s fine.” He stood up, walking slowly. Though you were sure why, you thought it was because he was having some sort of inner debate.

He turned around and opened his mouth, but you spoke first. “Yes, you can stay. Grab some chips while you’re up though, I’ll find something decent.” He smiled a bit. He never really asked to stay, he just waited to be invited. You didn’t really mind, he was good company. And quiet for the most part.

For once, you didn’t mind spending extra time with someone.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Infected/Undead Boyfriend

Warning: some language and fluff.

Part 2  -  Part 3 (FINALE)

When It Rains, It Pours

It always rains in January-- or was it February? It didn't matter, it had been a long time since you remembered, and you didn't care. It wasn't a problem for you in fact: what was a problem for you was how you were going to get out of the city without being taken out first.

The city was swarming with infected since the beginning; when the world had gone to rot.

You had been attempting since day one to get out, but the military had been doing its damn best in containing the population through fear and control. They kept the those from coming in and from leaving, practically blocking you all in like cattle from the very start.

The military was eventually taken out, leaving their cells and high walls that were impossible to pass. And it wasn't just the living that had been out of control; the dead were rare but they were rising daily – it didn't matter how you died, they returned stronger and in larger herds; carving their way through the city with little care.

It had been three years since you had heard from your relatives: from your uncle and cousins who had been living outside of your city and had found a refuge to live in. They assured you a safe place to stay when you escaped, but you had last heard from them three months ago; the signal dying.

It was risky, but you needed supplies, and gaining them not just for yourself but for your radio was to help you get out quicker. You weren't going to rot alive inside these walls, no matter how few humans and dead remained.

The supplies were growing scarce, the food dwindling: your fears of starving to death seemed to be the worst way to go out, but you wanted to endure and live, but raiding shops for food was difficult.

The sky was gloomy and bleak when you had been caught by oncoming dead, their swarm had surprised you in the back of a building, where they had been twistedly been locked away for someone like you to run into on purpose.

The many corridors chasms seemed to get deeper and deeper the further you ran in, the less hope you had for getting out when you were certain you would be dead. It was only with a certain gap between the floors had given you a chance to get away only for the very weak floor you had been standing on to collapse beneath you, sweeping you with it to hit the very pit that welcomed you and not very much else.

Your head was pounding, a soaring ache in your sides from how you had fallen had gotten you whimpering and groaning in discomfort and fear: the darkening walls had been slicked so sinisterly that it was impossible to see what could be lurking within the shadows.

When your trembling hands came to touch at your head, there was a slick pool of something falling into your sight, like water heavily, it dampened the front of your face to make you look as if you were wearing a crimson mask.

There was a scuffle of shoes, a groan of the floorboards as something lurched within the dimness that came from the right side of you, and in your short time to respond or react and with your blinded sight that was washing over your vision quickly, you had clumsily pulled out your knife just as you saw the figure stumble out from behind a fallen cabinet.

You reacted loudly, grunting and swinging as you defended yourself pitifully, the figure had kicked the knife out of your hand almost too precisely, the clatter of it hitting the concrete ground brought your attention that you had no case of surviving.

The figure loomed over you momentarily: your bleeding head made it difficult to see when you were trying to stay focused and alert, your head was drubbing with thrums that came every passing second, screaming for rest, with your hands still scrambling before you finally whimpered before you had collapsed fully; your fall not as hard as you had predicted.

There had been light pouring through the small opening when you had come back around: the slow movements that came from not too far to you made you aware that you had been taken out by someone; someone had dragged your unconscious body out from that dreaded Hell.

There was a tentative hand at your forehead, feeling at your temperature, before their touch came to lift individually each eyelid, earning a low groan from you each time. You were alive – for now.

Your eyes had adjusted to the brightness that shouldn't have been coming so early in the day—no not during this month, it always rained. You pondered, your eyes had fallen on the figure beside you, momentarily stunned before your body had kicked yourself free from their grasp, and for you found yourself falling back against the iron wall.

When your unsteady eyes had fallen over their silhouette, you would've been certain that they had been dead. There could've been something human over their shape and how they stayed squat in the same position from nurturing you prior, but you couldn't lay why their appearance didn't look right.

Maybe it was their skin: it was milky and ashen, their hands were darkened and reddened around the knuckles and fingernails and you had assumed they had been wearing gloves, but their nails were peeling and uneven, wild to the fault.

Their—he – you were unsure how to describe them at first, they had masculine features, but you didn't know whether to describe this person in front of you as a human or the glimmer of an apparition.

Your eyes wandered past his wan face, his dark hair was chin-length, thrown messily up with strands that had fallen out and hanging over his deep-set eyes. His eyes—oh, God – the eyes were maybe the most human thing. They held more than just the husk of a shell of a human once. They were alive and conscious even when they had looked so unresponsive from afar.

He observed you carefully, his body language told you that he wasn't like any other infected creature you had dealt with in the many years since the outbreak, he was nothing like them- no, he was still aware of everything going on around him as if he was not one of them at all.

You didn't realise that the two of you had been staring at one another for quite some time, neither one speaking nor reacting in any way, but he watched, being aware of what you did or how you moved, making sure you didn't do anything that would harm him; his angular features told you so.

"Holy fucking shit, how—I-" Your words were stiff in your mouth, like hardened honey everything had solidified in your throat, leaving you just as lifeless as the infected. He had remained in his spot, rigid and hesitant in your language, but he didn't seem reluctant, as, from his jacket pocket, he was pulling something out, some granola bars and a can of dried beans.

He slowly slid them across the hardware floor, the can hit the sole of your sneaker, the granola bars he held up as a peace offering for you to take, all whilst you stared at him in what you could describe as disbelief.

"I- Where'd you find these?" You picked up the can and gave it a gentle rattle; they seemed decent still. He pointed to behind you, and from your view from behind, you never noticed that the two of you were secluded in an area that had a high spot that allowed you to onlook the entire city. It was nothing perfect, but you could tell that he had done a lot in keeping the area cut off with the desks and chairs barred up against the doors. From here, you could even see the deserted block you had been staying in for the last few weeks.

When you had turned back to him, he was standing, now a little closer to you, his hand outstretched with the food. "You got this for me?" You asked, warily taking it from his grip before stuffing the items into your pockets. You could get back to your place before the day ended if you were lucky; with hopes of finally finalising what you needed finishing.

He nodded, and you understood that there was now something of him conscious that was still alive and living: he was infected but not as dead as you had assumed.

"I need to get out of here, I need to get back to my place before it gets too dark." You found it troubling to think of the right words and whether he would say yes. "Will you help me get out of here?"

He didn't have much on him, but he had grabbed at your backpack and handed it to you, and already you knew his silent gestures was him saying yes. It was all that was needed to get you out quicker.

You and your... your new friend had left and travelled east through the stilled avenues and lonely desolate streets, the infected man lingering not too far behind you but close around if you needed help.

When you finally arrived in your place it was eerily tranquil, the sky had reached a calming picture of calmness over the horizon from your barricaded window, the dim light flooding through as you threw your bag to the couch you had been sleeping on; the half-dead, half-living man remaining close by in your closed doorway.

You made your way to your stationed radio, finalising the parts of bolts and wires that you finally had with you, twisting, tinkering and pushing buttons you had to learn in knowing, before finally turning on the HAM radio to be greeted with distorted and unruly squeaks and shrieks of the channels.

Behind you, the undead man grunted, covering his ears, a haunting cry that came from him threw you off as you looked back on him, quickly quieting the sound as you turned through the signals quicker, quieting the static.

"Come on, this gotta work." You gritted your teeth, trying again and again, "Hello? Is anyone out there? Are there any survivors?" You repeated the questions, nothing but your own voice ringing out and dying along with the signal.

Your eyebrows furrowed, slapping the side of the radio, your cheeks burning. "No! Come on! I have everything for it to fucking work, why isn't it working?" You let out your pent up feelings on the old thing, shoving it away as if the sight of it would make you feel better. It didn't.

An unexpected hand came to rest on the back of your shoulder, your body stiffening with your head twisting to look up from your kneeling spot, the male behind you. From his close-up, you could see his face so clearly, the skin had broken into a state of decay: with veins protruding along his round cheeks.

His eyes weren't as dark now that you saw them so closely, they were brown, and a lovely shade too. His eyes had broken blood vessels in his sclera but there was clearly still something so sympathetic that was in the surface.

So alive, but he's trapped in a dying body.

It startled you for a moment when his hand gingerly came to hesitate inches from your face. You didn't back away, inquisitive rather than cautious as to what he was going to do, his eyes looking back and forth over your face before he reached forth, the back of his ashen fingers collecting a just-to-fall teardrop from the corner of your eye.

"Oh, thanks." Your body came to wipe at the unwanted tears, looking away from him momentarily as you looked around your small haven. 

"You can uh, I don't know if you wanna stay for a bit?" You suggested to him, watching in your peripheral that he had moved away, and had gone to move towards your window, looking out. You stood yourself, looking to him finally before going to the bathroom, shutting the door and deciding to have a shower to calm down.

When you had finally emerged out, it was now dark finally, and your stomach hadn't settled, the need to eat was making you not think properly. That had to be the real reason. You found the male in the small spot on the wide windowsill, his head and body slouched, eyes shut as he peacefully slept.

Rummaging in your bag had woken him from however long he had been sleeping for, his eyes blinked in and out as they finally landed on you, and you came over to sit opposite him on the sill, watching the empty world outside.

“Want one?" You held one of the granola bars out to him, but he had shaken his head. He doesn't eat, but does he eat... humans?

You chewed nonchalantly on the brittle bar, the dryness was unbearable but it was still decent to eat regardless of how stale it had been. When you had finished your bar, he was still looking at you, as if reading you as best as he could. Not many people do that, but he isn't exactly... normal.

"How long have you been here for?" You asked once the granola was out of your teeth, and the male beside you gave a sign with his darkened fingers as he held them up for you to see. Three. "Three years?" You asked and he had nodded.

"How did... how did you turn?" Your voice was oddly quiet when you had asked him, uncertain.

He didn't seem so sure by your question and how to answer it, but he gave a short answer by the gesture that you could only guess was what he meant. Bitten. "But you didn't... you're not like them. The infected."

His face had given a small smile since your meeting, and it made you wonder how his laugh would sound. You could only hope you would see him smile again. It quickly fell from his face as if it had never been there, to begin with. No. He shook his head. "That's good," you reassured with relief, "you did scare me when I fell through the ceiling."

He gave a silent laugh, his eyes vivid. Sorry. He gestured, his motions tender when his hand came to rest on your knee, squeezing softly. The act itself didn't disgust you nor did you pull away, the mere feel of a person's touch was soothing.

The two of you spoke as best as you could (he found communicating hard and he didn't speak) and by the time early morning had come, you had found yourself lying on the sofa with his folded up jacket beneath your head as a pillow, with no sign of him at all.

You felt a bit gutted that he had left before you had a chance to see him leave; maybe he didn't want to hurt you or risk getting him harmed. You told yourself, but when you heard the soft twisting of your doorknob being opened, you kicked into overdrive, your knife in hand as you hid along the wall so you weren't seen.

You had lunged forward before the person had seen you, your wrist had been caught before you could harm them, those brown eyes were widened and fearful of the situation, but his grip had lessened, as if ready if you wanted to plunge your knife into his colourless flesh.

"I'm sorry," You pulled away quickly, putting your knife away as you led him inside and shut the door, "I didn't know it was you."

Sorry. He had gestured sheepishly, handing you the bag that he had over his shoulder. You took it from him as you opened it up, pulling out the many items he had found. Your eyes were wide, a closed-mouth smile had lit up on your face. "Where'd you find all this?"

He didn't answer you, to begin with, but he had guided you, pointing out towards the cluster of shops that weren't too far from you. How he managed to find all this secret food was amazing, and you didn't know how he did it. "You didn't have to do this for me, you know." You said in an inquisitive tone.

He shook his head, making sure you kept hold of the can as he kept his hand around yours. It's yours. His eyes told you for a fact that he wanted you to have it, and you couldn't turn that away.

You spent the next few days hidden away in your shelter, with enough food that could keep you going, whilst your new friend had been there to go in and out and find necessary things and food if you needed it.

He had been gone like most of the mornings by the time you had woken up, the only thing that you had from him was his jacket, and the smell of rainfall was comforting when you smelt the leather. You had sat up and stretched your bones, finding something small that had fallen from his pocket.

Picking it up, you recognised it as a driver's license, the faded words and photo had caught your interest, your eyes peering back to the door as you had looked over the photo ID tentatively. The face had been oddly familiar to you, their facial features were fuller and healthier, a chiselled jaw and those eyes you could only describe as lifelike.

Your eyes drifted to the name found just below the picture, the name you didn't think you would find:

RYAN CHEN

You had just about heard the front door twist slowly open once more, the adrenaline was quick to make you panic, quickly throwing the ID card underneath his jacket, before slipping into the bathroom before he entered the room.

You had another shower and had opened the door to see him sat on the couch, staring off into space as if he was deep in thought. He didn’t seem to even sense you there. Your hands were shaking when you finally called to him after staring. “Ryan.”

You didn’t think he would react to the name being said aloud, but his head turned so quickly to look back on you, you feared he had gotten whiplash. It wasn’t long before he was standing in front of you, his eyes were so blown with fear that you could feel it radiate it off of him. A hand came to cradle the side of your face with a tenderness that it had made you flinch. “Is that your name?” You questioned softly.

He seemed to be fighting two sides in his mind, but it was more than an astounded you when he said, “Yes.” His voice was a soft timbre, mixed with hoarseness that almost made you back up from him in awe. “You can talk?” Your voice was gravelly, leaning into his touch against the side of your face.

“Sometimes,” he drawled thoughtfully, “it’s… been a while.”

The more you looked up at him, the more you saw the features that looked similar to what he had looked like on his ID, he was still there, and now, Ryan had an identity that hadn't been lost forever.

“Did you hide your ID from me? Or… did you want me to find it?”

“I wasn’t sure. It had been a long time since I had identified as him.” He said with a gentle doubt. “But I wanted you to know.” “You saved me that day,” you leant into the musky scent of his clothes, breathing in deeply. He had been oddly warmer than you had expected, “why?”

“I don’t remember when I last saw a living being, but you were brave and living.” He leant his forehead against yours. “I wanted to know what it felt like… to live again.”

“You’re more than that, Ryan,” you intertwined your fingers with his other hand, the grasp as affectionate as each other’s words. “you’re still to me very much alive.” His face came inches to your before his lips touched almost hesitantly against yours, the tenderness that you had expected when he pulled you in, as if he was trying to pull something from you that you didn’t know you held.

His lips were chapped yet welcoming, and you kissed him like he was the warmth you needed when you had been lonely for all those years, the loneliness you felt from missing another as you pulled him closer to you, both afraid of the other disappearing like a hallucination.

“Stay with me, as long as you can.” You promised him sweetly, running your fingers through his dark locks. Ryan smiled broadly, his smile seemed crooked but it was the sweetest sight to look at. “I won’t be going anywhere.” He pulled you close to his chest tautly. “Not without you.”

-

Support me on Ko-fi!~

[strangeinternetwasteland]

Shattered Reality - Chapter 6

A/N: After 2 months I have returned! @titanialev you’re the best I love you so much

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Drugs, Guns, Swearing, blood

The next few days went by in a blur. Well, at least to you they did. They were spent holed up in Gojo’s penthouse and asleep. While your decision to stay with Gojo wasn’t yours, you decided that for now, you could stay. That was three days ago. You barely woke up in that time, you barely ate, and you barely cared. The emptiness that filled you made you numb to everything.

Gojo came and went into the room checking on you to make sure you were still breathing and still alive. He’d check on you before he left for the club and after he returned. You couldn’t wrap your mind around Gojo working with Geto. You swore revenge against him, even if it meant killing him.

It was midday during the fourth day when you decided to get up and start trying to become human again, or a husk of a human anyway. You stumbled terribly from lack of food, and movement. On your stumble down you knocked over the nightstand and broke the small lamp. The bulb broke into a hundred pieces, and you didn’t feel the glass in your foot when you walked down the hallway. Tiny blood drops trailed behind you.

You hissed at the bright light that entered from the windows of the living room. Your eyes adjusted quickly, as you started feeling the glass in your foot. You swore under your breath as you looked at the glass sticking out and the blood beading around it. You saw the tiny red trail, and didn’t care enough to actually clean it up. Gojo must’ve been out since there was no sound in the penthouse.

You walked into Gojo’s room without a care, and rummaged for tweezers and a bandage. You had left destruction in your wake. Your head was blurry, and you weren’t even sure how long you’d been there. You knew that you had to leave Gojo’s. The way you currently were, however, would definitely be a hindrance. You eventually found the tweezers after pulling everything out of the drawers. You had also found a key hidden. It was taped on the underside of the sink, and you wouldn’t have noticed it if you weren’t looking for the tweezers so desperately. You pulled the glass out and put a bandage on almost immediately.

