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astroboots · 10 months

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EVERY YOU EVERY ME #11.5 SPECIAL

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Let’s start from the beginning one last time.

Word count: 5,800

Warning: Heavy angst and character death. Dead Dove do not eat.

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Let’s start from the beginning one last time.

My name is Miguel O’Hara, and in an experiment gone wrong, my genetic code was partially rewritten with Spider DNA, giving me superpowers.

My home is Earth 928-C where I was the one and only Spiderman... of my home dimension at least.

I invented and built a dimensional travel device that allowed me to jump between universes with the goal of exploring the limits of the multiverse.

And then I met a woman in this other world who nearly died from a crazy freak accident.

I saved her of course.

Then I saved her again.

And again, and again.

... And again.

We fell in love, and I decided to stay with her in her world.

You know the rest. We got married. We had a life together.

I was happy. Really happy.

For a while.

[Earth 383-D]

3 YEARS AGO

"Goddamn idiot bird," Miguel mutters under his breath.

Vulture is on the loose again, wreaking havoc on the city. The maniac is flying high above the city grounds, leaving a trail of mayhem in his wake.

Miguel's been in pursuit for the better half of two hours. In that time, the bird has derailed the High Line, literally hit a traffic light and managed to knock over the spire on the Statue of Liberty as if he was flying under the influence.

Then somehow flew across town through Tribeca, along Lower Manhattan and Greenwich Village and now reached all the way to Midtown Manhattan.

Dumbass ugly stupid bird.

Miguel digs his claws into the exterior of the limestone and granite of the Empire State Building to steady himself, using the momentum to leap forward.

The Vulture crashes into a skyscraper 50 feet ahead of Miguel, and in the mad dash, he can see a man tumble out of the building head first to the ground from the 30th floor.

Swinging forward, Miguel slings out a web from his palm, catching the screaming and sobbing office worker in midair and lands briefly against the windowpane. He ensures the man is secured to the building in a cocoon of webbing until the fire department can get him to safer grounds.

Miguel doesn't even get a second to catch his breath. From afar, he can pick up the sound of another window being crashed into by the unwieldy metal bird.

Crap.

It's impossible for Miguel to both chase the Vulture and keep everyone else in his path of destruction safe. One superhero can't be in two places at once (none that he has encountered).

Gritting his teeth, Miguel leaps off the building swinging freely into the air to make up on the lost ground between him and the metallic cuckoo bird.

He needs backup, and the backup is unfortunately running late.

Where is he? Why is he always late?

Does that man not understand that when someone calls for backup because of an emergency, the emergency part indicates that there's some urgency to it?

Flying through the air 100 feet above the ground, from the corner of his eyes, Miguel catches the familiar garish red flowing cape that billows from the cowl of the grand cloak and suit.

Miguel would know that weird wizard get-up anywhere.

"Strange!" Miguel calls out, and he can feel irritation rattle in his chest. "You're late! Where the shock were you?"

"The word you're looking for is 'fuck.' Where the fuck was I," the man responds with a sarcastic drawl.

Strange levitates through the air, effortlessly without expending any energy at all as he catches up with Miguel. "You gave me no notice. Be happy I showed up at all."

From a distance he sees the dumb bird soar high up into the sky and towards the all too familiar crowned roof of the Chrysler building.

No. nononono.

Why is he there? What is he doing there? Anywhere but there.

His back flashes cold then burning hot as the Vulture makes a straight beeline for the familiar building.

It’s fine. Maybe he’s not going to fly in there. Maybe he’s just going to fly past it.

Miguel watches as the metallic bird soars up and up and up, past the midpoint of the building, past the 40th floor of your office and up to the 50th floor. The tight squeeze in his chest eases.

Then the vulture stops, mid-flight and looks down below, as if he changed his mind, before he descends again.

Shit! Shit! SHIT!

He dives into one of the windows between the 40th and 50th floor. The sound of broken glass and shrill screams can be heard even from where Miguel is.

Blood freezes in his veins and nausea overtakes him. Calm down. Breathe.. Maybe you’re not in. After all, Lyla’s security protocols would’ve been activated by now if you were. He would’ve been alerted.

Soaring through the skies, Miguel reaches over to his wrist to punch in the dial for Lyla to check in and reassure himself you're safe. But his tracker blinks back in an alarming red, and he darts down his head towards the display.

Error.

His heart stops.

The flying silhouette reappears through the shattered windows and the metallic harness strapped onto the vulture gleams bright against the sun.

It’s only then it hits him. Lyla's been deactivated by the madman's stupid Electro-Magnetic Harness.

Why hadn't he foreseen that as a technical flaw?

Against the reflective glass panes, Miguel sees you, caught in the Vulture talons like a mouse captured by a large predatory bird. Every hair on his neck stands on end. His vision bleeds into red, blood roaring at the sight of it.

Kill him.

Miguel's gonna murder that freak for touching you. Crush his windpipe so he can't ever squawk again, then rip his throat out with his claws and feed it to the street pigeons for good measure.

Launching himself through the air, Miguel tears up the side of the building. The tempered glass beneath his claws and feet, shatters into sharp jagged pieces as he closes the distance.

He is almost within reach. Only some 30 feet that still separates you from him. Leaping the final distance he slams hard into the side of the Vulture until metal crunches beneath his feet.

Miguel roars until his throat burns with it. Palms gripping at the man’s jaw and prying it back to get at his bare throat. His fangs are ready to sink into the jugular. He can see the dark pupil of Vulture's eyes dilate with fear.

Good. Miguel's anger will be the last thing this freak sees.

"Miguel calm down," Strange shouts at him from behind. "You're gonna knock her off."

Miguel freezes at the warning, forcing himself to hold still as he looks down to where you are dangling precariously from the Vulture's claws.

"Be ready," Strange shouts, and Miguel looks to him, not understanding what the hell he means.

Strange rests his hand over the shiny blue gem hanging around a chain from his neck.

What does he mean by be ready? What is Strange going to do?

"What'd you mea–"

Miguel doesn't have a chance to finish the rest of his sentence. An unnatural force vibrates through him. A pulsating wave that pervades his senses, punching through his lungs and knocks him back.

In an instance, you're propelled away from Strange and the Vulture, and you are freefalling towards the ground below.

Miguel leaps mid-air, arms outstretched to catch you as you plummet towards the ground below. His fingers clasps around your wrists, your warm skin against his fingertips.

He's got you!

Taking hold of you by the arm, Miguel pulls you into his chest as he wraps one arm securely around your waist.

Immediate relief fills him from the inside out as the adrenaline and the searing anger is already starting to fade now that he knows you're safe.

"You okay, nena?" he asks.

You nod, arms finding purchase around the back of his neck, and squeeze down tight. He swings you both to the safety of a nearby rooftop.

There's barely time for him to touch the surface, he hears the nearby explosion and sees Vulture crash into the concrete wall of the nearest building.

Strange is levitating nearby, hands making wild gestures, presumably to perform some hocus pocus ritual. There’s a magical glow as strobes of light manifest out of thin air surrounding the Vulture from all sides and wrapping around him in a restraining bind.

Miguel sets you down. You're a little bit wobbly on your feet, and seeing you stumble the way you do has that protective streak spark anew in his chest.

Stupid Strange. He can't just do shit like that.

What if Miguel hadn't reacted in time? What if you had fallen?

This is why Miguel hates working with the guy, even if they’re friends. Always on his moral high horse about Miguel being reckless, then he pulls shit like this.

"Everyone alright?" Strange asks as he levitates through the sky to set feet close to you both on the rooftop.

Miguel grits his teeth with annoyance at the man’s casual demeanor when he nearly threw you out of the sky.

"Shock you, Strange," he spits out.

"Miggy..." you sigh in a reprimanding tone next to him.

Stephen shakes his head at him. "I told you. It's fuck"

"Fuck you, Strange."

Sanctum Sanctorum is closer than home and Strange has, comfortable sofas in his ridiculously big mansion. Big enough sofas that Miguel can actually lounge in them comfortably without it feeling cramped. It's why, given the choice, he always prefer to regroup there, over your tiny apartment.

Besides, while the man's control over his magical powers can be suspect at times, he used to be a doctor. Supposedly one of the leading brain surgeons in the world, and Miguel is a lot more comfortable at the prospect of Strange giving you a checkover to make sure you don't need further medical attention than trying your luck at one of the local ERs.

"Follow my finger," Strange says as he shines a little flashlight into your eyes and moves his index from side to side.

Your eyes follow him dutifully, and Strange proceeds with the rest of his medical check, asking you the boring standard questions. "Any symptoms of dizziness, lightheadedness, or a sense of vertigo?"

He fires them out in rapid succession, and a bit too perfunctory for Miguel's liking.

"Noticed any changes in your vision, blurriness or double vision, etcetera etcetera?"

Miguel's jaw tic in irritation at how Strange is putting in minimal effort and just going through the motions.

"Yeah, you're fine." Strange pats your knees, then whisks the flashlight away into nothingness with his cape.

That medical check wasn't anything close to thorough. Miguel crosses his arms over his chest. "Are you sure? Her feet were wobbly before, I wanted to make sure she didn't sprain her ankle."

"A little bit overprotective as always aren't we?" Strange says.

Miguel shoots the man a glare and Stephen sighs, "Her reflexes are fine, I don't think anything's sprained."

"Check again, you seemed sloppy," Miguel accuses.

"You know, I'm doing this as a favor because you’re a friend. Do you have any idea how much a medical examination by one of the leading neurological surgeons in the world would cost you normally?"

"I'll have Lyla transfer the money."

“No, it’s not actually about money just–" Stephen shakes his head, then sighs. "Nevermind.”

He gestures for you to drape your leg across his lap, then he reaches over to gently assess your ankle as requested.

"What is this necklace?" You ask. You lean closer to Strange, inspecting the blue gem where it rests against his chest.

Strange swats at your hand, the way an adult scolds a child with sticky chocolate smeared hands trying to touch the fine china.

"It's a protection amulet. When activated it forms a protective barrier that forcibly repels everything within ten feet of you."

"Huh," you reach back for the amulet undaunted by the earlier reprimand, fascinated and clearly enamored by it. "I'll give you fifty bucks for it."

Strange looks offended. "It's not for sale, and if it was it would certainly be worth a lot more than fifty dollars. It's a genuine magical artifact, not fake costume jewelry from the theater department."

You purse your lips, considering the amulet.

"Forty," you offer.

Miguel has to choke back a snorting laughter in his throat at the way Stephen's eyes goes wide in confused outrage.

"Wait, why is the price going down?"

“We’re in the middle of an economic crisis, Stephen,” you counter.

Strange's head darts over to where Miguel sits, presumably for backup, but he's knocked on the wrong door. The man must be mad if he thinks that there is ever a world where Miguel would side against you.

