#flood the streets ruin buildings!! what a MESS!!

[leatherforhell]

not to mood swivel but I cannot stop thinking abt Clara getting mind controlled

[disco-archetypes]

SHIVERS - All around you, rain falls on the great city of Revachol. Rain drips from the eaves and floods the gutters, washing the filth away.

SHIVERS - Winter's grip on the city is loosening. The spring thaw is here.

YOU - Finally. What now?

SHIVERS - Your shirt sticks to your chest. The shoulders of your disco blazer grow heavy. The cold finds its way in under your skin. You shiver, and the city shivers with you.

YOU - What is in the west?

SHIVERS - Sheets of rain over the water. A flight of stairs leading into the ocean. Wave after wave washing the coast of Martinaise, with its motorboats and gently swaying reeds.

SHIVERS - The ruins of a half-sunken seafort crumble on an inlet. Beyond the Bay of Revachol, ghosts rise into the sky.

YOU - Who are you, ghosts?

SHIVERS - The skyscrapers of La Delta, the financial district. Faint golden light seeps from the office windows.

YOU - What is down the shore?

SHIVERS - Urban coastline, rain dripping off eternite-covered roofs. Cinder blocks left over from half-finished construction. A defunct research and development building once seized by revolutionaries. An old wooden church stands on stilts above the water.

YOU - And beyond that?

SHIVERS - Coal City, end of all lines.

YOU - Run your fingers through your dampened hair.

SHIVERS - Your hair is an oily mess flecked with ash from neighbouring coal plants. Smoke stacks rise somewhere in the distance.

YOU - What's in the east?

SHIVERS - The great gates of the industrial harbour are locked. A chill runs down your back. You shudder like an animal trying to shake water from its hide.

YOU - Clench your teeth to stop shuddering.

SHIVERS - Behind the gates -- heaps of supply crates. Red and blue metal shipping containers slick with rain. The Greater Revachol Industrial Harbour is an artificial mountain range. Immense wealth resides within, and immeasurable poverty in its shadow.

YOU - And beyond that?

SHIVERS - La Drisienne, King Dris's Passenger Harbour. Cruise ships flanked by dock arms. Cranes watching over the mouth of the river distributary.

YOU - What is across the distributary?

SHIVERS - Couron, the lower middle class. Distributary after distributary cuts the city blocks in half. Seven-story buildings trail off into the rain.

YOU - What is beyond the Couron?

SHIVERS - A silvery curtain of rain over the houses. The class divide.

YOU - What's in the north?

SHIVERS - Capeside apartments -- tower blocks crowd one another, 4.46 mm bullets still lodged in their war-torn stone walls.

SHIVERS - Hallways collapsed from the mortar hits of a war that was lost long ago. Clotheslines go to waste in the rain. Radios play.

YOU - And closer to here?

SHIVERS - A yard. Rain falls onto the roof of a woodshed. Filthy water pools around a body. Droplets of rain slip from the dead man's cold cheeks.

YOU - What's in the south?

SHIVERS - A traffic jam. Rain thrumming on the roofs of motor vehicles. Inside, drivers watch water streaming down their windshields. The statue of a king shudders, he too is cold. The canal bridge has been raised.

YOU - What's on the other side?

SHIVERS - The road ascends; a raised motorway loops above the ghetto. Beneath its concrete columns -- a sea of rooftops, woodwork, and tar stretches northward. Four-story buildings as far as the rain can fall. The snows melt in Jamrock.

YOU - Why am I not there?

SHIVERS - To be in Martinaise, where no one goes. At the run-off point of a long-forgotten canal, in the whitest part of town. In the shadow of the day the Revolution failed.

YOU - What am I doing here?

SHIVERS - Standing in the rain, looking north, where Jamrock Rock City stretches inland.

YOU - Where do I live?

SHIVERS - On a street there that flows like a muddy river in the snow, with fire traps rising on either side. A film rental opens its doors to the rain, an armoured motor carriage rushes past the corner where you used to walk together... Suddenly, the hair on your back rises.

SHIVERS - YOU CANNOT RETURN.

YOU - Shudder, look further...

SHIVERS - In the rain-swept distance above the rooftops of Jamrock, a re-purposed silk mill stands perched above the motorway exit. Precinct 41 hunches in the rain.

SHIVERS - Your vision blurs. You wipe your face with your hand. The rain stings your eyes, making you look up and blink.

YOU - What's above?

SHIVERS - More coalition aerostatics. Way up there -- where rain forms -- rotors flutter silently. Your sight clears.

YOU - What's below?

SHIVERS - Collapsed storm drains. Old sewage systems flooded with rainwater. Hidden weapon caches from the Revolution. Doors leading down to Le Royaume -- the catacombs to which, for three centuries, they delivered the blue-blooded dead.

YOU - "Motherfucker." [Finish thought.]

SHIVERS - These spring thaw will not last. The winter will return to Revachol.

[the1975attheirverybest]

A Hard Day’s Night

A/N: FwB Matty is back! I honestly can’t tell if this is good or not, so I’ll be relying on y’all to let me know. warnings: smut, soft dom!Matty. —

She laid in her bed, before it was even fully dark out, staring at the text on her screen, blinking rapidly.

Matty: I’m just down the street. Alright if I drop by?

His contact picture showed a sweet photo that she took of him, at the park, one random morning when he’d been out of cigarettes and dragged her out of the apartment with him to go look for some. Her eyes lingered on his smile for a bit, thinking about how she would love to be in his company, especially after the day that she’s had. A small piece of her wondered if it’s such a good idea, though. She was feeling vulnerable tonight. She desperately needed comfort. And, Matty already had a dominating effect on her. One right look from him and she would be on her knees. She didn’t want to blur the boundaries or confuse their relationship. What they had was pretty special. He was one of her closest friends and the best sex she’s ever had, why risk messing with it?

Her heart pounded in her chest when she felt the phone suddenly begun to vibrate. A FaceTime notification popped up to let her know that Matty was now calling. She smiled, shaking her head in disbelief. He was persistent.

And that’s how she’d found herself pinned underneath him. The world fading into the background as her subdued body and mind focused on nothing but Matty. His voice, commanding her every action. his touch, gentle here and rough there. His lips, kissing down her body like it’s a temple he would worship at the alter of, morning, day, and night. 

Her body jolted in shock when she felt Matty’s lips at her right nipple, his teeth slightly nipping at the sensitive skin. “Shit!”

his eyes shot up, looking at her through his curls,“was that…not okay?” His voice laced with concern. He knew her body well enough by now to know what she liked, but Matty was nothing if not attentive in bed. Besides, her comfort was always a priority. And, looking into his eyes, seeing how carefully and protectively he watched her every move, she was overwhelmed with emotion. She didn’t want this flood of feelings to overtake her and ruin their moment. They’d been building up to this pleasure for a while now, and she needed it. Really needed it. Needed the relief. Needed the feeling of complete surrender. Needed to focus on him and his pleasure to help get her out of her own.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself to sit up and slowly switch positions. Matty smiled, reading her mind, and letting her get on top of him. She heard him whisper encouragingly when her trembling legs struggled to adjust around him. “You got it, baby. No rush.” He offered her a steadying hand to help get her into position. “That feel alright?”

He kissed her forehead when she nodded, slowly sinking down on him, taking him in, inch by inch. She mewled, softly, as she felt him stretch her out, the discomfort turning into pleasure. Matty tipped his head back, his hands around her waist squeezed her sides. 

“Fuck!” His eyes shot open when she began her movements, aiming to settle into the rhythm she knew he liked. “Th-that’s it- right there. Keep- keep that up, Angel. Just- ohhh- just like that.” He squeezed his lips together, relaxing into the headboard, his breathing now turning shallow. 

“You’re so, so good to me. Perfect cunt. Takin’ me so well, babe.” He spoke frantically, his praise only turning her on even more. 

Soon, she was gushing and moaning around him, his words alone, sending her mind spinning. Matty lifted his back off the headboard, pulling himself closer to her so they were chest to chest. He could feel her trembling on top of him when she hit that spot within her, a shockwave of pleasuring rattling her. 

“Don’t hold back, honey. Can feel you’re close. Cum with me, alright? Together…”

She’d rested her head on his shoulder, avoiding eye contact. Hesitantly, she shook her head, “no.”

Matty was stumped. His approaching climax making it difficult for him to think of speak, he simply mumbled, “w-what? Why not?”

Her voice was merely a whisper, but he swore he heard her say, “this is about you.”

“It’s about us” he corrected. “You and me.” He bucked his hips, thrusting upwards into her, the surprise of his movement, coupled with his precision, tipped her over the edge. She clenched around him, her orgasm bringing on his own. 

The room was hot and quiet, the sound of their heavy breathing  filled the air. Matty’s hands, as if on cue, caressed her hair as she lay her head on his shoulder, the sweat keeping their bodies glued together. He tipped his head to the side, planting a kiss to her hair. “You alright, darlin’?”

“Mhm” her jaw brushed against his collarbone as she nodded. 

“Talk to me.”

She felt her cheeks go hot. She knew what he was alluding to, but she was kind of hoping he wouldn’t bring it up. 

His hands squeezed her shoulders, pulling her up, her damp skin peeling from his. He gave her yet another kiss, but this felt different. It felt like a non-verbal coax, a nudge. She knew him. Once he set his mind to something, he wasn’t going to let it go, so she might as well save them both the time and speak.

“Know I’m not your girlfriend. You don’t have to comfort me or, anything….” Her rosy pink cheeks shaded a darker blush as she spoke. “Just- had a bad day, and….I don’t know- feel confused.”

“You wanna talk about it?” He asked, not missing a beat. 

“That’s the last thing I wanna do. I don’t even wanna think about it.”

“Well, why didn’t you say that in the first place?” Matty chuckled, a devilish grin gracing his face. “I can make sure you don’t have a single thought, for the rest of the night,”

She felt his hands wrap around her thighs. “Let me take care of you.” A finger traced down the side of her leg as he crashed their lips together. “Let me help you forget all about your day…hmm? May I please do that?” 

She moaned into his lips, and he knew he had her approval, but he loved the way her entire body responded to his words, so he wasn’t about to stop now. “Hmm, my Angel? Will you let me make you feel good?” He kissed down her neck. “Make you cum?” His head dipped further to kiss her shoulders, “over and” his lips grazed her skin lightly, traveling down her chest, “over and over…? Can I please?”

“Fuck, yes! Yes, yes, please, Matty, please!”

“Well, since you’re being so polite about it…” she could hear the grin in his voice. 

[mapping-elysium]

Let's start this off right with one of the most notable lore-dumps in the game, the Plaza Rain Shivers check.

In the west

Stairs to the water

Sea Fortress > Bay of Revachol > Sky scrapers of La Delta

What’s down the shore?

Defunct R+E building > Abandoned Church > Coal City

In the east

Industrial Harbor (Locked) > La Drisienne - King Dris’ Passengers Harbour > River Distributary > Couron > “The Class Divide”

In the north

Whirling Yard > Capeside apartments

“Standing in the rain, looking north, where jamrock rock city stretches inland”

In the south

Traffic jam, roundabout, statue > Road ascends to 8/81 (ghetto beneath) > Jamrock

OTHER NOTES

Where do i live?

On a street there that flows like a muddy river in the snow, with fire traps rising on either side. A film rental opens its doors to the rain, an armoured motor carriage rushes past the corner where you used to walk together... Suddenly, the hair on your back rises.

“YOU CANNOT RETURN”

SOURCE MATERIAL BENEATH THE CUT

Shivers - All around you, rain falls on the great city of Revachol. Rain drips from the eaves and floods the gutters, washing the filth away.

Shivers - The spring thaw must be here. The snow is melting...

You - What am I doing?

Shivers - Looking up at the sky, cold water dripping from your hair.

You - What do I see?

Shivers - Grey sky like great battleships, clouds colliding with one another. Rain falls down on the world.

You - How does it feel?

Shivers - Your shirt sticks to your chest. The shoulders of your disco blazer grow heavy. The cold finds its way in under your skin. You shiver, and the city shivers with you.

Composure - You're not dressed for this weather. You should get an overcoat, or a patrol cloak.

You - What is in the west?

Shivers - Sheets of rain over the water. A flight of stairs leading into the ocean. Wave after wave washing the coast of Martinaise, with its motorboats and gently swaying reeds.

Shivers - The ruins of a half-sunken seafort crumble on an inlet. Beyond the Bay of Revachol, ghosts rise into the sky.

You - Who are you, ghosts?

Shivers - The skyscrapers of La Delta, the financial district. Faint golden light seeps from the office windows.

Inland Empire - Will you ever go there?

You - Will I?

Shivers - No. You are just one of the hundreds of thousands who watch them rise across the bay from Martinaise every day.

You - What is down the shore?

Shivers - Urban coastline, rain dripping off eternite-covered roofs. Cinder blocks left over from half-finished construction. A defunct research and development building once seized by revolutionaries. An old wooden church stands on stilts above the water.

You - And beyond that?

Shivers - Coal City, end of all lines.

You - Run your fingers through your dampened hair.

Shivers - Your hair is an oily mess flecked with ash from neighbouring coal plants. Smoke stacks rise somewhere in the distance.

You - What's in the east?

Shivers - The great gates of the industrial harbour are locked. A chill runs down your back. You shudder like an animal trying to shake water from its hide.

You - Clench your teeth to stop shuddering.

Shivers - Behind the gates -- heaps of supply crates. Red and blue metal shipping containers slick with rain. The Greater Revachol Industrial Harbour is an artificial mountain range. Immense wealth resides within, and immeasurable poverty in its shadow.

You - And before that?

Shivers - You -- on the Martinaise plaza. A small dot looking up at the sky. Droplets form on your eyelashes.

You - And beyond that?

Shivers - La Drisienne, King Dris's Passenger Harbour. Cruise ships flanked by dock arms. Cranes watching over the mouth of the river distributary.

You - What is across the distributary?

Shivers - Couron, the lower middle class. Distributary after distributary cuts the city blocks in half. Seven-story buildings trail off into the rain.

You - What is beyond the Couron?

Shivers - A silvery curtain of rain over the houses. The class divide.

Rhetoric - You have never been there. They don't need the law east of the river.

You - What's in the north?

Shivers - Capeside apartments -- tower blocks crowd one another, 4.46 mm bullets still lodged in their war-torn stone walls.

Shivers - Hallways collapsed from the mortar hits of a war that was lost long ago. Clotheslines go to waste in the rain. Radios play.

Rhetoric - The morning news.

You - And closer to here?

Shivers - A yard. Rain falls onto the roof of a woodshed. Filthy water pools around a body. Droplets of rain slip from the dead man's cold cheeks.

You - What's in the south?

Shivers - A traffic jam. Rain thrumming on the roofs of motor vehicles. Inside, drivers watch water streaming down their windshields. The statue of a king shudders, he too is cold. The canal bridge has been raised.

You - What's on the other side?

Shivers - The road ascends; a raised motorway loops above the ghetto. Beneath its concrete columns -- a sea of rooftops, woodwork, and tar stretches northward. Four-story buildings as far as the rain can fall. The snows melt in Jamrock.

You - What is Jamrock?

Shivers - Revachol is the capital of the world. Jamrock is the capital of Revachol. Droplets form on your eyelashes.

Inland Empire - It's home.

You - Why am I not there?

Shivers - To be in Martinaise, where no one goes. At the run-off point of a long-forgotten canal, in the whitest part of town. In the shadow of the day the Revolution failed.

You - What am I doing here?

Shivers - Standing in the rain, looking north, where Jamrock Rock City stretches inland.

You - Where do I live?

Shivers - On a street there that flows like a muddy river in the snow, with fire traps rising on either side. A film rental opens its doors to the rain, an armoured motor carriage rushes past the corner where you used to walk together... Suddenly, the hair on your back rises.

Shivers - YOU CANNOT RETURN.

You - "Motherfucker." [Finish thought.]

[dc-and-arfrona]

Jealousy

Roy Harper x Gn!Reader

Summary: Roy gets a lil jelly and wants reassurance

Word Count: 800+

Type: Fluff

Masterlist

----

The late evening breeze rustled through the streets of Gotham City as Roy Harper leaned against a lamppost, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. His emerald eyes followed the familiar figure of Y/N, his partner and the love of his life, as they conversed with Nightwing near the entrance of the Batcave. A knot of jealousy tightened in Roy's stomach, threatening to unravel his usually composed demeanor.

Y/N's laughter reached Roy's ears, and he watched as Nightwing flashed them a charismatic smile. Roy clenched his jaw, his grip on the lamppost tightening. He knew Nightwing was their friend, and he trusted Y/N completely, but the lingering doubt within him grew louder.

Unable to bear the distance any longer, Roy pushed himself off the lamppost and strode toward Y/N and Nightwing. His heart pounded in his chest as he approached, his emotions a tangled mess.

"Hey, Y/N," Roy called out, trying to sound casual despite the turmoil inside him.