You looked around at the mess you had made and decided not to do anything about it. You eyed the shower, and decided that since you were already here, you might as well. You put the key on the sink counter. You thought It was quite stupid of you to have put the bandage on since you would need another one. You didn't care. You made the shower as quick as possible. Though the shower felt incredible, you were on a mission. You quickly toweled off, grabbed the key,  and found clean clothes. Once again ignoring the blood drops, you went to the kitchen to grab food.

Opening the refrigerator, you noticed that Gojo had filled it recently. You grabbed anything that was quick and easy to make. You decided to eat a yogurt cup and some fruit. Honestly, you were so hungry you could’ve eaten more, but decided against it. You wanted to find out what this key was before you left. You went into the room where you were staying. Gojo had placed your things on the dresser or nightstand, and plugged your phone in for you, which was quite nice of him, but you were weary. Something inside you told you he wasn’t exactly who he seemed to be.

You were careful to avoid the broken glass. You grabbed your phone charger, and purse, checking to see if your wallet was inside. It was, and nothing seemed out of place. You took the key in your hand and studied it closely. When you looked at it, you noticed it was a key to a door, a bedroom door. You tried it on the door to the room you were staying in, and while it fit, it didn’t turn. This led you to believe that it belonged to a room in the penthouse.

You thought about it, and immediately ran to the room that was locked next to Gojo’s. You slid the key inside and tried to turn the key. It worked. It was too perfect. Gojo wouldn’t be that dumb to leave a key here would he? Though it was in a place where no one would look for it. You shook your head and the thoughts away and entered the room. The first thing your eyes landed on were the guns. There were so many different ones. You also noticed white powder in packets, and some stacks of money.

“Fuck!” You said out loud realizing that all the jokes you made about the mafia were true. You debated for a moment. You thought you could take a gun for protection, but Gojo would notice. Plus, you didn’t even know how to shoot a gun. You eyed the money on the table, you could probably take it. It would be helpful to leave for a while at least. However, if Gojo learned you took some money, he’d probably kill you. You debated for another moment, grabbed some of the cash,  and locked the door. You taped the key back where you found it and left the penthouse.

The moment you walked outside you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. You turned your phone on to check your text messages. You saw most were from Kioko, and while you felt happy that she cared, you were terrified as well. Did she know Gojo had kept guns, and drugs in this penthouse? The only thing you thought was you needed to keep moving, you needed a place to stay. You texted Kioko to meet you in a coffee shop in an hour, you could tell her to her face what you knew. You decided in the meantime you’d buy a disposable phone and set it up.

Five minutes after sitting down you saw Kioko walking in. You waved her over.

“Hi!” She greeted you with a hug and a friendly smile. She saw the exhaustion on your face. She got up and ordered coffee for the both of you. When she came back and placed yours in front of you, you smiled.

“You’ve been asleep for a few days. I am surprised that you’re out and about right now.” Kioko told you as worry crossed her face.

“I actually have something to tell you.” You told her as you fidgeted in your chair. “I have a new phone and phone number. I will text you from it but you’re not allowed to give it to anyone, do you understand?”

“Of course. Is something wrong?” She noticed your fidgeting. Your heart was beating so fast you thought you’d pass out.