"Strange, we both know it’s easier if you just give her the amulet." Miguel says.

The man sighs, shaking his head in defeat.

"Be careful with it," he says as he drags the chain over his head to place it in your awaiting palms. "And don't lose it like the invisibility amulet with Mysterio. Had to spend a whole month clearing up your mess when that creep used it to get into the women's locker rooms at every local gym in Greenwich!"

"That wasn’t my mess! Miggy lost that one during an aerial fight. You can't blame that on me."

"You married him, so you're responsible for him. I consider you two jointly to blame."

"Now you're just lashing out," you shoot back.

Miguel watches the two of you in patient boredom, his head propped up by an elbow on the arm of the sofa. He expended way too much energy during the fight, and now he needs to refuel.

If Miguel leaves you two to it, you'll spend an eternity bantering, the way you do. His stomach growls. He wants food. Wants wantons and beef ho fun and a dozen custard salted egg buns for dessert. And the longer you two are at it, the longer it's going to take for him to get it.

"Nena," he calls out, "I'm hungry. Are you two done? I want to go for dinner."

You shoot Miguel a quick smile, pulling out your wallet and take out a wad of green bills then fold it into Strange's hand with a happy grin.

Strange looks down at the crumpled up money in his hand. "Wait, you're only giving me thirty? I thought we said forty."

"You still owe me like ten bucks from mini golf last week."

Strange pockets the money with a grumble. "Unbelievable."

“C’mon,” Miguel says as he stands up and gestures to the both of you with a curt nod of his head towards the door. “Let’s go. I’ll pay for dinner this time,” Miguel says, and that seems to abate Strange’s outrage somewhat as the man grabs your coat from the sofa cushions and offers it to you.

Life on Earth 383-D is strange.

Life here is borderline primitive. The technology is something out of the stone ages.

Social media is a wasteland. Reality TV is a dystopian concept. And he doesn't understand who Kardashian is or why everyone is obsessed with her and her family.

He does like fax machines though. They are basically teleportation machines and it boggles him that the people of your dimension do not seem to understand its potential.

The one thing he will give this version of earth credit for is that the food here is nice. Everyone in his home dimension is too health conscious, and fried food has long been banned by the government for the long term damage it does to the cardiovascular system.

He also likes the life that the two of you have built together here. You have a home in that tiny shoebox apartment. You have friends. Strange friends. Like the Doctor who flies around with the help of a magic cape and now practices the mystic arts after a gap year in Asia. A young girl whose main superpower is the ability to communicate with squirrels. Then there’s that ugly red-masked wise-cracking, katana-wielding maniac who never dies.

Sadly, your friends are not the only thing that is strange about your surroundings.

Miguel perches himself on top of the Chrysler building sitting hunched over on the ledge of the roof. He’s drained and bone-tired, chasing down a helicopter that had gone haywire and was hurtling towards your office building.

Luckily Strange was able to assist and sent it through a magic portal to crash into the Atlantic without putting any lives at stake.

"Just had to do some cleaning up," Strange says as he sets his boots back down on the ground.

Miguel doesn't answer him, staring out at the city view and the setting sun as he takes a well earned breather for a moment or two. New York is a bit of a shit hole, but it does look pretty from a high viewpoint, especially when the sun is setting, Miguel has to give this city that.

It's silent between the two of them. Or at least it is until Strange decides to break it with a harkle of his throat. When Miguel doesn't react the man does it again, coughing discreetly in a clear attempt to get his attention.

Miguel doesn't say anything about the man's sore throat. He ran out of the lemon drops you bought him as snacks hours ago, but he does tilt his head up at the man.

"She's been getting into a lot of these incidents lately. More than usual, more than any normal human for it to be a coincidence" Strange says.

The whole of Miguel's back stiffens.

"Have you noticed the abnormal uptick in strange unexplainable supernatural occurrences lately? Indoor tornadoes. The rain of poisonous frogs outside of whole foods. A sinkhole appearing right next to the cafe your wife frequents."

Miguel doesn't love the insinuations. Even with his lips pressed tightly together, Miguel can feel the small muscle in his jaw flex like a nervous tic at the mention of it. Because yeah, he's noticed, kind of hard to miss when your wife's life is in constant peril at all hours of the day.

Ice storms in July that hit right outside your workplace. An inexplicable solar flare causing a blackout that had every single vehicle within a 5 miles radius go haywire in the dark near your apartment. A swarm of mutated mosquitoes with a venomous bite that chased you down Central Park.

The incidents are occurring more frequently. They are also getting increasingly bizarre and dangerous.

No one can say it’s just bad luck when the daily occurrences around you are defying the very laws of nature itself. Something isn't right with the universe, and he's not sure what else there is to do except pretend that everything is still ok.

"What are you implying?" Miguel asks through gritted teeth.

But for the first time in the years that Miguel has known him, Strange's talkativeness is nowhere to be found. He doesn't answer Miguel. He's smart that way, the clever bastard. Knows that if he says one wrong word, Miguel is going to unhinge his jaws like a feral alligator and snap at him.

Strange has said what he needed for Miguel to know exactly what he's getting at. The man just meets his eyes with an intentional stare, not shying away from Miguel's glare.

It's not like the thought hasn't crossed Miguel's mind. Not like it hasn't been keeping him up at night, every night.

Even though you've always been accident prone and suffered from bad luck, at this point it's a mathematical impossibility that anyone would run into as many near death incidents as you have.

This isn't by chance. It's by design. Miguel's suspected as much for a while now. He just doesn't know whose design and why.

"It's not her fault," Miguel spits out.

"I never said it was."

"Even if what you are saying is true..." Miguel stops, and stares down at his fisted palms with a sinking feeling in his guts. "There's nothing she can do about it to stop it. You can't put that on her."

"Whether she knows about it or not, if it's true, none of this is going to go away.

Strange walks over to where Miguel is, sitting down next to him.

"It’s been escalating in severity," he continues. "There are strange universal energies attached to her. There’s warping of the universal order and space around her. We don't know how bad this can get, if we don’t do anything about this, it could unravel the fabric of reality itself."

Despite the calamity of what Strange is implying, his voice is even and calm as he says it as if he might as well be discussing the weather. That trait has always annoyed the shit out of Miguel.

"What are you planning to do if this continues?" Strange asks.

It's such a silly question. Strange says it as if this is a multiple choice question. But for Miguel there's only one correct answer.

"Protect her. I have to. She's everything to me."

Miguel is staring into the sunset bu all he sees before him is your face even though you aren’t here. The happy smile that he wants to preserve forever. He tries to fight the ache that's building in him at the thought that it would go away.

"Strange, don't tell her. Please. She doesn't need that burden."

He fists his palms into his side.

Miguel never liked asking for help, but even he knows that if what Strange is saying is true. That if the universe for some unfathomable reason wants you dead, then he's going to need all the help he can get.

If Strange has figured it out. Then it's only a matter of time before others do as well.

Soon enough, you won't just have the universe coming after you but every superhero and villain combined in a united front to take out the common threat that you pose to this entire universe.

Even Miguel knows he can't do this alone and as much as that helplessness tastes like failure and bile in his throat, he can swallow his pride if it helps keep you safe.

"Stephen, you have to help me save her."

From behind, Strange rests one hand on the corner of his shoulder. The weight of it feels like a promise being made. For the first time in a long time, Miguel feels like he can breathe just a little bit easier.

"I will do what I can, my friend."

Weeks go by. There are more incidents. Runaway vehicles that go haywire. Electrical storm fires. Rain of poisonous locusts.

Somehow he manages to protect you from it all.

It just means that he has to be more vigilant, that's all. The universe doesn't rest and neither does Miguel now. Lyla has been set on constant alert to wake him up whenever he's napping at any small signs of abnormal occurrences happening near you, with an electric shock to make sure he wakes. Something the A.I. is taking a worryingly amount of glee in (which probably means he needs to retune her programming when he has time).

And today, today Miguel was meant to have a Sunday lie in. Universe be willing, his goal was to sleep all the way into the late afternoon and then you had promised to take him to IHOP and get him all the pancakes he could eat for late breakfast.

But right now he's not asleep. He's trying to. But there are hushed words and whispered murmurs, buzzing in his ear that keeps trying to drag him away from sleep.

It's you and Strange.

Judging from the distance of the noises, you're both standing outside in the hall. The fact that you two are trying to be quiet makes it worse. If you'd spoken in normal volume he could tune it out as white noise, but the conspiratorial quietness of it all makes the hair on the back of his neck tingle with alertness.

Fuck's sake. He swears to god if you two are gossiping and making fun of Hercules’ costume (or the lack of it) again.

It's too early for this crap. Don't you two know that people are trying to sleep? He was up all night chasing crazy Kraven worshippers releasing animals from the Brooklyn zoo. Miguel had to gather wild zebras and crocodiles all the way down East Village til 4am.

With a groan, he drags himself halfway up along the mattress, about to go and growl at you both to be quiet, when the cluttered noises register as words and the fuzziness of sleep clears momentarily.

"He'd destroy this world for you."

Huh? What are you two talking about?

Miguel's too groggy to make sense of the context of what's being said. Even with his super hearing he has to focus to make out the words.

"You can't let him."

Irritated, he gets out of bed and walks to the front door to swing it open. The first thing he sees is you standing with Strange in the hallway. You jump at the suddenness and look up at him with wide eyes.

You have the worst poker face of anyone he's ever seen in his life.

"What are you two jabbering on about this damn early?" he asks.

He'd expected the two of you to act coy, maybe a clever 'wouldn't you like to know' retort back from the Mystic. Instead, Strange's face is entirely inscrutable, tone serious as he responds.

"We were just catching up. Nothing important. I need to head back," Strange says, then he turns to you with a meaningful tilt to his head. "Think about what I said."

"What was that about?" Miguel asks you as he watches Strange step through a portal and disappear.

You don't say anything. There's a worried frown etched between your eyebrows as you bite down on your lip.

Something crawls under Miguel's skin at the whole interaction.

You're oddly quiet the whole afternoon. Deep in thought and walking around as if in a daze, which unsettles him.

It's not difficult for him to guess what's wrong. He might have been half asleep when you and Strange were whispering in the corridors, but Miguel can put one and one together. Having two PHDs and a lifetime's experience of working in theoretical physics gives you that leg up.

In a last ditch effort to get you out of the uncharacteristic blues, he orders a dozen of your favorite cupcakes from that tiny shop in New Jersey. It costs an arm and a leg to have it couriered, but it'll be worth it if it makes you smile.

Then he sits down next to you on the bed and places the pink pastry box down on the mattress. It's your favorite place to eat cakes and it’s why you two always end up with crumbs and frosting all over the sheets.