Y/N turned around, a warm smile lighting up their face. "Hey, Roy! You made it. Nightwing and I were just catching up."

Roy's gaze flickered to Nightwing, who nodded in greeting. Anger flared within him, mixing with his jealousy. He clenched his fists, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Yeah, seems like you're having a great time," he said, his words laced with a hint of bitterness.

Y/N's expression shifted, confusion clouding their features. "Roy, what's wrong?" they asked, concern seeping into their voice.

Roy took a deep breath, struggling to control the surge of emotions within him. "It's just... seeing you spend so much time with Nightwing lately, it's been eating at me," he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. "I feel like I'm constantly in his shadow, like I'm not enough for you."

Y/N's eyes widened, their concern deepening. They reached out to touch Roy's arm, their voice gentle. "Roy, please understand. Nightwing is an old friend, but you are the one I love," they reassured him, their eyes searching his for understanding. "You're more than enough. Your strength, loyalty, and love mean everything to me."

Roy's anger began to dissipate, giving way to a mix of sadness and vulnerability. "I just hate feeling like this," he confessed, his voice tinged with regret. "I hate that jealousy and anger are consuming me. I don't want it to ruin what we have."

Y/N's touch became more comforting, their voice filled with understanding. "It's okay to feel jealous, Roy. It's a natural emotion. What matters is how we address it and communicate with each other," they explained, their tone soothing. "I'm here for you, and I want us to work through this together."

Roy's shoulders sagged, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him. "I don't want to lose you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N's grip tightened, their voice filled with determination. "You won't lose me, Roy. We'll navigate these tangled emotions together," they vowed. "Let's be open and honest with each other, addressing our insecurities and building a stronger foundation for our relationship."

Roy nodded, a mixture of gratitude and relief flooding his heart. In that moment, he understood that his fears were unfounded and that Y/N's love was unwavering. Together, they would face their emotions head-on, knowing that their love would guide them through any storm.

Embracing Y/N tightly, Roy allowed himself to be vulnerable, finding solace in their presence. They stood there, in the quiet corner of the Batcave, finding strength in each other's arms.

And with that embrace, they embarked on a journey of self-discovery, knowing that their love would conquer the jealousy and anger that had momentarily clouded their hearts.

[xalygatorx]

Worthy (2015) | Chapter 12, "In Glory or Ruin"

Disappearing sporadically in public spaces quickly becomes Cora Dempsey's least concerning problem when suddenly she captures the attention of the forming Avengers Initiative, the World Security Council, and Asgard's fallen prince all in one week. And the universe is only just getting started with her.

Worthy is a slow-burn SFW Marvelverse (films) romance between Loki and a female OC. For additional details on what canon is used, see the Prologue post.

Summary: Loki and the Chitauri’s onslaught of New York draws to a close. His plan to rescue Cora’s capsule takes unexpected turns as the Other intercepts it. Loki is captured and entrusted to Thor in anticipation of their return to Asgard.

Pairing: Loki x Fem!OC

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.2k

It had been difficult to leave the capsule where it sat, but it had not been time to put his plan into action just yet. It wouldn't be until the reptilian Chitauri filtered from the splitting sky and chaos scorched the budded metropolis, spreading like fire over Midgard. "Ant. Boot," Loki quietly repeated with a darkly smug air.

He had escaped the Helicarrier just an hour before, already beginning to bring ruin to the mortal city where he could. He was growing impatient. While he was aware that part of his mercilessness came from the alien energy intermingling with that of the Tesseract, which had resumed its infiltration of his form from the scepter, that didn't matter. The day for war had come and all would kneel before his might. His day was finally here; the day he would be king and keep the throne he won.

The mere sight of him wrought havoc amongst the citizens who had seen newscasts and photos of his show in Stuttengard or simply knew who to cower before and, from that fear, a grin of anticipation crossed his face. He sent blasts of raw energy from the scepter at the supports of buildings, at sniveling humans, at a taxi which flipped twice and then smashed against the front of a bank. He was elated, he was alive, and he would not stop.

Fires from ruptured machinery climbed over walls and traveled over spilled petroleum leaking from overturned vehicles, a gradual panic flooding down the streets. Faint sirens rang and then split the air as three police cars swerved around the corner, having to dodge a few wayward mobs of pedestrians sprinting from assorted buildings.

Loki gave a bored groan and shook his head as he raised his scepter and blasted them onto their noses, sent them twirling like a child's tops before slamming onto their backs or sides, only a few of the officers dragging themselves out over a street lined with shattered glass. Screams of pain and terror ricocheted off the walls constructed of limestone bedrock, up to the highest skyscrapers, only marred by the sharp squeals of four more pairs of tires as an additional two cruisers flew in behind the fallen prince, the maneuver surely meant as an attempt to surround and contain him.

"I do not have time for you!" Loki shouted in irritation as he whirled and sent the two new arrivals toppling end over end down the street, which was swiftly being closed off by barricades. People scattered left and right out of the way of the airborne vehicle, only a few returning to aid the officer inside.

He turned to see a group rushing past him and a malicious grin split his face as he fired at the asphalt beneath their feet, causing fissures to form and trip them into a mad, writhing mess. One face caught his eye, however; a man of dark blond hair and brown eyes, which narrowed as he tried to shove his way to his feet at the expense of the others, Loki drawing ever nearer. The man froze when he locked eyes with Loki, who tilted his head incrementally. Why do I know your face?

Then it hit him, a flashback which took only a few seconds' time to unfold, but that was more than enough. He'd still been curious about her phone, the day in the warehouse when they'd coerced each other into working with her abilities, seeing how well she could channel them. They'd never gotten much farther than that. "Who is that?" he'd asked, and he'd seen her startle, literally fade into the background, and then reappear, looking as if she'd rather she'd stayed gone. She'd been evasive and unsure.

"We were in a relationship once," she'd said. He hadn't understood his own reaction to that.

"Why aren't you any longer?" 

"He didn't react well to things."

Loki's jaw tightened and his fingers flexed into fists as the rest of the exchange cycled through his head, some parts more emphasized than others as they mingled with the beat of his kindling rage. His gaze remained fixed upon the man in front of him, who stood as unwavering as a mouse before a striking snake. James.

Both remained very still for a long moment until a smirk of deadly, predatory calm shaped Loki's lips, his eyes gradually growing ablaze with vivid green fire as he slunk forward. "Oh, but I've got time for you…"

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you sons-of-bitches, stop sending squad cars! This is above even a National Guard level response, all you're doing is upping the body count! Evacuate, do not engage!"

Muttering a few more choice words as he leaned back from the control panel, Fury nearly snarled with frustration. Prisoner escaped, agents dead and seriously wounded (Coulson included), their only hope in the form of the Avengers Initiative (scattered across the damn region for all he knew), no idea where to find the Tesseract, and the World Security Council breathing down their necks worse than ever before. Things had never gone to shit so perfectly.

"Fury," Tony called, causing the director in question to turn. "It's my tower."

"Stark, for the love of God, the world is in the hands of a tyrannical alien terrorist, and all you can think about is—"

"No, not that! I have an ego, not a complex!" Tony interrupted with an agitated wave as he walked up the steps of Fury's podium.

"Debatable," Steve remarked, though the jab was a friendly one. As he joined them, he elaborated, "He means that's where the Tesseract is positioned."

"How did you—"

"It's the highest point in the city," Tony pointed out with an air of haughty pride. "Pretty simple, really. Surprised we didn't see it sooner."

"Go. Steve, get Natasha and Clint, too, if he's up for it," Fury ordered, all business as the facility around him hummed with tamed panic, agents rushing left and right. "Depart immediately. If Banner and Thor manage to haul their asses there in time, they can join the party, too."

"How will they find us?" Steve asked, prepared to plan out every detail; he was back in his soldier mindset in full-force.

"I'm sure that won't be a problem," Fury said warily before going back to his podium's control panels, giving an altered set of orders with the new developments as Tony and Steve turned tail to head toward Stark Tower.

Loki hit the back of the Chitauri hovercraft, sliding a bit with the force of his fall as he rode away from Stark Tower, leaving Thor behind with a dagger in his side, not quite so deeply plunged as it could've been.

He heard the whirrs of his reptilian soldiers joining behind him and he signaled two over closer to him, reaching out to place his hand upon the closest Chitauri's forehead. He could still feel some of the residual magic from the scepter flowing through him and, using that, Loki showed the creature the way into the Helicarrier, into the storage rooms. Then, at last, the capsule it needed to find.

"Take one or two of your comrades with you," Loki said over the wind rushing around them as he retracted his hand. "See that it stays safe until all this is over."

The Chitauri gave a nod and waved for two others to follow it as it turned a sharp corner, heading toward the large ship now hovering far out from the bay, a speck in the distance to human eyes.

Loki watched for a few seconds before turning away and leading the remaining Chitauri through the city. He lacked his scepter, but it didn't matter. His army was in full-force, hundreds within the city and a steady flow of more coming through the portal, fueled by an infinite energy source in an indestructible barrier. He glanced toward the sky as one of the plated, monstrous eels slithered through the wormhole alongside yet another Chitauri fleet and he felt rejuvenated in confidence. How could they possibly stop this?

And yet, how everything was so going according to plan. And the dull creatures enforcing his victory hadn't the faintest idea that, no matter what, he would win.

The rule of Midgard was very likely at this point. Should the nine realms be put under Thanos' bulbous red thumb, Loki would have this realm as his own. Yet that would not stop him from attempting to gain all he could… Asgard was—and would always be, as far as he could see—his prize and he would have it in glory or ruin, he cared not which. It was his right, given by succession. Odin was incapable, a fool, and his brother only slightly sharper. Thor had been banished, Odin had nearly fallen were it not for the meditative Odinsleep which had saved his feeble life time and time again. Loki knew beyond all doubt that he should be the one on that golden throne.

It will be me.

The Chitauri soldiers made it into the Helicarrier undetected, going the route Loki had shown to the leader of the trio. Two of the soldiers infiltrated the lowest level and slunk through the storage units, growling and crackling their voices at one another in the strange tongue they shared. When they found the capsule, they were able to pull it off the metal floor, which it had been nailed into along with a few other larger objects in the belly of the craft.

They stealthily took the capsule to the edge of the ship, the Chitauri who had remained outside pulling up to them, and attached it between two of their armored vehicles, securing it before letting it go and remounting their hovercrafts. They shot off, rocketing away from the Helicarrier toward the wormhole in the sky, taking a path through the city to avoid being conspicuous.

As they approached the wormhole, they heard the Other's voice in their heads. "Bring it to me."

Glancing at one another, they obeyed without question, breaching the portal and moving around the waiting fleet of their kind, swarming and rearing with anticipation, to get to their leader in the gargantuan ship above. The Other stood upon a walkway, watching their progress until he could get a look at the capsule. The lid was frosted over, but he'd seen the contents when Loki had given his Chitauri underlings the route through which to obtain the odd container. It was foolish to channel even fragments of my power. It is not yours to wield.

The Other looked toward the wormhole, seeing the Midgardian warriors thrashing through multitudes of his soldiers, damaging their chances because his appointed leader was incompetent and selfish. He growled lowly in his throat as he looked away, peering at the capsule and listening as one of the Chitauri before him informed him that they'd been ordered to keep it safe.

"It is important to him, whether he accepts it or not," the Other observed knowingly as he slid a small panel open on the side, which revealed a heart rate monitor, rhythmically peaking every few seconds, and a meter measuring the oxygenation of the capsule. Though he did not know for certain what these little mechanisms meant, he could feel the life force inside the casing. His eyes lifted back to the portal as their ranks continued to fall, the Earth warriors now organized and gradually taking out the present fleets.

He shook his head; he'd have to inform their overlord of this. "He will fail us," the Other murmured softly before looking to the Chitauri before him. "He does not give orders. He should have learned that long before now with my teachings… He has no right."

The Other took one more glance over the frost-lined capsule before dismissively commanding, "Cast it into the barrens of Jotunheim. Let irony take its course. He will learn of this, feel punished by his own kind, and then he will pay. We will attack once again without his interference." He walked back into the ship, intending to return to Thanos to report the Asgardian prince's eventual loss in Midgard. It was only a matter of time.

With their final orders, the Chitauri made their way inside to send the capsule to the Jotun realm, detaching it from their crafts onto a metal pad made of a material similar to their exoskeletal armor, blue energy swirling around it before it dissolved into thin air. It reformed inside Jotunheim's borders, hurtling down before crash-landing on its side in the distant, frozen land, the lid shattering and spilling out its occupant into the ice and glass-riddled snowscape.

Everything changed within so short a time span. Chitauri still came in droves, but they fell so much faster. The World Security Council, impatient to end the chaos which had consumed the whole of New York, continued to press Director Fury to take action and nuke the city. When he continuously refused and showed no signs of letting up, they deployed the bomb themselves.

Knowing there was only one option in order to save the city's residents and anyone in at least a three-mile radius, Tony had taken up the airborne bomb and angled it to utterly lay waste to the Chitauri ship through the portal, Agent Romanoff shutting the Tesseract down just before the man in the iron suit plummeted through the near-shut opening in the sky. The Chitauri still on Earth, no longer sustained by their life source linked through their armor to their mothership, had fallen to the pavement and Loki lay battered and breathless in Stark Tower after a run-in with Banner.

Now under arrest and completely purged of the Other's power, Loki sat in chains in a less-impressive cell on the Helicarrier, his binds forged of dwarfish steel of a different make than that of Mjolnir and Gungnir. His scepter taken, his army fallen, and even his speech restrained by a plated piece covering his mouth, he was angry, but not entirely surprised. In the last of the battle, he'd seen the defeat of the Chitauri, the Other, and Thanos beginning to become more clear as the result of this mayhem.

He was to remain there until Thor finished up a few loose ends with SHIELD and his Avenger colleagues, then they would both return to Asgard, where he would face his true verdict, which would surely have loopholes for him to wriggle through and claim what was rightfully his.

Loki's eyes shifted over as he heard those familiar footsteps again, Thor soon appearing outside the cell. "We will remain here for three days' time so I may make peace with what Midgardians you left alive," he said, his voice cold and angry. "You dishonor our entire race, brother."

"Your race," a doppelgänger of Loki said as it shimmered into being, given that Loki, himself, could not speak at the moment. A bitter smirk. "Not mine."

"We grew up together. I loathe to say that we were fostered beneath the wings of the same parents. You are as Asgardian as I, yet you lack the empathy to understand what my words mean."

"It's drivel from a juvenile dream," Loki snapped, his illusory puppet pacing the bars while the true Loki sat against the wall, his eyes never moving from the crown prince. "You have no idea what I have suffered."

"Your suffering is largely born of your carelessness," Thor said calmly and the lack of passion in the accusation made Loki realize just how distant he'd become. Any hope he'd seen in his eyes while fighting him earlier that day had died. It left Loki feeling wary and unsure.

"What of the Chitauri?" Loki asked curiously, playing off the carelessness Thor accused him of. "Send them off with their tails between their legs?"

"All destroyed."

Loki's eyes narrowed faintly. "How?"

"The Midgardian weapon which was sent toward New York was redirected through the wormhole. Everything within the ship's area has been demolished. Your allies are ash," Thor replied before turning away. "Do not cause needless mischief during your stay here. You have lost."

He then left Loki with his thoughts, which he presumed lay along the lines of indifference or perhaps some injured pride. Loki's gaze was stony until Thor left the area entirely, which was when his jaw clenched inside the armor which restrained it, his eyes moving to his cuffed hands, where his knuckles were white with tension after fisting against his lap. He cared not for the scaly creatures lost in the blast, the ship which had been lain to waste, the battle which had been lost. Midgard had never been a tantalizing prize anyway.

Loki felt the burn of hurt pride, but he felt the unexpected lance of loss that hit him even more. All over a woman. A mortal woman, at that, at least as far as he could tell. A mortal woman with powers beyond her, with tragedies, with pain and suffering, and yet with a bright, understanding disposition. She'd irritated him until he felt mindless with frustration, but, when he was being truly honest with himself, he knew he hadn't minded. "We're not as different as you think." 

He'd endeavored to save her once he'd known it was still possible and he'd failed her a second time. Loki remembered the day she'd been taken, remembered the conflict and the anger that had welled up when they'd put hands on her and shuffled her out of the warehouse. His reaction had been near-primal, his immediate instinct to tear them apart for disregarding her will and taking what he'd come to look upon and think very distinctly, Mine. His reaction to that memory had grown ever more primal as his sanity had slowly unraveled.

They would have used her. He knew that. His plans would have never come to pass had he revealed himself that day. Everything would have crumbled to pieces, every moment he'd used to make strides toward understanding and obtaining the Tesseract would have amounted to nothing.

They would've had a weakness pegged for him and he would have either caused her death or been bent by his own will to prevent it. He'd done them both a favor by letting SHIELD take her away, though the betrayal in her eyes had made him feel genuine guilt for the first time in many years over anyone but his mother. He'd gone the lengths to ensure her freedom—because she was a useful ally and not the danger her kind saw in her, not even close—and she'd burned along with the Chitauri scum.