“Actually, It’s G-.” Your phone’s shrill tone cut you off. You saw Gojo’s name pop up, you silenced it immediately.

~~~~~

Gojo came back from his meeting. He was sure that you were asleep still. He opened the door and took off his shoes. He noticed the discarded yogurt cup with a spoon still in it in the trash. The first clue that you were awake. He walked down the hallway and noticed tiny blood drops on the carpet leading to his bedroom. He’d deal with that later. He ran to his room in hopes to find out if you were okay. He flung the door open and saw that the dresser drawer was left open slightly. He quickly went into the bathroom.

He was met with a disaster. Everything was scattered in the bathroom. Whatever it was evident that you were looking for something specific but you couldn’t find it. Gojo panicked for a moment thinking about the key under the sink. He quickly ran to the sink and felt around underneath it. The key was in its place. He took a deep sigh of relief, and left that mess as it was. He decided to go check your room.

He pushed the door open and heard a crunch beneath his foot. He saw the broken light bulb, and saw a small pool of blood. He looked up and saw your belongs were gone. He decided the best thing to do is to call you. When you didn’t answer your phone he thought he’d give your best friend a call.

~~

“Kioko, if you’re in trouble, blink twice.” You told your friend.

“I am fine, are you in trouble?” She laughed at your question. She didn’t seem distressed as you thought.

“I- I have something to tell you. About Gojo actually.” Your words seemed to have tumbled out.

“Gojo? Oh speak of the Devil.” She said as she looked at her phone. You grabbed her phone and turned it off.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” She asked you with concern in her tone.

“I found out some things about Gojo. I am scared for you, and me.” You admitted to her as you scooted closer.

“Sweetie, I am sure it’s nothing Gojo isn’t scary at all. I grew up with him. He’s like another brother.” She tried reassuring you. You just shook your head.

“I am not sure I am the best person to tell you this, but I care about you.” You took a deep breath and gathered your thoughts before continuing. “I found out that Gojo has a locked room in his penthouse. In the room there are a lot of guns, of all types. I also found tons of money, and drugs.” You told her but your body was shaking. Kioko took a moment to process what you told her.

“Well, I am sure there is a reasonable explanation.” She told you. “We can call him and sort it all out.”

“Kioko!” You slammed your palms on the table and stood up. “I don’t want you to call him. I do not want to be anywhere near him. He’s dangerous! He probably drugged me!”

“Sweetie, please lower your voice!” Kioko hissed at you. “None of that happened. Gojo isn’t dangerous. I promise. He may dabble in some… risqué things, but he’s not a bad guy.” She tried convincing you. You just stared at her. The things she was saying to you. She was defending him! You grabbed your purse and new phone as you turned around and left. You ran as fast and far as your wobbly legs would. Carr you. You were unsure as to where you could go for a while, but with the cash in your purse you knew you’d be okay for the night. You found a motel close to where you were and holed up there for the night.

Kioko turned her phone on, and dialed Gojo’s number. He picked up on the second ring as usual.

“Gojo, we have a problem.” Kioko told him in a monotonous voice.

“Is the solution burying a body or throwing money at it?” He asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“I am not sure. Y/N found out what was behind your locked door.” She stated with a hint of hesitation. “We were at a coffee shop, and she left. I didn’t follow her. She left her phone here, probably because she got a disposable one. Whatever she saw really freaked her out.”

“She really has nowhere to go, she’ll probably contact you after a day.” Gojo spoke honestly. “When she makes a mess, she sure makes it a huge one.”

“A beautiful disaster?” Kioko laughed

“One of the most beautiful I’ve seen in a while.” He spoke without any emotion.

The two said their goodbyes, with a promise to keep in contact. The only thing Gojo could do was clean up the disaster you had left behind at his penthouse.

[worldwidedino]

Screw it, here’s that extra scene I was talking about. I have a title for it, but it’s technically counts as open air spoilers, and that ain’t allowed on this blog. Speaking of spoilers, this fic/fan scene has major spoilers for Owlboy, so look below the cut at your own risk. It also starts with a canon scene for context because I love my context.

Plot twist, here’s the title

I Guess Having Friends isn’t so Bad After All

Sparks were flying. The sounds of malfunctioning electronics filled the room of the pirates’ repaired flagship.

“It... It hurts... It hurts really bad... Alphonse... You abandoned us. You abandoned me. How... How could you...”

The mask on the robot shattered and slid off his face, leaving a bundle of severed, uneven wires where a face was supposed to be.

The other robot stood in shocked silence. He did this to his former comrade, he was the one who caused him this pain. The former pirate understood long before this that the scene would happen eventually, his ex-comrade was the biggest obstacle standing between his small group of social outcasts and the scourge of the Skies, the pirate captain Molstrom. But why did he have to say these things?

The dying robot chuckled, and barely managing to mutter, “I guess... Having a friend... Wasn’t so bad... After all.”

And in a blinding flash of light, he was gone. Dirk was dead. In the light, what would be the lifeless husk had disappeared.

The rest of the second Dreadnaught fiasco was a blur for Alphonse. He could end up remembering the team’s fight with Dirk and confronting Molstrom and Geddy rejoining the team in Molstrom’s quarters and saving them after storming off hours earlier because they let the self-proclaimed “world’s greatest spider”, Twig, on to their team. But he never could remember the few minutes between those events, no matter how hard he tried. He would later end up realizing the trauma of seeing one of his closest friends in the last couple of centuries dying right in front of him could and would, do that to him.

After Geddy saved the team from Molstrom’s rage, Otus had been flung out of the hole in the ship’s side caused by one of the smaller ships the human mechanic piloted. Otus landed in the arms of another owl around the same age as him named Solus.

Solus put the unconscious owl softly in the snow and said, “...Stay safe, Otus. But please don’t follow me. It’s safer if I go alone. I don’t know what’ll happen up there”.

As Solus finished talking to the unconscious owl Alphonse had run up behind the two young owls.

“Master Otus?” he asks, “Who goes there? Please tell me you’re alright.”

Solus quickly flies off without saying a word, worrying that the ex-pirate would recognize him. He heard about Alphonse and his betrayal to the pirates and halfway respected him for it. He would never be able to do it. Solus always thought of himself as too much of a coward.

“Stay safe, Otus,” Solus said to himself once he thought he was far enough away, “I hope I get to see you again once this is finished. Alphonse will take good care of you in the meantime.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alphonse picked up Otus’ unconscious body and started towards Geddy and Twig. It would be a long and difficult journey back down to Vellie since Otus was the only one with the ability of flight because of his owl cloak. Twig had his webbing to get himself places quickly, but Alphonse didn’t want to bring it up if anyone asked how to get back. He didn’t want to put the burden of mobility on Twig. Twig was still so young, Alphonse thought, 19 maybe 20 at the very oldest. Still nowhere near as young as Otus, who was no older than 13. Otus had so much stress put onto him for being such a young boy.

It was just then a little voice popped into Alphonse’s head. That voice took over all of his thoughts. “What would happen if you killed Molstrom?”, it whispered, “or maybe Asio? He’s no good for Otus, what would happen if you were to kill him?”

“Hey, Alphonse! You alright? Did you find Otus?” Geddy called.

Alphonse had just released he stopped; he quickly shook his head to try and snap himself out of his thoughts, and called back to Geddy, “Everything is fine, Master Geddy! Otus is unconscious, but he’s still alive. We should bring him back to Vellie so he can recover safely.”

Alphonse eventually caught up to Geddy and Twig. They were walking slow so it would be quicker for him to catch up since it was a long walk.

To break the silence Twig started talking. He said, “Why you look so down Alphonse? Dirk was a chronic butthole. Not saying he deserved it, but he definitely ha-”

“-Twig, please.” Alphonse begged, “You didn’t know Dirk for as long as I did. I was prepared to fight him, but not for what happened afterward.”

“Alphonse!” Geddy gasped, “What did happen exactly? You never interrupted someone like that before. Even during our first time on the Dreadnaught, you didn’t interrupt my premature celebration. And that would’ve saved people’s lives.”

“Not now, Master Geddy. I will explain it when we get back to Vellie, ” Alphonse sighed.

The rest of the walk back to Vellie was dead silent. Geddy and Twig were still in shock at Alphonse lashing out at Twig, and Alphonse was focused on not sobbing in front of his teammates.

He loved Dirk, not in a romantic way, by no means did Alphonse love, Dirk, romantically. It was purely a platonic relationship between those two. And if he knew of a way to recover any part of Dirk he could, but everything that was left of him disappeared in that flash of light. He didn't even know what would have been recoverable. He had scorched Dirk with his musket and his internal mechanics were fried by the shocks he had insured every time Alphonse had hit him. Alphonse didn't even know where to begin on understanding the anatomy of the Ancient Owls’ more specialty automatons that weren’t himself.

“I guess having a friend wasn't so bad after all…”

Dirk’s final words to Alphonse kept ringing in his head, tempting the tears out of his eyes. But he kept fighting to keep the tears in. Alphonse had always seen himself as the emotional support of the team, if he were to cry, to show some emotional weakness now, who would they trust?

How was Alphonse even supposed to know if Dirk wasn't sticking it to him for betraying the pirates one last time? You could never tell with someone like Dirk. He was hurt by Alphonse’s actions, which was painfully obvious to him but calling Alphonse his friend after going on about how friends were for the weak...

Alphonse sighed and lightly pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyes. Fighting all the tears was taking a lot of energy from him. His breath was getting shakey, and he began slightly shaking himself. Don't cry, Alphonse, he thought. You can't cry in front of them. Whatever happens, do not cry.

“You cold, Alphonse? Hurry up and you’ll get warm sooner!” Twig giggled.

Alphonse started to walk a little quicker after that. He would’ve said something, but he was afraid the shakiness of his breath would come out while he was speaking. He also didn’t want to tell them he has been constantly on the verge of tears the entire time.

Once back in Vellie, the gang of heroes quickly snuck Otus into his bed to try and avoid any suspicion of a pirate walking around the village. After the Battle for Advent, the people of Vellie were weary towards all pirates, current or not. While taking stops in Vellie, Alphonse normally just laid low in Otus’ house, it was safest there for him.

Alphonse sighed and started sadly, “I guess it’s time for that explanation I promised Master Geddy. We went to Twig’s family home after you left. There was a pirate occupation of Mesos, and Twig’s family was near the pirate’s base. After learning that we decided to drive out the pirates by entering the repaired Dreadnaught. We snuck around the best we could. That culminated in fighting Dirk and, and...And we couldn’t save him. I tried to reason with him. I didn’t want to fight him. We had no choice. And now Dirk is dead...”Alphone’s breathing became heavy and began to shake.

“You’re allowed to cry if you need to, Alphonse,” Twig said.

Geddy then added, “God knows the shit you’ve been through. You've always been here for us, it's about time we’re here for you, man.”

And with the permission to cry in front of his friends, Alphonse finally stopped fighting the tears in his eyes. He had never had the permission to cry before, so these tears were not only for Dirk but for every time he needed to cry and wasn't allowed to. Geddy and Twig saw how hard he was crying and hugged him. And if Otus was awake, he would be hugging Alphonse too.

“Thank you,” Alphonse managed to get out between tears and heavy, shaking breaths, “I appreciate you’re understanding. I-I guess having friends isn’t so bad after all.”

“No problem, man. Take however long you need.” Geddy whispered, “We’ll be here for as long as you need.”

[sophi-s]

Cost of Kindness

Chapter II: Fear me not

By: sophi-s

Fandom: Darksiders video games

Words: 6373

Characters: Raphael, Original Character (OC)

Warnings: Blood and injury, suffocating, violence, Raphael is sad :(

Summary:

Nicola is quick to find trust in herself and quick to lose it. She doesn't realise however, that the man she fears sees something in her others cannot. And this something is what made him save her life again.

--------------------------------------------------

Through the few short weeks, the apocalypse has taught the dying Humanity many different things. Resourcefulness, cunning, true strength of unity… and among other things, the cruel life had taught them, was bravery in its purest form. Bravery that isn't simply an absence of fear but the power to overcome it. Stay cool-headed even in the most extreme scenarios, allowing them to face down even the most horrifying demons and either get away mostly unscathed or sometimes even beat them if they were lucky. Without those traits, survival was nigh impossible these days.

This last very important lesson however, Nicola seemed to have quite spectacularly failed to learn. Even as lucky as she was - considering that she lived thus far - she never was the bravest creature in this God-forsaken world. Smart? Sometimes. Ingenious? Sure. But brave? Not really, no. Especially now, as she was staring up at the angel who she decided to trust not even a minute before and who has just ruthlessly murdered a demon with little to no remorse in a very, very sickening way. Her muscles refused to move as though Raphael had already used the spell of paralysis against her as she watched the corners of his mouth, previously quirked upwards in a small smile, slowly descend. His expression in the matter of seconds morphed into confusion when a quiet sob escaped her. This horrifying, agonized screeching was still ringing in Nicola's ears, the demon kept writhing before her eyes and she couldn't help but wonder.. what did it feel like? To have one's life drained like that. Because judging by the sounds the Goreclaw produced, it must've been truly torturous.

"Human…?"

The soft voice of Raphael snapped her out of this strange haze and the sight of his hand extended towards her once again made her heart jump and begin to race. Her mind was telling her that if Raphael wanted to harm her, he would've done it already. Besides, moments before the demon came, he healed the cut on her forehead demanding nothing in return. Only because he could and - for some reason - wanted. But the chilling claws of panic gripping her throat and the fight-or-flight instincts kicking in, screaming inside her head made the voice of reason merely an inaudible whisper drowning in the sea of primal fear of the possible approaching danger. And right now, her body definitely settled on "flight".

"No! "

She yelped and tried to get away but her heels met the corpse behind her and it caused her to trip over the husk of the once frightening demon. With an expression of shock, Raphael retracted his hand as her rear painfully met the tough and damp floor. There was utter horror gleaming in her emerald green eyes, matched by lack of comprehension in his.

"Why are you frightened?"

And he has the audacity to ask why. Nicola thought bitterly as she started to scramble away. At the first glance, Raphael seemed so kind, he was such a gentle soul. Even his face, despite the collapsed cheeks, has the most trustworthy look to it Nicola had ever seen. This kind is the worst. Makes you trust them, lower your guard.. It seems she'd conveniently forgotten about one fact she noticed moments after she found Raphael. He's completely, absolutely and utterly insane. Unpredictable. At first he couldn't even remember his own name or how he got here. Who can guarantee her that he won't have an abrupt change of heart and lash out at her? She wasn't going to take chances. Leaping up to her feet, Nicola blindly runs off into the dark pathway she initially emerged from, her shotgun left forgotten on the floor just as she heard an almost frantic-sounding call echoing from the haphazard hide-out alongside the sound of rustling feathers and cloth.

" NICOLAAA! "

To her, this shout may have as well been a roar of a Fallen that not so long ago nearly succeeded in ending her life. A golden hue on the walls glistening with wetness trembled and started to move. No one had to say that out loud for her to realise that the angel was actually chasing after her. And to think that merely seconds ago Raphael was struggling with standing up properly… The pain of her overworked legs was gone, forgotten. They carried Nicola like a completely different entity, moving on their own, tireless and strong with only one purpose. Get away. Survive. Escape.

How Nicola managed to get to the point where she started her sightseeing tour of the sewers without any source of light and without tripping over all those bodies she found before was a mystery even to her. Even the slickness of the ladder didn't phase her as she pushed the lid off and quite literally pounced out of the hole in the sidewalk like a puma. She only hoped she'd managed to lose her pursuit in the winding corridors. Placing the lid back where it belonged, Nicola immediately booked it for the nearest alley just to be sure.

Once she was more or less hidden, she leaned against a crumbling wall, breathed out silently and covered her mouth to muffle the uncontrollable sobs. She thought that for once she found something that wasn't about to end her where she stood but it seems that the Universe has taken it as a matter of some twisted honor to slaughter every single member of the human race. This is just unfair. Sure, there was a lot of people who deserved to be smited into oblivion by the God himself for what they'd done but if the apocalypse was supposed to be some kind of punishment, then for fuck's sake why does the entire race has to suffer for it?! How is this even fair ?!

It's not. That's how.

Nicola looked up at the night sky glittering with numerous stars, winking at her like thousands of watching eyes as tears spilled down her cheeks, leaving clean trails in the dust and grime. Eventually, her heartbeat started slowing down, her breath evening out and the adrenaline gradually receding from her system. Now she had a moment to clear her head and think. She had no doubts she can be forgiven for running away. Every person in their right mind would do the same in her situation. Nicola refused to die like this.. But on the other hand… This panic in Raphael's voice, the almost childishly innocent smile as he closed the cut on her skin and the gentleness to his every move as he tried to heal a defenseless kitten… God, this is so… so… Nicola couldn't even find the right word. Despite what the angel did to that Goreclaw, no one said he meant to hurt her too. He may be crazy but that doesn't mean he's a psychotic murderer. This was a demon and angels rightfully hate demons! In his mind there was most likely nothing wrong with that. Besides, she gave Raphael no reason to think of her as a target. All of the sudden, Nicola felt unbelievably foolish for running off like that. Raphael saved her life after all. And she acted nothing if not horribly ungrateful. Should I go back? She'll have to anyway. In a hurry, she left her weapon back down there and Haven was short on those… Dang it…

She sighed. It honestly made her feel like a moron. Damned survival instincts… Sure, they were keeping her alive all the time but sometimes they were just so incredibly annoying. Why would they make her run away from someone who protected her even though he had no reason to do so and nothing to gain from it? From the first angel who seemed to care what fate befalls her? Goodness me, this is so stupid… Nicola shook her head and was about to walk back to the entrance to the sewer when she noticed something in an adjacent alley. Seeing a pair of hungry yellow lights slowly moving closer to her, just above the ground made her heart drop. Her sight has long got used to darkness and so it took her only a fraction of a second to notice curved, black horns above them, long and spindly arms on either side of a slender body ending in a long, scaly lube. A snake-like tail…

With a pounding heart, Raphael quickly moved through the sewer that has long ago turned into his hide-out. Tracking down the strange little human who unexpectedly visited him in his "lair" was harder than it seemed. She was way faster than he would have given her credit for. By all means, in her short legs she shouldn't be that quick. Fear does strange things to people.. But why was she afraid? This short meeting was inarguably the most wonderful thing that happened to him ever since he left the White City. He couldn't quite remember how long ago it was but definitely too long for his taste. All he recalled was the horrible, sharp bite every time he repeated the ritual to finish his greatest creation, followed by a short-lived feeling of elation soon to be replaced by deathly cold within the centre of his being. Each time getting worse and worse until he couldn't stand it anymore. Quickly descending into madness caused by never-ending pain and the chill of his damaged soul, the invisible wound in his chest as cold as a forgotten grave, he knew he can't keep doing this. And so, after having lost his purpose, there was no reason for him to stay anymore. He refused to disappoint his brethren.

You've fulfilled your task. They don't need you anymore.

Raphael halted for a moment, blinking to try and chase away the taunting whisper in the back of his head. It is not true.