You happily cram half a cupcake into your mouth in one bite as you eat, and he watches you contently. If there was any fairness in the world, this quiet idyllic moment could last forever. In a good world, Miguel wouldn’t have to burst this perfect bubble.

Sadly, this world is neither fair nor good sometimes.

"Strange said something to you right?" Miguel asks.

You still next to him, clearly torn between whether or not to share what was said to you, probably in secret with the very intention of being kept away from him.

“Nena,” Miguel tries again, and you close your eyes taking a deep breath, caving into his prodding.

"Strange thinks that my incidents might be correlated with the strange natural occurrences lately."

That fucking asshole. He knew it. Irritation pings across his jaw, and Miguel bites it down. He tries to reel it, forcing back the rant that wants to surface. Instead he tries to focus on you instead of his own anger.

"We don't know that. It could just be a series of coincidences," Miguel tells you.

You nod, but Miguel's not an idiot and neither are you. He can see the worry creasing your eyes as you look down to your lap.

Putting down the cupcake, he reaches over and links his right hand with yours.

"Nena, don't worry.” He cups his free hand over your cheek to drag you up to meet his eyes.

“I'll fight the whole universe to keep you safe if I have to. Nothing's ever going to harm you so long as I'm here. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. You're the most important thing to me."

You smile at him at the words, but there's a wistfulness to it that embeds a dull ache in his chest that he wants to physically rub away to make it stop.

You lean into his touch, until your forehead presses up against his and the physical touch blunts the ache in him for a moment, putting it on pause.

"You’re the most important to me too," you say.

The sky itself cracks open not long after.

It doesn’t take the combined forces and intellect of the entire world too long to hone in on you being the root cause. Soon enough every superhero, mutant, villain and alien starts coming after you. Because hero or villain alike, no one truly wants their world to end, not if it’s not on their terms.

Mysterio tries to kidnap you by the elevator in your apartment building. The Human Torch even tries to burn the whole building down. The Punisher tries to murder you point blank outside your office.

Miguel can’t remember the last time he slept. He’s running on fumes. Day after day, he feels like he’s getting by on borrowed time.

The friends and allies you have thin out fast as the threats to the world increase in severity. Miguel never imagined having Deadpool standing outside his door stating that the life of one single person cannot outweigh the universe itself.

It’s all so stupid. None of them know what they’re talking about. A lynching mob with their torches and pitchforks. Never stopping to think whether harming you could trigger something much worse.

If Strange is right and you are the knot at the center of the fabric of reality that is coming apart, then ripping that out leaves a hole. Miguel gave up on explaining that fairly quickly because he realized that theoretical consequences doesn’t matter to an angry mob scared of facing the reality of extinction.

It all becomes a blur.

Exhaustion eats into his bones, until he can no longer tell the days apart. No matter how many times he saves you, disaster is always waiting just around the corner.

And now he’s chasing down the Green Goblin to the top of the Chrysler building from the 61st floor, where the green freak has cornered you to the edge of the rooftop.

Miguel is already out of breath, running away from the coalition of superheroes and villains that are hot on his heels, trying to stop him from saving you.

Adrenaline beats fast in his veins as he keeps running. Miguel is only able to make out those in pursuit in brief glimpses. The bright blue spandex suit of Reed Richards as his freakishly long elastic limbs stretch towards him. The blocks of metal hurtling towards Miguel, missing by inches and crashes into the side of a building as Magneto’s form hovers nearby.

He ignores them all, not sparing a glance behind him. He just has to keep moving. It doesn't matter that his muscles scream and burn in exhaustion. Doesn't matter that his head dulls with a heavy ache from lack of sleep. He has to keep going for you. Has to save you.

He's so close, he's almost there.

From the corner of his eyes, he makes out the familiar garish red flowing cape fluttering against the blue sky.

Strange.

Miguel marginally relaxes, at the sight of the sole ally he has left in this universe. He leaps across the rooftop, into the temporary safety of the observatory deck.

His feet doesn't even reach the ground. Something restrains him from behind. Bright lights materialize out of thin air. It wraps around Miguel's limb with the strength of unbreakable manacles, hugging him so tight it restricts the flow of blood to his fingers. Then he’s brought down to his knees.

Miguel whips his head back and Strange stands there, hands formed in a holding gesture.

“What are you–”

"I'm sorry," Strange says.

Miguel snarls at his restraints, wrenching and twisting in every direction he is able to even with the limited range of motion, but it's to no avail. The harder he struggles the more forceful the restraints seem to close in on him, mirroring his strength.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this. I really hoped there was another way but every life in the whole of the universe is at stake, Miguel."

Hot burning anger spears through him, and if he could he would raze it all to the ground with it. This place, this world and this fucking traitor standing there can all fucking burn. Miguel is gonna kill him. He's gonna kill this fucking bastard. He can't believe he trusted him.

“Strange, fucking let me… Stephen!”

He hears your pained shout and snaps his head towards the sound.

Miguel is only ten feet away from you. Ten measly feet from where the Green Goblin is holding you by the ledge of the rooftop. He can still reach you, if he can get free he can still save you.

Tearing through the magical binds, there’s a bone-cracking sound in his shoulder. Searing pain spreads through his arm. For all his struggles, he doesn't know if he’s even an inch closer towards you.

He watches you drop from the ledge.

It's a pin drop moment where everything stops. His heart is no longer beating.

No. This can't be how it ends.

He's moving forward, even as the sharp restraints digs into his limbs and flesh and burrows in with an excruciating ache. But the pain doesn't matter. All that matters is you.

It claws into him, and digs and tears, until he is sure that his entire limbs are going to be torn off, but he doesn't stop, keeps pulling against the resisting strength that surrounds him, rips against the hindrance embracing every ounce of the pain until finally, the pressure gives.

There's a cacophony of sound that's left behind him as he leaps through the air. He slingshots downwards, cutting through air as he tries to reach you.

Miguel catches your hand and relief fills his chest.

"I got you. I got you," he murmurs. He's not sure if those words are to calm you or himself.

Pulling you up in defiance of the pull of gravity, he tries to haul you up towards him. Your hand squirms in his, and if you keep going you're going to slip out of his grasp.

"Nena, don't move," he shouts in alarm, but you don't stop, twisting in all directions, making it harder for him to get a better grip.

What're you– You're resisting against his strength, why would you...

It hits him with a sickening realization.

You don' want him to save you.

"Stop!" he shouts. “Stop!”

You shake your head, tears filling the corner of your eyes that flow upwards and everything is upside down to him.

"We’re out of time. You have to let me go,” you say.

His fingers squeeze down even harder at your words, refusing to hear it.

“There's still time. There are still other options. I can still save you!”

Your hand reaches for the amulet pressed against your collarbone. Dread floods every nerve in his body as he sees your fingers squeeze around it.

"No!" He shouts. Screams it so loud it burns in his lungs. But deep down he knows it's not going to make any difference. "Nena, don't!"

The wind whips too loudly against his face. The sound of your heart pounding so painfully hard in his ear that it's deafening and he knows that sound will haunt him forever.

You're scared.

He sees your lips move, but he can't hear what you're saying.

But he's heard these words so many times before from your lips that he knows them by heart.

''I love you.''

An invisible force blasts away at him, it shatters through him through his limbs and torso into the very soft tissue of his stomach and makes his teeth shake. He's propelled upwards, unable to control his movements or defy the gravity that he's learned to navigate after all these years mid-air.

He holds on as hard as he can to your hand, but it doesn't matter. His fingers slip, his grip is lost.

You're falling through the sky.

Miguel doesn't remember much after that.

Somehow he makes it back onto the ground.

Somehow he finds you amongst the cracked dirty concrete.

Somehow, despite falling from over a 100 feet your body is still intact where it lies lifeless on the ground.

Your bones are broken though. Body limp and soft in his arms in a way that has never felt more wrong to him. His only consolation is that you're still warm in his arms, and he thinks that maybe if he just doesn't let go, if he holds you tightly pressed to him the way he is doing now, it'll remain that way forever.

The sky has cleared above. There are no cracks in the azure blue canvas.

This world is saved.

His world has ended.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: To @thirstworldproblemss who has been with me on this journey since chapter one without her enthusiasm and her companionship and friendship and listening to my wild ramblings about this story, I would never have set out to write this thing. She gave me so much joy in the process, she also gave me her time and her skills and brainy talent to help me process and brainstorm this into a shape that I was excited to share with you all! You also have her to thank for that devastating last line.

@guruan who has been a constant well of inspiration with her amazing art, her bright sense of humor and her sharing of theories of what's going to happen! You've made writing this story so much fun!

Author's note: Here we go guys, we've officially entered the final arc now. With only three chapters to go! I am so excited to share the remaining puzzle pieces with you all!

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse #marvel #marvel mcu #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you

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lordgrimoire · 1 year

Text

The Amity Parkers

Inspired by This Post, which is long, read the many reblogs and tags and comments, it’s fun!

Tim was Ninety Percent Sure that he was going absolutely insane, granted it was a long time coming. Danny Fenton, his Chemistry teacher and Dash Baxter, his Phys Ed teacher? That was two people from the same practically non-existent town in Illinois, but add onto that the fact that even MORE people kept showing up in Gotham from sleepy little Amity Park and proceeded to either A:Thrive or B:Thrive but with the Energy of a Kryptonian having nonstop contact highs.

After his two teachers, or more accuratly before, there had been Jazz Fenton, a new Psychiatrist working in Gotham and making rather noticeable strides in things. Then arrived her brother and Baxter, who had applied roughly at the same time in the aftermath of a Rogue attack on the cities water treatment plant, and the floodgates seemed to less open more fly off the hinges as though breaching charges had been used.

Now there were MORE people here, there was Tucker Foley, working at Wayne Enterprises as a coder and a damn terrifying one to boot, Sam Manson, an activist who ended up throwing Tim during one of his Red Robin patrols where he’d come across her “Protest Site” which had been a small park in The Narrows. Wes Weston, a cop, had been giving his coworkers and his Chem teacher NOTHING but grief, insisting that Fenton was doing “Something” wrong but never quite being able to get things to stick, upon further digging this had been a long running one sided rivalry. There was also a SECOND Psychiatrist, Paulina Sanchez, at Gotham Academy who was also from Amity Park, and her files were airtight, as Damian’s most recent hacking attempt and Tim’s own follow up had failed to breach her firewalls.

So, here Tim was, staring at Danielle “Dani/Ellie” Masters, Dr. Fenton’s CLONE and the Academies newest but also most feral teacher as she boxed the Joker hard enough for an audible crack to be heard from their classroom from where she was fighting the demented clown on the field. Baxter was still running his class as normal, though a bit further away, and Dr. Fenton was still teaching their class, while Tim was trying to get Extra Credit and vengeance on the Doctor through today’s extra credit task, making a tracker that could track Doctor Fenton for Twenty Four Hours.