Loki had known he'd failed in his mission in Midgard this day, but he hadn't known just how elaborately until now.

"Foolish are you to have grown soft for that girl," his illusion muttered just as he was dispelling it, and didn't he know it. She'd come into his life at a time when he was insufferably vulnerable and had stuck with him in memory throughout the many, many days in which he was hardened into his current state. His mind was addled and he could barely remember the finer moments of his childhood, which he'd so cherished, but he could still very clearly remember how she'd punched him for startling her.

He smiled faintly behind the metal restraint; he was truly mad.

Far off in the frostbitten plains of Jotunheim, that same woman twitched a finger.

Next chapter: Chapter 13, "Waking Up"

[kiwiraccoon]

Numb, Emptiness Prologue

Ateez OT8 x OC Summary: after witnessing the death of her family, her uncle sends her back to South Korea to live with the eight guys he had saved over the years. They seem to be almost, if not just, as mentally messed up as she is, and the goal is for her to help them and them to help her. Time heals, but it’s already been 11 years of suffering for her, can they really help?

overall notes: MDNI mental health: depression, anxiety, ocd, antisocial, agoraphobia, personality disorders, mental breakdowns. mentions and descriptions of gruesome deaths, gore. polygamy, shared female, suggestive, fluff, smut?, building relationships. THIS IS NOT MEANT FOR THE WEAK HEARTED OR UNDERAGE!! this not meant to depict real Ateez but an au, not about their real selves or real struggles, I took ideas from their real selves but again not meant to be negative towards them or anything against their image… THIS IS JUST MY MORBID MIND RUNNING WILD!

“Now tell us everything you remember from the beginning.” The way they look at me, I know they still think I was the one who did it. Those eyes everyone gives me screaming I’m a psychopath or a sociopath. All because I can’t express my emotions, how I wish they could hear my screams from within my mind telling them I feel it all.

“I wasn’t supposed to be home, but I decided to visit for the night since my brother just won a baseball game for his high school. When I got home I didn’t see any other cars besides my parents’. I opened the door and everyone, my family and some masked strangers, looked at me in shock. And I just stood there, then they jumped into action.” Each word slips through my lips in my boring monotone voice that I have zero control over, even when I explained it the first time my voice showed zero care.

I still remember it all so clearly, vividly. It had only happened a few hours ago, and usually someone who experienced something so traumatic wouldn’t be able to remember every little detail but I do. From the moment they tied my hands like amateurs behind my back to the bullets ripping through my family’s skulls. Even the way the warm red liquid seeped through my favorite pair of jeans to reach my recently cleaned skin. 

I remember my body fitting me as I faked my emotions to make it seem like it cared, at least enough to feed their sick and twisted desires. My parents believed I finally showed emotions, at least they died thinking their daughter was no longer a burden that they could torment. The only person in that room I cared about even a tiny bit was my brother, only because he was young and just had the best day of his life. He didn’t get to feel my real love when he joined in with my family to ruin me even more thinking it would help.

I should have cared, I know that. It’s wrong that even deep inside, where I had feelings, I didn’t want to cry or scream. Instead I sat there with my hands untied pretending to cry both outwardly and on the inside. 

“The second they left I called you guys.” As the last words left my mouth someone burst into the interrogation room and on the inside I felt relief flood through my veins. The cocky cops in front of me look at the man standing in the doorway wearing a face of anger and disappointment directed towards them.

I wish I could smile at the way fear takes over their features when they recognize him. “Benny what the hell are you doing here?”

“Saving my niece from the likes of you. You know she can’t express emotions that doesn’t mean she fucking killed her family you disgusting pigs. Come on Juney let’s go honey.” At his words I outstretch my hands towards the two shirking men across the table awaiting the release from these tight cuffs.

They waste no time in setting me free, they know how deep in shit they are that my uncle is here. His time working as a cop with them was spent outranking them faster than they made it out of Park patrol and into the streets. “Benny, she was there.”

“And she already told you everything in full detail, find those men instead of trying to make her the killer you wish she was.” I send a bored look their way as I walk past my uncle who turns sideways in the threshold to let me through and make eye contact with the chief of police. He sends me an apologetic nod and half smile before making his way into the room. My uncle closes the door behind him on the way out and I feel the shit eating grin hiding behind my mask when I hear his reprimands and shouts being thrown in their hopefully guilt filled faces.

My uncle places his hand on my lower back as he leads me out of the precinct and to his rental car, no words are spoken, they aren’t needed between us. He is the only family I truly have, even before today.

“I’m taking you back to South Korea with me, when we get to your place, take a shower and we can start packing.”

“Thank you.” Even though my words are void of anything resembling gratitude, the looks he throws me as he pulls on the road shows me he knows I don’t just mean for taking me out of this hell hole.

[imbonewary]

Shifting Sans Chapter 12 "Taking a Hike"

~

Chapter 1 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 13

~

Equipped with a pair of boots that felt oddly natural on my feet, I followed Frisk out of the Ruins. We wove around rocks and rubble as glowing mushrooms lit our path and the distant sound of water echoed through the streets as they slowly became more tunnel-like. We were likely somewhere under Waterfall but it was hard to tell. It was surprisingly peaceful, though, considering how wound up I’d been recently. I can’t decide if the lack of other monsters was creepy or calming.

“What is the Deep, anyways?” I asked, just to fill the silence. “I don’t think we had anything like that where I’m from.”

“The Deep is a labyrinth of lava tunnels filled with monsters that don’t participate in polite society,” Frisk answered as he clamored over a particularly large boulder blocking the path before offering me a hand up. “Or at least, that’s how it’s usually described to me anyways. I know some of the shadier experiments from the Labs happened down there but even before that it was kinda lawless, I think. Monsters that couldn’t or wouldn’t conform to society’s standards live down there, where might makes right and everyone only looks after themselves. Not that I’d know anything about that kind of attitude,” Frisk looked back at me with a cheeky grin.

“Even in my day,” Chara interjected from somewhere over our heads, audible but invisible. “a common saying from the Deep was “kill or be killed”. Some say that something down there can influence a monster’s soul, making them more aggressive, more likely to accept that kind of mindset; it's part of why the Ruins stand abandoned now. Many tests were conducted but all were inconclusive at best.”

“Quit being spooky, Chara!” Frisk laughed. I could feel a cold sliver of fear buried under a bold heat. The kid’s literally haunted and he’s afraid of ghost stories?

“Probably a psychological trigger then,” I nodded absently. The path was smoothing out and I could feel the temperature slowly dropping as the path wound upward. “Just knowing you’re exposed in a place that’s unprotected can do that.”

“Probably. Sans lives in the upper parts of the Ruins,” Frisk continued. “Which is at the upper part of the Deep, and most entrances to both have been blocked off, so anyone trying to get between The Deep and the rest of the Underground would have to pass by his place. Being a boss monster, Sans is no pushover and has a bit of a reputation in the Deep; most monsters don’t mess with him and sometimes injured monsters will ask him for help, if they can swallow their pride. I explored a lot of it during the resets but not so much this time around. Nothing like that where you’re from, huh?”

“Nope, closest we had was an abyss that we could never fully explore,” I replied as we stopped at a stream with small bits of ice building up on the sides. We must be close to the Snowdin side of Waterfall. “Sans’d have my head if I let you walk around Snowdin in wet clothes. Lemme see if I can still do a shortcut, haven’t tried since I got here…”

I held up my hand, cautiously going through the magic motions; I wanted to be ready in case it imploded or something. Reaching for that old, familiar window, I mentally tossed the other opening to the opposite side of the stream but when the portal itself opened, way too much magic flooded into it, making what should’ve been a hand-sized hole in reality suddenly explode over my head and I immediately shut it down with a gasp and a step back. The thin line around the opening and the opaque screen separating the two realities should’ve been blue, the usual color of my magic, but there was definitely some mottled red bits bleeding through.

Right, so the influx of soul magic must’ve affected how much pressure is in the hose. Just have to adjust for that. At least the magic pathway is the same, even if the magic coming out of it is slightly altered.

Good thing I was cautious.

I squared my shoulders to try again but felt that building determination from before and caught myself, folding my wings tight against my back. I really don’t need any extra fire power behind my magic right now. Shaking my head I tried again, slowly letting the pressure build until I could call forth the hand-sized portal again, careful to keep the overwhelming power in check and only drip what I needed into it. The window opened, chest-sized rather than hand-sized, but definitely more blue with only a faint flicker of red now and again. I could feel the different magic types, my own calm blue against the fiery red that I assume was coming from the soul piece. I’ll have to tease the two apart more later, but for now…

I glanced through the gate, then across the stream, confirming that it was stable before opening the shortcut wide enough to walk through, beckoning Frisk to follow. They did without hesitation but upon reaching the other side and dismissing the shortcut, letting my wings relax, I felt what I can only describe as a sigh of relief, but not from Frisk. I guess Chara had her concerns, which may not have been unfounded, all things considered.

“Well that was an experience,” Frisk said with a grin as they started walking again. “Guess your shortcuts are different than Sans’s.”

“Yeah,” I fell in behind them. “I noticed that when he shortcutted me home last night.”

Was that really just last night? It feels like ages ago. And I called it home. I didn't even think about it. I shook my head. 

“What happened that first time, anyways?” I could see their breath now. “You looked uh… surprised.”

“Oh, uh,” I stumbled slightly. “How do I explain?... I said I absorbed a piece of the human’s soul, right? Well human souls have a lot of magic potential and my body decided to accommodate the influx by making these wings.” I ruffled them slightly. Dunno if I'd made that obvious to them before. “But that can’t account for all of the magic I’ve gained so it’s like shaking a carbonated soda bottle; the magic was pressurized so I had to open the bottle very slowly and carefully to avoid making a mess. I thought I’d opened it slowly enough the first time but it started to overflow so I screwed the lid back on in a hurry. Does that make sense?”

“I think so,” Frisk replied. “Do you think that’s part of why your magic has been on a hair trigger this morning? Like, you can feel the pressure and it’s been leaking out more?”

“That… is a good question,” I mused. “That might explain some of my jumpiness, at least.”

Frisk shivered. We’d been walking through a misty fog for a few minutes now but the temperature had dropped suddenly and I was now acutely aware that Frisk hadn’t brought a jacket, just wearing a long sleeved shirt, blue with yellow stripes.

“Snowdin’s just through here,” Frisk said, ignoring the cold. “This place is always misty because of Waterfall’s warm humidity meeting Snowdin’s chill. I call it Misty Pass but I don’t think it has a true name.”

The mist suddenly faded, rising to obscure the roof of a large opening containing a very familiar little settlement. Stalactites pierced the mist occasionally, reminding me that it wasn’t just a layer of clouds and we were, in fact, still underground. I knew this wasn’t my Snowdin, but at least the familiar crunch of snow under my feet was comforting.

Even if those feet were covered in boots rather than slippers.

Ignoring the niggling conflict of wrongness and rightness in my soul, I followed Frisk down the street, lit with lamps and salvaged Christmas lights. It reflected off the snow and the mist to create a warm glow that didn’t really have a source.

Frisk shivered again.

“Need a jacket?” I asked, grabbing the front of mine in offering. “The cold doesn’t bother me much.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Frisk waved me off. “We’re almost there anyways.”

“You sure?”

“If I thought I’d need one I would’ve grabbed one.”

“Ok, if you’re sure.”

“I am sure.”

“Right.”

“Besides, we’re here.”

We approached a familiar house on a familiar street but instead of being lined with colorful lights like mine had, these lights were all white or off-white. It made it look sterile compared to the cheerfully careless colors I was used to. Just one more difference.

I let Frisk knock while some bystanders walking down the street stared at me and I pretended to not notice.

“Frisk!” I jolted back to the present. “Why are you still not wearing a jacket?!” Papyrus admonished. “You’ll catch your death of cold!”

“Awe~ it warms my heart that you care,” Frisk grinned cheekily. Does the kid even know how to smile any other way?

“Ugh, you belong with Sans, alright,” Papyrus groaned. “Get in here, lunch is almost ready.”

[newstfionline]

Monday, April 17, 2023

Florida floods: Businesses, residents cleaning up mess (AP) Workers at one of Fort Lauderdale’s landmark restaurants spent Friday tearing out carpeting and original hardwood floors, both ruined when 8 inches (0.25 meters) of water poured inside two days earlier. Old Heidelberg was among numerous businesses and residences affected by historic rainfall in South Florida this week that caused widespread flooding, closing the state’s international airport for nearly two days and turning streets into rivers. While it started raining on Monday, much of the water fell Wednesday, and the Fort Lauderdale area saw record rainfall amounts in a matter of hours, ranging from 15 inches (38 centimeters) to 26 inches (66 centimeters), the National Weather Service said. Stephan Liebe, the Old Heidelberg owner, noted that the National Weather Service called this a 1-in-a-1,000-year storm. “I could live with that—but can I get that in writing?” he joked.

Gunmen storm Mexican resort, kill 7, including child (Reuters) Armed men on Saturday killed a child and six others after storming a resort in the central Mexican state of Guanajuato, authorities said, in a region increasingly plagued by drug cartel violence. Footage widely shared on social media showed the aftermath of the attack in a palm-studded resort in the small town of Cortazar, about 65 km (40 miles) south of the Guanajuato city. It was not clear who was behind the shooting that killed the seven-year-old, three men and three women, Cortazar’s local security department said. One person was seriously injured in the La Palma resort. But in recent years rival drug cartels have been waging brutal battles to control territory and trafficking routes through the state.

US dollar scarcity threatens Bolivia’s ‘economic miracle’ (AP) Sofia Andrade, a lawyer, chose over the past month to withdraw all her dollar savings from the bank as the US currency became scarce on the streets of Bolivia. “I prefer to have them at home,” she said. “I fear they won’t let me withdraw them later.” Like her, many Bolivians are withdrawing their dollar deposits or rushing to buy the US currency amid increased concern about Bolivia’s economic fragility, a marked change for a country that for more than a decade experienced what many called an “economic miracle” amid strong growth, record exports, low inflation, a fixed exchange rate and subsidized gasoline. The scarcity of the greenback, which opposition politicians attribute to the Central Bank running out of hard currency reserves and the government blames on speculation, means that for the first time since 2011, a parallel market for the U.S. dollar has emerged that charges slightly more than the official price.

NATO member Finland breaks ground on Russia border fence (AP) The construction of barbed-wired fence along Finland’s long border with Russia—primarily meant to curb illegal migration—has broken ground near the southeastern town of Imatra less than two weeks after the Nordic country joined NATO as the 31st member of the military alliance. The Finnish Border Guard on Friday showcased the building of the initial three kilometer (1.8 mile) stretch of the fence to be erected in Pelkola near a crossing point off Imatra, a quiet lakeside town of some 25,000 people. Finland’s 1,340 kilometer (832 mile) border with Russia is the longest of any European Union member. Construction of the border fence is an initiative by the border guard that was approved by Prime Minister Sanna Marin’s government amid wide political support last year. The main purpose of the three-meter (10-foot) high steel fence with a barbed-wire extension on top is to prevent illegal immigration from Russia and give reaction time to authorities, Finnish border officials say.

Breaking up with Russia is hard for many Western firms, despite war (Washington Post) Only a small percentage of the hundreds of companies that promised to leave Russia after its invasion of Ukraine have exited, according to several groups keeping a scorecard—and for those that dawdled, departing has only become more expensive and complicated. The Western companies that stayed are often heavily reliant on Russian business, with the losses of an exit perhaps outweighing possible damage to their brands of staying in the country. Some businesses even grabbed a bigger market share as their competitors departed. Many others announced they would pause or scale back operations but continue to trade. Others said they would sell their Russian assets but still are seeking buyers or trying to reduce the cost of leaving. News of the departures last year briefly threatened the Kremlin’s efforts to muffle the impact of the war on Russians. But the continuing presence of so many companies has undermined the Washington-led effort to crush Russia’s economy, contributing taxes that help keep Russia’s war machine running and allowing Russians to maintain their prewar comforts and quality of life, even as Russian missiles destroy Ukrainian lives.

Ukraine reports unprecedentedly bloody fighting in Bakhmut (Reuters) Ukrainian and Russian armed forces are fighting extraordinarily bloody battles in the smashed eastern city of Bakhmut, but pro-Kyiv forces are still holding on, Ukraine's military said on Saturday. Russia's defence ministry said earlier in the day that fighters from the Wagner mercenary group had captured two more areas of Bakhmut, the main target of Moscow's offensive in eastern Ukraine. Wagner has spearheaded Russia's attempt to take Bakhmut since last summer in what has been the longest and deadliest battle of the war for both sides. "Bloody battles unprecedented in recent decades are taking place in the middle of the city's urban area," said Serhiy Cherevatyi, spokesperson for Ukraine's eastern military command. Bakhmut, which had a pre-war population of around 70,000 people, has been Russia's main target in a winter offensive that has so far yielded scant gains despite infantry ground combat of an intensity unseen in Europe since World War Two.