"You're wrong. They do. More than ever…"

In the premature Endwar, Heaven's Legions probably wished he was with them. But that doesn't change a thing. He's not going back. Not after he failed to save Ithuriel as an unexplainable surge of panic paralyzed both his hands and his magic. It still sometimes haunts his damaged memories… The young warrior slowly languished from a poisoned wound, grew weaker and weaker with every moment and the archangel couldn't move, couldn't even speak to call for help. Just.. stood there and watched unable to act. Until… A painful twinge through his chest made him wince. No. He can never allow something like this to happen again. He cannot fail them.. He refused to let anyone down like that. Ever.

Frankly speaking, Raphael started to wonder when he'd taken to talking to himself. Solitude clearly wasn't serving him… It's been so long since he had anyone to speak to and even longer since his mind felt this clear. This woman, Nicola, told him she is a human. Considering what has happened to the Third Kingdom, Raphael found it hard to believe. But the spark of life in her soul… it really did feel human. She wasn't a fiend from the Black Depths, nor was she of his own kin. Earth was where she belonged. But there was something in her… something so oddly familiar.. soothing. A flame like those burning in hearts of Heaven's people, just somehow fainter. Only a small fraction of it. Maybe her soul belonged to an angel before it was purged by the Well? Who knows?

But that aside, she was still human. And so, it might as well make her the last survivor of her race and the first creature to show him a lick of sympathy ever since he chose the path of a hermit. The Balance was in danger and this human was imperative for its preservation. For the first time in decades, Raphael felt needed. He had a purpose again. No one was forcing him to do this but the words in a caring tone leaving Nicola's mouth and clear concern for his well being even though she barely knew him for a couple of minutes were something he has been so… so dreadfully missing. As confused as he was by her attitude, he couldn't deny that it was… nice. How long has it been since someone expressed clear worry for him? Too long… The archangel wished this odd mortal near even if for just a short moment because strangely enough, her kindness directed specifically to him somehow eased the never-ending suffering and helped him focus his thoughts that kept running rampant without control whenever he couldn't busy himself with something other than the hole in his chest. And now they were focused on one goal. Find the human.

Raphael waved his bandaged hand through the air before him to invoke a spell and frowned when he detected the familiar presence he was searching for somewhere over his head. She must've left for the city above him. Right where she's out in the open for demons to pick out. Why did she run?

She knows what you are. And she is just a human. Of course she would run like a coward.

No. Raphael brushed this poisonous voice off. Believing in a single word it says will mean his failure. If he does, he will be doomed. Forever lost in the depths of insanity. No matter.. Channeling his magic, Raphael warped and reappeared amidst the sorrowful ruins of the city once inhabited by hundreds of humans. A wave of fresh air hit him in the face and for a moment made his head feel like it was spinning. His eyes opened wide when he took a huge gulp of oxygen. He never realised how sweet it can taste. After such a long time in the damp darkness… The stars peered down at him from the moonless sky, shining like shattered diamonds woven into black velvet. Enchanting and stunningly beautiful. If it wasn't so dangerous out here, Raphael would've surely been more eager to leave the dark pit he was stuck in to marvel at the Earth's still present beauty but such as it was… The moment he let his eyes wander across the vast expanse of the Earthen sky, his feathers bristled at the sound of a shrill cry of fear that tore the silence asunder. A cry of a female voice. Familiar voice. It could only mean one thing. His heart skipped.

Rushing towards the source of the scream, Raphael soon discovered the reason right behind a corner. The same human that indulged him in a much needed interaction, that calmed his restless spirit, was now struggling against the tightening coils of a serpentine body of a demon sorcerer which apparently has picked her as its midnight snack. Already feeling a mist of rage fall over his mind, Raphael shook his head to shrug it off for a little longer. Keeping his head as cool as he could, he performed a gesture with his hands as a string of words in his mother tongue slipped past his lips and his vision zeroed on the Shadowcaster.

Nicola was absolutely sure these were her final moments on this horrible, horrible world when the Shadowcaster jumped at her from a nook and wrapped its tail around her to try and strangle the life out of her like a gigantic, twisted constrictor snake, and watch her perish in suffering. What an awful way to die. Seeing the wicked grin of this malformed face as the last thing before her consciousness leaves her for good. Nicola hoped that if she had to die, then at least she would be sent off by a friendly face… But it seems that God denied her even this last, small comfort.. She fought ferociously against the crushing pressure that was successfully preventing her from catching another breath but to no avail. Her lungs felt as though they had been set on fire and her desperate wriggling only made the demon laugh excitedly as it whispered something she couldn't understand. She didn't have to though. Something told her it was nothing nice.. Dark spots started to gather in the corners of her vision and slowly encase her mind in darkness and she has already come to terms with the fact that this time she isn't getting out of this one alive when… the hold the Shadowcaster had on her loosened.

Taking a wheezing breath, Nicola fell over, still trapped in the coils of the scaly body. What? Once her vision cleared out a little, she saw her attacker lying stiff like a statue with its nasty eyes, previously burning with malice, now opened wide in shock and a web of golden lights crawling across its skin spoke for itself. Before any coherent thought could form in her head she was suddenly yanked free from the demon's grasp by an invisible force. A small cry escaped her when she felt a sharp sting on her thigh where the monster held her with its claws and soon she was gently deposited on the ground. Looking up into a pair of big, white eyes blinking down at her upside down from underneath a green, ragged hood.

"Raph-... phael…?"

She gasped to let her crushed lungs expand properly, though she needed no answer. It was him. He did follow her. And he saved her bacon. Again. Nicola truly wanted to laugh. If there were any doubts still left in her mind that Raphael is a friend before, they disappeared at this very moment. You bloody idiot, you ran from a dude who was trying to protect you and almost got yourself killed in the process. Nicola scolded herself inwardly as she struggled to breathe properly. No running again. Although she was most glad to see Raphael, she immediately noticed something was wrong. He was looking at her but without this soft smile. His eyebrows were knitted together in an expression of worry and… guilt? Why the…? And that's when she noticed that his eyes were flicking between her face and the spot on her leg which was quickly starting to grow warm and wet. Craning her neck to see, Nicola nearly choked once she caught the sight of three deep gashes torn into her flesh. And they were spurting about a lot of blood… Like.. a lot.

"You're bleeding… Hurt…"

His hesitant words only confirmed that it wasn't a hallucination caused by oxygen deprivation. Nicola bit her lip and tried to find that healing shard in her pocket but between being nearly choked to death, her empty stomach, sharp pain and seeing that amount of blood leaving her injured appendage she felt too dizzy to keep her head up and laid back down on the ground with a miserable mewl.

"In the eyes of our blessed Father, your days are numbered, foul beast.."

She heard Raphael hiss through his teeth once he looked up towards the place where the Shadowcaster was surely still face planting under the influence of the spell and his troubled frown turned into a scowl. There was this weird sound once more. Oh my God, he's doing it again… Nicola gulped, already preparing for the round two. Even though she was certain now that she had nothing to fear from him, it still doesn't mean she liked what she saw back then when the Goreclaw jumped her. She was already hearing the screeches of the demon even before they could come to be but this time no such thing happened. Something was different. The light that coalesced around Raphael's hand was not green but golden as the magic vibrated through the air once again. Everything lasted but a second. And instead of a series of pained shrieks, Nicola heard a single, sickening crunch. And then silence. Nothing more. Whatever happened, it was quick and mostly quiet. Probably because they were outside and more demons undoubtedly prowled nearby, and Raphael was definitely smart enough to realise that. Thank goodness… Nicola breathed before she saw the shimmering stars swimming before her eyes quickly starting to disappear along with her hearing. Soon, she slipped her eyelids closed in spite of the pain in her leg and found herself sliding into the dark. Hold on. Just a little longer.. Just… a little…

… longer…

If anything could be said about Shadowcasters, was that their skeletons, as flexible as they are, characterize with astonishing brittleness. One flick of Raphael's wrist was more than enough to snap its neck and give it a far quicker and more merciful death than it deserved. He couldn't allow himself for another drain as it would bring half of the Horde bearing down on both him and the wounded human at his feet. Besides, he didn't feel in need of its energy. The human…

Looking down at her, Raphael felt his heart cease for a second. She was lying there on her back, pale and motionless, her intricate green eyes shut. Alive, the blaze in her soul flickering, but clearly unconscious. Blood was still oozing from the wound he himself had made because of the spontaneous decision to wrench her free from the fiend's hold. He wasn't careful enough and failed to notice that the demon dug its talons into her skin. The archangel had seen a fair share of pain. He used to be the head healer back in the White City after all. The number of warriors he'd pulled out of the cold clutches of death was impossible to count. But somehow this was different. The poor woman was defenseless, weak and delicate. She couldn't even fight the demon that tackled her.

Azrael was right. Humans are very, very fragile.. Compared to other races, they were frighteningly easy to crush. Anything could kill them. From eating something wrong, through illnesses, to even falling into the water. Truth be told, Nicola was the first human Raphael had met in person and he didn't want her to be his last. Just stay calm. Don't panic… Not now… Kneeling down next to her, so small in comparison to him, Raphael gingerly peeled the torn trouser leg off the wound and placed his quivering hand over it, concealing the whole thing with his palm. His magic began to flow into the human once again to seal the torn flesh but there was very little time he had.

He barely managed to lessen the bleeding when a sound of a distant roar and a crash of a car being tossed aside, reached his ears. His head snapped up as his eyes darted around, searching for the owner of this cry. He would recognise it even in his sleep, even if the last scraps of his sanity left him. A Trauma was somewhere nearby. No doubt heading in this direction, attracted by the commotion and possibly the smell of blood as well. And a Trauma he couldn't afford to fight right now. Those things are hearty enough to break through his magic and get to him before he is able to put them down. Scooping up Nicola into his arms, Raphael wrapped his dusted wings around both her and himself and with a single arcane word they both vanished, leaving only a trace of quickly dissipating golden glow in their wake.

-

How long had she been out, Nicola couldn't tell. All she knew that she felt as though someone ran into her with a car. Her breaths were shallow and her heart was beating way too fast for comfort. Groaning quietly, she laid her arm over her face before opening her eyes. To see a dark, damp ceiling gently illuminated by a warm light. Where the Hell-...? The last second before the blackout came back to her like a punch to the gut. The Shadowcaster. Raphael.. With a startled gasp, she shot up, looking about, promptly regretting her decision when the world started to spin again. And to her utter astonishment, she was once again in the small section of the sewers where she met Raphael, settled on some ratty blankets and covered with another one that fell from her chest the moment she stirred.

"Keep still.."

She heard and nearly jumped when she felt a hand fall onto her shoulder and gently coax her into lying down again. And honestly, with how nauseous and weak she felt, Nicola wasn't about to resist and let herself be lowered to the ground. Unsurprisingly now, she saw the familiar scrawny angel sitting cross-legged next to her and staring intensely at her with those big, disturbingly hollow eyes. He brought her back into his hidey-hole? It looks like it.. Why exactly however, Nicola couldn't tell. And there wasn't much she could read from those eyes. A couple of seconds passed. A minute. Two. Five. And he still kept staring. The awkward silence continued until Nicola decided to break it by clearing her throat.

"Uh… what's up, buddy?"

If she wasn't feeling like shit, Nicola would've burst out laughing when she saw Raphael look up at the ceiling confused but she really didn't have strength to explain that this was just an expression. Chucking to herself quietly, she rubbed her eyes with pads of her fingers to clear her blurry sight a little when again her stomach loudly demanded nutrition. And the poor angel who was still looking at the ceiling quite literally jumped away and glared at her abdomen distrustfully when it "growled at him". Seems like angels know as little about humans as humans about them…

"What… was that.?"

Carefully pulling herself up to a sitting position, miserably failing to stop a fit of giggles - even though it pulled her sore muscles over her ribs - Nicola waved her hand dismissively. Any fear she once felt in the presence of Raphael was gone now. Not only did he rescue her twice but the way he was getting confused or spooked by literally anything Nicola did - purposefully or not - was just somewhat endearing.

"I'm just hungry.. I haven't eaten for a whole day.."

"Oh… hungry… hmmmm… Yes.."

Raphael murmured, seemingly a little embarrassed by the whole situation and twisted his body around to reach for something. Furrowing her eyebrows, Nicola tried to shift to see what exactly he was doing back there but she didn't see a lot. At least not until he turned to face her again and very slowly - like he was afraid he would frighten her again - extended his hand to her. And in his palm sat a paper bag where undoubtedly Nicola's sandwich was. Hesitantly, she reached for the packet that rustled encouragingly and a faint, pleasant smell of cheese, ham and pickled cucumbers emerged from within. A nice change from the stench around. It wasn't much but made her mouth water nonetheless.

"Thanks.. though I'd be glad if you didn't go through my things. Okay?"

"Okay…"

He replied with a nod and sat down again, watching Nicola devour - not eat - devour half of her sandwich in a few bites. Goodness, she was so hungry she could eat a horse.. However, halfway through something beside Raphael's thigh caught her attention. There, next to his knee sat a small cat. The same back and white kitten the angel was taking care of before. Looking at her with those blasted big, green eyes with pupils expanded almost to the point where its irises weren't visible and hungrily licking the sides of its mouth. At first she tried to ignore it. But the cursed look cats, especially the little ones, can give! The longer it stared at her, the more sure she was that she doesn't have the appetite anymore.. Goddamnit. Pulling a slice of ham out of her sandwich - the only part that would be of interest to it - Nicola clicked her tongue and offered the food to the kitten.

"Here, little buddy.. Come here."

I'm too soft for my own good. One day, some cat will be the death of her… Carefully and slowly, the kitten approached her, sniffing the piece of meat before snatching it out of her hand and retreating into the safe place behind Raphael to consume the gift. Cats can smell good people from a mile. Looks like she was wrong to ever doubt Raphael had anything but good intentions. Smiling slightly, the angel reached out to the cat and brushed his knuckles against the black fur around a new scar on its back. The loud and comforting purr interrupted only by an occasional swallow rung out and made even Nicola smile as she finished her own food. Even with how meager her snack was, hopefully it was going to last her at least until she finds her way back to Haven. One day of poor eating wasn't going to kill her after all.

When she was done, she peeled back the blanket to examine her injured leg. Nicola pulled a face at the three - even if mostly closed - claw marks on her thigh and the bloodied trouser leg. It didn't look that bad anymore but she could imagine that it would definitely slow her down. The slightest move was causing her mild discomfort. Running and walking anywhere is definitely off the table for now. Still, Nicola much preferred the dull ache that was now in place of excruciating throbbing.

There was no doubt in her mind that this is all once again thanks to the kind, even if a bit unhinged, angel who was now sitting beside her with a quietly purring kitten nested on his lap as he kept stroking its head and back and murmuring something to himself in a strange, melodic language Nicola couldn't understand but found beautiful and enchanting nonetheless. She watched Raphael for a few moments, listening to his deep, soothing voice that made her feel a bit sleepy. After the apocalypse Nicola rarely slept well because of nightmares. And it showed. But before she inevitably dozed off, she felt she had to say something.

"So uh…"

She started, successfully getting his attention, judging by how his eyes shifted to look at her.

"Um… Thanks. For… for everything I guess.."

For a whole minute Raphael didn't answer, simply watched her with his head tilted to the right, a silent question in his eyes. Nicola scratched the back of her neck awkwardly and decided to clarify.

"You know.. for saving my butt two times now, treating me.. And sorry I ran away. I was scared, you got pretty spooky with that Goreclaw back then…"

"Oh…"

He replied with raised eyebrows.

"Forgive me then… I did not mean to frighten you…"

"Oh, no no no, you don't have to be sorry, it's okay! I'm not scared anymore.."

Nicola assured him quickly. Making him feel bad for it wasn't her intention at all.

"Seriously though. Thank you.."

She repeated with a grimace when she tried to shift to a more comfortable position but the ache in her leg made it significantly more difficult. With an empathetic look to his face, Raphael steadied her by returning his hand to her shoulder and moving the other - already radiant with his Heavenly magic - to her wound. The prickly sensation came back, bringing relief in pain as he sighed tiredly.

"This is.. my duty…"

As surprising as it was, Nicola couldn't deny that Raphael seemed to have changed in some way since she found him absolutely deranged. Now he seemed a little more… collected. Focused. Calmer. But simultaneously even sadder and very jumpy. Still, he remained as mysterious as he did before. But maybe if he retains this composure, Nicola could pry something from him about his background. Why is he here alone? What happened to him? How did he get here? There were way too many questions to ask at once but she had to start with something.

"Your duty? You're some sort of a… uh, what shoudma' call it? Doctor, medic, something like that?"

Despite the question being seemingly innocent and harmless, Raphael reacted by turning his eyes down to look at his hands as he flexed his fingers a couple times with a barely noticeable wince twisting his lips. His answer was so quiet that Nicola barely caught it.

"... was… I left.."

"Huh? Wh- why?"

At that, Raphael looked up at her, again with this tortured gleam in his eyes that made her heart squeeze painfully and shyly pointed at Nicola's side.

"It hurts.."

He chimed as she stared at her own hip in confusion. Again, the angel was making no sense. Her side didn't hurt for one, and two, it can't have been the reason why he left… whatever he left to abandon his previous life. A little startled that maybe he knew something she didn't, Nicola probed the place he pointed out but all she could feel was the healing shard in her… in her pocket… All of the sudden she recalled what Raphael told her before.

Hesitantly, she dug the glowing crystal out of her vest and lifted it for Raphael to see better and asked a wordless question which he answered almost immediately.

"The shards… they hurt me.."

This was probably the lowest Nicola's eyebrows have ever descended, making the look of confusion on her face even more blatant. I thought they were supposed to be healing shards? Why would something made to heal one person hurt another?

"How?"

With an expression of anguish, Raphael placed his hand over his chest and took a small gasp of air as if to make his point.

"I created them.. and some of them hurt…"

The revelation made Nicola's jaw fall slack. She'd been suspecting this before when Raphael referred to the crystal as "his" shard but hearing the confirmation almost had her gag. How many times a healing shard has saved either her or someone else from the Tree, she couldn't count on both of her hands. After Ulthane snatched her from the Fallen's talons it took the large one to heal her and make sure she survives afterwards and still it shattered after it served its purpose. At this very moment, no one could ever convince her that the sad, mad angel before her is evil in any way. With a huff of disbelief she shook her head, shifting her gaze between Raphael and the shard.

"Wait, hold up, you made those?! Oh.. my God, I could kiss you, my dude."