Why was he seeking vengeance you ask? Well given the fact that Jason brought Doctor Fenton to Family Dinner last week [with Alfred’s blessing] and had come in with the most gremlin-esque energy he’d seen from a Non-Rogue. Now don’t get Tim wrong, he likes Doctor Fenton, he may be demented as all get out but he was regularly making counters to drugs and toxins that seemed to just inhabit Gotham. BUT! Doctor Fenton and Jason had been so sickeningly cutes-y with each other at Dinner, like a couple of Birds of Paradise trying to one up each other.

Then of course was the “Story Time” where the two had teamed up to tell embarrassing stories, though Danny held back, a touch. It didn’t absolve him, especially with how he egged on Jason, which very much didn’t help the whole “I know you’re the Bats” situation. AND THEN! There was the fact that a majority of the Amity Parkers KNEW that they were the Bats, It was as though they had gone through this whole song and dance before, which given prior statements of Doctor Fenton having “Hung up the Cape” seemed to imply he used to be a hero in Amity Park, where your average joe could one on one a rank and file leaguer or at least give them a rough time.

The fact that a semester of training from Baxter and Fenton alone had made Tim’s year group capable of facing off with the JL was a testament to that.

Speaking of which, some Junior Leaguers were coming to Gotham, if only for a place where they were not as “Strange”. Some of those moves may have been encouraged with the recent custody battle between Luthor against Vlad and Danielle Masters regarding Connor, who was a Copyrighted clone as it turns out, which had resulted in Connor being made a ward of Danielle Masters, who had chewed Superman out HARD along with her Original, Doctor Danny Fenton himself.

Suffice to say, Clark did NOT get majority of Custody, and only got every third weekend, which was terrifying in Tim’s opinion that this small town mayor who was as wealthy as Luthor, had turned up, legally thrashed Luthor, and then given custody over to his daughter, thrashed SUPERMAN with KRYPTONIAN LAWS, and then gone back to Amity Park Illinois to resume his Mayor-ship there. The fact the town was essentially a self governing and self sufficient region meant that the League was now VERY AWARE of it, and the fact that the League of Assassins had tried and FAILED multiple times to infiltrate the town, with more people going rogue than staying loyal, with only one out of nearly two hundred assassins returning to Nanda Parabat, critically wounded and very much insane.

In Tim’s opinion? Amity Park raised people similar too but far more prepared than Gothamites, for while Gothamites may have the Fight in their bones, Amity Parkers seem ready to back it up with experience, training, and life experience.

But then again, Mr. Lancer had been an immigrant to Amity Park, and he was the blueprint of sorts for all of his students who had gone into teaching, much the same for how Batman was the Blueprint for all the other Bats.

____________________________________________

Tagging some Folks included in the Masterpost

@plotwholls @welcometosasakiworld @bonebrokebuddy @transsunmoonwizzard @omnicrafts @vala-dreams @fox-sama97 @tired-mom @kyrianclawraith @americano-psycho @mikami1992 @thecatchat @stealingyourbones @mutable-manifestation @britcision @dxrksong @kawaiikenna @mrowsters @the-gay-florist @thatgaydemigodnerd @0satellite0 @afanofmanyships @pencil-for-a-dog @any-mouse

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #liminal amity park #danny fenton #dash baxter #wes weston #paulina sanchez #danielle fenton #jazz fenton #tim drake #mr. lancer #vlad masters #lex luthor #gotham

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lovifie · 4 months

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Her Royal Highness Pt.4

Masterlist

Prologue — Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4

“Mornin’ Princess.” Soap is the first one to see you arrive at the courtyard. He looks at you with a cheeky smile as always.

“Good morning, Johnny.” You greet him smiling as you jog a bit to stand next to him close to the light torch next to the door.

The sun is still not meant to be out for another couple of hours, but because the castle is so far away from the next town, the king decided to leave so early to make it there by nightfall. Last night you packed all your most liked clothes for the travel, leaving out the warmest dress with the warmest cape you owned. But still, being used to being sheltered inside of the castle, the chilling cold of the early hours was enough to make you shake. Soap is quick to take notice of this because he adjusts your cape closing it around you and stroking your arms up and down to warm you up.

“Ar’ ye shaking cause ye cold or cause ye excited to finally be leaving the castle?” He asks smiling, his breath being visible but he remains apparently unaffected by the temperature.

“Both, but mostly the cold.” You admit with a shaky breath. “Where is the Prince?”

“Aw, lovebird dyin’ to see her man.” Soap jokes faking a pout and earning a slap to the arm. “C’mon, I'll take you with him. Take my hand, o’ ye'll fly away.”

You stare confused for a second, wondering if he is joking again. That is, until he opens the door and you feel the cold wind. You quickly hold his hand and stand close to his back so he can shield you from the wind.

If you thought it was cold inside of the castle, you were wrong. And the frozen wind reminds you, feeling like a thousand needles make their way inside your bone. Soap and you soon arrive at the carriage you assume you will be travelling with Ghost, and you pop your head over Soap's shoulder to check who’s there.

Gaz, Price, Ghost and Laswell look back at you. You notice Ghost looking at you up and down from behind the helmet he is wearing, but before you can say anything Laswell speaks.

“Good morning, Princess. Glad I could see you before you left, I was just explaining to Kyle some of the care required for your wound.” She says as she walks up to you and places her hands on your cheeks. “God gracious, child. You are freezing, get inside quickly. I'll see you when you get back.”

She gives you a quick hug with a smile before going back inside the castle, to keep sleeping most likely. You try to turn to the carriage when the cape gets stuck on something opening and leaving you exposed to the cold. When you turn to check it, you realize that is a who and not a thing on what the cape got stuck.

“What kind of shitty cape is this?” Ask Ghost as he plays with the material in his hand. “No wonder you are shaking like a leaf.”

The tone of his voice is of annoyance, making you feel ashamed of having a completely natural reaction to the weather. But when you are going to complain that you can’t help it, he lets go of your cape and moves his hand to undo the clasp keeping his on.

He takes it off himself and smoothly drapes it over your shoulder putting the hood over your head as well. The click of the clasp makes you look down at his hands, noticing they are so close to your face, almost touching you.

You look up from under the hood and make eye contact with him. The words suddenly die in your throat and blood rushes to your cheeks as he quickly adverts your gaze clearing his throat. “Get inside.” He says putting a hand on your lower back and opening the door. He lowers the hand a bit more and pushes you inside with a single hand on your butt.

You are met with a closed door when you try to protest and redeem yourself sitting down close to the door. You play with your hands as you wait for something else to happen trying to listen to anything outside. Keeping the cape close to your body you bend yourself to try and get your ear closer to the door. Almost touching it with your cheek, finally being able to hear the footsteps going away and the voices getting more and more silent.

“What are you doing?” A deep voice grumbles behind you and the surprise makes you stumble forward almost falling from your seat.

“Nothing.” You say quickly as you play with the fur on the cape trying to act completely relaxed with the fact he just caught you being nosy.

A low chuckle can be heard erupt from the Prince as he sits next to you shaking the carriage with his size. Even though you are sitting next to the door, his sheer size makes it impossible to not brush against your knees with his. He knocks twice on the door and almost instantly the horses begin to walk moving the carriage. Next, he sits even more relaxed on his side of the carriage, takes off his mask and crosses his arms getting ready to sleep.

Him taking off the mask mere seconds after beginning the travel was not the first thing you were expecting. So you can't help it but to look at his face, especially since he has his eyes closed and can see that you are looking at him. Surrounding his eyes is some kind of grease or black paint that blends up to his eyebrow. Blonde curls, long enough only to be able to tell they are curls, frame his face in contrast to the rest of him.

He is handsome.

Your soon-to-be husband is handsome.

“Is rude to stare.” A brown eye opens and looks at you, making you whip your head to face the front of the carriage.

“Sorry.” You answer quickly. “Was just surprised.”

“Why?” He said closing his eyes again.

“Because you look good… I mean, you look fine, like, I don't know, I thought you had something you wanted to hide, but everything about your face is fine. Like, you are fine. You look good.” You start mumbling without knowing where to look and end up looking out the window. “How much longer until the next stop?”

A chuckle from the Prince makes you look back at him and when you turn your face you come face to face with him, being a lot more close to your face and keeping eye contact with you as feel one of his arms rest over your shoulder.

“You think I look good, Princess?” He said with his face almost touching yours, so close you feel his breath over your lips. His other hand comes to your neck and undoes the clasp on his cape, you stay making eye contact as you feel the fur fall off your shoulder. With a smooth motion, he manages to take the cape away from you, barely moving you. Then, as easy as he got on your face he gets away taking his cape back. He lays back again and pulls the cape over himself as a blanket.

“There are still at least 8 hours until the next stop, you should rest.” He says smirking and goes back to the position he was before.

You turn back to the door and hug yourself trying to keep warm, but you only feel the heat of your embarrassment.

————————————————————————

There is shouting outside of the carriage when you wake up, so many voices but still unable to figure out what they are saying. Simon must have left the carriage before you woke up, and only his cape draped over you remains.

The unmistakable sound of blades being drawn bolts you awake and you open the door stepping outside. All the men that came with the carriage, ready to attack whoever was brave enough to stop the convoy.

“I have already said that you cannot get through the border, they are closed until there are explicit orders from the next in line. The King is dead, and the kingdom is mourning. So get back to wherever the fuck you are coming, and wait. What is so hard to understand?” The voice from someone you don't know says.

“And I, have already said that we are the next in line. So get out of the way, we need to make it to Auntry City before midday and we are going behind.” The King Price argues back. “So unless you want to get hurt, move!”

“If you want to get through, it will be inside of a coffin, Sir.” The guard says.

You can see the blade being drawn over the heads and it makes you gasp, surprising Ghost who whips his head back (covered with the mask again) and you see the shock in his eyes when he sees you.

“Get back inside!” Ghost barks looking at you over his shoulder just for a second before looking back at the front, but you stay put, curiosity for knowing who is on the other side being too tempting. “Princess, get the fuck inside!”

At the mention of your royal title, begins a round of whispers and mumbles. You are finally able to see who the other people are, and you realize they are your late father's guards, positioned at the border of the town where the castle is located to make sure he knew who entered.

You manage to make your way through the wall of men, and just when you are almost through a hand you recognise as the Prince’s, grabs your arm ready to throw you back inside the carriage. But before he can, you make eye contact with who, if you don't remember wrong, is the captain of the guards.

His eyes widen in shock upon seeing you, and he quickly kneels before you, the rest of the guards following shortly. “My most sincerest apologies, your Royal Highness. We didn't know you were travelling with them, I ask in the name of my men for your forgiveness.”