India sees signs of renewed Sikh separatism and sounds the alarm (Washington Post) The Indian government is sounding the alarm about what security officials see as signs of a potential revival by a Sikh separatist movement in the northern state of Punjab. These concerns have recently spiked, with police hunting the self-described separatist Amritpal Singh and reporters chronicling his every sighting on CCTV cameras. Senior security officials say they have seen increasing turmoil in Punjab over the past five years, with renewed calls by some members of the Sikh religion for an independent state called Khalistan. The recent events bring back memories of a Sikh insurgency in the 1980s, triggered by the Indian army raid on the religion’s holiest shrine, the Golden Temple in Amritsar, in which the Sikh militant leader Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale was killed. Some see Amritpal as trying to inherit the Bhindranwale mantle. There has been sporadic violence, with isolated bombings, attacks on police stations and killings of religious leaders. On Wednesday, four soldiers were shot dead at a military base in Punjab. The incident is under investigation.

Taiwan highly vulnerable to Chinese air attack, leaked documents show (Washington Post) Taiwan is unlikely to thwart Chinese military air superiority in a cross-strait conflict, while tactics such as China’s use of civilian ships for military purposes have eroded U.S. spy agencies’ ability to detect a pending invasion, according to leaked Pentagon assessments that contain troubling details about the self-governed island’s ability to fend off war. The assessments state that Taiwan officials doubt their air defenses can “accurately detect missile launches,” that barely more than half of Taiwan’s aircraft are fully mission capable and that moving the jets to shelters would take at least a week—a huge problem if China launched missiles before Taiwan had a chance to disperse those planes. The classified documents addressing a potential conflict suggest China’s air force would have a much better shot at establishing early control of the skies—a strategy that Taipei itself believes will underpin an attack—than Russia did in Ukraine.

Bali locals are fed up with bad tourists (Washington Post) The image many outsiders have of Bali—the one depicted in the 2010 Julia Roberts blockbuster “Eat Pray Love”—still exists. Bali remains covered with deep green rice paddies and golden sand stretching into turquoise water. But it’s not as tranquil these days. In a little over a year since Bali reopened for international travel, an uptick in unruly behavior from tourists has removed some of the magic from paradise, pushing national and local officials to think up new ways to address offenders. Bali is part of a growing number of popular travel destinations fed up with overtourism. Hawaii is considering a bill to dissolve its government-sponsored tourism marketing agency. Amsterdam has been trying to reduce rowdy tourist behavior in its Red Light District, rolling out a ban on pot-smoking on the streets there, reducing hours for restaurants and brothels, and tightening some alcohol restrictions. Italian authorities have been fining tourists in Rome, Florence and Venice for littering, camping, vandalism and traffic violations. Like Hawaii, Amsterdam and Italy, Bali is also fed up with tourists who aren’t breaking any laws, but show little respect for local life.

Israeli protests of legal overhaul show no signs of slowing (AP) Israeli demonstrations against the government’s plan to overhaul the judiciary continued on Saturday, despite Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s decision to pause the contentious proposals. Tens of thousands of people participated in the main protest held in the central city of Tel Aviv, while smaller demonstrations took place across the country. Protest organizers, who have held these weekly protests for over three months, aim to maintain momentum and increase pressure on Netanyahu and his government until the proposed changes are scrapped. Bending to the mass protests, Netanyahu paused the overhaul plans in March, saying he wanted “to avoid civil war.”

Battle for control of Sudan intensifies (AP) Sudan’s embattled capital awoke Monday to a third day of heavy fighting between the army and a powerful rival force for control of the country, as the weekend’s civilian death toll rose to 97. Airstrikes and shelling intensified in parts of Khartoum and the adjoining city of Omdurman. Rapid, A sustained firing was heard near the military headquarters, with white smoke rising from the area. Residents hunkering down in their homes reported power outages and incidents of looting. “Gunfire and shelling are everywhere,” Wadeya Mahmoud Koko, head of a union for thousands of tea vendors and other food workers, said from her home in Khartoum.

Tonga volcanic eruption was bigger than any U.S. nuclear blast (Washington Post) The Hunga Tonga-Hunga Haʻapai undersea volcano eruption in 2022 was larger than any natural explosion in the past century or even any U.S. nuclear explosion, according to a study released Friday in Science Advances. It rivals the massive Krakatau volcanic explosion near Indonesia in 1883 that took more than 36,000 lives, though the Tongan volcanic explosion in the southwest Pacific caused four deaths. “The only way you can make an explosion of this size is with a hydrogen bomb,” said Sam Purkis, lead author of the study and marine geoscientist at the University of Miami. “This is way off the charts of anything” in human experience. Using satellite data, field observations and drone mapping, the team created a simulation of the eruption and resulting tsunami waves to provide a new detailed look of the explosive event. They found tsunami waves reached heights of 45 meters (148 feet) on Tonga’s Tofua Island. It released the most water vapor into the atmosphere by a volcano on record, enough to fill 58,000 swimming pools, which may temporarily warm the climate in years to come. It set a world record for highest volcano plume in the satellite record, sending ash 36 miles high into the atmosphere, surpassing what many scientists had considered physically feasible. It triggered the fastest atmospheric waves ever observed at 720 mph, circling the planet at least six times. Scientists estimated the strength of the last blast wave to be 15 megatons (equivalent to 15 million tons of TNT). That’s roughly equivalent to the largest nuclear test performed by the United States.

[alloftheimagines]

bucky barnes | let it end here

masterlist | request

words: 2.5k

warnings: death, violence (w/ guns), trauma, depression, and slight hint towards suicide. angst. fluff. reader pulls gun on bucky.

Reader was made into a Hydra assassin like Bucky. When he stops her from killing a Hydra agent and cleans her up, she doesn't know if she can keep going after everything they've been through. Comfort ensues.

You’ve never felt a rage like it before. It licks through your blood like fire, leaves your ears ringing. You’re punching, kicking, the gun forgotten in its holster at your waist. This isn’t your job, and you know it, but you can’t remember what your job is. When you see his round, scornful face, killing is all you know. So you keep going, until he gurgles on his own blood and teeth, his eyes a swollen mess and his breathing laboured.

“You took everything from me!” you screech. “You heartless fucking bastard. You ruined me!”

He laughs. He isn’t afraid of you even now. Hydra agents never are. They aren’t afraid to die, aren’t remorseful of the torture they’ve put their soldiers through. They’re empty and wrong on the inside, and they made you that way, too. He made you that way.

“I’m glad they haven’t softened you, yet, soldat. You were always the one with the most fire. Always the one who enjoyed it the most.”

The words make you stop, though you keep his wrists pinned down as bile floods your throat. He’ll never get the chance to beat you again, and you need him to know that if nothing else.

“You’re lying,” you whisper, and you hate how your voice shakes. Because there are nights when the idea of that life feels like a comfort. You didn’t feel anything then. You didn’t have to hurt like you do now. You didn’t have to try every day to be a person, you just had to fight, kill. You just had to pull triggers and throw punches and watch the life leave people’s eyes the way it already had yours, and that was easier than the nightmares and the guilt and the grief for the person you was before Hydra broke you.

The agent shakes his head knowingly, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “Look where you are. Look how you still fight. Nothing has changed. You’re still the soldier we made you.”

Your upper lip curls in disgust, a sob building in your chest. And somehow, you want to prove him right. You reach for your gun; press the barrel against his head. His grin is oily, teeth stained crimson. “That’s it. Remember who you really are.”

“I was an innocent. You made me into a monster.” You clench your jaw, your hand shaking. “I deserved better than that.”

“I set you free,” he rasped. “You were nobody before me. Now you’ll never be nobody again.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks, smearing the blood spatters. You wanted to be nobody. You wanted to be the naive, innocent girl who only dreamt of a nine-to-five job and a family. The woman you were before they snatched you off the street to fight their battle, experimenting on you and hollowing you out into an assassin.

Your finger tensed tighter on the trigger. There were so many things you wanted to spit at him, so many ways you wanted him to hurt, but there wasn’t time, and even if there were, the agent was fading fast.

“Go to hell.”

“It won’t be long before you join me.”

The words only make your rage burn brighter, and you slam the butt of the gun into his nose, watching the blood spurt out.

And then you’re pulled away, a familiar cold metal hand curling around your bicep. “You’re done now. It’s done. That’s enough.”

“No!” you scream, thrashing in his arms as Bucky tears you away from the man who tortured you, who ruined you. Your gun slips from your blood-slick hands to the floor. “No! I need to kill him. Let me go!”

“You’ve done enough!” Bucky slams you against the wall opposite. Sam and his agents watch. Taking in the massacre. The Hydra agent was supposed to be your last kill. Before that, you’d stormed in and shot four dead before they’d so much as blinked, another two who had put up a fight. Blood and brain matter smattered every surface, dead bodies littering the floor.

“You have no idea what he did to me.” You’re trembling, straining to try to get out of Bucky’s grip, but he’ll always be stronger than you. You aren’t the Winter Soldier. You’re just a ghost, an assassin who’s no longer required to kill. Perhaps you are nobody after all.

“I know exactly what he did to you,” Bucky hisses, all bared teeth as he leans in close, until his breath hits your skin. “And I know, okay? I know. But if you don’t stop now, you never will. It’ll never end, Y/N. Revenge never fuckin’ does. Show mercy. Not because he deserves it, but because you’re not the person he made you. Because you’re better than he’ll ever be.”

You shake you’re head. You don’t want to be better. You want them gone. “I’m not you,” you spit. “There is no ‘better’ for me.”

“I don’t believe that. You wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t some part of you worth fighting for.”

You can’t breathe, and as though sensing it, he loosens his grip. You suck in a breath, glancing between Bucky and the agent on the floor. He’s cuffed now, being taken in for information no doubt, if he survives his injuries long enough.

You look down at your hands. They’re bruised and ripped open at the knuckles. Covered in blood, yours and his. They shake. They never used to shake. Now they never stop.

“Look at me,” Bucky whispers. When you don’t, he tilts your chin up roughly, forcing you to meet his steel-blue gaze. “Walk away. He isn’t worth it.”

“It’s too late.” You gulp, feeling emptier than ever. “I already killed.”

“Let them be your last.” He tucks a matted strand of your hair behind your ear, so gentle when you’ve only ever known roughness from him before. “Let it end here.”

“It never fucking ends, Buck.” You close your eyes to try to trap your tears, but they come anyway, bringing with them a wave of exhaustion. You collapse against the wall, putting your face in your hands. “It never fucking ends.”

“It can. It will. We’ll find a way together.”

You don’t know if he believes his words. He’s as fucked up as you are, after all, and he’s told you about his nightmares, about how losing Steve made him question whether he’d ever been worth saving. But he’s been a rock against your crashing waves whenever you fall back into old habits, and you want so badly to believe him now.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

You don’t know where home is, but you let him pull you away, his hand supporting the small of your back as though you’re the one injured, not the agents you’ve attacked and slaughtered. You sneer at their bodies as you walk out of the base, each corpse burying a new cavity in your chest. You are full of holes, each one a life you’ve taken. You thought one day you’d stop noticing, but even now, even when seeking vengeance, you feel the new ones festering.

Because it never ends.

***

Bucky sits you on his couch like you’re a ragdoll, and you like it. Ragdolls don’t have to feel. They’re weightless and carried around, and it means you can exist somewhere nobody can get to you. You’re still staring at your hands, still feeling the holes drilling themselves in your chest. One day, you’re certain you’ll crack open and everyone will find out just how hollow you are.

Silently, he dampens a cloth in the kitchen and then strides over to you, kneeling at your feet. “C’mere.” He gently pulls your hands, wiping the blood off them. It doesn't matter. It still sticks beneath your fingernails.

“Am I gonna get another lecture from Sam?” you ask, your voice sounding empty even to your own ears.

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitches with a smile. “I’ll tell him to go easy on you.” And then: “Who told you where they were?”

“Doesn’t matter. I forced it out of them. They don’t deserve to get in trouble.” Another needless lot of blood spilt, if only the one punch you had to throw for the information.

He nodded, always too understanding.

“He was the one who made me into a lab rat.”

Bucky pauses at that, glancing up at you carefully. “I didn’t know it was him.”

“I’ve been searching for him since we got out.” Your mouth is dry, grainy, and you lick your lips, wincing when he presses the cloth to your torn knuckles. “Wanted to be the one to kill him. I deserve that, don’t I?”

“Maybe.” He sighs, hovering over your forehead as though asking permission. You don’t even feel an injury there, but you tip your head all the same, shuffling forward on the couch. You both know, of course, that you don’t need him to clean you up. You both know that you want him too, though. “Believe me, I’ve thought about ripping off every one of their fucking heads a million times over. But it never gets me anywhere, Y/N. The killing never did. It only made me worse.”

“Maybe I don’t care about getting better.”

The cloth is cool against your forehead. A relief. Your eyes flutter shut.

“Maybe I do,” Bucky answers, voice low.

You pry your eyelids back open, breath hitching at the intensity you find there. You tell yourself it’s just the shared trauma, the understanding, but it doesn’t feel that way. When he looks at you, it doesn’t feel like he’s seeing a soldier, an assassin. It feels like he’s seeing something you no longer see in yourself.

“Don’t,” you beg, because as much as you want him, appreciate him, you can’t bear to have him expect more than you can give. You’re not good like he is. You’re not Steve Rogers’s best friend, and you’re not the White Wolf. You’re just a machine that no longer serves its use. “Don’t care, Bucky. It’s easier if you don’t fucking care.”

“I’m trying not to settle for easy these days.”

He smirks, but it isn’t funny. None of this is funny. And if he thinks his charm and his flirting and the hidden meanings behind everything he says to you can put you back together, he’s wrong. You could kiss him now, fuck him on the couch, pretend that a healthy relationship is possible, but it won’t change the darkness in you. It won’t soften your sharp edges.

He can’t fix you, and you won’t let him try. He deserves better than that.

So you lean in close and swipe the gun from his holster just to show him. Then you press it to his head just as you did the Hydra agent.

He doesn’t so much as blink. “Am I on your hitlist now, too?”

“Stop looking for good in me, Buck. You won’t find it.”

“I’m not looking for anything,” he says. “Nothing at all.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything from you.” You press the barrel harder into his temple. He squeezes the cloth in his hands, licking his lips warily. “I get it, Y/N. You know I get it. And when we got out, we did it together. It’s the only way I can deal with this, knowing someone understands. Knowing someone went through the same fucked up shit as me. We're a team. A tragic, fucked up team. Aren't we?”

You waver only slightly. You can’t believe even for a second that there is nothing he expects of you, nothing he wants. You have been torn apart and sewn back together. You’ve been disassembled right down to your skin cells. People take things from you. It’s what they do. They pull you apart and they look for your purpose, and when they find it, they make you serve it. That’s what you are. That’s what being a soldier has made you.

“You’d be doing me a favour.” Bucky’s voice is gravelly, and it cuts through you.

Those words make your stomach twist, no matter how badly you want to prove you feel nothing at all. Because he deserves better than that. And maybe if he does, you do, too.

You slam the gun down on the couch beside you, another spike of anger jolting through you. You can’t take it anymore. You can’t. You’re so fucking tired and angry and lost, and he’s looking at you like that’s okay. Like any of this is okay.

You stand up, your hands curling into fists until your knuckles break all over again, your nails digging into your palms. You want to scream. You want to end it. You want peace.

He just watches, still motionless where he kneels on the floor by the couch.

“Do you mean that?” you whisper finally.

He shrugs. “Don’t know. Do you want to do it? Will it make you feel better?”

“Nothing makes me feel better.” The admission shatters through the apartment, through you, and you clutch your stomach just to hold yourself in one piece. “Nothing.” Tears stream again, and you choke on a sob. “Nothing, Bucky. Nothing takes it away. I can’t…I can’t…”

He rises slowly and catches you just as you collapse. You fist his shirt between your fingers, tears dampening the fabric. He’s strong beneath you, his breaths even and his voice a low rumble against your ear.

“I know.” He strokes your hair, keeps you pressed tightly to him, and you lose yourself. You sob until your throat aches, and he lets you. “I know.”

“I’m sorry,” you cry without knowing what you’re apologising for. Killing the Hydra agents before Sam could get there. Putting a gun to Bucky’s head. Crying and bleeding all over his fucking apartment. Breaking apart while he works so hard to keep you both together. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He rocks you gently, placing kisses into your hair. “I know. You’re not alone.”

You never want to let go of him. You’re only safe when you’re here, with him. He’s the only one who knows how bad it hurts. “I don’t want to feel anymore,” you confess. “I don’t want to keep doing this.”

“Feeling means you’re finding your way back,” he mumbles. “It means you’re still you. And it’s gonna fucking hurt, Y/N, but we’re gonna keep doing this. There is no other option.”