A very undignified snort almost escaped Nicola when she saw the face Raphael made. Something between astonishment, horror and curiosity. She remained oblivious to how improper it sounded in his ears. He cocked his head again. Goddamnit. Every time he does that, Nicola just… can't. It constantly reminds her of a puppy looking at some bizarre wonder of nature.

"But.. why would you want to do this..?"

"It's an expression. In other words, I wanted to say I can't thank you enough. How did someone like you ever end up in… like- like this?"

Nicola said "like this" in the last moment before she could say "in such a shitty situation" because she realised just in time how inappropriately awful this sounds, considering they're in the damned sewers. I'll have to learn to stop accidentally making jokes.. For some reason Jones absolutely adored her for it, unlike most of her friends who kept either groaning or facepalming every time and begging her to stop before they kicked a bucket from the sheer badness of her jests. The kitten in Raphael's lap meowed in annoyance when it lost the touch of the angel, coaxing him to keep smoothing out its fur still stained with dried blood. He did, and Nicola didn't miss that he was deliberately avoiding her gaze.

"Long story.. very long.."

"That's alright, we have time!"

The words left her mouth before she could stop them. Her curiosity was just too strong. Besides, Nicola wasn't going anywhere anytime soon with how her leg was fairing (just thinking about how worried Ulthane and the rest have to be made her a little sick) and she honestly doubted Raphael is going anywhere either. But the way it came out made her sound like she was prying to get to something the angel clearly wished to keep to himself. Whether because it was something to be ashamed of or something very unpleasant to speak of. In honesty, Nicola was sure he would scowl at her for this but he simply looked away with a grim look on his face. And it was even worse because it made her feel awful.

"Oh… sorry, if you don't wanna talk about it then it's alright! You don't have to tell me."

"Another time.. rest now."

He hummed and extended one finger towards Nicola's forehead. Before she had time to ask him what he was doing, he lightly poked her right between her eyebrows and all of the sudden she felt unbelievably drowsy. She blinked a couple of times but everything was starting to double before her eyes which were closing all by themselves. With a wide yawn Nicola soon fell into the embrace of magical slumber Raphael called upon her.

He caught her before she could fall down and lowered her onto the blankets to let her sleep in peace. The poor human needed her rest to make up for the amount of blood she lost merely an hour before. Sitting back, Raphael settled for keeping a silent vigil over her until magic wore off. What am I going to do with you? He wondered. For some reason he felt so inexplicably drawn to her and couldn't help it. Something about her was just easing in the pain and warming up the empty void in his tormented soul, even if only a little. The small animal he rescued before rubbed its fuzzy head against his hand and started to knead the fabric of his trousers with its laughably tiny claws that compared to demons' talons were nothing. Still, it stung a tiny little bit. Despite this, Raphael let it curl up in his lap again and fall asleep as well while he watched the human woman and the strange spark dancing within her like a candlelight.

--------------------------------------------------

Chapter II is done! Getting angsty. And say hi to Raphael's kitty. Isn't it cute? :3

Also, here's part 1 if you haven't seen it yet.

[houseofhalation]

Request involved a dark!Leviathan. Possible obsession warning, though nothing beyond that yet.

Once, he had been the figurehead of a virtue, a shining beacon among his celestial brethren. Once, he’d never known what it meant to covet, to want what others possess for his own. His realm was kindness, to never want after what others have, to be happy for them instead, to support others in all endeavors without wanting to claim any of their victories for himself. 

But no longer.

He fell, with his brothers but without his sister, and had his wings stripped from him to be replaced with branching horns and a serpentine tail. Leviathan is far from the angel he once was in more ways than one. It’s liberating in a way he would never have expected while still under the yoke of the celestial realm. He no longer has to worry about the satisfaction of others, their feelings or desires and how to balance them with all things holy. For the first time in his very long life, Leviathan is able to concern himself with only his own wants and needs.

The new things he distracts himself with—the stories and the art the humans are so eager to produce—open to him new paths to walk down, brand new feelings and emotions he’d been ignorant of previously. The covetousness is new and is what he hangs his existence upon now, flouting what had been his celestial duty. The things he desires must become his—and why should they not?

So he collects things. Tome upon tome of rare works, tapestries and manuscripts, sculptures and woodcuttings. Anything that distracts him even for a moment from the gnawing loss of both his sister and the surety of his previous life. For a time, it works. In a way.

Angels are not meant to want things, and Leviathan’s direct contradiction to this is grimly satisfying. It feels like continued defiance against his father, a subversion of all he used to be. If he has everything he wants, then there is no reason for the bottomless envy coursing through him now to take over. 

After a time, it isn’t quite enough. Sure, there is still joy in the acquisition of a new thing, especially if that thing is rare and thus forever out of everyone else’s reach. But he watches his brothers in their conquests, the way they bring the human to their knees with little more than a turn of their head, and he discovers that he wants that. He wants humans to be as envious as he is because if there is no challenge in collecting things then he does not feel as if he has won. 

So he starts to slip out for more intangible things—to drip the poison of his envy into the ears of any who will listen, corrupting humans as he goes. These corrupted lives he brings down become the new jewels in his collection. 

The brightest jewels are the ones being guarded by an angel, one of what had once been his family. Those humans are the real challenges, but still little more than a game to play for Leviathan. The stakes he plays with are not particularly high; if he loses the soul, then there are always more to find and he can convince himself that he didn’t want it anyway. Those human souls guarded by angels are important in some way, Leviathan knows. Why is just another mystery, even to those guardian angels; why those souls shine so brightly is kept even from those acting as a shield, sometimes even long after the ward’s death. 

Sometimes they ascend and become angels themselves; other times, they act as key players for the celestial realm during their lifetime. Prophets and saints and humans blessed in one way or another are under the celestial realm’s purview and are guarded jealously. Those same humans are almost irresistible to Leviathan and his brothers, even more so than they naturally are to their new demonic brethren. They’re a reminder of what once was and the pain that brought them to where they are. 

So there’s another layer of pleasure in corrupting them, like tearing the wings from a butterfly. 

This thought occurs to Leviathan as he wanders the human realm in search of humans that might be swayed, souls that might be taken. Lucifer described finding what might have once been a saint before the Avatar of Pride interfered. Now, the man exists as a husk of himself in the Demon King’s castle, nothing more than a servant at the feet of the demon he would have railed against later in life. 

It makes him… curious. Leviathan, as an angel, had a select few humans he was meant to watch over and if he listens closely he can still feel their souls calling out to him, reverberating like whale song in the deep. Most of them have aged, are bowed and wrinkled in the two decades he’s been learning how to be a demon. Those he cares about the least are the ones who have already died and fulfilled whatever purpose the celestial realm had for them. The humans still able to be swayed are more intriguing, but most of them have been hardened already by their lives.

But there is still one charge he had as an angel that he’s almost forgotten about. His descent and your birth almost coincided and his preoccupation, he thinks, can be forgiven. It’s not as if you would have known the difference, anyway; angels and their human charges are strictly forbidden from interacting without prior authorization. Now, however, you provide an interesting diversion.

Why not find you and see what course your life has taken—if it has taken one at all. Sometimes the removal of a guardian angel forfeits the human’s life, if they’re deemed not that important. Sometimes they languish. You’re alive; that much he knows. So why not find you?

After all, you’re his.

[thepinkseat-askthemoonbunny]

Toll The Dead

On the day he opens his eyes, the sun is blindingly harsh. He tries to move his hands only to be greeted by astonishingly smooth skin and dark waves flopping into his vision. He’s trapped for so long that both he and the ancient tree actually died. The difference is, he came back. He wept, although they weren’t tears of joy after being finally freed from his (admittedly deserved, he could say that now) captivity. They were tears of sorrow. Actually, neither freedom nor captivity were in his mind upon his awakening. Instead it was one, all-consuming question took up that space.

How long have I been dead?

The old, dead tree was still the same apart from being a mere husk now. The old grove, the forest was still the same. But Camelot...Camelot was totally different. It no longer existed.

The mighty Pendragon Castle had all but crumbled to dust, the inhabitants long gone either to their respective afterlives, or as shades haunting what was left of the ruined halls. He’d heard whispers that there’d been a great battle long ago, a battle where Arthur had been betrayed by the son he conceived in sin and shame. Arthur. Arthur was gone too, then. Tears pricked Merlin’s eyes anew when he’d heard it...he would never see either of them again. He would never go to heaven and see Arthur’s smiling face, he wouldn’t even float through the gates of hell and embrace his beloved Uther after centuries of being apart. Arthur’s grave was at Avalon, a place that was forever closed to him. Even after all this time Morgana and Nimue’s memories had not dulled, and neither had their power it seemed.

I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

There were too many memories here, too much had remained the same and too much had changed. All the work of decades was lost, friends and loved-ones were lost. There was no longer a godson, a lover. A mother, a sister or an apprentice to stick around for. Everything around him was a reminder of loss, the world had moved on without him and he had no choice but to move on too.

There was no place for him anymore. Limbs still stiff after being fused to wood for so long, Merlin summoned his weakened magic to conjure not food, not water, but enchanted roses. A bouquet of them: not his finest work but he hoped that the recipients would appreciate the thought.

. . . .

He left one on Uther’s grave below the crypts of Saint-Peter. “Take care, my love.”

He left the second on the floor where Arthur’s throne used to stand, and what was left of his portrait underneath it.

The third he had left at the grave of his mother, who’d insisted she be buried with her fellow sisters.

Speaking of sisters, he gave the fourth to a raven and instructed it to find Ganieda, wherever she was. He would like to see her again, but he didn’t even know if she was still alive.

The fifth and sixth went onto Igraine and Gorlois’ tombs: at least the lady got to be buried beside her true love at the end. Poor, unfortunate woman...she’d been through so much. He figured it was the least he could do. I know nothing I say or do could make up for what I’ve done...but I’ve looked after Arthur. I raised and protected him the best I could, and he became a marvelous king. A marvelous man, I know you’d be proud of him. I am, even though I’ve no right to be.

When the air turned chilly around him for no reason at all, he knew he’d overstayed his welcome. He was not forgiven, that much was clear.

“Why are you here?! You’re not supposed to be here! You don’t have the right...!”

Merlin didn’t even have to look up when the door to the crypt slammed open, he already knew who it was. “Hello, Morgana.”

“How dare you. How dare you defile my parents once again!” Her hair was a halo of fire, wreathing her thunderous face. “You and your lover already took their lives, you could not leave them in peace at their deaths?!”

“I only meant...” Coming here was a mistake. A second step of footsteps rushed into the chamber, that thin face and those blue eyes and that dark hair was burned into Merlin’s brain. He’d last seen it when she was fusing his old and silvered body into the great oak. “How did you get out of the tree?!”

“The tree is dead, Nimue. Look, coming here was a mistake. I’ll take my leave...”

“Do you really think I’m just going to let you walk away?” Morgana took a step forward. “Not this time.”

There were bolts of magic exchanged and smoke kicked up around them, a confusing jumble of light and sound and smell. Merlin barely missed the thorny vine aimed his way...Morgana had always been the more talented of his students. Nimue chimed in with her own magic, like two perfectly synchrd dancers performing a pas-de-deux. He had to get out, he knew he wouldn’t survive much longer if they’d had better aim. In the cloak of smoke and rubble, he slunk out through the first opening he saw, not having the energy to turn into anything bigger than a lizard at this point.

. . . .

It was taking an excruciatingly long time for his magic to come back...of course he’d loved without it before, but it was just so much easier to have it at your disposal. When you have magic, it becomes a part of you and losing it is a lot like losing a limb. He felt like he’d lost a right arm. When he barely escaped with his life, Merlin ran. He didn’t know where he was running to, but he ran. He kept running, and when his magic finally became strong enough he flew.

He didn’t know where he’d ended up, all he knew is that he was on his knees in a thick forest, hair falling in front of his face. It was just as much gray as it was brown at this point, as well as his beard. It was odd, really...forests were once a place of comfort for him. He used to sleep in them to keep dry, he and his sister would play in the forest when they were children but ever since the whole Nimue debacle, forests felt eerie and suffocating to him. He no longer felt free, he felt trapped instead. Perhaps, not as trapped as the unfortunate soul he stumbled upon though.

“Miss? Miss, are you alright?!” Merlin approached warily, making his way toward the figure who was slumped under a great pine...they didn’t have many of those in Britain. The air was much colder here than it was back in Britain as well. Wherever he was, he wasn’t home anymore. It was a woman, that much was certain from the stained yellow-green skirts and delicate fingers. Her dark hair, as salt-and-pepper as his obscured most of her face like a veil. Her one visible eye, which she turned to him was the deep marble-green of bottle glass. She said nothing for a long time, merely stared. It chilled Merlin to see it. When she finally spoke, he merely stared at her in confusion. This was a language he’d never heard before.

“You don’t even speak our language, do you? You’re not from around these parts.” Perhaps noticing his bewilderment, she switched to English...but it was in a thick, somewhat strange accent. At least he could understand her now.

“No ma’am, I am not. I don’t even know how I got here, I was just...”

“Running away from demons?” She tilted her head and gave him a chilling, impish grin, her eyes twinkling with...mischief? Or something else entirely? Merlin sighed, seating himself on the ground next to her. “Yes. They’re of my own making though, unfortunately.”

“We all have demons...we can choose to run from them, we can choose to work with them. I think the latter offers more possibilities, don’t you?”

“I suppose so? Anyway, why are you here? Just resting?”

“Some boys stole my walking stick and when I tried to run after them, I collapsed.”

“That’s awful! Children these days, no respect. You’re not hurt, are you?”

“You’re rather gentlemanly, aren’t you?” Her smile grew wider, and Merlin actually found himself smiling back. “And very kind.”

“Thank you. Did you get your staff back?”

“Unfortunately, no. But it’s alright, I have others. Those little toads will learn the hard way that this old lady’s walking stick isn’t a toy.”

“I wouldn’t call you old, Miss.”

“You’re kind, but a tad slow-witted.” Merlin felt himself stiffen up at that. “Well I...!”

“Don’t get your beard in a knot! I am old, it’s as plain as the age on your own face. I’m not ashamed of it, why should a lady be ashamed of her age?”

“Do you need any help?”

“If you could help walk me home, I’d be grateful.”

. . . .

“We’re here.” The cabin was small, but rather well-kept and surrounded by a thicket of trees. “You live here alone?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m alone. It’s not as if the only company worth keeping is that of the human variety, you know. Come in, I’ll have dinner on the kettle in a minute.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t...”

“I insist! You stopped to help me, at least let me give you a hot meal as a thank-you. And besides, I can use someone to speak to for a while.”

Merlin had intended to leave as soon as dinner was done, but he realized that he had nowhere else to go. He was used to making his own way, he’d be fine. But the old lady offered to let him stay, provided that they exchange knowledge. She could learn from him, and in turn he could learn from her. It confused him until he added it up in his head. Alone in the woods, sprites and imps as housekeepers, all sorts of odd charms hanging about the house? She’s a witch. A powerful one too. Ever since Nimue, he was cautious of sharing his knowledge with anyone...but then again, he knew that was going to happen. And this one didn’t make him promise not to use magic against her...plus she hadn’t poisoned him, maybe it was safe.

He didn’t know her name, and she told him once when he asked that it’d been so long since she used her true name that she’d quite forgotten it herself. But the locals called her Grandmother, at least the ones that came to her for help.

“Why do they call you Grandmother?” Merlin asked one day while she was pouring over one of his borrowed tomes.

“Because I am more powerful than they, and far older and they know it.” They’d pay her tidy sums for her aid, and she’d help them...sometimes at least. Other times, a far more unfortunate fate awaited those that she refused. It was almost as if she could read the hearts of men, and judge whether or not they were worth helping. He actually quite liked it here, a new start where nobody knew who he was. Freedom from politics...he still had his powers as a Seer, but he’d lost his taste for shaping the future long ago. We all know how the last attempts ended...and good company. He and Grandmother seemed to get on like a house on fire: “fortunate for you, because don’t really like many men.” They seemed to understand each other, he liked her clever ways and her cunning and even her strange house. They were in one position when he was awake, and when he was asleep he would find that they’d moved somewhere else in the middle of the night. Whenever he asked her about it, she’d just give him that rapacious grin and ask him to help her with the garden.

. . . .

It went quite well, until Nimue and Morgana found them. The little tin bell that announced visitors had been rung. “Merlin, could you get that?” Grandmother didn’t even look up from the potion she was stirring, and Merlin opened the door to find two familiar faces. “So this is where you’re hiding out now, eh Teacher?” Nimue mused.

“What are you two doing here?” Morgana wrapped her arm around Nimue’s shoulders, and the girl leaned into the embrace. “Why we’re here to kill you, of course!” Her voice was as cheery and light-hearted as a child. “You avoided us for some decades, but now we’ve finally found you!”

“Technically, Nimue already killed me. She trapped me in that tree and I died, remember?”

“Like it was yesterday...but we’re here to make sure that you don’t come back.” Merlin heard the shuffling of feet behind him and Grandmother peered over his shoulder. “Merlin! You didn’t tell me your friends were coming over, I would’ve made more soup!”

“They’re not my friends.”

“We’re not his friends.” The sentences were said in tandem so that they blurred together, making it hard to distinguish who spoke first. “Look lady, you don’t know what that man in front of you has done...” Morgana began, but Grandmother held up a hand to silence her. “Oh I’m very aware, he’s told me. I trust you young ladies punished him?”

“Not nearly as much as we would’ve liked...but the tree thing was marvelous, I have to give it to Nim.” Morgana leaned in to kiss her cheek, and Nimue smiled up at her. Merlin noticed the way the girls hung off of each other; that easy rapport they had developed. The aura they radiated reminded him a lot of he and Uther once upon a time. When had that happened? Not that it mattered now.

“This is my battle, I’ll deal with them. You don’t have to involve yourself...” Merlin whispered to her, but Grandmother’s glare made him quiet instantly. So much so that it puzzled the redheads in the doorway...who was this woman that could silence the most powerful wizard in the world with a single look? That’s when Morgana noticed it, the staff in her hand. “You’re...you’re...” the sorceress whispered, recognizing the symbol from her books.

“Yes, I am. And you’re not going to take my study buddy from me, are you?”

“But Grandmother!” Nimue protested. “He’s...!”

“Done his time. I believe in women taking back their power, but it seems you’ve already done that. I mean, I think trapping him in a tree for some centuries and leaving him to die is a suitable punishment...I would’ve done the same thing myself. I like him, and I’ve decided to keep him. It seems he’s had quite a bit of time to think while in confinement.”

“He’s a slippery one, Grandmother.” Morgan’s tone was heavy and wooden, much like her house.

“I’m even slipperier. Not to worry girls, I’ve been taking care of myself before him and if he gets out of line, I’ll take care of that too.”