The same face of absolute incredulity is plastered on you and on the men around you. You quickly smile back at the king over your shoulder, almost like trying to say: “Look how much they like me! Look how different they are treating us now! Look how much I just helped you! Look how much they prefer me over you!”

You turn your head back to the captain kneeling before you, still looking down almost afraid to make eye contact with you again. You lay your hand on his shoulder and when he timidly looks up, you give him your most sincere smile. “Everything is forgiven, captain. You were just following orders.”

“Thank you, princess.” He answers fast, surprisingly relieved to have been forgiven. There is a voice of alarm in your head, that makes you remember what Laswell told you about your father being a bad king.

The guard shouldn't have been so scared of you, you remember him. From so many years ago, you would hide behind your mother's skirt when he would come to update your parents on the new visitors. He would always give you a small smile.

So it wouldn't make sense for that man to be scared of the little girl hiding behind his mon, and he should be scared of you now.

The guard picks up your hand for his shoulder and kisses it on the knuckles. He stands to his full height, the size difference making you feel uneasy about his fear of you. “Princess, allow some of my men and I to escort you into town. As an apology. In case you came into trouble of the remain of the travel.”

“There really is no need, Sir.” You say and you can see the guilt behind his eyes. “But I will accept your offer. Should we keep going, then?”

You turn around to look at the King, and for a second, you see something on his expression that you are not able to read, but the moment he realizes you are looking at him, his expression changes. It softens.

“I will get my men ready, your Royal Highness.” The guard says, kneeling quickly before standing again and turning back to his team.

You turn back to the king, walking a couple of steps that separate you. You notice his gaze following you, and you keep eye contact until you are face-to-face with him. You motion him to bend down so you can actually be at the same height, and he obliges, curiosity taking the best of him. You move closer to the side of his head and whisper in his ear smiling: “Aren't you glad that I tagged along, your majesty?”

Before he can answer, you begin to move back to the carriage; taking a quick last glance, you notice Gaz laughing softly just in time to see the King slapping his arm with a cheeky smile on his face.

You sit on the carriage, closing the door and taking a deep breath.

What the fuck just happened?!

Having to act as an actual monarch is not something you are used to, you have been trained to do so, but never really needed to do it. Mainly resorting to being your father's shadow and echo, always present but never in sight.

And the braveness to talk like that to the king? Of course, you talk back to him in the castle, but that's different! In the castle, you can always run to Laswell or Farah, or basically anyone. But here? You are basically alone, with the King John Price, the Prince Simon, the knight Gaz and Soap and the rest of Price's guard. They don't owe you loyalty, they don't owe you anything.

If the King told them, you will be dead in minutes, no second thought.

“You ‘right?” The Prince asks when he sits next to you, again, too late to hear him coming and only noticing him when he is already seated and removing his mask.

“Yeah! I'm peachy.” You answer letting a sight escape your lips.

“Seems like it.” The Prince laughs softly but without pushing more. “We are a little less than an hour away from Auntry City. You may want to undo some knots.”

You frown at his word and follow his gaze, noticing that he is looking at your hair. You raise your hand to reach the top of your head and notice the unflattering way it is sitting. And slowly it downs on you.

“What must have that guard think of the Princess? Coming out of the carriage she is sharing with a man, hair looking a mess, wearing said man cape…” The Prince chastises his tongue shaking his head in a disapproving manner. “What an improper Princess.”

“Oh, shut up!” You say feeling the heat get to your face as you hear the Prince chuckle. “It's obvious I was just sleeping.”

“You sure about that, luv?” He says resting his chin on his hand, index finger extended to hide his smile behind as he raises an eyebrow.

You whip your head around ignoring him, looking into the pockets inside of your own cape, you pick up the comb and start easing it through your hair. Once satisfied, you braid a couple of locks away from your face; as you braid them, you hold them with your lips to keep them from un-braiding themselves.

Until…

You feel a pair of fingertips graze your lips, caressing your top lip slowly.

“I can hold it for you, Princess.” The Prince asks when you turn to look at him. Your jaw goes slack, mostly from the shock but still effective to let go of the braid letting it fall on Simon's hand. “Atta girl.”

If he says anything else after that, only he will know. Because the only thing you are able to hear anymore, is your blood rushing through your ears. Feeling your heartbeat on your throat, and warm simmer down your body to the bottom of your stomach.

Moving your focus to your hair, you braid quickly the rest of the little braids, leaving them on Simon's hand as you go trying to not touch him directly. Once satisfied with the amount of braids, you pick them back up and join them at the back of your head on a braid-like conjuncture, combing one last time the rest of your hair out of the braids.

Looking down, you try to put the comb away, but once again, Simon's hand find its way around your neck. This time, grabbing your jaw to make you look away from you.

He hums as he draws circles on your jaw with his thumb and looks at your hair. “Quite pretty.” He admits and move your hair again to look back at him. “Quite pretty indeed.”

There is a mischievous glint in his eyes that makes you feel trapped like a mouse in front of a cat. The air in the carriage begins to feel heavy, and the carriage itself feels smaller with each passing second.

And almost like it was meant to be, the coachman stops the horses and the second the carriage stops moving, you jump off trying to take in the very much-needed air.

“Damn, lassie, Ghostie here has ye losing yer breath?” Soap asks as he walks up to the carriage and sticks his head inside sending a wink to the Prince. “Cheeky bastard, can't wait for the honeymoon.”

“That’ll do.” The Prince says behind you smiling at Soap.

You huff a breath looking around and that's when you notice the King looking at you and calling you closer. You walk up to him and look at his face, not seeing any of the anger and displeasure you have grown used to.

“Yes, your Majesty?” You ask, more curious than scared for the first time you talk to him.

“The owner of the local inn has heard about you coming and has offered us enough rooms for everyone. Simon and you in different rooms, we don't want any scandals do we?” He asks smiling softly.

“I would very much like my own room, thanks.” You answer ignoring his innuendos.

“Lovely, they are getting ready a feast for everyone. It seems like they are very excited to meet you, that's why we are spending the night here. Anything you want… ask anyone, I'm pretty sure they will be gladly to help.” He says pointing to the inn with his head. “Oh, and Princess… I wanted to remind you, that we are more powerful together than against each other, all right? Keep it in mind.”

He picks up your hand, giving you a quick kiss on your knuckle without breaking eye contact and without another word, makes his way inside the inn.

The first stop of the travel, and you are ready to go back home.

Hi, lovies!! 💗

How are you? I finally figure it out how to add the Keep Reading thingy and the link for the other chapters, I hope it'll be more comfortable now.

I'm finally letting reader interact with Ghostie, let me know you guys opinions.

Thanks for reading! Have a nice weekend!

Tag List: @kristalhi @strawberrygato @ghostlythots @dumybitch

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kyri45 · 2 days

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ISAT Sky Cotl AU Headcanons Masterlist

Here's the masterpost of the AU with all the comic! Feel free to suggest more if you want!! The list will be updated as the story goes to avoid major spoilers

About the Light /Wishcraft

Everything that is triggered originally in SKy in the AU is triggered by wish craft, which is a power that comes directly from the stars.

The island is filled with mechanism that recognize wish craft users and are modelled based on constellations

Most emotes are the equivalent of different forms of advanced craft hand signs, and each can be used like in Sky to activate certain doors (or to be able to call for creatures, or do other stuff like floating etc...)

There's a high concentration of star (wish) magic at the highest point of the Kingdom (where the eye of eden is currently) and if the habitant get's too far away from the island they wont be able to use some of their original abilities derivated from them (like for example they can't regenerate their wing levels)

About the habitant of the Island

Everyone is born naturally, but they all come from a line of people who were moslty made of stardust

The different seasons are periods of time like the chinese years, and are used as a reference for when people were born or even occurred.

People wear pendants with the season symbol they were born in. The season you were born in doesn't necessarily reflect your personality but can influence your passion

Every year, on the birthday of each sky kid, they meditate at the temple of the prince to visit Orbit and gain more power from the stars. They then come back with new "wings" every time. All kids do it with their parents or guardians until the age of 17th, which is the mark of them gaining their 6th wing wedge. From then on, they are officially considered an adult and can fly to orbit by themself. (I'm dividing the sky levels in half, since no one could live up to 200 years, so 4 wings is 5 y/o, 5 wings is 10 y/o, 6 wings is 17/18 y/o, 7 wings is 27 y/o, etc…)

People can decide to follow one of the Elders based on what they want to do in life/ which elder they are closer to (Dawn elder teaches navigation throught the stars, Forest elder teaches creativity and architecture, Valley twins trains your phisical ability and the Vault elder teaches you about the more advanced crafts). After they succeded in all the quests and finished their studies, they are blessed by the elders (which is the equivalent of finish one of the constellations, so you get the same gifts. Yes, the Valley Twin gift is literally them just allowing you to copy their haircut)

Moths are the equivalent of very young kids who still haven’t figured out which kind of person they want to be, which Elder they prefer to follow.

Elders are as big as they are for the same reason of the King in ISAT, the abnormal amount of craft they use is reflected in a collateral effect in their body

About their colture

Paper boats are rituals they used to send messages and wish anonimously, and are crafted so they can't get wet in the water

All capes are crafted so that you are always not too cold or too hot regardless of the climate

Creatures such butterflies, manta, fish and bird all are made of stardust as well, and recognize sky people as one of them and are able to charge them like in Sky

Their language is written with an alphabeth based on constellation shapes

SInce constellations are seasonal you would end up having different events based on the constellation they are under at the moment (days of nature, days of color, days of love, days of fortune)

About Siffrin

lived on the more outside part of the island, in the towns over the black sand beach (isle of dawn) which is the only part of the Kingdom open to visitors, travellers, traders, merchants.

Siffrin was born during the season of Performance and the Performance Guide was one of their first childhood presence during his first years. He continued to be passionated by acting even though he didn't live in Valley, but he and their parent still visited the Village Theather occasionaly to see some of their spectacle.

Had their cape made by his mother as custom, and before coming back to the island could never understand why it was so important that he should always wear it.

Siffrin before the events in the game always felt weird when it rained, was like slowed down and tired and sleepy. (by @forwonderfulpeople)

About The Wish (AKA The Eye of Eden)

The wish created a cataclysm so big people, not even Elders, can rememeber which was the original wish that caused it.

it made dissapear all people who were on the island, leaving only a spark of their memory

The Wish make you both forget and lose your wish craft power.

Krills are very big sadness

#isat sky cotl au #isat scotl au #isat skycotl!au #in stars and time #isat siffrin #isat au #isat sky au

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panlight · 6 months

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You graduated Forks High last summer and now you're back in town for Christmas break. You're out hiking on New Year's Eve when you hear voices. You follow the voice until you stumble on a clearing where you see that Bella girl from high school, dressed in black leather with that weird Cullen kid she married and what appears to be their toddler daughter. Dr. Cullen is with them, along with a bunch of people not dressed for the weather and some giant wolves.