You want other options more than anything, but you nod. It’s the “we” that keeps you here, keeps your last slither of hope from leaving you. Because you’re not alone, and Bucky has endured decades of torture. Yours is nothing in comparison. If he can do it, if he can still get up and fight the right battles every morning, you can, too.

You will. With him, you will.

“There’s no other option,” you repeat. You say it until it rings true, until every time you want to go out and kill, or every time you want to give up, it’s the voice of reason pulling you back.

There’s no other option. So you choose his, and he keeps you going until you’re strong enough to make your own.

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

Hope from the Shadows | Bruce Wayne x Reader

Prompt: Shadows

Words: 1532

Fandom: The Batman

A/N: Another late entry for Writer’s Month. School is starting up soon, so they might come in even later. I haven’t written for this emo meow meow in a while and it’s about time I changed that. 

Summary: You did what you could to survive, but actions have consequences. You thought you were so clever, but they were always one step ahead. Your thoughts on the Batman were neutral until your boss got cocky and caught the attention of the masked man.

-

For the past three years, there had been a protector hiding in the shadows, waiting to strike. He watched over Gotham closely, quietly, until the rats came out to play. Who is the Batman? Why does he operate this way? What had led them down this path of seeking justice in this corrupted city? 

The new mayor had a lot on her plate, but she made substantially more progress in bettering the city than her predecessors. Still, the streets aren’t safe yet, so the batman remained.

One would think that the rats would scatter after the flooding of the city, but, no, it only left the resilient ones standing. You saw the signs that your boss was one of those rats and you weren’t the only one. The world was tough and rent in the apartments away from the flooding districts hiked up. It was either keep your head low to keep your job, or stand up and report him, risking not only your career, but your life as well.

It was only a matter of time until Batman found out about the lab. Your boss was getting cocky and reckless, making it easier for the masked man to find him. The entire lab scrambled, trying to erase any evidence of illegal activity. Scientists were running around, making sure that nothing was left behind while the mob security surrounded the building, waiting for the bat to appear.

During all the chaos, you managed to sneak a usb drive into your jacket, following the others by shedding your lab coat and exiting the building. You exhaled slowly, training your eyes ahead and trying to relax your shoulders as you passed guard after guard. They didn’t have time to pat everyone down at the door, but when it came to your turn, they were not able to find the hidden pocket in your jacket and let you through.

You allowed yourself to breathe once you were in the safety of the car, your folded jacket visible in your peripheral vision just sitting there on your passenger seat containing information that could take down your boss for good. Anxiety was bubbling over as you pulled away from the building, debating whether to head straight home or keep driving to calm your nerves. You often wondered if all the scientists were being watched, making sure no one took anything that could ruin the whole operation.

You decided to take the long way around to your apartment, being careful of the reconstruction areas where they were actually going to make something of use instead of canceling the project due to money mysteriously going missing or funneling the money to their own personal ventures instead of actual affordable housing. 

Mayor Real was a good one and during the first year after she was elected, the main priority was fixing up the mess that her predecessors had done to the city. It was slow going, but thanks to the Wayne Foundation that had been recently revived, they had enough funding to create programs that could actually help the people of Gotham. 

Still, corruption and prejudice is systemic and weren’t going to go away just like that. Your boss paid well and you were actually doing what you studied for. The usb was just insurance.

Naively, you didn’t think anyone would be coming after you so soon. You were sure that you were careful. After the lab was raided, your boss had fled the scene with only a few goons in tow. Everyone else that remained in that building was arrested. Last thing you heard about them was that they refused to talk. Logically, the Batman would move on to other suspects to get information, you just didn’t think that anyone was aware of you.

The door was still locked and intact when you got home, so you had no reason to suspect anything. Still, the hairs on the back of your neck raised as you entered your apartment. You quickly turned on the lights, catching the reflection of water puddles on the floor, your eyes tracking to where they led. You closed the window that was wide open and grabbed the nearest wieldable object before approaching the small living room, reaching over with a shaky hand to turn on the light.

“You should lock your windows,” came a low raspy voice.

He stepped out of the shadows and into the light, the Batman himself, soaked and dripping rain water all over your floor. There must have been either something wrong with you or this city and your work was desensitizing you to occurrences like this, because you were not only cautious about his purpose for being here, you were also irritated that the floor and rug were now wet and you’d have to clean up after he leaves.

“I’m on the fifth floor,” you answered, putting down the umbrella you picked up.

He had no reply to that, though the corner of his lips turned up just a bit. He took a step forward, his hand slowly reaching out to show you a picture in a clear plastic sheet. “This man, is he your boss?”

“No.” 

Technically, thanks to Batman and the cops, he was no longer your boss. You are out of a job until you find other employment or he manages to set up another base of operations. Whether you’d go back depends on the situation. You’ve heard of his big plans, but none have come to fruition as of yet. For now, you were doing what you had to to survive.

Even with the mask on, you could tell that he was not amused by your answer. If he knew you worked for him, why bother saying anything?

“Have you worked for him within the last two years?” He rephrased, blue eyes watching for any change in your expression.

You sighed, nodding. “Yes.”

“Have you been in contact with him recently?”

“No. Not since the raid.”

“Would you know where he’d go to hide? Any other location that he occupied?”

You shook your head. “How would I know? I’m just a scientist.”

“But you have something of value to them,” he said, “Something that would make them put surveillance on you.”

You frowned, shaking your head in disbelief as you stepped away from him. You were so careful. You made sure that you were in the cameras’ blindspot when you downloaded the files, the usb hidden in a safe under your bed. Locks were double and triple checked, but apparently not the window locks. Everyday you looked over your shoulder and took alternate routes home.

“It’s something that was not included in your files. Something that only the boss and the head scientist knew about,” Batman continued.

“What do you mean? Did they put a tracker on me? On everyone in the lab?” you asked.

He nodded slowly. “They created a type of trackable biological nanobots that they released into the ventilation system. It was in its prototype phase, but he must have suspected that there was a mole in his operation.”

“I wasn’t planning on releasing any information unless I had to,” you said quickly, as if it would change anything. “Surely, it wouldn’t have been released in the lab’s vents, either. It would ruin our research and we were all wearing masks.”

“We found traces of it in the vents that lead to the break rooms and the bathrooms.”

“Of course. Shit!” 

You smacked yourself on the forehead at your own lack of foresight. Everything felt too easy. Out of all the ways that you thought about how they kept track of the employees, biological nanobots should have been a possibility that you considered. The head scientist was a genius, always creating their own side projects and looking for ways to gain power and influence without being seen. While the big boss called the shots, nothing would have been possible without the head scientist.

“What do I do? If they can find where I am, no matter where I go and –” 

You felt a heavy hand on your shoulder, snapping you out of the spiral you were starting to go down in. It was then you realized how close he was, how his presence was no longer intimidating, but comforting. Like a shield from danger rather than a darkness to be swallowed by. Still, how can he shield you from something that was already in your system? Who knows what else those nanobots could do?

He watched you carefully, noting the shiver of fear running through you. His eyes widened as your hand shot up to hold his arm, as if pleading for help from him. It reminded him of that day when he resolved to be a symbol of hope instead of vengeance, when the young boy reached out to take his hand to lead him out of the wreckage, when that woman squeezed his arm in gratitude for helping her before being lifted away by the helicopter.

“I may have a way,” he reassured softly, “It’s temporary, but we will need the doctor’s files to get rid of those tracker nanobots. Get your things and the usb, we need to go. Tonight.”

[blzzrdstryr]

Reveries of changes

Yandere!Childe x Fatui!gn!reader

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CW: Dissociation, mentions of rape, violence, unhealthy relationship, abuse of power.

Sometimes you find yourself asking what ifs. What if the Event never happened and you never received the vision? What if Ajax never developed his obsession with you? What if you treated him a little bit warmer? Would he be more tolerable? There are thousands of possible scenarios buzzing in your head, sometimes diverging just by words left unsaid or an outstretched hand being shaked. You know it’s a futile thing, thinking about the future and the present that you will never have, but you can’t stop, thoughts spiraling further and further.

This morning starts with the similar what if. What if I agreed to start again? The brief conversation from yesterday is still on your mind - you dread it’s another of the turning points in your relationship, just like the rejected handshake or the hospitalized recruit were. A moment after which there’ll be changes, changes that you won’t have time to prepare for. Speaking from the experience alone, Childe, like the rotten bastard he is, will act even worse from now on. It all started from teen Ajax following you and offering his friendship at every turn and somehow ended in him personally asking Tsaritsa to assign you to him, reducing you from a highly respectable Fatui agent skilled both in stealth and subterfuge to a glorified escort and a secretary.

One day he’ll just get tired from all of this and will forcefully bend me over in some dark murky corner, you darkly conclude, the remnants of the sleep leaving your body entirely at the grim thought. Or maybe he will break his promise not to cheat and will order me to do it.

Unwilling to think about the Ninth Wave of your unwanted relationships, you quickly stand up from the bed and start preparing for the day. Dressing and freshening up from the sleep you still mentally return to the darker place, cautious of what Tartaglia will pull out this time. Finally, you exit the door fully ready and lock the room, hiding the key under the clothes after, and make way to the fourth floor of the bank.

Here lies Childe’s working space and personal quarters , and if the former can be easily seen and entered just by walking up the stairs, the latter is hidden from view by the wall and massive door. There is a wide work desk and two armchairs placed too close for your comfort. You peek into the interior window, only to find it veiled by a thick curtain from the other side, so you decide to broaden the space between the chairs.

Satisfied with distance now, you sit at your place, taking a sheet out of the pile of documents, mostly consisting of reports of credits approved and money returned, unusually mundane yet highly classified information. Aside from accompanying Childe when he needs to beat and threaten the debts out of deadbeats, you also have to track the transactions the bank makes, a routine job consuming most of your daytime.

At the sixth or seventh fiscal account, you hear door opening and mentally brace for Ajax’s presence. Harbinger doesn’t smile, looking serious instead. You hope it has nothing to do with you, as it’s too early in the day for you to already deal with his usual mess.

“[First]”, you look up, staring at the bizarrely humorless Ajax looming over your sitting form. He clears his throat, as if he feels awkward right now, “Are you sure you won’t have one of your episodes?”

Your mind blanks for a second and then there’s a mix of shame and anger flooding your being and making you see red. Over the last months you spent working with him, he was the sole trigger of your affliction and now there are considerable gaps in your memory, in which you have absolutely no clue what happened to you. You had an inkling that Childe is aware that you are not always completely here, but a slap in the face with such casual mention is enough to render you wordless for a good minute.

“I... It happens only under certain circumstances”, you find your voice wavering and his face darkens, as he quickly catches unsaid ‘because of you’. Fortunately, he decides not to press it.

“There’s a problem at hands, one that needs your skills". These words make you do a double take - Ajax doesn't look like he's lying, speech lacking usual grandiose and bravado, yet you still can't believe he lets you return to your former work. You make a quick guess.

“Qixing?”

“Qixing” he nods,"their spies must have learned something about the sigils. It's a minor issue now, but if Tianquan or Yuheng will learn about it…"

"A diplomatic disaster and a permanent loss of Geo Archon's gnosis" you continue for him, “Fatui would be banned or seriously limited in Liyue and most of trade routes will be cut off, Ningguang can easily press sanctions against most of Snezhnayan import”. You frown at the thought, no matter what Fatui would do in such situations there's too much to lose and almost nothing to gain, even if you start destroying the investigation and replication of sigils right now, it will be a waste of possible weapons against Rex Lapis.

Then, there's one painless exit from the complicated mess: destruction of all meager material evidence and clues they somehow scraped together. Despite finally having a glimpse of a freedom, you don’t feel any excitement, but doubt instead - just a year ago, such operation would be another routine task for you, but now, having wasted months because of Childe's possessiveness, you can't help but feel incompetent.

You contemplate, glancing at him: on one hand, Tartaglia can easily send any other agents, but on the other hand, none of said agents possess a vision, a vision that you specifically molded to be a perfect tool for stealth and assassinations. He tilts his head, a hand impatiently drumming against the desk, waiting for your answer - you can infer his inner monologue - Tartaglia, just like you, is torn between his loyalty to Tsaritsa and his own feelings on the matter and this is what finally cements your decision.

You can almost see how much he itches to forbid you from taking the mission, but stops himself out of his sense of duty to Snezhnaya, and this knowledge fills you with darker type of satisfaction to the very brim: You lean back, pretending to still ponder over his words, enjoying the view of apprehensive Childe for once.

“I think, I can’t...” you start, your voice deliberately small and hesitant, watching how Ajax smiles again, convinced that you no longer have any confidence in your abilities, “let Snezhnaya be compromised in any way”.

He doesn’t let any of the anger and frustration show on his face, yet the drumming ceases, leaving you two in the silence, save for the sounds of the street coming out of the window.

You know you’re poking at the sleeping tiger, letting a childish impulses to guide your words, but the opportunity to upset Harbinger are much harder to come by these days: he took away your job, your delusion and your freedom, the least he can do to compensate is suffer in return.

“Alright”, he finally says and fails to hold back disappointed sigh “agent [Last]. Your delusion is in Ekaterina’s possession, just as the rest of the equipment. You will start tonight, information is in the upper left drawer. You have no right to fail, if you do I will write a complaint to Tsaritsa against you and personally oversee that you will be discharged”.

It’s a gambling game then, and terribly unfair at that - even if you win it won’t set you free or relocate under someone easier to handle and Tartaglia loses virtually nothing by allowing you to roam out of his sight for one night only, and by failing you will literally had your life into Childe’s eager hands.

You won’t let the bastard triumph.

***

After getting your gear and delusion back, you spend the rest of the day reading the data and mentally preparing for what is about to come. The qixing base you're to infiltrate is located awfully near the current place of sigil research, as if Ningguang or whoever planted it here already suspected Fatui from the start. The base itself is disguised as an ancient Liyuen ruin with a couple of deactivated ruin hunters placed nearby to scare off the adventurers who no doubt will try to explore it.

You are almost panting when you finally reach it - turns out that despite being easily visible from afar, the base is surrounded by the tall and steep cliffs from all sides, with the only passage bound to be guarded. Invoking to the power of your vision, you effortlessly become invisible to the eye, enter the building and almost rush back the same second - there’s a millelith passing nearby in whom you almost bumped in.

Heart racing you enter the building again, walking on half bent legs to minimize the sounds, and avoid milleliths on your way. They feel a sudden rush of frosty air, but seeing no one nearby, just write it off as a sudden midnight chill. You continue to make your way, peeking into each room, forcing yourself to remain in this form longer and longer, body aching and freezing from the overuse. Finally you see it - a stack of documents placed on the bamboo table near the oil lamp in a conveniently empty room.

Your hand is already extended to push the lamp and fake an accidental fire, when you decide to investigate the papers - it’s better to learn what qixing already knows. Your eyes quickly peruse a liyuen script, characters upon other characters - a report about suspicious activities, a detailed intelligence of Northland’s spendings and thankfully, not a word of sigils, except the note stating that Fatuis are buying a considerable amount of paper and ink.

Having memorized each of the documents, you throw the lamp now, a flame quickly spreading to the documents and soon consuming a whole table. Someone in the corridor screams about fire, four milleliths rushing in the room and you use this distraction to sneak out. Having escaped the borders of the faux ruin you quickly run, still maintaining invisibility, and only when you reach the cliffs again do you allow yourself to rest.

After climbing over the rocks, the rest of the trail is spent between jogging and walking, frost from the vision still residing inside. Bitter chill slows down your movements and you can’t help, but shiver from time to time, arms and legs aching and burning from it. You eye the pyro delusion and consider using it - unlike a cryo vision that you sculpted for secrecy and agility, the delusion is more battle-focused, able to produce quick bursts of fire in the rare occasions you get into a brawl.

Suddenly, a ball of flames explodes near you - a whopperflower bursts out of the ground, sensing you in proximity. You dodge another fireball, instinctively flinching at the sudden flash of light and send an ice blade it's way. It slightly grazes the creature's skin, yet a mimetic plant rushes back under the ground as you summon another icicle and swiftly stab it in the "head" the second it emerges again.

The plant dies in convulsion, it’s reddish walls contracting around the blade, a fast stream of boiling hot energy nectar shooting from the wound the moment you pull away the weapon. You curse, as some of the liquid hits you on the leg, burning a part of your pants and scorching the flesh underneath. Hissing and gritting teeth, you use your vision again, now to soothe a throbbing pain.

Well, at least I am not freezing anymore.

You return at the first rays of dawn, dull pain still lingering in the lower body, pulsating and echoing every step. Slightly drowsy Nadia at the entrance nods at you, her gaze at your wound obvious even with a mask on, and you nod back, a wordless exchange providing a slight reprieve, before you have to deal with Childe again.

“Hard day?”, she asks right before you enter, a pale shadow of concern in her voice. You frown, confused by the sudden disquiet.

“Something happened?”

“Uhm”, a small pause, “the boss. He was restless tonight, very restless”.