“And if he gets up to his old tricks again?”

“Then he’s for the streets and I’ll personally call you so you can take him off my hands. If there’s anything left of him.” Her voice was as cheery as ever, but there was something coming from the old woman. Something sinister, frightening...wreathing her like flame. Morgana shrank back. “Yes, Grandmother.” The young sorceress’ jaw tightened in protest, but she said nothing further.

“Good. Now run back off to your country, girls. I’m sure you must have things that require your attention.”

Morgana made to turn around, Nimue rushing after her. “We finally have him in our grasp and we’re just going to walk away?!”

“Nim, that witch is more powerful than you, me and perhaps Merlin put together! He’s not worth it...what chance do either of us have against Baba Yaga?”

The cabin’s two “human” occupants watched Nimue and Morgana’s retreating backs, Merlin turned to Grandmother in shock. “I thank you. But...why?”

“Because I like you, you amuse me. Like I said when we first met, I keep all sorts of company. But sometimes human company can be pleasant too.” Her face turned into the sinister, somewhat terrifying mask it was when they’d first met. “This is your second chance. Don’t fuck it up, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes. Crystal.”

“Excellent!” The grin was back on her face. “Now come along, let’s get out of here.”

“Baba Yaga, huh? So you do have a name.”

“It just means Granny Yaga. Yaga is a word that means wicked or frightening, more of an epithet than a name. Come on.”

. . . .

Later that night, Merlin simply placed the last rose into the vase on the dining room table. “It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got left.” The witch gave him a slow smile. “Well, aren’t you quite the gentleman?”

“Hey, I was thinking...”

“I’m not the marrying type, so you can save it. I tried it once and it didn’t end very well, so I swore never again.” She stared through him as if he were made of glass.

“We don’t have to get married!” Merlin said quickly. “We can still be friends, with a...side hustle, if you want.”

“Side hustle? Is that what they call it these days?”

“I panicked, alright?!”

“No persistent pleas to return your love?”

“The last time I tried that shit, I was trapped in a tree for eight hundred years. And I have a fear that you would do even worse to me so no, not worth it.”

She gave one of her rare low chuckles. “Friends with a side hustle, I like it. Let’s be off then, I’m bored and I have locals to terrorize. Plus I haven’t really made the little shits that took my staff pay yet.”

There was a rumbling beneath them, but the witch didn’t seem to be affected. Merlin looked over the cabin’s porch and watched as they rose into the air, higher and higher before finally stopping. “Are those...chicken legs?!”

“Of course, how else do you think the house moves? Did you think it just floated on its own?!”

[dearaliceliddel]

Alice, what's your opinion about dr. Wilson?

The young woman needed to pause a moment. Think this over... It was... An odd subject to think about, considering how the two of them had started off. And how Doctor Wilson had admitted, regretted, his early treatments of her and managed to change his tune as he figured her out as well as better ways to handle patients. It was him, and one Nurse D-, that.. .In the end? Were the only ones who treated her as human. Pris had been cruel and never changed, Crachet a self absorbed abuser, the fat orderlies were nothing more than spoiled rotten husks of people... So many in that place had been abusive, harmful, towards Alice herself and many of the other patients within. However over the years she had been there, Alice had noticed how D- and Wilson had improved, and even helped as best as they could... Her own hallucinations be damned, they couldn’t take away the truth.

A deep sigh escaped the woman as she softly crossed her arms over her chest, hands gently gripping her own biceps for anything to hold onto, keep herself almost grounded in a way. Or maybe even feel a comfort. While those green eyes were far away while walking down her internal memory lane. 

“My opinion is... He was a skilled man, and had learning still to do, as do we all. He was intelligent, and used that o learn how to treat me, help me. We came too an understanding and he tried so hard for me, no matter how broken I was, how shattered me and Wonderland were...” Alice exhaled a heavy breath then, letting her head tilt back so she could gaze up towards the sky. “At the start, it was rocky. Unpleasant. So much was, as many doctors had forced so much on me. Experimental drugs, dosages, shock therapy, skull drilling, blood letting, unorthodox physical surgery, and more. But he eventually put a stop to most of it and became my primary doctor out of it all... Even if the orderlies continued to be cruel... It was Doctor Wilson and Nurse D- that showed me true care out of anyone. Do I regret some of my actions upon them? Yes, I do. But I know it had been out of my control in the end. I’d possibly be dead if they hadn’t kept my physical reality alive, while I fought inside Wonderland o my other half.”

“Doctor Wilson was human, and flawed by nature. Even if my hallucination tried to ruin that memory, it does not break the facts. He did his best. While I saved my self in the end, he kept me alive in reality, and Nurse D- helped. No other doctor or therapist has ever done the same for me, and has only hurt or damaged. I trust so few as it is...”

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

stuff for the vampire glimmer & ex-vampire hunter turned bodyguard adora au 

scraps ahoy!

- so Glimmer is vampire who tries to drink as little blood as possible

- This makes her really weak, hence ex-vampire hunter Adora volunteering as her bodyguard 

- Why does Glimmer not drink much blood? Because drinking blood isn’t about the blood. Blood is just the thing nearly everyone links to life, so when someone feels their blood being drained away they also unintentionally let some of their spirit/soul go with it

- (vampires who drink blood from unconscious/sleeping/confused people are just doing it for the kicks. The person has to go blood = life for the vamp to get anything out of it)

- Living souls want to go back to their living body so the soul sucking is more of a loan, unless the vampire does it often and regularly, which can end with the person’s soul being permanently torn, making them come back as a vampire if killed 

- A month is more than long enough for Bow to get his soul piece back and have some quality time with it though 

- Also, having a piece of someone’s soul in your soul forms a bond between the two. Glimmer and Bow’s is a really faint empathetic one bc of the time between drinks and bc Glimmer keeps herself a weak vampire without any extra soul stuff to influence people with. Their bond vanishes completely for the week right before the next blood drive 

- Other bonds can be strong enough for the human to see through the vamps eyes and experience their memories, even feel their pain or emotions 

- This is why most vamps drink either from people they have under control or from people they trust completely 

- the bond can make humans sympathetic and protective of the vampire but it also leaves the vamp VERY vulnerable 

- Adora learns all this one time when Glimmer is hurt and the two of them are separated from Bow. She offers her own blood, finds out that actually means offering a bit of her soul, and then offers it again anyway 

- Glimmer doesn’t take her up on it but does stop lowkey thinking Adora might be a spy 

- SHADOW WEAVER

- was the one who trained/raised Adora

- is the one Glimmer is hunting bc she killed Glimmer’s dad and is evil 

- this is the main tension between Adora and Glimmer with Adora believing it’s all a misunderstanding and Glimmer being just like um No it’s NOT

- Adora stops checking in with SW and she knows this pisses SW off but she’s convinced if she can just get Glimmer to promise not to murder SW on sight maybe the two can work together and save the world 

- shortly afterwards Adora starts getting blinding headaches and fails to spot several ambushes, leading to Glimmer nearly getting killed

- Glimmer actually saves Adora several times bc of headaches and gets really worried about her

- not sure how all this shakes out but:

- Glimmer tries drinking Adora’s blood and finds out it tastes like death

- Glimmer freaks out thinking Adora might be dying and rushes her to Angella (ancient vampire who is the one that discovered the whole soul-not-blood thing)

- Angella diagnoses Adora with ghoul. A ghoul is a person who drank vampire blood, someone stronger than normal with heightened senses who is in return under the power of the vampire they drank from. Their soul is infected with the vampires. The vampire can see what they see, feel what they feel, change their thoughts and alter their memories 

- Adora’s headaches were her trying to fight back against the ‘betray glimmer’ thoughts SW was pushing into her head 

- Adora is also the reason for all the ambushes. SW was watching Glimmer’s movements through her 

- Probably SW has already sent other ghouls to attack Angella’s place now she knows where it is. Which is bad, because both Angella’s and Glimmer’s graves are here, and a vampire HAS to return to their grave once a year to keep their shattered soul from completely coming to pieces 

- Angella decides to set up her wards and try to weather out SW’s attack in her crypt. Glimmer can’t abandoned her friends or the rest of the world though and demands to know how to un-ghoul Adora

- Short answer: she can’t

- Long answer: a powerful enough vampire could either feed Adora their blood and overwrite SW’s claim like tipping a scale, or bite Adora and draw SW’s soul out that way 

- But neither Glimmer not Angella drink enough blood / steal enough souls to be able to do that

- Oh and, considering how long Adora has probably been a ghoul, killing Shadow Weaver might kill Adora too. Or just leave her a mindless husk with no memories or sense of self. Either way 

- But now Adora know’s SW has been lying to her, is a vampire- a BAD one- is raising an army of ghouls like her, probably DID murder Glimmer’s dad AND has been using Adora to try to hurt Glimmer- Yeah. Adora is 100% for going back to vampire hunting 

- And suddenly Glimmer is the one arguing for keeping SW alive 

- they’re still arguing when SW’s ghouls arrive 

- Ending???

- Glimmer and Adora kiss right before facing down SW 

- SW turns Adora against Glimmer- but its spotty and Adora keeps breaking though just in time for Glimmer to get away, which infuriates/scared SW bc that shouldn’t be happening 

- Glimmer is also doing REALLY well against all of SW’s trained ghouls

- meanwhile Bow has been setting stuff up while the two keep everyone distracted. Finally he gives the signal (via arrow probably) and Glimmer tricks RAGED ghoul Adora to charge her and break through wall instead

- cue SUNLIGHT as Bow’s chain of mirrors reflect daytime into SW lair

- Glimmer doesn’t dodge Adora’s next attack

- SW poofs

- Glimmer ... realizes she’s still alive? Adora didn’t stake her, instead shielded her from the sunlight 

- angst sad bc Adora won’t answer Glimmer :(

- Bow blocks off his mirrors and he and Glimmer help guide/carry Adora away. She doesn’t seem to notice they’re there. Glimmer keeps talking to her anyway 

- They go back to find all the ghouls that were attacking Angella’s place have mostly wandered off without SW controlling them. Glimmer asks her mom if Adora can stay there with them, answer yes of course 

- Glimmer breaks down, gives Adora soggy forehead kiss and promises things will be ok

- Adora leans over and instinctively returns the kiss and hugs her

- Then she blinks

- Oh hey why is Glimmer crying? Where’s Shadow Weaver?? Did they win??? Is Glimmer hurt, is that why she’s crying?????

- no it’s not :D

- turns out you don’t HAVE to use blood to trade a piece of your soul with someone, a desperate ‘last kiss’ can work too, and the core part of Adora’s soul was kept safe in Glimmer when SW died (and helped glimmer kick ghoul ass) while Glimmer’s was just enough to weaken SW’s hold on Adora 

- Now they’ve traded back with their second kisses <3 and can live (un-die?) happily every after <3 <3 

(also Angella has to add another note to her research)   

(and Bow doesn’t need to donate blood anymore) 

(its a happy ending bc happy GOOD)

[wooziuji]

The Slaying

Word Count: 1.5K

Genre: Angst? Idk it’s a Gang AU lmao

Fandom: Seventeen, Original Characters

“Hey, hey- Look at me. It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay, just look at Daddy.” 

His father’s pleading voice was the only thing registering in the boy’s ears; the chaos ensuing down the stairs falling deaf on their ears; the occasional gunshot causing him and his sister to jump. He was shaking, terrified, eyes wide as his gaze stayed trained on the sight before him.

A man had entered the room, powerful and demanding in presence, frightening. He stood impossibly tall, with a fire set ablaze in his eyes. Crass taunts left the man’s lips - foreign to the young boy’s ears but clear in their intentions thanks to his tone alone. With his father now restrained, the children were within the trained sights of the gun's barrel. Tears streamed down Minwoo’s cheeks; he understood far too much of what was happening for a boy barely past 5 years. Growing up in the ever-present dangers of gang life prepared everyone for situations like these, no matter how much his parents attempted to protect him from it. There was nothing he could do. Nothing his father could do. This was it; their finality was loaded into the barrel of a gun.

“Daddy--” his sister cried out beside him, Minwoo immediately tightening his grip on her hand. It all happened so fast…The door burst open, their mother appearing wild-eyed and panicked, autopilot carrying her full speed towards her children.

One shot - and she fell, blood pooling on the floor - his father screaming in protest and struggling in the man’s grip.

A second shot - his sister was ripped from the boy’s hold the second it sounded, crumpling to the ground.

A third shot - the boy’s hearing was nothing more than a shrill ringing, his father’s sobs and cries now deaf to him. A wet substance trickled down his cheek - and intense pain following immediately after. He wanted to cry out, but his mouth only became slack as he, too, fell to the floor. 

One last shot - or, the child was sure he had heard one more. His own mind was seizing up; succumbing to the darkness that was unconsciousness.

---

Memories presented themselves as never-ending torture. Memories plagued the boy nearly every waking and sleeping moment of the boy’s life - there was no escape. Perhaps, in retrospect, it was thanks to his father’s struggle that enabled Minwoo’s survival. He was so close to death...it was a miracle in and of itself that he still lived to breathe another day.

Jaw clenching, the boy - now aged 17 - pushed himself out of his bed, feet dragging as they carried him to the bathroom. A deep sigh sounded, deft fingers working to tie the cloth he kept securely over the taught and scarred flesh on the right side of his face.

His eye was gone, a thin layer of skin now covering the bone that had been exposed. His family...was dead, but he survived. Hands shifted, resting on the edge of the sink, gripping until knuckles turned a bright white. Minwoo had learned a lot in the last 12 years.

The man’s name, his family’s killer, was Park Sejin. He worked for a powerful entity known as Leeteuk, was his right hand man...and the whole reason Sejin came that night, was due to Seungcheol. From the information that he had obtained, Leeteuk ran an orphanage. Or, that was how he presented his ‘business’. The man produced super soldiers for the government, training young boys to become blood-thirsty emotionless husks. Seungcheol was Leeteuk’s strongest; his best...and one of the only two to ever escape. Leeteuk wanted him back, and if that involved a merciless killing of innocent lives, so be it.

Minwoo’s ‘uncle’ - one of his father’s closest friends...and the leader of their family’s little gang. The size of the family was plenty - at least 18 including himself, if he remembered correctly, and he reigned the only survivor. Or, that’s what he assumed.

Pushing off the sink, he quickly turned on his heel. A look of determination etched itself onto the boy’s features as he moved to get himself ready. Gun slid comfortably in the holster on his thigh. Blade, nestled in a little sheath attached to the inside of his boot. A second gun, in the holster, strapped to his chest. Backpack pulled on over one shoulder; boots laced, leather jacket zipped.

Leaving the room, Minwoo remained quiet as ever; beginning his journey down the hall and through the headquarters to the exit.

“Min?” a curious voice rang out, calling for him. Stopping him in his tracks as he peered back over his shoulder. “Where are you going?” The concern in her voice was palpable.

It was Mina - his mom’s old friend. Minwoo had recalled hearing his mother mention The Elite several times to his father, before the night that he had lost everything. It was the ‘family’ she had come from; a clustered mix of humans and supernatural beings led by a despicable man...and it was where the boy went, that fateful night, for refuge. Things were different now, though, that the man was gone. If things were different...maybe he even would have liked it here. 

Mina was, essentially, the whole reason he was safe. She took him in, raised him with the help of her boyfriend. Their medic - a friendly young male witch - healed him. Different members of The Elite attempted to befriend him, tried to talk to him, but progress was never obtained. People told him stories of his mother, Aneni, and even what they knew of his father, Mingyu. The boy only ever listened, however...but the occasional hint of a smile did sometimes grace his lips. This only ever lasted a few seconds, however. Even the good intentions of these stories proved to be only a painful and grim reminder. 

Regardless of Mina’s concern, the boy stayed ever silent, prying his gaze away after a minute and returning to his own quest. She didn’t stop him; she never did. After all, he hadn’t spoken a word in 12 years. 

---

12 years. 

It had been 12 years since he last stepped foot in his childhood home. The simple action alone of placing his hand on the cool knob of the door caused his heart to race...but he pushed on, twisting the knob and pushing - relieved that it gave way and opened without force.

Overwhelming wasn’t quite the word for the feeling occurring at the moment. A lone eye looked over every last inch of the home that could be seen, but feet would not move. No dust...everything still perfectly in place...almost as if it was still lived in. Pictures hung neatly on the wall, the warmth from the heater licking at his skin. A house once so lively and full of life now silent, but standing as though it had secrets to tell. Brow furrowing, confusion quickly took over - lips pursing. 

Steps were forced, walking into the living room and slowly dragging a single finger along the wood of a shelf. Nothing. Not a single spec of dust. Did someone else make it? No...no, everyone was home that night? The boy recalled seeing their faces: Seungkwan, and Seokmin. Minghao, Soonyoung, Wonwoo. Taeyong and Chanwoo. If they had all been home, the rest must have been too.

Everyone...except for Seungcheol. That was why Sejin chose that night, he had thought to himself. Was his father’s superior, and friend, still alive? What had he felt, seeing the slain bodies? What did he do? Where did he go?

Why hadn’t he looked for him?

Confliction reigned true in the boy’s mind: Sadness, relief, anger. Frustration. Frustration was quickly becoming the strongest. 

Too much of his time was being spent thinking. Minwoo once more forced himself away. He needed to get to work; time was truly of the essence. Only 2 weeks ago, Sejin had been left a note: the address of this home, a date, and a time were all that was marked on it. Minwoo watched; hidden completely in the shadows and quiet as a dormouse, as the elder male read the scrap piece of paper. 

It would have been so easy to take the man out right then and there, but it wouldn’t nearly have been satisfying enough.

Slinging his backpack onto the couch, the boy worked quickly to unzip it and pull out his supplies: tripwire, a doorstop alarm, flash grenades, and a few other miscellaneous supplies. It took only a few minutes - the boy had practiced several times in his own room (sans testing the flashbangs - his stock was limited), and he waited now around the corner.

Anxieties grew as he checked his phone. 7 minutes. There still were 7 long minutes to spare. His posture shifted from one foot to the other when suddenly an ear-piercing sound rang from the hall from the door opening. A bright flash of light emitted as the tripwire was triggered as well and Minwoo moved fast.

Around the corner he went, pulling out his blade and pouncing on the man in one swift movement, knife pushed harshly against the other’s throat. 

Only, it wasn’t Sejin. The boy’s eyes widened as he quickly was shoved off with a strength that could only belong to one man, and his voice trembled as he righted himself and spoke the first word since the slaying:

“Uncle?”

[kathyprior4200]

Hidden Hazbin Sins

NOT FOR KIDS! NO COPYRIGHT INTENDED.

For many of the residents in Hell, it was an average day of chaos, murder, sex, drugs, and drama. Poverty-stricken demons smuggled food from dumpsters while others snuck into darkened stores. More disturbingly, other demons even resorted to cannibalism on unlucky citizens who had been killed in gang fights, run over, or stabbed to death by Exterminator harpoons.

The Happy (Hazbin) Hotel seemed to be running fairly smoothly with the addition of the clean-freak cyclops demon Niffty and even the indifferent gambling alcoholic Husk. Charlie, the blond-haired demon princess, stood outside wearing a red bellhop uniform complete with gold buttons, gold threads hanging around the brim of her small red hat and a ruby apple necklace around her neck. Her face was white, eyes yellow, and red blushes were off to the sides of her face. She remembered a week ago when the hotel first opened, cutting a tied up red piece of ribbon with a large pair of scissors, the crowd clapping half-heartedly. Currently, she was holding the door for a line of demons waiting to get in.

“Welcome to the Happy Hotel!” said the princess cheerfully. Razzle and Dazzle were busy lifting up luggage and placing them on a rolling cart to go up into the elevator. Though many of the demons rolled their eyes and snarled at Charlie, she kept up her positive demeanor.