On the other side of the clearing are a bunch of goths in black and gray capes. The head goth guy smiles at you. "Come and join us, young friend!"

#twilight renaissance

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domainedewinter · 3 months

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The price of fire - chapter 3

Summary: Aemond meets a mysterious silver-haired girl on the beach while facing Vhagar. But the more he tries to know her, the deeper her secrets seem.

Warnings: DUBCON, TYPICAL TARGARYEN INCEST, profanity, innuendo, he/him pronouns, she/her pronouns, fingering, oral m receiving, oral f receiving, misogyny, toxic behaviour, Dom!Aemond, begging, underage hotd style, nsfw.

(coming soon, I will indicate the chapters containing smut with a 🔥)

Rating: 18+, MDNI

English is not my first language.

Chapter 3.

⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝ Roxaene ⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝

The night had been more restless than Roxaene would have wished; her dreams were filled with dragons, the sound of their wings, and the fiery color of the fire ready to devastate everything in their path. But it wasn't just the reptilian eyes of the dragons she had dreamed of.

A lilac eye, cold and masculine, had haunted her night—a piercing gaze that demanded the world to be offered to him, and if the world refused, he was ready to take it by force.

She woke up in a sweat, short of breath, with the echo of the prince's voice in her head.

As the hours of the day passed, Roxaene felt a kind of anxiety growing in the pit of her stomach; why had she agreed?

Because she had no choice.

Because otherwise, the prince would not have let her go.

Because if she had not given her word, perhaps she would never have left that beach. By what right did he show himself threatening and demand her presence?

By royal right.

Aemond was a prince, a Targaryen, a being chosen by the gods and envied by the men. He could demand whatever he wished and be obeyed instantly, a thought that touched the nerves of the young girl. Trying not to let this anxiety overwhelm her, she spent the day helping her host, her thoughts flying too quickly during every small talk, but her innocent and apologetic smile prevented anyone from blaming her. In their eyes, she was just a reserved and new girl in town, probably shy and a bit naive; that's what was expected of her age and gender.

When the meal was finished and the sun began to redden, she excused herself and went to bed. The fabric on her head covered her hair, braided along her shoulder so that no silver strand would betray her secret—a secret she herself was unaware of.

It didn't take her long to leave the house and reach the beach, her mind memorizing every cobblestone, every street to take as if her steps were destined to go there. Vhagar was the first thing she saw; lying on the ground, her warm breath swelling her body with each expiration.

And again, that numbness against her palm. Roxaene nervously rubbed it against the loose pants she was wearing—having only worn clothes from Dorne until now—before instinctively raising her head, her heart and mind commanding her to do so.

So that her gaze met the prince's.

⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝ Aemond ⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝

When she emerged from the path, the young prince noticed her instantly; the blue and orange fabric covering her head, braided down to the small of her back, and the strange clothes she wore; loose pants, split on one thigh, with a belt made of thick, embroidered fabric a few centimeters below her navel. A long-sleeved top revealing her shoulders, on which an orange and yellow cape was hung.

The prince's single eye lingered on the young girl before looking into her eyes and approaching her. Once in front of her, he tilted his head to the side, as if evaluating or assessing her.

"You came. I appreciate that you kept your word."

At the slight pout on the girl's face, he guessed that she didn't like her word being doubted, but without adding anything, it was he who continued.

"I have questions to ask you. And I expect answers, Roxaene."

Roxaene's thin, silver eyebrows furrowed, and it amused him; something in her calmed him and made him want to know more, to push her to her limits and see how far he could go.

"Follow me."

He nodded and reached out to her, almost surprised by his own gesture. The girl's lilac eyes landed on his hand, but she didn't resist, taking it and shivering when they touched. He led her near Vhagar and sat in the sand, facing the sea, motioning for her to do the same.

"Where are you from?"

"Dorne."

"Hm." Aemond's only response as he leaned towards her, his hand reaching for her face. As she was about to pull away, he grabbed the fabric in her hair to remove it. Instantly, her small, pale hands, so small compared to his, grabbed his wrist, shaking her head from side to side in a silent "no."

"Yes. Remove your hands, now."

The tone of his voice was cold, like the blade of a dagger ready to pierce flesh, and Roxaene felt her heart race—something he probably felt too, as he slightly furrowed his silver brows in turn.

"What do you fear? I've already seen you without it. There's no need to hide from me. You have nothing to conceal if I want to see it, understood?"

This boldness, this arrogance, made the girl's blood boil. She clenched her jaws, trying to regulate her increasingly difficult breath, but let go of the prince's wrist, offering him her best black and murderous look.

Kneeling in front of her on the sand, he gently and meticulously removed the fabric, unrolling it and releasing her long moon hair that cascaded down to the small of her back and around her delicate face. He saw her lower her eyes and grabbed her chin, their gaze meeting again.

"In my memories, no one in Dorne is known to have such features. Let me rephrase my question; where are you originally from? Because obviously, your parents are not from the south."

It was a question Roxaene would have liked to have the answer to, to know the identity of her parents, to know where she was born, the house she belonged to.

"Unfortunately, my prince, I'm afraid I will disappoint you because I don't know. I was given to my father on the day of my birth, and I never had the chance to know those who conceived me, before abandoning me.”

A sigh escaped her, and he released her chin, deciding that she should continue to look at him even if he didn't force her, which she did, her gaze as audacious as the day before, even though it was clear she was drawing on her patience to answer him and stay still.

"You must know something, a detail, a place, a date?" Inquisitive and relentless, he would not let her leave that beach without something to reflect on her origins.

Just as he began to consider the idea of keeping her locked in the Keep until he found a solution, Roxaene's sweet voice echoed again, capturing his attention and diverting him from his kidnapping plans.

"I was born in the year 111, the day the bells rang for the first nameday of one of the princes."

Aemond's gaze seemed to cloud, as if he were witnessing a scene playing out before his eyes, a memory he was trying to understand. But quickly, he snapped back, nodding with satisfaction.

"Can I go now?" Roxaene asked, trying not to appear too impatient or insolent, but it failed when Aemond raised his eyebrows.

"By all the gods, I don't know who raised you, nor where the blood flowing in your veins comes from, but you should learn to stay in your place."

The girl's cheeks flushed, and she turned on her knees in the hope of standing up and leaving, but the prince's hand grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to sit back down.

"I don't remember saying I was done with you."

"Well, I'm sorry, Your Grace, but I am done with you." She spat at him, her patience just surpassed. She stood up and turned away, starting to walk in the sand to reach the path, but soon he was behind her, making her turn around, grabbing her wrist tightly, wide-eyed.

"I could have your tongue cut out for daring to address me like that. I could do whatever I want with you since you seem to be nobody, and nobody will claim you." He began, leaning over her, his free hand putting a long silver strand behind her ear.

"So don't show yourself so ungrateful. It wouldn't please me much to have to hurt you."

"As your reputation says, allow me to doubt that!"

If she could, Roxaene would have slapped her hand over her mouth to prevent other words as foolish as they were true from escaping. How could she say that, especially when they were alone and he had just threatened her?

Expecting to be reprimanded, she opened her mouth again to apologize, to try to make him forget the words she had just spoken, but he spoke first, advancing towards her with such aplomb that she had no choice but to step back, again and again, letting him take her where he wanted without being able to escape.

"My reputation? I would be curious to hear it. What do they say about me behind the city walls? I don't mingle with the common folks and, therefore, am unaware, but you seem to know, Roxaene, enlighten my ignorance."

"Oh, you want to know what they say about you? A penchant for ferocity, bold but quarrelsome and capricious. Impetuous and insulting, and from what I've seen since I came across you, I wouldn't risk contradicting these rumors! You command me as if I owe you something, even though I told you I never wanted to harm your dragon or even you. For a reason I ignore, you take pleasure in trying to scare me!"

It was the first time someone had spoken to the prince like that, and he was so surprised that he was initially motionless before a slight and strange smile appeared on his too thin lips. It was at that moment that Roxaene's back collided with a warm and rumbling surface: Vhagar.

Like a predator on the hunt, he leaned his face towards hers, brushing her cheek with his nose, as if he were smelling her, as if he were trying to sense her fear but found none. It was anger, perhaps, but mostly audacity and a lack of fear that he felt, his lips brushing her delicate neck.

"You burn with a fiery flame, Roxaene, but believe me, there is no creature on this earth that I cannot tame."

#aemond smut #house targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd #aemond x oc #vhagar

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xxxdegenerate · 10 months

Note

Hiya! I saw you're in need of requests!

Ok one piece. Luffy. He is always for weird New people who Peaks his interest

Sooooo. Magician! A real life magician! He would freak out 🤣

The Crew wary, thinking she would hex them or use them to practice curses or other morbid stuff but she is just so sweet! She helps the Crew with her magic, like Chopper or sanji introduce him magic plants he can use for cooking etc. Luffy is more than happy to have her and when Marines come, ready to attack, she just Flicks her hand and the ship gets destroyed in one go, humming before returning to her previous task 🤣🤣

Pls! You would make my day!

I love writing OP reader, and I don't even know why. THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST. (it's acc cool as fuck to imagine this)

Luffy x Magician!Reader

❥note ;; Magician? Hell yee, I feel like I could have done better, or maybe I will write an actual story about this, because it seems really interesting!

❥tw ;; Fighting, cursing // not proofread

You walked the trail on the island you grew up in. Wearing a cape, with some gloves and a hat. The sun was setting and the breeze was calm. You were the odd one out, but that didn't stop you from having a little fun.

You waved your hand around, causing leaves around you to float about. You smiled as you lifted them up into the air. Going in circles before making various shapes.

All of a sudden, big explosions were sounded in the town just ahead. Now as much as you hate this town, and the pirates that accompany it. You rushed over, using your powers to push yourself faster.

Upon arriving, you noticed the towns people and the pirates were in a heated fight. You looked around, trying to figure out why. You snapped your fingers and some cards appeared into the air, surrounding you.

"Ah the weirdo decides to join in hah?" The captain of the lowlife pirates. You rolled your eyes and turned to face the woman. "What are you doing with the town?" You noticed how the houses were getting torn down and fights happening all around. You also happened to notice someone whiz past you and a loud laugh.

Although you decided to shake that off and keep your attention on the lady. "Just finally taking what is ours."

You flicked your hand and cards went towards her. Blowing up.

She coughed and whipped out her sword. "Two can pl-" She was tackled to the ground and a black haired boy with a strawhat sat on top of her. "What-" You choked out.

One of her crew?

You haven't seen him around here, so he must be. You flicked your hand and the two of them go flying. "Weeeee!" You heard the boy laugh.

"Who are you?" A voice, from behind you. You turn around as one of your cards stop at his neck. You narrow your eyes.