Ah, shit.

“Well, that is unpleasant” you deadpan, any remaining desire to go inside the bank vanishing the same second: “Thank you anyways” and then you step in.

Harbinger waits right there in an absolutely empty lobby - it seems that Ekaterina’s shift hasn't started yet. He’s leaning on the wall, head turning to you as you enter and immediately noticing the state of your leg. His expression grows darker, when you thought he would lighten up at your perceived failure instead.

"Who did this to you?" he asks, hints of steel appearing in his voice. You lift your eyebrows - no teasing, starters or bravado. Maybe he's so impatient to hear about your failure that he forgot to keep up the act?

You swat away his question, deciding to report on your mission instead - documents were destroyed by a set up accident, none of the qixing and milleliths saw you; he doesn’t seem to listen though, eyes still glued to the burn and then he repeats his question, voice taking the dangerous tone.

“No one, no one did it. It was an accident on the way back”, he isn’t convinced judging by the way he grabs your arm, his monstrous strength evident in the steel trap grip. “Damn” you cuss, trying to free your hand - if Tartaglia learns that you let the whopperflower of all things injure you, he won’t let you live it down and will weaponise it, to point out your so-called incompetence over and over again.

“Let me go” you tug harder, a vision coming back to life from the distress. You pull away your wrist from him again and again and then you hear it first and feel it second - a small cracking sound and a sharp pain, shooting up your arm - you broke a bone. It’s too sudden for you to realize what happened or even properly sense the shock of ache.

He lets go of you in the same second, eyes looking blankly at the injured hand. His lips thin and he exhales, in a long and strangely controlled manner - seeing Childe act and look so emotionless is sure bizarre. He hauls you up bridal carry style, ripping out a low hiss of pain as his clothes rub against the burn, and directs himself to the stairs. You're too busy gritting your teeth and trying not to cry in front of Childe to notice him climbing past the third floor and only when he opens the door to his room with a kick do you finally snap back to reality.

Despite working for him for months now, you enter his quarters for the first time. It's a spacious place, with a wide bed and writing desk located near the window. There are different weapons decorating the walls - swords, claymores, spears - all with the traces of use, and a small pile of trinkets and children's toys on the desk, placed right near the started letter, some of them already half wrapped - must be a gift for someone, then.

He sets you down on the bed and turns to the wall, taking a dagger from its place and some small container. A part of you gets scared all of the sudden - you remember your morning thoughts and all those instances when his eyes focused on your body for far too long to be innocent or comfortable. Is this it? Did he get so fed up with you that he decided to drop any pretense and abandon the cat-and-mouse game you two seemed to have?

Ignoring the pain in both limbs you jolt for the exit - there’s no meaning in fighting him, yet you can still flee, lock in your room and then plan what to do. “Stop it” he says, a warning clear in his voice, and to your frustration it’s enough to glue you in place. You look at him, heart booming in your chest, barely suppressing a flinch at every step he’s taking. He leads you back to the bed, as you feel the world warping around you again and the worst part is that you can’t stop it - It’s unfair, I can’t leave, not yet, I will hate myself for the rest of my life if it happens.

He kneels down, blade slicing through the pants as you forget how to breath. His figure deforms, a dark blue sea leaking out of the dead fish eyes and you see great leviathans lurking underneath the surface. Childe is the ocean, in a sense that he contains horrors beyond the human imagination. He is the great sleeping kraken that will swallow the world and you are his first victim.

His hand takes something out of the container and you expect it to burn and to hurt you, but instead there’s a muffled soothing feeling that comes, an unintentional “ah” coming out of your mouth. He doesn’t force himself and patches you up on the contrary.

You come back to yourself little by little, when he almost finishes with ministrations, leg and wrist looking like two casts. It feels bizarre to come back to your body halfway, to see Ajax kneeling in front of you, head hung low and it’s even weirder to hear his voice, hurt and utterly defeated: “So that’s what you think of me”.

He helps you come back to your room, as you still feel dazed. You pinch yourself a couple of times, still unable to believe that any of these happenings are real, they are.

A turning point, you conclude, there’s no way anything will stay the same after this.

You both dread and anticipate the changes.

[clouditae]

First Love | 22

Yoongi x reader | 18+ | college au | tattoo artist au | angst | fluff

Word: 2k

omg hey it’s my birthday

You first saw him in the multi-purpose room. Later learn his name, and on your third year, as he becomes your neighbor, you discover his lifestyle. Knowing your crush on him was nothing but that, you wanted to find the courage to look for love. Asking your friend for help, you’re pointed in the direction of the expert. Your neighbor, Min Yoongi

Chapter Index

You’re not sure how long you’ve been on the bus, but you know it’s been long enough when the driver stops and tells you it’s his last stop. You look at him then out the window onto an unknown location. You get up from your seat, grabbing your belongings, but there’s nothing to grab. 

When did you drop your backpack? Did Ari grab it? Where are you?

You exit the bus, mumbling a “thank you” to the driver before stepping onto the sidewalk, eyes scanning the area around you. You’re standing in front of a bank that is closed, the lights inside showing an empty building. On the right side of the bank is a diner that’s still open, its neon pink lights shining brightly in the night sky, telling you it’s your shelter until you can get back to the dorms. 

Pulling out your phone from your pocket—grateful you managed to take it with you, you unlock the screen, go to your contacts, and click on Ari’s contact, the phone dialing her number. It only takes a few rings before you hear Ari’s frantic voice.

“Y/N? Where are you? Are you all right?” 

Just the sound of her voice breaks you. You let out a quiet sob, your head dropping as you tell her, “I messed up, Ari. I should have let him tell his side of the story—I shouldn’t have said those mean things to him, but he loves her.” You hiccup. “She’s his first love and I wouldn’t blame him if he wanted her back, but I don’t want that. I don’t know what to do.” 

“Y/N…” Ari sighs. “Where are you?” Your eyes scan up and down the street until you find a street sign, telling her where you are before she adds, “I’m heading over now. Get some dinner while you wait.” 

Ending your call, you wipe away your tears, and make your way towards the building. You enter the somewhat empty diner, the waitresses scurrying back and forth with orders, coffee for the late night drivers, and everything else. Looking along the booths, you take an empty table towards the middle. 

What is going on? What’s going to happen tomorrow? Is it all over?

You almost break down again, but a hot cup of what smells like hot chocolate is placed in front of you. You look up to see an elderly woman looking down at you with a warm smile on her face. “You look tired, sweetie.”

You give her a weak smile as you answer, “I’m very tired.”

“Long day at school?” Blowing at the hot liquid, you nod before taking a small sip. It’d be easier to tell her it’s school rather than a boy. “The hot chocolate is on the house. Can I get you anything else?” 

“We’ll have two orders of chicken strips,” you hear Ari say in your place, your eyes traveling from the elderly woman to your best friend who just entered the diner and takes a seat across from you. “To-go please.” 

“Got it, sugar.” The waitress leaves you two and heads towards the counter. 

“You got here so fast,” you comment, surprised to see her already even though the two of you got off the phone less than five minutes ago. 

“I was already looking for you. When you called, it turns out I was only down the street,” Ari tells you, resting her elbows on the table, leaning forward just a bit. “Now there’s a lot that happened today, Y/N. I’m not going to tell you what you should and should not do because it’s all up for you to decide. The only thing I’m going to tell you is to process everything.” 

You sigh in response, resting your head in your hands. “That’s a lot to process,” you confess. “Walking in on your boyfriend kissing his ex is not what anyone would expect.” You wipe at your eyes, realizing tears are forming again. “Dating someone who has a reputation of sleeping with people—I can’t believe I told him that.” Everything you told him comes flooding back to you. 

You feel guilty. Angry. Confused. 

“Talk to him. Tell him everything you’re feeling and just see what happens,” she tells you, her tone sounding encouraging. “Just talk to him, Y/N. When you’re ready,” she adds. 

You nod, wiping your eyes again before looking up to her. “Let’s talk about something else,” you say, hoping she can easily change the subject. Distract you from everything. 

“When we get to the dorm, let’s watch that new movie I was talking about. I bought a projector, so we can watch it on an even bigger screen,” she tells you, clearly happy to have bought the projector just for watching movies more comfortably. 

You let out a tired laugh. “We should get shakes, too, while we’re here.” 

Ari grins. “That’s my girl.” 

It takes ten minutes for everything to be in your possession. Ari pays mainly because you left your money in your backpack, but you promised to pay her back. She argues with you that you’re not going to, but you’re persistent in paying for your half. 

A short ride later, you’re sitting comfortably in your bed with your food displayed in front of you. A blue screen is projected on the white wall above the mirror closet while Ari gets her phone connected to start the movie. It takes her a few minutes, but she finally got the movie playing and food is being devoured almost immediately. 

Today is a lot to handle, but tomorrow you’ll talk to him and get the answers you deserve. 

You’ve never avoided Yoongi so much like you have now. You told yourself that you would talk to him the next day, but the second you open your door, he opens his and you immediately close your door. It might not have even been Yoongi, but you didn’t want to take that chance to see. 

It seems like you’re not ready. You’re not ready for his answer, or for your embarrassment if it really is a misunderstanding. You’re just not ready, and you wonder if you’ll ever be ready. You can’t drag it on like this, but you want to take all the time you need to find that courage to face him. 

You’re a mess. Plain and simple your head is a mess and your emotions are definitely a mess.

“That’s all for today,” your professor tells you, interrupting you from your thoughts. Grabbing your belongings, you place them in your backpack, get up from your seat, and follow your classmates out the door. 

You make your way out of the department building and head up the sidewalk towards the higher grounds of campus. Your next class starts in fifteen minutes, and it only takes you about a minute to get from point A to point B, but you just want to take a seat and just focus on anything that isn’t your problem. 

You round the corner of the building where your next class is. Off into the distance is the bus stop where a bus comes to a stop, the doors opening and people exiting the vehicle. You reach your classroom door when you see her. She’s stepping off the bus, laughing at something someone said. She looks so carefree and unbothered while you’re dying on the inside. 

Why? 

Why is she so calm and happy about all this while you’re the one he’s dating? She’s the one who ruined everything. She’s the one who can’t keep her hands and mouth to herself. She’s the one—what if he called her over?

What if he wanted it just as much as she did? What do you do about that? What if you’re still the distraction, or the bait and Sam happened to fall for it and want him back just as much as he’s wanted her since they broke up? What if you mean absolutely nothing to him?

Sam is long gone from your sights, but her smile is imprinted in your thoughts. You want to cry again. You want to cry so badly. 

Screw class. You just want to go back into bed and forget this ever happened. Forget you ever met him or her. You walk past the classroom door and head towards the bus stop Sam had just left. Maybe luck is blessing you this once because your bus pulls to a stop just as you reach the sidewalk. You pull out your card, enter the bus, and after hearing the familiar beep you make your way down the aisle and take a seat near the back door. 

A few seconds later the doors close and the bus takes off. You stare out the window trying to think of anything that isn’t Yoongi or Sam, but your thoughts are fragile. There’s nothing to think about when their presence is so strong and you don’t have the strength to push them out of your thoughts. So, you close your eyes and open them every now and then to make sure you don’t miss your stop.

When the bus comes to a stop at the back of the dorm building, you thank the driver as you get off. The gate opens as a car leaves the parking lot, blessing you again with luck so that you don’t have to struggle with the door. You take your trip across the back parking lot and up the stairs to your floor. Pressing your ID to the scanner, the door opens automatically, the hall empty as you enter. 

You can’t wait to take off your shoes, toss your backpack somewhere where you can’t see it, lie in bed and take the biggest nap of your life. By the time you wake up, Ari should be back by then and the two of you can go grab dinner with Hoseok if he’s free. Just a nice, relaxing rest of the day. When you enter your room, you toss your backpack and shoes, change your clothes into something more comfortable and lie in bed. It honestly feels like seconds before you fall asleep. Seems like you’re way more tired than you thought. 

When you wake up, it’s not because Ari just came in like you thought. You wake up on your own, surprised to see that light in the room has dimmed to a pink hue. How long have you been sleeping? It was only supposed to be an hour max. Your hands roam around on your bed for a few moments before you feel your phone. Tapping the screen, the clock on the screen tells you that you’ve been asleep for around three hours. You’re surprised to have slept for so long, but you’re also surprised to not see Ari in the room. 

Sending her a quick text, you climb out of bed and slip on your shoes. You use the restroom, wash your face to wake you up, and grab your ID along with your phone and make your way out of your room. You’re hungry and Ari may be eating with Hoseok on campus or something, so you’re on your own. Thankfully you can just grab your food to-go and come back to your room where you can watch something on your computer and enjoy your food. 

When you open the door, his door has just closed with him standing in front of it. The two of you make eye contact. You’re frozen in place, heart racing and thoughts in a haze as the two of you stare at one another in silence. He says nothing and neither do you. He looks tired, but that’s all you can read. His expression is empty. Like it’s always been when you first met him. It’s hard to read him, and that only makes you angry. What is he thinking? Is he hurt like you? Does he care? 

The gaze feels like forever but it’s only a few seconds, and just like that, Yoongi makes his way towards the staircase. Saying nothing to you. 

You don’t leave your room after that. You just close your door, lie back in bed, and text your roommate to buy you food. It seems like his mind is made up. 

Now all you have to do is make up your own and move on.

[fanficshiddles]

Tear You To Pieces, Chapter 8

Kelly was almost sick when she saw a pile of bodies right by the front doors of the tower. But when she got closer, she realised it wasn’t just any pile of bodies. It was a statement.

Natasha, Clint, Tony, Pepper, Fury and Bruce. Along with some other SHIELD agents.

‘Oh god, no!’ She sobbed and took a step backwards, her entire body was shaking in fear.

She looked up at the tower and suddenly dread flooded all through her. Her sister…

‘MARIA!’ She screamed and ran into the tower, past the pile of bodies.

The lifts were all broken, the electricity not working anymore. She ran as fast as she could up the stairs, taking three at a time where possible. She was out of breath and her legs burned in agony, but she couldn’t stop. She needed to try and reach her before he did.

Even if it was eerily quiet now, except for the sounds of sirens outside the tower…

She passed some more bodies in the stairwell, it broke her heart with each one she passed. The guilt was horrible, building up within her. She couldn’t believe she had been so foolish and trusted him, believed that he had changed.

Anger rushed through her as well as sadness and guilt, but she needed to concentrate and just find Maria. But when she finally got to the top floor, she went straight to the control room where her sister normally was. There was no sign of her. Just some dead bodies hunched over the controls…

After checking her room, still she had no luck. The corridors and rooms were all falling apart. Holes in the walls and roof, lightings and wires hanging out everywhere, the place was a complete mess.

Rushing into the common room, the cold wind breezed in and made her shiver. The large glass windows were all shattered, leaving no protection from the cold.

She felt a lump in her throat when she saw Steve lying dead, his costume torn. His shield was nowhere to be seen. Loki had killed the Avengers…

About to crouch down to Steve, she noticed another body a bit further away. And she let out a wail and a cry, it was her sister.

Slowly, she walked over towards Maria’s body. ‘No, no, no, no.’ She cried as she fell to her knees beside her. She leaned over her sister and tried shaking her shoulders, but there was a huge blow to her head and her eyes were open. She was cold, so cold…

‘NO!’ Kelly screamed as she then pressed her face into Maria’s chest, utterly broken. ‘I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.’ She sobbed into her.

While mourning her sister, she failed to hear Loki coming into the room, cracking bits of glass under his boots.

‘You shouldn’t be here, pet.’ Loki hummed low as he strolled across the room towards her.

She gasped when she saw Loki, and as much as she wanted to cower away from him and run, she didn’t want to leave her sister’s body either. She leaned over her sister more, tears still falling down her face. ‘You… you MONSTER! WHY? Why would you do... THIS?’ She yelled at him bravely, or perhaps foolishly.

Loki smirked as he stepped over Steve’s body without so much as a thought as he continued towards the mortal girl.

‘You should be kneeling before me, thanking me for sparing you.’ He hissed at her, drawing ever closer to her, unhurriedly, but with purpose with his large strides.

She shook her head quickly. ‘No… no! I could never thank you. You used me!’ She screamed at him.

He chuckled darkly. ‘Oh no, I’ve not even begun to use you yet. There is still something you’ve been keeping from me.’

Loki was just a few feet away from her now, with the most menacing look on his face that she had ever seen. It chilled her to the core. She knew she needed to run, she couldn’t let him reach her.

Looking down longingly at her sister for the last time, she scrambled to her feet and attempted to run.

Loki laughed at her. ‘Oh, pet. I thought you’d know by now how much I love to play.’ He growled.

Kelly ran towards the lift, forgetting it was broken. She pushed the buttons in a panic as Loki leisurely strolled towards her, unhurried and looking incredibly menacing with the biggest grin on his face.

Deciding on a different tactic, she made a run back to the stairwell door, doing a big circle past Loki as she most definitely didn’t want to end up anywhere near him.