Inside, a banner hung over a front desk with several colorful balloons and streamers off to the sides.

“No more sin, share a big grin!” Charlie recited her motto. “Vaggie will check you in and get you situated at the front desk.”

She mentioned to her moth demon friend, who saw her and blushed with a small smile, blowing her a quick kiss. Vaggie turned to a light blue dragon in the front.

“I have a reservation for a room with a balcony,” the dragon said, his wings folded. He showed her his cell phone in his claw which showed the order he had made online.

Vaggie looked it over and nodded. “Two nights here, room 666, with a cost of…”

Charlie looked over at Vaggie. “They don’t have to pay any souls. This place is free for the first one hundred customers!”

“What?!” Vaggie exclaimed in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“Because I just came up with it today,” she explained. “If we are to encourage demons to come here to get better, why not make it free for them?”

“Your Dad won’t be happy about that.”

“I know. But it’s my hotel, and I might as well leave a friendly impression.”

“Move it, bitch,” scoffed a green snake-like demon with a pink dress and dark green hair who shoved Charlie aside with her hand. Charlie’s eyes glowed red for a second, but she took a deep breath. Vaggie pointed her harpoon weapon at the snake lady and glared. Heeding her warning, the snake huffed, flipped back her straggly green hair and moved on to her room.

Charlie shrugged, as she continued to hold the door. “It’s a start, right?”

Vaggie sighed and continued with her next customer, a werewolf. “Room 66 is currently occupied. 63 is available if you’d like to stay on that floor.”

Dazzle flew into the room, lifted down one of many old fashioned blood-stained key and placed it on the desk.

Vaggie handed the key to the brown furry demon. “The bar is over down the hall to your left. Charlie’s Fun and Games event will start at 7:00pm in the dance room. Ring your room bell and Niffty will fetch you breakfast in the morning. If you have any questions, just ask me or Charlie.”

“I have a question,” said a familiar sounding voice as the werewolf left for his room. The white spider demon Angel Dust strutted up to the desk, with his usual white and pink striped outfit on and pink gloves on four of his hands.

“One second,” Vaggie said. She turned to him. “What, Angel?” Vaggie deadpanned.

“Do you know where the drug vending machine is here? I want some Angel Dust and I’m getting tired of those purple popsies to be honest.”

“What’s in a name!” someone commented from in the line.

Vaggie crossed her arms. “No drugs are allowed here. It’s problematic enough that alcohol is being served here. We don’t need any more of your ideas. I’m busy here!”

Angel continued, “What we also need is a stage with new poles for dancing on. Italian electro music, and a secret strip club in the basement! Man, that’d be the shit!”

A black dinosaur-like demon growled at Angel. “Go fuck yourself, slut.”

Angel just grinned widely. “Only if you watch me, hot stuff.”

“Get out!” Vaggie bellowed, pointing toward the door.

“Oh well,” Angel shrugged. “Time to make some moves on Husk. It’s so easy to warm up to him when he’s drunk…”

Angel happily scurried away while Vaggie face-palmed. “Someone kill me a second time,” she muttered out loud.

“Can I do it?” asked the snake demon, who peered out of her room.

“No!” Charlie and Vaggie yelled at the same time, startling the snake who ducked back into her room. Charlie and Vaggie laughed from across the room. Almost losing hold of the door, Charlie grabbed onto the handle again, smiling back at the visitors.

 Later on that evening, the bar was packed full of demons scattered around in every direction. A group of dragons were sitting together, enjoying flaming spirits of liquor that Husk had brought to them. A family of red imps were playing cards over by a booth. Only a group of doll demons seemed to enjoy the rainbow decorated karaoke section that Charlie had set up. They sang at the top of their lungs and danced in a circle.

“See? They’re getting it!” Charlie smiled, sitting next to Vaggie. Vaggie let out a small smile. “Well, I’m impressed, Charlie. Maybe your idea will be successful in the long run.”

Charlie brushed Vaggie’s long white hair from her light gray face, careful not to touch the pink X over her friend’s eye. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Angel Dust giggled under his breath nearby and began to do a slutty dance on a table.

“Anyone have a lampshade I could use?”

A random one hit him in the face. “Thanks, dick!” he called putting it over his head.

“Wow, he remembered my name,” smiled a blushing Dick, an orange-faced demon with an elongated forehead shaped like…

“Will you cut that out?” Husk hissed as he glanced at Angel shaking his butt as the demons laughed and jeered.

“You like that?” he asked, hearing Husk’s voice. “I figured you would, deep down.”

“Son of a crackhead,” Husk muttered.

“Heard that, cat in the hat! Sadly, it’s true, though.”

The two girlfriends relaxed as the demons chatted (and fought) among themselves. Husk drank more booze behind the counter in several gulps. Niffty scurried to dust off cobwebs, mop the floors, and carry any remaining luggage to the room or outside.

Charlie stared at the nearby stage, the microphone vacant.

“Say…has anyone seen Alastor?”

“Nope, not me,” replied Angel, still dancing with the lampshade on his head. “Then again, I can’t see much of anything.”

“Take that damn thing off!” said Vaggie. “It’s unprofessional!”

“Sorry, tots, can’t hear you over the sound of how sexy I am!” he replied.

“Not me,” Vaggie said.

“Nor me,” said Husk. “Thank Lucifer. That radio punk was getting on my last nerves. Glad I don’t have to hear any more dad jokes tonight.”

“But he always comes on Fridays and the weekend,” Charlie says. “And it’s a new moon on Earth, I think. He always comes up with new tricks to share with us during that time.”

“When’d you get into that stuff?” Husk asked.

“Human studies,” Charlie replied. “Oh what it could mean to be a human for the first time…”

“It’s a shithole if you ask me,” Husk replied. “Lost chances, war, depression, the whole nine yards.”

“Or life can be good,” said Vaggie, “Until, you get…assaulted by a bunch of masculine pigs.”

An old pig demon oinked at her in anger and slurped up a mud smoothie.

“Heh, no offence?”

“It’s alright, Vaggie,” said Charlie. “Perhaps when we go to Heaven, we’ll learn more about all kinds of people.”

“I can’t hear you,” Vaggie mentioned.

Charlie snapped her fingers and the noise in the bar dulled own to a fading hum. The spell would last for several minutes. For now, it was just Vaggie and Charlie talking in the crowded room, no one else noticing.

“You’re the daughter of the devil and a seducing being,” Vaggie pointed out. “You may not ever get redeemed.”

“But how do we know?” Charlie asked. “Think about it. My dad got sent down from Heaven for going to the dark side. There has to be a way for demons to rise up from Hell! There’s like two sides of a large coin.”

“You’re forgetting Earth and tons of other places,” Vaggie said. “Even if that would be the case, how good would we have to be to get sent to Heaven or even back to Earth?”

“Perhaps by showing more…humanity.” Charlie said, wistfully.

“Ugh, not this again.” Vaggie leaned closer and spoke in a low voice. “Look. I’m willing to be open minded about the possibility of Heaven existing. It’s something I learned about in my life, after all. But to think these demons have some connection to humans…”

Charlie cut her off, lowing her hands sideways slightly in a downward motion to make her point. “They not only used to be souls…they are still souls! Deep down, as long as they’re somewhat alive, they retain some amount of their human characteristics from their past lives!”

“Not fuckin’ buying it.”

“Vaggie, it only makes sense. I’ve seen it for myself when my family showed me the Purge. They briefly showed their human forms before they were killed. This proves that they aren’t true monsters. They need help. They need love, just like everyone else. Dad and Mom don’t want to believe it, but…I have a feeling they also know it to be true.”

Charlie continued, changing the topic into something more light-hearted. “Perhaps Heaven has animal-like bipedal creatures as well, but nicer and fluffier! Maybe with angel wings. Humans and animals are everywhere, within many angels and demons!”

Vaggie held on firmly to Charlie’s shoulders, and stared her straight in the eye, raising her voice slightly more toward a normal tone. “Charlie, listen to me. I, too, have…seen things. Earth, Heaven, Hell…they’re all different. From what I heard, angels belong in Heaven and demons belong in Hell. The evil humans come down here, already dead. Living humans belong on Earth. That’s just the way it works.”

Something in Vaggie’s eyes told Charlie that her friend wasn’t entirely convinced of her own spoken words.

“Swear on your afterlife…for your own safety and sanity, you will not tell anyone else about this.”

Charlie looked around, eyes wide. “Do you think…some demons will want to take advantage of me and…my position as heir?”

“Finally out of your childhood comfort zone,” Vaggie mentioned with a solemn nod. “Please, Charlie. I will do whatever I can to help you redeem these sinners. But, promise me, you will be smart and always watch your back. You can’t trust everyone.” Vaggie stared at her scarred chest and put a hand up to her eye. “I learned that lesson the hard way.”

Charlie’s soundproof spell had ended, and the noise of the bar came back in full force.

“Ya girls done?” Angel asked, white hair frazzled from dancing and wearing the lampshade.

“Yep,” said Charlie. “Anything you need?”

“Other than a whiff of coke and a thrill of a fight, I’m good.” He picked up a cherry from a drink and sucked on it.

“Time to go see Cherri Bomb. She’s making actual cherry bombs for our next turf attack! Catch you guys later!” He winked and swaggered out of the room.

“Why did you bring him here, again?” Vaggie asked with a sigh.

Charlie answered. “He was clean for two weeks, and now…well, I’m going to give him another chance. It’s the only thing to do.”

“Whatever you say,” Vaggie answered. She held on gently to Charlie’s hand and the princess squeezed back affectionately.

 “But seriously, though…where is Alastor?” Charlie asked, more to herself, looking back at the stage. “He was a big help to starting the hotel and it was fun dancing with him.”

“I swear I’ll gut him if he ever makes a move on you again,” Vaggie seethed. “Let’s forget about that cocky bastard and enjoy ourselves.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Charlie smiled. “But I have faith that he’ll change for the better. You’ll see.”

  The red neon Pentagram symbol in the sky was the only thing that lit up the time that was considered night time. Though the sky was constantly red, the demons still kept track of time in their afterlives, despite the fact that such a concept may not exist outside of Earth. The one thing that died harder than any sinner was old human habits.

Two small imp-like demons by the names of Tee and Vee wondered around in the shadows, Tee holding a small black cell phone. Tee was short, fat and dark purple in color, while Vee was thin and red. Both had horns, clawed feet and hands as well as small pointed tails. Both were wearing black suits with blue Wi-Fi logos on them. They were mini mercenaries and spies hired by none other than Vox, the TV demon. On this night, they were sent on another one of their missions.

They spoke in New York accents or perhaps Australian accents. It was hard to tell because they talked so fast.

“Another night, another dollar,” Tee said. He reached for a small arrow and threw it at an unsuspecting ogre. The beast roared as the arrow exploded against his foot. The ogre fell to the ground and Tee jumped up toward his face. In one swift motion, mid jump, he got out a spear from his utility belt and stabbed it right though the ogre’s large yellow right eye. Vee stepped in to finish the job, finally ending the monster’s agonized yells.

The duo had their gruesome eye kabab snack on a spear as they walked along.

“Need at least 66 kills tonight,” said Tee. “That should be doable.”

“But remember what Vox really wants,” Vee reminded him. “A chance to overthrow his rival overlords. Just think, we’ll be internet stars after we help Vox conjure Hell!”

Tee elbowed him sharply. “He will get all the credit, jackass, not us. We’re just doing this ‘cause we have no choice.”

“Oh, don’t be so glum, bum,” Vee said. “Though yours is quite big.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Anyway, we’ll still be recognized in some form. Perhaps he’ll be especially pleased with us and beckon us over to his bedroom…”

Tee shook his head, clenching his purple fists. “All Vox does is take selfies with Velvet and talk dirty to Valentino on the phone. He gets the good life, while we’re out here doing his dirty work.”

“Makes it easier on him,” Vee said. “He’s busy making plans, after all. You know about the New World Order? Project Mech Tech? Several secret plans of his involving keeping everyone glued to their screens. Brainwashing, propaganda, convincing ads. It’s already just as powerful as it is in the human world. ‘Xept down here, Vox can bend others to his will.”

“Like…us?”

“Those who are either sheep or foolhardy enough to stand up to him.”

“But they’re demons, not sheep.”

“Tee, you retarded, ass!” He punched his college in the face and the two demons rolled down the street in a snowball spiraling brawl.

They yelled and grabbed onto each other’s tails, biting and screeching insults.

“Tee, pee!”

“Bum, scum!”

“Gas ass!”

“Slut, mutt!”

Nearby, a smoking female hellhound barked in disapproval.

“Butt…what?”

Vee stopped and stared straight ahead.

“Coward, what’s your pro…” Tee began, before noticing the direction the orange demon was looking toward.

“…blem?”

They stood up and saw a long black alleyway in front of them. The ground was littered with broken glass, cigarette butts, and the occasional skull here and there. Graffiti was spray-painted on the brick walls in various colors of red, blue, yellow, and green. They were mostly expletive words, nude women, and crying demon stick figures surrounded by flames. Further up above, someone had spray painted a rainbow with sun rays coming out from it. A foul scent of garbage and rotten flesh permeated the space.

Vee peered into the darkness and heard the faint sound of footsteps and humming. A distinct feel of…electricity? ... hiding among the shadows.

 Tee shuddered, holding up his clawed hands. “No, no, no, no, I ain’t goin’ in there.”  

“I sense a powerful presence,” Vee stated. “If we don’t take a risk, who will? Besides, if we don’t show up with some special report this time, Vox will have our heads.”

“He…wouldn’t…right?”

Vee grabbed onto Tee’s plump arm. “Just come on!”

“Okay…whoa, slow down,” he called as he was dragged along.

They slowed their pace as they reached the cracked dead end. The path turned off to the left, ending in another wider dead end further away. The walls were on either side of both paths with no windows or doors. Well…save for an old wooden door that was behind a pair of old curtains made from circus tent flaps.

A silhouette of a demon stood in front of the door, drawing a pentagram symbol in the air. A little golden keyhole appeared to the right and a matching old-fashioned key was pulled out from a pocket. The key went in and the door opened with a slow creek.

“Let’s go,” Vee whispered. They followed the figure not too far behind from the door.

They continued walking, occasionally glancing up at the red sky above them. The eerie silence was soon replaced with humming from the demon in front of them. It sounded distinctly male and appeared to be a jolly tune. Vee couldn’t quite name the song the man was singing, but it made him feel strangely at ease. It reminded him of those songs he heard at the circus or at musicals he attended with his parents. Not that it mattered now, since his parents were dead due to the so called “angels.” Tee on the other hand, was quivering, his legs itching to race right out of there.

“Come on, man,” Tee whispered. “Let’s kill this demon and leave.”

Vee let out a silent gasp and tapped Tee on the shoulder. “Look.”

They both stopped as the figure’s footsteps ceased further ahead.

For a moment, all was dark and quiet.

A snap of fingers was heard and five white candles were lit up at the same time. They were at the end of the alleyway, this time surrounded by circular concrete walls. The man was standing in the center of a crimson pentagram surrounded by a red circle that was drawn on the ground, taking up most of the space. The white candles glowed with yellow light at the ends of the five points.

“Whoa, is that who I think it is?” whispered Tee, so low that he could barely be heard. He held up his phone and started to record.

 The figure was revealed in the candlelight: a slender man wearing a tattered pinstriped red dress coat, trailing along slightly behind him. Dark shoes with red deer hoof-prints on the bottom soles. Red and black fur upon his head with large furry deer-like ears with black tips. Small dark antlers sticking out from between his ears. Thin neck and slander arms and legs. A vintage microphone staff stood in his right hand.

“Yes,” Vee said in a hushed tone. “The Radio Demon.”

Alastor walked over to a large deer skull stained with blood, antlers still intact. The trophy was attached to the wall via an old wooden plaque. He walked over and slowly knocked on the bone forehead seven times. It was a “shave and a haircut” sounding knock.

The Radio Demon stepped back as the skull’s slanted eyes glowed red. A scroll dropped out from its mouth but with a wave of his hand, it vanished. A spiral symbol in the center of the pentagram lit up: a universal symbol for a portal. The demon hummed some more.

With Tee still recording, Vee excitedly reached for his phone. He had to alert Vox. At last, the duo would be getting their big break…and a hefty sum of souls for their night’s work.

He began to rapidly text, his phone set to silent, the brightness of the screen turned as low as possible:

Vee: “Lord Vox, it’s V, T of 19:29. Radio Demon’s hideout found. Located at west end of…”

“A-CHOO!”

Tee sneezed out loud into his arm, phone in his other hand. The Radio Demon’s ears twitched at the noise. The humming stopped. The candles went out.

Tee and Vee rammed their backs against the nearest wall, not daring to move or even breathe. They heard the shuffling of feet, and the subtle sound of the microphone staff moving slightly side to side.

For an entire minute, nobody made a sound. Vee turned to Tee and both of them moved their eyes toward the other direction. Vee held up three fingers then mimicked tiptoeing side-ways. Getting the message, Tee followed Vee, shuffling three quiet steps to the right. After ten seconds, they moved again. Tee still recorded with a shaky hand in the dark, while Vee was careful not to drop his phone.

Vee pointed toward the exit and Tee nodded. Vee began to tip-toe from the wall, inch by inch making his way toward the open wooden door.

A slow creaking sound made then briefly freeze. For some reason, the door wasn’t moving.

A chilling sensation crept to the backs of the demon’s necks. Both of them turned back to look through the darkness.

 But the only lights they saw in the distance were the glowing red radio dials in the Radio Demon’s two eyes. The creaking sound was, in fact, the demon’s head slowly turning backward to stare right at the terrified faces of Tee and Vee.

SLAM!

The wooden door whammed shut, causing Tee and Vee to jump and yelp.

The world turned into a psychedelic mess of vibrant colors. Reds, blues, and greens morphed together in the sky and along the walls. Shadows of deer heads dripping blood danced along a red-lit wall like shadow puppets.

“Open the door!” Vee cried, punching against the wood, which was now colored a strange yellow.

“There’s no handle!” Tee replied, kicking at it in vain.

“Ack! I’m blue!” said Vee, staring at his light blue body in the strange light.

“I think you’re seeing red!” Tee replied, failing to notice his fat crimson body.

Vee grabbed daggers and bomb arrows and threw them rapidly in front of him. The Radio Demon dodged them all and merged into the shadowy ground.

“He’s…gone?” Tee asked, looking through his phone camera.

Vee held on tight his phone and glanced back at the texts, finger hovering over the “send” button.

The red dial-eyes emerged right in front of their faces, rows of sharp yellow teeth appearing below. Though the sudden loud radio static that filled their ears, Tee and Vee screamed. A voodoo spirit shaped like a black lizard with white eyes snatched the phone from Vee’s hand, dropping it by Alastor’s left foot before scurrying off. He brought down his pointed shoe and crushed the device to pieces, sparks flying, screen cracked. The remainder of the pieces burst into flames and vanished.

Before Vee could blink, two black tentacles sprouted rapidly from holes in the ground and latched themselves onto the demon’s arms, pinning them back. He struggled to escape, but they were wrapped too tightly.

Tee was running as fast as his little legs could carry him, the camera phone shaking with every step. He put the phone in his pocket, ran up to the wall, jumped, and grabbed onto a small branch sticking out from a hole in the worn down concrete. Knowing the branch could break at any moment, he frantically searched around for another handhold.

A-ha!

Up off slightly to the right, was a crack large enough for him to dig his claws into. Tee took a deep breath, preparing himself. If he could push off with his legs, swing toward the crack, get ready to let go…

The branch snapped off as he was forcibly brought down with a hard tug coming from near his legs. He phone fell out of his pocket, landing sideways on the ground. The camera showed two more black tentacles wrapping around Tee’s stubby legs, dragging him toward Alastor as he screamed. Even digging into the ground with his claws did no good.

Another tentacle gently lifted up the phone and brought it back as well.

Alastor cocked his head to the side, his mouth in an ever-present smile. Vee was lifted up to Alastor’s level and held close to the wall.

Vee laughed nervously. “Oh, hey, Alastor. Heh heh. Great seeing you this f-fine night. I-I wasn’t gonna do anything, I swear.”

The reply was a dark chuckle mixed with static.

Vee felt Alastor’s four-fingered hands grip his head.

“I…I won’t say anything! Way too young to die again. Please…”

Vee’s head crashed against the wall with a loud thud. He let out a high pitched scream.