"Why are you tearing apart this town." You demanded an answer.

He tilted his head in response as he took a bite out of the chunk of meat he somehow got. "Tearing? AH woah! Your hat!" He looked confused before pointing at your hat in surpise.

"I have one too! Yours is different." You shook your head and turned around, throwing some of the other pirates off of the people.

"Woah! How do you do that?" You deadpan at the boy who followed you around.

"Are you apart of this fight or not?"

"Join my crew!"

"No! You're ruining this town!"

"No were not, that's not my friends." You were confused, you decided to just blast some smoke and go back towards the fight.

Soon, a pile of pirates sat in the center of the town. Smoke and fire erupting around. "Y/n! You did it again!" The elder lady came and thanked you.

You looked around at the town, meeting the eyes of the boy from earlier. He held a wide smile on his face. "That was cool! Join my crew."

"Who are you?"

"Luffy! I'm going to be the king of pirates."

"Sorry dude, but me and pirates do not get along." You were hesitant.

"Come with me!"

This went on for awhile, as you used your magic to held rebuild and clean the area up, he followed you like a lost dog. Watching in awe and standing on some of the broken bits of wood you would raise in the air. He was starting to get on your nerves.

You pull the wooden plank towards you with Luffy on it. "Okay, what do you want?" He smiles widely at you as he has all day. "You're cool! I want you to join me. You'll love it." He giggled.

You scratch your neck before moving him away. He seemed nice, and he did help you get rid of the pirates. But he was also a pirate.

He stretched his arms and pulled himself towards you, crashing into you.

The two of you rolled before you landed a couple feet away. "Dude-" You grabbed at him and pulled his arm, which stretched. "Okay, that's a little weird."

"Pleaseeeee."

Deciding that he would probably not take no for an answer you decided to follow him to his ship. You could either get kidnapped, killed, or worse. You knew you had this in the bag though. "If you try anything I'm teleporting away."

He laughed in response as you somehow finally reached the boat. "Didn't we pass this like an hour ago.." He launched the two of you up into the center of the ship.

"Luffy! Why did you take off! You've been gone all day!" An orange haired girl scolded Luffy. A few others appeared and started complaining. "Who is this?" A blonde man appeared next to you with a rose.

"This is.. uh."

"Y/n."

After meeting everyone they seemed very weary of you. Luffy described what you could do and they looked hesitant. They haven't seen you in battle, but they don't doubt Luffy.

"She's our new crew member!"

"When did I agree to that!!?"

You bicker back and forth for a hot minute. This man acted like a child and it made you fume. You flicked your hand and hit him on the head with a rock. Not toooooo hard, and not like it would hurt him anyone. He fell down and laughed. "Look isn't that cool."

The others around you sweatdropped and were clearly on edge.

"H-hey guys.." The long nosed dude pointed to a ship that was nearing, quickly.

While still arguing with Luffy about joining, you flicked your wrist towards the ship. The ship erupted. Pieces of wood flying and people yelling and jumping overboard. The crew watched in awe

"You are a bad influence! I am not joining your crew!" He giggled at your reaction. You shake your head and turn around, heading to jump off of the ship. Acting like taking that ship down was nothing to you. "H-hey wait.. are you sure you don't want to join?" The girl from earlier had stopped you.

You narrow your eyes. Did you really want to join a pirate crew? You looked back and see a little reindeer chasing Luffy around. "You're hurt! Stop running around!" Your eyes dart to the side, seeing the blonde serve drinks to another lady.

"Ah fuck it."

EXTRA:

Over the past week of being aboard the Sunny. It was a new experience, and you hate to admit you enjoyed these pirates. They were... fun. You helped around the ship, soon they became your family. You helped Sanji and showed him new things, for cooking. You even entertained Usopp and Luffy with your magic.

You were beginning to like the pirate life.

#one piece fluff #one piece scenario #one piece headcanons #luffy #luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy #op #x reader #fluff #Straw hats #Nami #Zoro #Sanji #Robin #Chopper

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in-a-nook-with-a-notebook · 11 months

Text

I'm Tired

Franchise: Marvel (Moon Knight)

Pairing: Marc Spector & Steven Grant x male!reader (reader's pronouns are he/him/his)

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: angst, swearing, blood, angst, guns, severe injuries, angst, sad Marc, angry Marc, sad Steven, DID I MENTION ANGST

Summary: A mission in Guatemala goes perfectly. Well, not so perfectly.

A/N: get your translators out, it takes place in Guatemala and there's a lot of Spanish and I forgot to write down the English translations and I don't speak Spanish so I just used Google Translate (I'm sorry if I got anything wrong); also, reader used to be the avatar of Osiris but in the same way Mrc/Steve/Jake are the avatar of Khonshu, like he went on missions and had powers and stuff

The mission was a success.

Khonshu had you, Marc and Steven deal with a drug ring that had been terrorizing a small town in Guatemala. The ring was taken down, the threat was neutralized, and the town was safe once again. Everything went according to plan.

Until it didn’t.

You were already pretty busted up after your scrapes with the members of the cartel and you were wishing you still had Osiris’s protection. You were limping, favouring your left leg; your arm was definitely broken in at least three places; and there was blood everywhere. As you were walking to meet Marc and Steven outside, you heard shuffling behind you.

“Marc?” You murmured quietly, hoping it was one of your moon boys. “Steven?”

Instead, you were met with a member of the cartel that you hadn’t yet neutralized. Before you can react, the man draws his gun and shoots you twice in the gut. Without further ado, he runs off into hiding.

You’re too surprised to react any way other than shocked. Your hands fly up to cover your stomach as blood pours out between your fingers. You gasp for air and blood trickles from your lips. You stumble into the wall for support. Your senses stop working; you can’t hear anything other than your own ragged, uneven breathing. Your vision blurs, clears, then blurs again. You vaguely think you can hear your boys calling for you, but you can’t be sure.

You slide to the ground, still clutching your bleeding stomach. A figure kneels next you; judging by the cape you think you see, it’s Marc.

Your ears are ringing. If he’s talking to you, you can’t tell. His firm hands cup your cheeks, tilting your head to look at him. You blink your bleary eyes, begging silently for them to focus. Coughs suddenly wrack your body and you almost double over when more blood leaves your mouth. Marc’s talking is still muffled, but he picks you up with no argument from you.

Your good arm is pressed against his chest and your head falls onto his shoulder.

“…Breathing,” Marc says. It’s the end of a sentence and your hearing only returns to hear the last word. “Just keep breathing, baby.”

“M-Marc,” you say weakly.

“Hey, there you are,” Marc says through a nervous laugh. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Where…” You interrupt yourself with another cough. “Steven?”

“I’m gonna get you back to the car and then I’ll let Steven out, okay?”

You nod slowly, burying your face in his shoulder. “Hurts,” you whisper. Your forehead is pressed against the bandage fabric of his suit.

“I know, baby, I know. We’re almost there, I promise. We’re gonna get you help.”

“Layla?” You ask softly.

“I’ll call her, it’s alright. Just stay awake for me, okay?”

Though it feels like an eternity, you reach the car where Marc had hidden it before you went in to take out the drug ring. He manages to get you into the front passenger seat. Your head droops tiredly as Marc takes a step back. His suit dematerializes and a moment later, a worried British accent meets your ears.

“Y/N?” Steven asks, leaning into the car to look you over. “Oh my days, I didn’t want it to be as bad as it looked… we’ve gotta get you to hospital, love…”

Marc takes the body again, shuts the door, and jogs back to the driver’s side to get the car started. You can feel yourself slipping out of consciousness as the drive begins. The vibrations from the rough terrain mixed with the heat inside the vehicle threaten to lull you to sleep.

“I’m tired, babe,” you whisper.

“No, no, no, stay with me, stay with me,” Marc says. He reaches over to you and takes your hand in his, despite the coating of blood over your palm and fingers. “We’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you, we’re getting help. You’re gonna be okay.”

The numbness you had originally felt begins to fade and you wince, screwing your eyes shut as pain begins to wash over you.

“M-Marc, it… it hurts…” The car bounces over a bump in the road and you gasp in pain, your head hitting the headrest, which definitely isn’t good for the already pounding ache that already resides there - you might have a concussion.

“Just hold on, baby, we’re almost there.”

You don’t entirely remember what else happens on the way to the closest hospital. It’s all a blur, even as Marc pretty much carries you into the emergency room, yelling in Spanish for anyone’s attention.

“Necesitamos un doctor!” He hollers. “Por favor, necesita ayuda, por favor!”

Somehow, you find yourself on a gurney. A drop of blood drips from the corner of your mouth when you start to cough again. Everyone around you is shouting in Spanish. You can’t entirely understand them; Marc only just started teaching you and Steven how to understand Spanish about a month ago. One nurse in particular has their hands putting pressure on your wounds to keep you from bleeding out more than you already have. You know Marc is with you because he’s still holding your hand, refusing to let go of you.

“No lo dejes morir, no puede morir, por favor,” Marc begs the doctors, keeping his firm grasp on your hand.“No puedo perderlo.”

“Vamos a hacer todo lo que podamos, señor,” one of the nurses says. “Puedes decirme tu nombre y el de él?”

“Soy…” Marc hesitates. “Soy Marc Spector. Se llama Y/N L/N.”

“Sr. Spector, voy a necesitar que mantenga la calma, por favor. Cuidaremos bien de él, pero necesitamos que lo sueltes por ahora, de acuerdo?”

“Marc,” you groan, your face scrunched in pain. “Don’t go, please, don’t go.”

“I have to, baby, I’m sorry. They’re going to take care of you, okay? I’ll be there when you wake up, I promise.”

Very reluctantly, Marc lets his hand drop from yours. He watches the nurses roll your gurney down the hallway until you turn a corner. That’s when he breaks.

He stumbles back into the wall, sliding to the floor and burying his head in his hands. Silent sobs begin to wrack his body, tears streaming down his face. His fingers rake through his hair and his eyes are already burning.

“I should’ve been there,” he murmurs half to himself and half to Steven’s reflection on the floor. “We should have been there.”

“Marc, we can’t blame ourselves for this,” Steven says gently. “All we can do is hope we got there in time for him to be okay. All we can do is wait.”

“Sr. Spector?”

Marc looks up to see one of the doctors that had rolled your gurney to surgery. He quickly composes himself, wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands and pushing himself to his feet. “Sí? Puedo ayudarlo, doctor?”

“Puedo hacerle algunas preguntas sobre sus heridas? También tengo papeleo que necesito que llenes. Solo necesitamos toda la información que podamos recopilar para poder ayudar a su…?” He hesitates.

“Mi amigo,” Marc says, awkwardly and reluctantly, “pero es más o menos de la familia. Lo amo, sabes?”