She heard Loki chuckling darkly as she was almost there, but then suddenly he appeared right on front of her. Blocking her way out. She skidded to a halt, not wanting to run right into him. She backed away, then turned to run but another Loki appeared.

Then another, and another... Until she was surrounded by seven Loki’s, leaving her nowhere else to run. She cried out in fear and fell down to her knees, tucking her head into her arms she cried and prayed that it was all just a horrible nightmare. That she would wake up at any moment and everything would be fine…

‘Kneeling for me already, what a good girl.’ Loki teased as his clones vanished and he approached her.

He reached down and slid his fingers through her hair, seeing her visibly tremble under his touch. Both in fear and still some arousal, he could easily tell. His gentle touch turned rough as he gripped her hair and pulled her head back, so she was forced to look up at him through teary eyes.

‘Aww, come now, pet. It’s me, you don’t need to fear me…’ He hummed and slid his hand down to stroke her cheek softly. ‘Unless you misbehave and are naughty. So, be a good girl and do as you’re told, won’t you?’

Kelly’s lower lip quivered as she hesitantly nodded, not wanting to anger him. She knew his strength and power, that it was pointless to even try and get away from him.

‘Good girl, now get your pretty little ass over to the sofa and get on your hands and knees, bum facing outwards to me.’ He demanded and tilted his head in the direction of said sofa.

Her eyes widened, she didn’t make a move until Loki raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to do as she was told. Not wanting to risk it, she got up on wobbly legs and made her way there. She was barely at the sofa when Loki pushed her down onto it, hurrying her up.

‘We don’t have all day, pet. So don’t waste my time.’ He snarled at her as she tried to get into the position he wanted.

She let out a sob when he grabbed the top of her leggings and yanked them down along with her knickers, down around her thighs.

‘Ohhh, yes. Finally, I will get to claim what is rightfully mine. What you’ve been keeping from me all this time.’ He cooed and, with a surprisingly gentle touch, he caressed her bum first for a moment and then his fingers began to get dangerously close to her cunt.

‘Ple… please, don’t.’ She whimpered as she closed her eyes and hung her head down.

‘No amount of begging will help, pet. I should have taken you a long time ago.’ He said low as he slid his fingers through her folds.

Kelly felt sick at what he was about to do, she had thought and hoped that Loki would be her first time… But not like this, not in this way. Not this Loki.

She was nauseated at herself when she felt her body betraying her from the way his fingers were skilfully sliding up and down, rubbing over her clit that was getting more and more sensitive with every second that passed.

‘Ooo, I think you want this more than you want to admit.’ Loki chuckled. ‘You’re already getting wet, and I’ve barely even begun.’

Loki slid a finger down to her tight opening and he had just started to slowly push into her, making her whine in disagreement, when there was a loud whirring noise from outside. He looked over through the what once was a large window, to see a space ship pulling up outside.

It was some more heroes that had come to try and take down Loki. Kelly felt relief flood through her. But at the same time, more dread. As she knew if The Avengers hadn’t been able to beat him, how could anyone else do it?

Loki snarled angrily at the interruption. He looked down at Kelly, who was still shaking from head to toe and jumping at every little noise from the other heroes that were coming into the building. With a sigh, Loki hauled her up to her feet.

‘I am going to send you to safety, far from here. But you stay exactly where I put you… Because we are far from done here.’ He growled into her ear in warning and narrowed his eyes at her momentarily, then he teleported her away to safety, before going to deal with the low life heroes that had ruined his moment.

-

Kelly let out a yelp as she landed on a hard wooden floor on her bare bum, her leggings and knickers were still down around her thighs. She looked around in alarm, but was slightly relieved to see she was somewhere safe, it was a hotel room.

After getting up and pulling her leggings back up, she rushed over to the window, her eyes widened when she saw London Bridge right outside. Loki really had sent her far away…

But she quickly got her brain working and focusing, there was no way in hell she was going to hang around and wait for him to come get her, to rape her. So she bolted out of the room as quickly as possible, surprised that there was no spell on the door, but highly relieved.

No one cared about her leaving the hotel, the receptionist and everyone else was too busy concentrating on the news with what was going on in New York. But Kelly couldn’t bear to look at the TV, so she ran away, as fast as she possibly could out onto the streets of London.

-

Loki wiped out the second wave of so-called heroes with terrifying ease.

He had the biggest, most wicked grin on his face as he was surrounded by their bodies. The power was surging through him, adrenaline running high. It was the best feeling in the Universe. And he was loving every single second of it.

But this was only the beginning.

Before getting the whole of New York to bow to him, he had something else he needed to deal with first.

Kelly Hill.

He teleported to the hotel room in London where he had placed her. When he arrived in the room, he was displeased to see the bed had not even been sat on. He marched over to the bathroom and flung the door wide open, but she wasn’t there.

Roaring in anger, he stormed out of the room and flung every single door wide open as he passed, shouting her name as he walked down the corridor, causing other poor residents to scream and cower in their rooms in fear. Relief flooding them when he walked on by.

Everyone in the world knew of what he’d done in New York to the Avengers. It was all over the news and in special alerts to everyone’s smartphones.

The receptionist downstairs almost fainted in fear when Loki, enraged, approached her.

‘Room 504. Where is she?’ He snarled at her.

‘I… I… I don’t know… There… was no one… in that room… it’s empty.’ The woman blurted out quickly, shaking from head to toe.

Loki’s nose scrunched up and the vein in his neck was close to bursting as he angrily yelled out and his telekinesis exploded, causing glass to shatter and furniture to fly everywhere. Injuring a few mortals, not that he really cared as he stormed out of the hotel.

He glared up and down the road, but there was no sign of Kelly at all.

[pinkoptics]

AU-gust 2021 Prompts

3. Hipsters / 16. Hippies

Erik detests hipsters and hippies and, to be honest, isn’t even sure what the difference is, nor does he particularly care. The things he will do for Charles…

Modern AU. Still have powers. Grumpy Erik. Adorable Charles. Meet Cute. Silliness.

3392 Words

*

Erik hated everything about this place.

Absolutely everything.

He could write a dissertation on its failings, which were abundant.

Its first sin was being directly across from his apartment building. When he looked out his window, he saw it. When he stepped out of the lobby doors, he saw it. When he pulled his car out of the parking garage, he saw it. It was an unavoidable part of every single day of his life.

Its second sin was what it had replaced. Previously, there had been a diner. A kosher diner. A diner that had tasted like his childhood. It had been a hole in the wall, never looked quite clean, but the coffee had been strong enough to caffeinate an elephant and the food almost as good as his mama’s. Most people had passed it by. Just another slightly dingy New York eatery that you didn’t give a second thought. Quiet. A refuge for those in the know. Then came the hipster gentrification, ruining not only his precious diner, but the neighbourhood in general.

Its third sin was its name. Plant. In and of itself the name ‘Plant’ was harmless, inoffensive. Just a word. It conjured images of a vegan eatery, bistro, restaurant, or maybe if taken 100% literally, a store that sold plants. All of which would have been fine. He had nothing against plants and, sure, he ate meat (kosher meat), but happily ate vegetarian dishes as well. But no, it was not a plant store or even a vegan eatery, it was a vegan coffeehouse. Coffee came from plants, Erik knew this, so the name passed on that technicality, but it did not scream ‘coffee.’ Why not ‘Bean’ if it needed to conform to the trendy one-word-naming that had for reasons unknown come with the gentrification. It was couched between ‘Table’ (a restaurant) and ‘Sweat’ (a boutique gym). Plant did not equal coffee, and that knowledge crawled under his skin every time he saw the stylized lettering.

Its fourth sin was the coffee. Erik wasn’t particularly picky about his brew, whether at home or out. Cheap diner swill, the finest Italian espresso, the Keurig at the office, the ridiculously expensive machine that produced the perfect cappuccino at Emma’s apartment, whatever. Plant’s beans were fine as beans went, the roast satisfactory, but then ruined with its accompaniments. They carried a variety of ‘mylks.’ Yes, with a ‘y’. He preferred lattes, and would have been fine with oat or almond— if only it was spelled with a fucking ‘i’. Every time he saw the pretentious letter, he felt the urge to take a sharpie and commit as many acts of misdemeanour graffiti as necessary until all the ‘y’s were gone.

Its fifth sin was its staff. He could have tolerated their always sunny dispositions (even if it were literally impossible for any customer service employee to be that happy all the time). He could have tolerated their ridiculous hipster (or was it hippy?) apparel, moustaches, beards and hairstyles (what was even the difference between the two?). What he could not handle was the way they called him ‘friend.’ Every. Single. Time. He could count his friends on one hand and none of them worked at Plant. Their ‘peace, love and joy’ vibe made him grind his teeth and wish he had a mutation that would allow him to send them back to the 1960s.

And yet…

“Good morning friend! Amazing day, right?” It was, in fact, pouring so hard the streets were borderline flooding. “Usual? Or do you want to try—”

Erik had long ago learned to immediately tune out the suggestions, but was sure he caught the word ‘sage.’ Who in their right fucking mind wanted sage in their coffee? Yes, he was inside the loathed establishment wasting precious brain cells wondering why anyone felt the need to mess with the simple perfection that was coffee and milk. Yes, he was there often enough that the employees knew him on sight. Yes, he had a usual order.

It wasn’t his fault.

It really wasn’t.

It was the fault of a pair of the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

This shouldn’t have been the case. The whole thing was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. The entire story more at home on the W Network or Hallmark, than in his very real, not-a-rom-com, life. And yet, here he was, having his 24th latte with mylk in a row and questioning his very sanity.

It had all started, just over a month ago, directly in front of Plant. To this day, Erik wasn’t sure whose fault it had been. He’d been on his phone, eviscerating a junior partner for a monstrous fuck up, and so livid that he was not at all paying attention to his surroundings. The blue-eyed man he’d run into, however, had claimed equal distraction, so perhaps the blame rested on both of their shoulders.

They had crashed into each other— papers flew, his phone flipped through the air and they ended up in a heap on the sidewalk, Erik atop the smaller frame beneath him. Already late for work, already pissed off with the junior partner beyond reason, Erik had been ready to re-direct his anger and tear whoever it was a new one, when the aforementioned blue eyes had arrested the words in his throat. He had admitted this to no one. Hell, he barely admitted it in the sanctity of his own mind because he was not a 12 year old girl, but a senior partner in one of the most prestigious architecture firms in New York. He did not go soft over a pair of gorgeous eyes (except, apparently, that he did), particularly when he hadn’t even seen the face that went with the eyes, which could have been grotesquely unattractive (it wasn’t).

The mouth that went with the eyes was absurdly red and absurdly kissable. The face angelic. To his eternal, internal embarrassment he had thought that exact word— angelic. He wished he could have blamed his temporary insanity on hitting his head, but having fallen on top, he couldn’t. If anyone had a concussion it was the ocean-eyed, ruby-lipped angel man. The ruby lips had spluttered apologies in a gorgeous British accent (not something Erik had until now found to be a turn on) as they scrambled off each other, righting clothes and belongings.

“Your phone!” the man had moaned. “Is it all right?”

The screen did appear to have a crack, but in another moment of lunacy, Erik pocketed it before the Angel could see and muttered something about it being fine. Instead, Erik helped him to collect the papers that had fluttered every which way, including the road, where they were already being demolished by a steady stream of vehicles.

“I hope those weren’t important.”

The man laughed, it was a very nice sound. “Not as such, no. I’m sure my students will be delighted to hear that their papers were torn asunder. They already mock me for printing them at all. I could mark them on my laptop like a proper 21st century individual, but there’s something about the feel of paper and pen that I just cannot let go of. It’s— and, as I go on and see your expression, I realize a simple ‘no’ likely would have sufficed.”

What did he see in Erik’s expression? A man besotted? Enamoured? Smitten? Any other number of words he had never used in regard to himself or anyone else in his entire life? Fuck. Erik tried to school has face into its usual disdain for the world and ninety-nine percent of the people in it, but if he was as in control of his facial muscles as he was of his thoughts, he knew he was failing miserably.

Erik handed him the last of the papers they could possibly retrieve. “I agree— about the pen and paper, I mean.” He did. As incredible as design software was these days, he always started on paper. The precision needed to draw the perfect straight lines and angles of a new building gave him a feeling of immense satisfaction in a way little else did.

“Oh, well, glad I’m not the only one who hasn’t forsaken the old ways.”

His smile.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Erik cleared his throat. “Let me buy you a coffee.”

Had he just said that?

Traitorous voice.

Was he gesturing at Plant?

Traitorous body.

He’d never been inside. On principle. Apparently, principle flew out the window for charming British men with cornflower (cornflower?!) blue eyes. The man blinked those eyes, as though not expecting the kindness.

Erik gestured at the papers. “I’ve clearly set your work back and I’ve ruined your—” cardigan. Erik blinked as his clothes came into focus. The man he was suddenly, desperately, attracted to was wearing a baggy, grandpa cardigan. Erik began to wonder if he had never woken up that morning. Maybe he was still in bed, across the street. Maybe this was a fever dream.

“Oh! I’ve dozens more just like it. It’s nothing.” He swatted ineffectually at the dirt covering one sleeve.

“Please.”

The man cocked his head. “Well… all right.”

So Erik had. In the end it had been a tea, not coffee. Earl grey with mylk. The interaction had ended there, awkwardly. Most likely his own fault. He didn’t do flirting with random strangers he’d just plowed into on the street. He didn’t generally do flirting at all. Moreover, he was now very late and had the junior partner’s fuck ups to fix before this afternoon’s meeting with their client. So, he’d left, stumbling over his goodbyes.

The day that followed hadn’t afforded much opportunity to think on the chance encounter. Not with employees to castrate and clients to placate. It wasn’t until he was home, looking out the bank of front windows at Plant that his thoughts drifted back to Blue Eyes. Which was, unfortunately, what he had christened him in his head because he’d never gotten the man’s name. Erik had gone to bed, mind clouded with thoughts, dreamt of him, and woken up with those same thoughts. Emma had always said his was one of the most disciplined minds she had ever encountered.

So much for that.

It was only a complete loss of that discipline that could possibly explain why he’d unnecessarily crossed the street the next morning and entered the obnoxious establishment for a second time, without even a moment’s hesitation. His eyes had immediately scanned for a mop of just overlong brown hair (yes, he’d noted that too, as well as just how much he wanted to run his hands through it). When they’d landed upon said hair, curling delightfully upon Blue Eyes’ forehead, Erik had been genuinely surprised. This clearly made the man a Plant regular, which should have been a point against him — a massive point — yet here Erik was, seeking him out regardless. Blue Eyes had looked up at him then, gifting him with a smile and acknowledging him with a nod, before returning to a set of what Erik had to guess were re-printed term papers.

Such was the story of how Erik had become a regular customer with a regular order.

Most days Blue Eyes was there before he came in, sometimes working on laptop or in a notebook, other times reading a book or a journal. Erik had caught a title once — The Oxford Journal of Genetics — which led him to conclude, that along with clearly being a professor, this proved the man must have a brain to back up the looks. Another point in his favour, as Erik had no patience for stupidity, no matter how pretty a package it came in.

Erik’s day was such that he usually needed to take his order to go. The few days where he could scrape together a few extra minutes, he grabbed his own table. He hadn’t once attempted to kid himself that it was because he enjoyed the ambience— that level of denial would have been absurd. No, it was clearly so he could spend a few extra minutes trying to stare, in a way that wasn’t blatantly obvious, at his… crush. Crush. He might as well think the word because that’s what it was. Only days after meeting him, Erik had caught himself, pen poised, about to doodle hearts on his notepad at a meeting. The mental pinch and knowing look Emma had sent his way had made him extra testy for the rest of the day. The wide berth everyone but Emma had given him was a testament to that.

And yet…

He never approached Blue Eyes. They exchanged nods, occasional hellos, but never anything more. Out of all of his out of character behaviour — and there was a lot of it at this point — this rattled him most. Erik had a reputation in professional and personal circles. He was confident, forbidding, occasionally arrogant, and brazen in pursuing designs no one else thought possible to execute. Erik went after what he wanted in life with borderline fanaticism.

He did not sit and observe from afar, mentally warring with himself, while also berating himself, for not having the balls to ask to join him, or buy him another tea, or inquire as to what he was reading. There were any number of conversational openings, but 24th latte in, he still hadn’t taken any of them. With each passing day the side of him that decided against it (or ‘chickened out’ as the nastier part of his mind supplied) became stronger and stronger. Blue Eyes hadn’t engaged with him either. Maybe he wasn’t gay. Maybe Erik wasn’t his type. Maybe he was already in a relationship. The chances that he was being just as melodramatic as Erik was being in his own head seemed slim. So, Erik continued to act foolish — alternately wondering how long he would continue to do so and how good a kisser Blue Eyes might be with lips like that.

It was on latte #26 that everything changed— no thanks to Erik.