“Owww! No! Tee, get outta…AUUUGH!”

Vee gagged as his skull cracked against the concrete. Bile filled the demon’s mouth and dark red stained the wall. He gasped for air, black spots across his vision. After his head was slammed against the wall a third time, Vee’s eyes rolled back and his thin body limped downward, relaxed.  Shards of skull and bits of brain spilled to the ground. Alastor reached down toward the utility belt, and pulled out a dagger. He severed the demon’s head, clean off. The lifeless head fell to the ground, rolling until stopping near a restrained Tee.

Tee reeled back as far as he could, yelling through a tendril that was covering his mouth. Alastor smiled down at him, red dials moving, antlers expanding from his head. He held out his palm and flames appeared along with faint symbols hovering around them.

For several minutes, all Tee knew was a searing hot pain consuming his body, the smell of smoke, and the reeking smell of burning flesh around them. He inhaled the smoke and heard the radio static buzzing in his ears. All Tee could do was close his eyes and wait out the agony. Hoping that the heat and noise would soon…

Fade away…

Slipping into…black…

…constant…

…peace.

 With that, the Radio Demon tossed the phone into the flames, the camera and screen revealing his demonic face before the device exploded into electric sparks.

 The colors returned to normal and the flames went out. The only sound was the sound of static, slowly fading back into the vintage microphone. His eyes returned to their normal full red color and his antlers shrunk until they were small sticks on his head once again.

   He snapped his fingers and the white candles lit up again. The skull’s eyes glowed red.

Clearing his throat, Alastor spoke the password in the Creole language:

“Ou pa janm konplètman abiye

San yon souri!”

(You’re never fully dressed without a smile)

  The eyes glowed green and the ground below him vanished. Flames rose from the circle surrounding the pentagram. The inner circle was now a portal to a “basement” of Hell.

Several shadowy spirits rushed out of the hole, ecstatic to be free and to roam wild. Though the ground had disappeared below him, he stood perfectly still where he was.

More tendrils rose from the ground and wove together to form stairs starting at the top near Alastor’s feet. He walked merrily down as the portal slowly closed.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and made his way forward.

“My cozy lair, how much I’ve missed you.”

The lair was a sort of mashup between a haunted house and a middle class home from the early 1920’s.

Black walls stood on either side, blending in so well, it looked like the black ether outside. Red metal columns lined the sides and supporting the high black ceiling above. The black floor stopped at an area and wooden floorboards filled the rest of the ground. It gave the appearance of a floor torn up by an earthquake on the edge.

The first room was the living room. An elegant fireplace contained red flames that were constantly burning. A black leather couch faced a red wall that was decorated with various deer head trophies of many sizes. Some were stuffed versions of real brown deer. Others were the rotten partially furry heads of deer monsters from Hell. A fair amount were deer skulls with arching antlers. A resting rifle was displayed on the top of the fireplace, the same one he used as a human long ago. A red rug lay below the couch and took up much of the living room. The walls had borders with antler designs all in a row.

 Attached to the living room was the kitchen. The wood floor met black and white checkered tile, a green line separating the different kinds. There was a high wooden countertop with a couple of bar stools facing the living room. Several appliances included an old fashioned stove, wooden cabinets, a metal sink and a mustard yellow fridge with an icebox.

Alastor opened the fridge door and gasped out loud.

“Oh my Satan!”

Among the eggs, food, and drinks was a severed purple demon head, with one eye missing.

He reached in with his hand…and pulled out an empty cartoon.

“Curses, I’m out of milk!” he exclaimed. “How am I supposed to have cereal tomorrow?”

He shut the door and sighed. “Oh well. I can always have a snack, instead.”

 There were fans in every room (no air conditioning in Hell). To the left of the kitchen, a darkened path led to the bathroom and two bedrooms. There was also an extra room where Alastor kept all his radio equipment ready: a small microphone, headphones, a control panel of buttons, and even a sign that would lit up and read “on the air” in bold letters.

The bathroom consisted of a toilet, and a vanity with a mirror and a sink with two separate faucets for hot and cold water. Taking up much of the space was a black clawed bathtub in the shape of a cauldron. Alastor turned one of the knobs and a stream of dark red blood jetted out of the large faucet. He turned another knob and streams of red liquid sprayed out from the dish-sized shower head overhead. He tightened the knobs and the blood ceased flowing.

“Good, it still works,” Alastor said, relieved.

He made his way past the guest bedroom to his own room.

A twin-size bed had red satin sheets and a quilt made of soft deer fur neatly folded on the top of the bed toward the edge. The two pillows were neatly fluffed up and propped against the wooden headboard.

Closer to the doorway stood an old fashioned small screen TV with two large antennae jutting out from the top. It was light tan in color, complete with knobs on the front and to the sides. When he pushed the power button on the remote, a black and white show slowly appeared on screen. Unlike many old TV’s and remotes, Alastor had upgraded his with magic, allowing him to go to multiple channels. He watched some picture shows for a while on his bed, then turned the TV off.

He peered out a window, watching the outside world…or lack thereof.

This was a void world, a dimension where the Loas and shadow spirits resided and where the black tentacles originated…from mythical monsters in dark pits. Alastor’s lair hovered in place among the blackness. The demon grinned as he spotted rogue demons being chased, and sometimes mauled on by voodoo shadow creatures. A wrecked blaster from Sir Pentious’ blimp floated in the space. Here was were all the items and victims went when Alastor pulled them into the parallel place. Sometimes Alastor would send unlucky individuals here for entertainment and substance for the Loas. In return, they allowed him easy control of his powers. (Sure he was powerful enough already on his own, but even he knew that dark magic was dangerous for everyone.)

 Alastor stepped down and opened his closet doors, revealing an array of suits, pants and shoes, mostly in dark reds and blacks.

 But nestled behind the line of clothing was something extra peculiar.

 In a large rosewood cabinet was a collection of hand-crafted Voodoo dolls.

 Large ones made of cloth and straw with round button eyes and stitched mouths. Miniature ones made of wood. Several of them had pins with rounded ends stuck in various places.

 But the ones on the widest middle shelf were the most noticeable. They were small dolls made in the likeness of Charlie, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Niffty, Husk, and even an Alastor one. All the heads seemed to be bigger than the bodies.

How ironic that hands who had performed countless killings, were also so gentle and precise when it came to voodoo doll making.

“I’ll start with mine, as usual,” he said. He picked up the figure representing himself, complete with tuffs of his own red hair on its head, red clothing made of cloth over the body and red buttons for the eyes. The arms and legs were black stitched material, no designs on them. Branded on the back of the doll was a voodoo symbol of protection, ensuring that no one else could use the doll against him.

“At least I can always count on myself.”

Grinning, he put the doll back onto the miniature stage. He examined the Husk one sitting by the crafted bar.

“You really are a grumpy cat,” Alastor mentioned. “But, I’ll admit, you were still fun to make.”

The doll had a white face with black fluffy ends, red eyebrows, black buttons for eyes and a red bowtie. He had a slight frown on his face. The ears were made of cotton balls and a black hat sat on his head. Red wings had been sewn onto the back.

“Don’t get into too much trouble. I want you to be the puurfect person for that Hazbin Hotel.” He laughed and paced him back at the cardboard bar.

“Cute little darling Niffty,” he continued, examining the miniature doll with bright magenta hair and an attached fake yellow eyeball. The white shirt and pink skirt were there as well (though Alastor had left out the poodle design on the skirt).

“Keep being handy and we’ll get along dandy,” he said in a sing song voice before putting her back beside the cardboard chimney.

 “Oh Angel Dust,” he said with a roll of his eyes. He picked up the white doll, which had a small version of the white and pink outfit that Angel wore. He had a black bowtie, a head a little bit too football shaped, stitched smiling mouth and blue eye buttons.

“You get on my nerves, even in the process of making you,” he said. “I can’t even tell what those pink dots under your eyes are for. And your extra arms…they get all tangled everywhere. Well, at least you’re entertaining much of the time. You’ll have your purpose…and not of any sexual kind, good sir.”

He placed the Angel Dust doll on a web made of black string.

“Hello, naggy Vaggie,” Alastor commented as he observed the gray doll with long white string hair and a pink bow on the top. The white tank-top with the leggings were fastened onto the doll. One button was yellow while the other spot was painted with a pink x.

“Charlie’s best friend, yet different as night and day. No one likes a pessimist around, even in Hell. You got used to Hell, you can get used to anything. Even if it’s something unexpected in the future, perhaps?”

He placed her in her spot by a small paper lantern.

“Your pride is conssstricting isn’t it, Sir Pentious?”

He glanced up at a Sir Pentious doll wrapped up in black string upside down.

“You killjoys will fall again in the trench,” Alastor joked as he looked at a Katie Killjoy and Tom Trench doll stuffed into a hole in the wood.

“Cherri, you’re the bomb,” added Alastor to a doll with strawberry pink string hair and drawings of cherries on her clothes and fake eye. “Just try to control any explosive tempers you may have.”

 Finally, up on another shelf, he came to his favorite group of people: Charlie, Rosie, Mimzy, and of course, his dear mother. (Made with deer characteristics like his). The Charlie doll had blond strings for hair, and her face was painted white with the red blushes. From the black bowtie to the white shirt, leggings and shoes, this figure was almost like the real thing. Another Alastor figure was placed in the middle of the three women. Off to the side, a black deer figure representing his father had pins sticking through his chest, head, and crotch.

“Charlie, my charming demon belle, how will you fare in running your hotel?”

Charlie was placed in front of his figure.

“Darling Mimzy, lover of jazz, who are you behind the glamor and pizazz?”

The white-haired, pink-eyed Mimzy figure was to his left.

“A rose by any name is still a rose. We shall see how our collaboration goes.”

The tall Rosie figure with black eyes, and a pink hat and dress was off to the right.

And right behind the Alastor figure was the doll that resembled his mother.

Version one resembled her human form: light brown skin, thick hair, wearing a beautiful dress and holding a bowl of jambalaya in her hands. The second version was her with Alastor’s grayish skin, red hair, red eyes, and antlers, wearing a black dress with skulls and symbols embroidered on it.

“Ma mere…” (my mom)…

“Tu me manques beaucoup.” (I miss you very much.)

His mother’s words came back to him: “Al, my darling, always remember to smile. Keep your head up, leave any doubts and weakness behind.”

Still wearing his grin, he wiped away a stray tear of sadness.

“You’re right mom. I can’t feel insecure now. You sinned in your life…just so you could see me again…still can’t believe it. I won’t let you done and I won’t let myself down…”

He opened up a final section of the cabinet, this one revealing the dolls dressed like overlords. Vox with a pin through his TV head, Valentino with two pins through his straw chest, Velvet restrained in velvet cloth. Most noticeable of all was a cardboard throne standing up straight, but with a visible tear down the center. Lucifer and Lilith wearing white, sitting on the ground covered in necklace chains. A paper apple staff with the apple part detached and the long black part torn in half.

Alastor grinned at a third doll of him positioned on a throne made of antlers and bone.

“…Especially when I have grand plans set in motion. Hahahahahaha!”

[trying-write-fanfics]

OverhaulXReader part 42 (O)

It was the worst day. 

“I hate you.” Shigraki said after kicking the stretcher Overhaul was strapped to. “Tell me again whose the next leader is going to be.”

Overhaul had accepted not only had he lost, but he would die too. 

“Have you come to kill me?” He croaked.

“No, I thought of something you’ll hate even more than that.” Shigraki said. 

Now what? What could be worse.

“I hate you truly.” Said the deranged man. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Mr. Compress marbleized Overhaul’s left arm. What next his leg? His head? He was a husk of a man. He wanted it all to be over. Laying there, strapped down felt like an entirety. They were going to pull him apart and squeeze him out, weren’t they?

 “Two little boxes, which one holds the finished product?” Shigraki said, holding the blood bullets of Y/n and Eri. How dare he. That was all he had of Y/n… she wasn’t the finished product, but she proved he could change the world. Now that man is holding her with his filthy hands. “I’ll just take both.”

“That’s mine.”

“You know what I think, Overhaul? I think someone who's obsessed with erasing quirks shouldn’t have one of their own.” Shigraki said. “Don’t you agree.”

 Overhaul was now waking up more and understanding the soon consequences. As the man reached for his arm and began decaying, fear infected Overhaul. Something he hadn’t felt in awhile. He never thought he’d lose to that kid or Lemillion. They were never supposed to try that hard for only one child. They had an escape route in everything! Everything he had worked for, Pops, Y/n, the world…

“If we don’t cut that off your whole body will turn to dust.” 

 The knife went through. 

“And just like that you’re helpless, you’re a weak quirkless loser! All the fruits of your labor belong to me! NOW YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE A THUMB TO SUCK ON! You’re DOOMED TO WATCH FROM THE SIDELINES As your DREAM FALLS APART! Let’s do our best!”

Dry, his body felt dry. The air was suffocating. His longs felt like they were con-caving and collapsing. The pressure of his actions were crushing him. He would have to live and never be able to put Pops back together. He wouldn’t die from his failure but be forced to face it everyday. He let out a throating scream as they walked away. He couldn’t fathom what would be next. Mercy. Mercy the thought he would have facing that man. He thought he would just end him and be done unlike those heroes. Pops was going to die and it was his own fault. All the precautions he took, all the planing, experiments, sacrifices and risks for this. 

When backup arrived he was mentally undone. Unable to speak or help them, but they knew it was the league anyway due to the burns. It wasn’t like they needed Overhaul anyway, only to just throw him away in jail. They lightly sedated Overhaul, he was still able to hear and see, but his mind was everywhere. As they loaded him back in, one of the paramedics found another small box. 

“A ring? Who was this for?” They laughed shoving the diamond in his face.

 Y/n. He lost her blood, he lost her ring, now he had to understand he was going to lose one of his best supporters. His men supported him out of fear, curiosity, maybe a bond to the old boss, giving them life purpose, or wanting to further their strengths. They were with him because of their own small reasons that affected themselves. Y/n loved him. For all that he was. He had his secrets, but he did it to protect her. If he died, he knew she would grieve, but would take care of herself. The truth was going to come out, him alive would now haunt her wouldn’t it. He kept her far away from his work to keep her mind safe and body safe. Now police were going to find her, and do what with her? They’ll accuse her of her blood in the drugs, or tie her into being some sort of accomplice to his crimes even though she was at work. His men won’t know her, and won’t drag her down, but the court case she’ll go through will unravel her. Her parents will tell her “I told you so” and she will lose her mind. He knew she needed him for comfort and support, he wasn’t the best at it, but now he’ll be caged, helpless and away.

 Kai lost his arms. He was locked in a cell alone. The food was flavorless. His eyes dull. The prison told him they were maybe going to invest in robotic arms. He lost all forms of his power, but his heart still beat. Kai would dream about the days with Y/n. How so badly she tried helping him with his touch aversion, and now he finds himself internally begging for it once more. The accidental brushes followed by the apologies, or to hear her sing in the choir once more. He kept replaying memories in his head. He didn’t know where she was, if she was being interviewed, if she was safe, if she knew, and how she was taking it.

 An officer came in and tried getting more information about the case, any customers, possible other children, how it came to be. Kai wasn’t much help. He was in jail with no chance to leave. All his luck was out and how he would rot in prison. He may have lost, but just giving out free untampered information like that wasn’t going to be given freely like that.

 He lost track of time. He couldn’t see the sun, nor the sky. Unlike before he did sleep more. He could never tell if they did turn off the lights there. There wasn’t even a clock. Then something happened. 

“You have a visitor.”

___30- minutes earlier. __

 “And that’s all the safety procedures here.” The guard said .

“So Chisaki Kai isn’t as monitored because he doesn’t have arms?”

“He was a waste of a camera space. All he does is lay down, or sometimes walks in a circle. When he gets approved for robotic arms then we might. It’ll probably be a mood booster for the guy.” the guard explained. “His quirk has been disabled, there is nothing he can do.”

“He doesn’t really need a mood booster.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty terrible out there in the world, but he’s pretty pathetic here.”

—present 

  Kai was hoping it was Y/n. Angry, sad, whatever feelings she harbored he wanted to see her alive. Anything. He kept her separate from all the business but how long would the police and league know about her connection to him?  He kept all her letters and had a picture of her, even gifts he had planned to give her. Disappointment took hold of his body when it was a man. He was tall, muscular but thin, and blond. He wore a yellow hoodie. He didn’t look professional but reminded him of that damn schoolboy Lemillion. The guard put him in a chair and left. 

“Who are you? What do you want?” Kai wasn’t feeling it, sure it would be the most human interaction he had in awhile, but he wasn’t looking for a stranger. This many surely wasn’t a lawyer. 

“My name doesn’t matter to you. I have information you’d be interested in, and I want information out of you.” The man said. 

“What could you-“

The man held a picture of Y/n in a hospital bed. It was a recent picture. Her arms were bandaged and so was her head. Her eyes were closed. Was that the Shigraki’s doing? How did he find her? She’s not dead is she? No, that man is too calm.

“What connection does she have with you?”

Kai pressed his lips down. 

“I don’t know what you’re implying-“

“(First name last name) was found at the scene of the compound. She was injured by the debris that busted out when you blew a hole. Ms. (Last name) would have no reason to go to that neighborhood at all that morning, her work was in the opposite direction. Examining police records she was attacked by someone because of an alleged connection to you three years ago. I can continue, but you get the picture.”

She was there? Why was she there? Why of all days did she go to the compound without contacting him? How bad were her injuries? 

“Her blood was found in some of your bullets. Don’t make me ask again.”

“She‘s my girlfriend.” Kai finally answered. “Is she alright?”

“I’ll get to that when that comes up. What did she do for the Shie Hassakai? Why was her blood in those bullets?”

“Her blood was the experiment. I knew her quirk would be able to affect most bodies. Once it was proven quirks can go into other bodies, I was able to go to the next phase.”

“Did she let you take her blood?”

Kai looked away.

“Did she consent to that, Chisaki?”

“No. She was drunk when I took her blood. She had been drinking a lot.”

“Why?”

“She cut ties with her parents.”

 The blond man sat back, as if that was the first thing he learned. 

“You're a sick man.” The blond said. “You preyed on her didn’t you.”

“I tried keeping her away from my work.”

 “What’s her quirk?”

“It’s a regeneration quirk.”

“How did she learn of it?”

“She lost her fingers.”

“Was it your fault?”

“I couldn’t protect her.”

“And you couldn’t protect her now.” the man growled. “Intentional or not, these injuries are your fault.”

“Is she alright?” Kai asked. “I’ve answered enough questions to at least deserve to know that.”

“She hasn’t awoke yet. This isn’t her first concussion. The hospital put her in a coma.”

Kai’s eyes widened. Y/n too. Pops and Y/n were going to leave this world behind and leave Kai here to rot in jail for years on years! He could save her if they took him to her!

“Should she worry about the League of Villains?” The blond asked.

“Yes...I don’t know if they know of her existence, but I don’t know if they would look for her.” Kai said. “Tell me, is she going to die?”

“I don’t know.” The blond tall man said. 

Kai looked at the man he thought didn't look threatening at all, but was the absolute worst. He toyed with him information about his love, his angel.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

“She better be protected.” Kai told him. 

“That’s none of your business.”

His rock bottom kept digging deeper. Pops was going to die. Everything he worked for was now undone, stolen. Y/n is in a coma.