He had decided to sit at a table that day and engage in his usual ‘I’m staring but I’m not staring’ routine. He was in the ‘not-staring’ portion, scrolling through his emails without really paying attention to any of them, when he was startled out of it by the chair across from him suddenly becoming occupied.

Blue Eyes.

“I can’t take it anymore.”

“Wha—”

“You come in here every day. Every day. Sometimes you stay, sometimes you don’t. It’s baffling because there is one thing I know for certain— you hate it here. No, you loathe it. And, there are literally dozens of other coffee houses within walking distance. You clearly don’t belong—” Blue Eyes gestured up and down at what was likely Erik’s three piece suit, then at Plant in general, where there wasn’t a single person so much as sporting dress pants. Erik counted at least two man buns, one head of dreadlocks and a form of baggy pants Erik didn’t even have a name for. “—and I am fascinated by things that don’t belong. Things that don’t make sense. Puzzles. You don’t make sense. There is no way the coffee is that good. And yet, here you are. Oh! Where are my manners? I’m Charles.”

Blue Eyes — no, Charles — extended his hand across the table and, reflexively, Erik took it, shaking it gingerly.

Charles laughed. “I don’t bite. I entirely talk too much, ask anyone, but I don’t bite.”

Erik rather wished that he did.

“How did you— my suit?”

Thankfully, Charles seemed to follow his meaning. “Oh no, the suit is only corroborating evidence. As is the way you look down your nose at everything in here. It’s your mind.” Charles tapped his temple. “Telepath. I swear to you I haven’t dug any deeper than the surface swirl of utter distaste for this establishment. Then I’d know, wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t be here asking.”

Telepath. Blue E— Charles was a mutant. Erik was fairly certain his knees went a little weak. Good thing they were sitting. However… what on earth could he say? ‘I’ve essentially been stalking you’ hardly seemed like an opener that was going to get him where he wanted to be. Erik cleared his throat, buying time, as those keen eyes continued to look at him expectantly. While Erik wasn’t verbose, he also never found himself at a loss for words, except for here and now, where the truth was exceptionally embarrassing.

His pause, it seemed, went on too long because Charles jumped back into the fray. “Good lord, I’ve ambushed you, haven’t I? Clearly, you don’t have to answer the mad man who mowed you down on the sidewalk and then ambushed the peaceful solitude of your morning coffee. I apologize and will bugger right off if you tell me to. However, if it helps any, I don’t like it here either. It’s trying too bloody hard to be ‘on trend,’ isn’t it? For a cultural subset who pride themselves on not being pretentious they’ve entirely failed, haven’t they? And, I’m English, I know pretentious.” He laughed self-depreciatingly at that.

A beat for his mind to catch up to the second verbal barrage and Erik finally had a response. “If you like it as little as I do, then why are you here?”

Charles’ mouth formed a perfect little ‘o’ of surprise. He scratched the back of his neck and, for a moment, looked everywhere but Erik. “Blast. I’m caught, aren’t I?”

His cheeks reddened adorably. Since when did Erik find anything adorable? Since now, apparently. This man broke all of his rules.

Charles gave an adorable (christ) little shrug of his shoulders. “I suppose I best come clean.” He looked Erik squarely in the eye. “You’re gorgeous. You bought me tea. I came back thinking I’d ask you out. But you’re so… I lost my nerve. Have been doing the same daily ever since.”

“I’m so… ?”

The cheeks reddened further.

“Entirely too gorgeous for me.” Charles gestured at today’s grandfatherly cardigan. “Besides that—”

“You’re perfect.”

Fucking hell. When had his mind decided to say things without his permission?

It produced another, adorable, surprised little ‘o’. “I’m sorry— What?”

In for a penny…

“I had never set foot in Plant before we crashed into each other. Never would have because I do hate everything about it. Everything except you, who I thought were a regular—”

“I thought you were a regular.”

“— and wanted to ask you out.”

“I’d never been here before ei— you wanted to ask me out?”

They stopped, collective words sinking into respective minds.

Charles threw his head back, laughing. “If I didn’t know better—“ He tapped his temple again. “— I’d think you’re having me on.���

His laughter was infectious and Erik found he was smiling despite himself. He gave his own little shrug. “I don’t lie.”

“No, you don’t, do you? I can’t believe we both—”

“Me either.”

“This is too much. Wait… Why are we still here?”

“I’m sorry?”

Charles leaned forward and plucked Erik’s latte with oat mylk from his hand. “Can I buy you a coffee? A real coffee? Where they know how to spell the word milk? At the cafe I actually frequented before I began co-starring with you in a romcom so terrible my sister wouldn’t even watch it?”

He was already standing up, as if assured Erik would say yes, which every single bone in his body was blaring loudly for him to do. It didn’t seem to matter to any part of him that he would be blowing off work, a thought he discarded as quickly as it appeared. Just another out of character thing to add to the list. He followed. “I’m Erik, by the way.”

Charles looked back, as he collected his belongings, and grinned sheepishly. “I know.”

That was the last time Erik set foot in Plant until exactly a year later. He ordered latte #27 with Blue-Eyed Charles on his arm, after having crossed the street from their apartment, to celebrate their first anniversary. As Charles smiled at him over his Earl Gray with mylk, Erik found he couldn’t quite hate the damned coffee shop as much as he had before.

[blindingdutchy]

lamentation | ONE

{peter parker x fem!reader AU}

based on All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven

SERIES MASTERLIST

word count: 2,725

warnings: thoughts of suicide! unsuccessful attempt! depression, grief, angst

18+!!! minors stay away! TRIGGER WARNING.

Nothing made sense anymore. The world was upside down, all messed up, and you were hanging by a thread. How could it have been a year since the incident? How could you be okay with being older than her now?

Grief is something that nobody expects to be easy, but you never expected it to be quite so hard. Every day people promised that tomorrow would be better, but it never was. It never got better. It never got easier. You were fairly sure it never would, because if it still hurt this bad after thirteen months, twenty-two days, and six hours, how could one more hour, day, month, or year bring any sort of respite?

It couldn't. It wouldn't. Sometimes you wondered if this was your punishment. Maybe you felt this way because you deserved to, because you had earned a life time of suffering when you let her die. Sure, big sisters are supposed to look out for little sisters, but at the cost of their life? That couldn't go unpunished.

Every day was the same since she died. Wake up, wish you hadn't, feel everything and nothing all at once, and go to sleep. It was a strange and horrible existence; people weren't meant to feel so many big things at the same time. The guilt, the shame, the anguish, the longing... it consumed every part of you like a black hole until you were left with nothing. Until you felt nothing, thought nothing, you were nothing.

They were all the same until today. It was your birthday, your eighteenth birthday to be exact, and for once that ever present black hole in your chest was gone. Instead of waking up to the constant weight of all those heavy emotions on your shoulders, you woke up with the familiar numb emptiness you felt at the end of every day.

There weren't words to describe how much that terrified you. Every single day since your sister died, you'd wished endlessly for those painful feelings to go away. You'd begged for relief, for peace, and you'd taken solace in the hollow of the evenings. Waking up already vacant and listless did not bring the comfort you dreamed of.

You were officially older than her. You'd finally reached that first milestone she'd never reach, and the thought of it punched a hole in your chest so large you wondered if there was anything left of you at all. It wasn't fair--how could you celebrate the big ticket birthday she'd yearned for so anxiously? You couldn't.

You didn't deserve to celebrate. You didn't deserve to achieve all those goals she never had the chance to. You didn't deserve to live through all the years, experiences, moments that she never would. You didn't deserve to live.

It was all your fault, after all. It was your fault that she was there that day, it was your fault she lingered behind, and it was your fault she died. If you'd just gone shopping like she'd asked instead of insisting on going to the park, she'd still be here. If you hadn't frozen like an idiot, she'd still be here.

With a mind swimming with all the reasons everything would be better if you just weren't around anymore, you snuck out of your bedroom window. It was finally dark outside; you'd managed to make it through the day for your parents. But, with the day over, you couldn't hold on any longer.

The letter you'd written for your parents to find was tucked under your pillow, and with one final glance around the bedroom you used to share with your sister, you made peace with your life. This was for the best. Everyone would be so much better off if it had been you instead of her, and now you were going to make things right. It wouldn't bring her back, but at least you wouldn't be there as a reminder of what should have been.

As ready as you were, you didn't really have a plan. There were a million possibilities as far as how you could execute your desires, but none of them seemed right. It had to be fast, though, and something that didn't require much work. If it took effort, conscious thought and execution, you wouldn't follow through. You'd learned that the last time.

That was how you ended up on the roof of one of the more swanky apartment complexes. It was a tall building, taller than those surrounding it, and a fall from that height would surely do the trick. Strangely, the moment your feet dangled over the ledge with your bottom firmly planted in place, your mind went blank.

All those thoughts of the stress and pain you caused went silent, and you finally could breathe. With a deep exhale, your body relaxed for the first time since the incident; you didn't feel any of the bad things anymore. There was no pain, no grief, no sadness, nor were there any of those empty or numb feelings. You just felt peace.

The peace was short lived as you looked down to the street far below, though. This was it, this was the end, and suddenly your mind was racing with all the what if's. What if it could get better? What if it didn't work? What if this made everything worse? What if this was a mistake?

What if, what if, what if, "Whatever, just shut up." you gasped, clutching your head in your hands to keep it from spinning. "Get it together, (Y/N), this is the right thing to do."

Pulling out the letter you'd written to your sister, you opened it and cried for the first time in months. You'd long ago stopped crying; despite how many horrible things you'd been feeling, the tears just never came. But reading the words you'd written to her, thinking of her as you came to terms with your decision to join her, it was as if a metaphorical flood gate opened.

Thirteen months, twenty-two days, and seven hours. You couldn't wait any longer. You couldn't do it, do anything, anymore; you just needed to rest. The clock was running out, and your time was up.

"You can do this." you whispered, "For once in your life, do something right."

With shaky hands and weak knees, you scrambled up onto your feet and stood atop the ledge. You weren't that tall, but somehow the new perspective made the drop look so much longer and your stomach heaved with fright. Sobbing, you stumbled back to your knees and threw up the little bit of cake you'd forced yourself to eat earlier that evening.

You wiped the sick from your mouth and stood up again, this time with panting gasps for air and knees that shook so violently you feared you might fall before you were ready to. Maybe that would have been for the best, though, because the longer you looked down the more doubts you had. No one would ever know it was an accident if that were the case.

A sudden noise behind you startled you, and your heart seized in your chest as your knees gave out and you tipped dangerously over the edge. You didn't fall, though, because a sticky substance latched around your arm and dragged you back over until you were laying on the roof. For a moment you just laid there, staring up at the empty sky where the stars were all drowned out by the city lights, and you tried hard to figure out what had just happened.

"Are you okay? Oh--oh my god, are you hurt? What were you thinking? Shit, oh shit, Karen, what do I do?" A masked head leaned over your face, blocking the starless sky from your view, and all the feelings came flooding back like a tsunami. "Um, can you hear me?"

One feeling stood out against the current, and your body tensed as you were overcome with seething, white hot rage. An anger like you'd never felt before; you were furious. How dare he stop you? How dare he ruin everything?

It was Spiderman, the friendly neighborhood hero who'd been gallivanting around Queens for some time now, and that made you even angrier. Spiderman was one of them, one of the ridiculous superheroes who'd killed your sister without a single care in the world. He was one of them, and he'd just stopped you from finally fixing everything they had ruined.

You stood so fast you nearly threw up again, but you swallowed the bile down and hissed, "You should have let me fall. I wanted to fall."

Spiderman pulled you back with a firm grip on the web that was still wrapped around your arm, stopping you in your tracks as you stomped back toward the ledge. "Hey, stop! I'm not going to let you do this." he shouted, but his voice was more nervous than commanding.

"Get out of here, Spiderman. You're not saving the day by stopping me, okay?" you snapped fiercely. No matter how hard you pulled against the webbing holding you back, you couldn't break free. It didn't budge when you pulled at it, clawed at it, or even pried it. "What the hell is this shit?"

He pulled you in further, and you stumbled over your feet as you tried to keep your distance. "I'm not going to let you do this. You don't need to do this." he repeated, this time more firmly.

For a moment you were silent, studying the masked hero as he stared back at you with a hidden face. "You don't even know me. Why do you care?" you tried again, but your voice was softer, more fragile. The numbness was creeping back in again and you knew that you wouldn't be able to follow through anymore, even if he let you go.

"I do know you, (Y/N), and you don't need to do this. We can--I can help you. Let me help you."

Your eyebrows furrowed as you narrowed your eyes suspiciously. How the hell did he know your name? Did you know him? Even though your mind was running wild with unanswered questions, you seethed, "You can't help me. Unless you can go back in time and kill me instead of my sister, you can't fucking help me."

The eyes of his mask widened at your shout, and he stammered, "I--no, I can't do that, but I can help you. I can be your friend, you... you can talk to me. I know what it's like to lose someone, (Y/N)."

You scoffed, "Do you know what it's like to watch a family member die right in front of you? Do you know what it's like to see someone get killed, and it's all your fault? You can't help me!"

"I do, actually." he stated.

Your entire body slumped at the revelation, the anger leaving you as the numbness finally took over completely. It was silent for a few long moments as you cried noiselessly, the only sounds being those of your still frantic breathing and the bustling traffic far below. "If you know, then you know why I have to do it." you whimpered.

Spiderman dropped the web keeping you in place as you collapsed onto your butt, your legs too weak to support you anymore from exhaustion. "I know why you think you have to, but I also know why you're wrong. This isn't the answer." he responded, tentatively taking a few steps closer to you.

You didn't respond, looking up at him as you wiped your cheeks and nose weakly, and he took the chance to continue, "I'm going to make you a deal. I'm going to take my mask off and show you who I am. If you still want to do it after, fine, but at least you'll know who will be blaming themselves afterwards."

True to his word, his fingers creeped under the edge of his mask as he stared you down intensely. Your breath faltered as you watched, completely still as you realized he was serious. Spiderman was going to reveal his identity to you, and you knew that once he did it was game over. As much as you felt the world would be better off without you, you couldn't bare the thought of leaving someone behind to feel the way that you did.

So, stubbornly, you squeezed your eyes shut tightly and refused to look. "I'll wait here all night if I have to. Besides, I could just say my name, you know. I'm pretty sure you know me too."

"Don't." you pleaded.

"Open your eyes, (Y/N). You want this, right? Knowing who I am shouldn't change anything, then." he urged, his tone soft despite his harsh words. "It's Peter. Peter Parker. I've sat behind you in at least two classes since freshman year, and I've lent you pencils before. You always give them back, and you always let Flash copy your homework even though he's a total dick to you. You--"

Your eyes snapped open as you cut him off, "Stop! Just because you know things about me doesn't mean you know me."

It really was Peter Parker, and the numbness faded a little to make room for anxiety and guilt. You knew Peter had lost too much in his life; his parents and his uncle, too. Could you add your name to that list? Could you jump when you knew he'd blame himself for the rest of his life?

You couldn't. You wouldn't. Peter's brown eyes were filled with worry and sadness as he studied you, his mask clutched tightly in his fist. When you remained silent, he sat down and spoke quietly, "I know enough to know the world would suck without you. I could be your friend, you know, you don't have to do this alone."

"I don't need friends." you huffed.

Peter frowned briefly, before rubbing his nose and hiding it again. "I did just tell you my biggest secret, (Y/N), so I think we kind of have to be friends now." he finally rebutted, a faint twinge of humor in his voice, "You might not want friends, but you do need one. I'll be your friend."

You stared back at Peter blankly, uncaring as he shifted uncomfortably in your silence. Why did he want to be your friend? He already got what he wanted. You weren't going to go through with your plan, and he wouldn't have to live with guilt like you did every day. So, why was he still here?

Part of you wanted to believe he really cared, because he seemed to pay a lot of attention to you to notice the little things you did, but you knew better. He didn't really care about you. He only cared that you knew his secret and now you had leverage over him. You could out him if you wanted to, and that meant he had to keep tabs on you.

"I don't need friends." you repeated stiffly, "Don't worry, Parker. Your secret is safe with me."

His eyes widened as he stammered, "That's not--"

"Save it, Peter. Can you please just get this shit off of me so I can go home? I want to go to bed." you cut him off with a deep sigh, gesturing to the web that was still hanging from your arm.

He looked like he wanted to argue, to further plead his case, but after a few moments he visibly wilted and gave in. "It'll dissolve in two hours. I'll... I'll see you at school, (Y/N)."

It was a statement, but it sounded more like a question. You knew he was still hesitant to let you out of his sight, fearful that you'd go back on your word and follow through, and this was his way of confirming you wouldn't do just that. Achingly stretching up off the ground, you muttered, "Yeah. Bye, Peter."

Peter tugged his mask back over his head, but didn't make any move to leave until you were opening the door that lead back into the building. As you stepped through the threshold he gave a forlorn wave, before jumping over the ledge and swinging away. The door shut behind you as the weight of the world settled on your shoulders once again. You'd failed, like always.