“Eres familia, esencialmente?”

“Sí.”

“Nuestros cirujanos lo están cuidando mientras hablamos. Podemos sacar el papeleo del camino y podemos mantenerlo actualizado sobre su condición. Suena bien?”

Marc nods numbly. “Sí, gracias. Puedo encontrarte en la sala de espera? Solo necesito usar el baño muy rapido.”

“Seguro. Estaré esperando. Tómate todo el tiempo que necesites. Justo por este pasillo, la última puerta a la derecha.”

“Gracias.”

Marc treads down the hall and slips into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He braces his hands on either side of the sink and stares into the mirror. “Steven?” He says in a small voice. He watches his reflection change, showing Steven pacing nervously.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Steven murmurs. “You know you can’t let me out yet, though, right?”

“I know, I know,” Marc says. “I wish I could. I don’t know how to deal with this, I don’t know what to do with myself.” He cards his fingers through his hair. “Y/N’s hurt bad and I couldn’t stop it and I can’t fucking fix it either.”

“Marc,” Steven says in a surprisingly calm tone. Marc looks at him in the mirror. “We will deal with these emotions, I promise. But right now, I’m sorry, but you have to go out there with that doctor and get the paperwork sorted. I’m still gonna be here, obviously, but you’re the only one of us that speaks Spanish.”

“Fine, I know.” Marc turns on the tap. He washes the blood off his hands, then splashes some water on his face. “When we get home, Y/N isn’t going on missions for a long while, even after he’s fully healed.”

“It’s not his fault he got shot, Marc!”

“I know it isn’t but he got hurt while I had the body and I can’t let it happen again! I won’t lose him, I can’t lose him.”

“He was an avatar.”

“Yeah, was, Steven. Past tense. He can’t heal the way he used to anymore.”

Steven is silent for a moment. “Call Layla,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“She needs to know too, she cares about him. Call her.”

A shaky breath escapes Marc’s lips as he leans against the sink, pulling out his phone. He finds Layla’s number. His hand is trembling when he brings the phone to his ear. His other hand grips the sink almost hard enough to break it. His knuckles go white.

Layla answers after four rings.

“Marc? It’s like two in the morning. What’s going on?”

“It’s… it’s about Y/N,” Marc says slowly, trying to keep his breathing regulated. “He got hurt on a mission. Really, really badly hurt, and I couldn’t stop it, and-”

“Where are you?” She asks quickly. “I’m coming.”

“Hospital in Melchor de Mencos. Guatemala.”

“I’ll get the first plane out of Mexico City, I can be there in 7 hours. How is he?”

“They, they took him into surgery soon as we got here. I gotta go fill out paperwork ‘cause I’m the only one fluent in Spanish,” Marc explains.

“You can’t even let Steven out?”

“Not yet. Not until the paperwork’s done. You’re coming?”

“Of course, I’m coming. I’ll see you in seven or eight hours.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay, see you then.”

Layla hangs up and Marc shoves his phone in his pocket again. He clenches and unclenches his fists over and over again, trying to keep his cool. His eyes feel like they’re on fire and he still can’t control how much he’s shaking. There’s a lump in his throat that won’t go away.

“All you can do now is sign the papers, Marc,” Steven says gently from the reflection. Marc looks up at him. Steven’s eyes are red and his face is shiny with fresh tears.

“Sign the papers,” Marc replies softly. He takes a deep breath, unlocks the bathroom door, and walks back down the hallway to the waiting room.

————————

Marc falls asleep in an uncomfortable chair after all the paperwork. He’s gently shaken awake and he opens his eyes to see Layla.

“You made it,” he murmurs.

“You told them about me,” she replies, sitting beside him.

“Well, I didn’t know if they’d let you in otherwise. Better safe than sorry.”

“What exactly did you tell them?”

Marc sits up properly, rolling his neck to get rid of the stiffness. “Told them you were family. Figured then they’ll let us see him sooner after he gets out.”

Layla hums in response. “How’d the mission go?”

“It was perfect until some fuck hurt Y/N,” Marc says bitterly. “If that guy was still there, I would’ve killed him.”

“Marc…”

“He hurt him and I couldn’t-”

“Hey, don’t do that to yourself,” Layla says, gently putting her hand on his arm. “Thinking like that isn’t gonna help anyone in this scenario; me or you two or Y/N. There’s nothing you could have done and it’s not your fault. As terrible as it is, shit happens. I’m here for all three of you. It’s going to be alright. Unfortunately, all we can do now is wait and see the results, you know?”

Marc sighs, carding his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. We just wait."

————————

Both of them end up falling asleep in the waiting room even though they’d told themselves that they’d stay awake.

A nurse wakes Marc and Marc wakes Layla.

“Is he okay?” Layla asks.

“He is asleep,” the nurse says through a thick accent. “Painkillers. He spoke English. Not many doctors knew what he was saying. He was asking for Marc, Steven and Layla.”

“That’s us,” Marc says. “Can we see him? Please?”

“He will not be conscious just yet, but yes.”

The nurse leads us down a few hallways to Y/N’s room. “If he wakes, do not overwhelm him. Be gentle,” he adds.

“Muchas gracias, señor,” Marc says, silently stepping into the room with Layla on his heels. Marc has to brace himself against the wall at the sight of you.

Your left leg is propped up and casted, another cast encasing your entire left arm. Your forehead is bandaged and the lights are mostly off in the room - a concussion, Marc assumes (and correctly so). You’re too bandaged up to need to bother with a hospital gown but, save for your propped up leg, your lower half is covered with a blanket.

“Shit,” Marc whispers, though he’s not entirely sure if it was him or Steven that said it. He’s pretty sure he’s got the body right now, even if part of him wishes he could hand it over to Steven. Not yet. He wasn’t going to hide from this, as much as it hurt to see.

He’s slow in his movements to sit in the chair to the right of you. Layla pulls up a chair next to him. His trembling hand reaches out to hold yours closest to him. He blinks back tears, gripping your hand unintentionally tight. His thumb brushes over your knuckles and he bows his head, covering his face with his free hand.

“My fault,” he murmurs almost inaudibly. Layla frowns a little.

“Marc-”

“It’s my fault,” Marc stresses.

Knowing there’s no use arguing with him, Layla gently squeezes his arm. “I’m gonna get some air for a minute.”

“You’re not staying?”

“I’ll be back, I promise. You want a coffee?”

“What, you mean the shitty vending machine coffee that all hospitals have?” Marc asks sarcastically. Layla nods. “Yeah, sure. I could use the caffeine. Maybe one for Steven too?”

Layla smiles gently. “I’ll be back soon.”

Minutes after Layla’s gone, Marc still hasn’t said a word and you’re still unconscious next to him. He knows the doctors say you’ll be alright, but he can’t help worrying anyway.

————————

You could hear the people in your room before you could see them.

First, it was doctors speaking Spanish. It all sounded like gibberish to you, despite Marc having taught you some Spanish a little while back. It was after they’d gotten you out of surgery, before the extra painkillers they’d pumped you with. You hadn’t had the energy to open your eyes to confront the doctors, so you’d passed out again.

Then, it was two voices - familiar voices. Voices so agonizingly familiar that you’d silently prayed to the gods that you could open your eyes to see if it was who you thought it was. Then, you passed out again.

The third time, you don’t hear much, just someone shifting beside you. Something - no, someone - is holding your right hand. It’s no doctor, you can’t feel the latex gloves they all wear. It’s calloused. It’s a hand you’ve held before.

It’s one of your boys.

You finally, finally, manage to open your eyes. You tilt your head to the right. Your gaze is blurry at first. You blink a few times before managing to get a clear picture of the man in the chair next to you. His head is bowed but he’s gripping your hand like you’re about to disappear.

“Fuck, Y/N, if you die, I’m gonna kill you,” a rough voice says. American. Marc. He sounds like he’s been either crying or sleeping or both for quite a while.

“Well, don’t get your hopes up,” you mutter. Your throat is bone dry.

Marc’s head shoots up so fast you’re surprised he doesn’t break his neck. You shoot him a weak smile before you start coughing. He immediately lets go of your hand to reach for the pitcher of water on the table next to the hospital bed, filling one of the little plastic cups stacked next to it. He passes it to you. You manage to stop coughing long enough to down the little cup of water. It soothes your parched throat immediately.

“Fuck, I needed that,” you mumble. “Desert.” You clear your throat and thankfully you don’t start coughing again. “Hi,” you add awkwardly.

“Hey,” Marc says, though he can’t hide the way his voice cracks a little. His eyes are glistening. You frown worriedly.

“Marc, baby…” you whisper. You reach your hand up to wipe away a couple of stray tears from his face. “Don’t cry for me. I’m here. I’m here, my love.”

“I thought… we thought that we were gonna lose you.” His voice is thick with emotion and you wish you could wash away his pain right then and there.

“You won’t lose me. Not if I have any say in it. Come here.”

He wipes his face with his sleeve as he pushes himself to his feet. “What?”

You scowl teasingly up at him. “I wanna kiss you but I can’t exactly move, dumbass, you need to come to me.”

A smile tugs at Marc’s lips as he leans down to press his to yours. Your good hand reaches up to hold his cheek as you practically melt into the kiss. When Marc pulls away, you try to chase after his lips, but you push yourself up too far. You wince and lay back down, gasping in pain. Concern flashes over Marc’s face.

“Are you alright?” He asks quickly.

“Mhm,” you murmur through clenched teeth. “Just moved, moved a bit too much.”

“Should I get a doctor back in here?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine, it’s okay.” You take a few deep breaths, trying to relax your tense body. “Yeah… yeah, I’m okay.” You pause for a moment. “Is… is Steven there?”

Marc’s body language changes, and you know you’re looking at Steven now.

“Oh my days, I was so worried,” he says. He leans forward and kisses your forehead, then your cheek. He almost pulls away completely, but you grab the collar of his shirt with your good hand and pull him down to kiss you on the lips. The kiss lasts a solid few seconds before you let him go. You smile a little as he sits back down.

“I’ll be okay,” you say quietly, holding your hand out. He slips his into your grasp, giving it a squeeze. “It’s like I told Marc, I’m not going anywhere if I can help it, Steven. You’re stuck with me.” You chuckle a little. “Sucks to suck.”

Steven rolls his eyes fondly. “I’d like to see you living and breathing on this earth for a little while longer, thank you very much.”

You smile gently. “I love you both.”

“We love you too, Y/N/N.”

“You’re awake!”

You turn your head towards the door and your grin widens when you see Layla holding a tray of three shitty vending machine coffees.

[A/N: no, she totally doesn’t almost drop them when she sees that you’re conscious, I dunno what you’re talking about…]

She puts the tray on a table and rushes to your side to hug you. She nearly pushes Steven out of the way just so she can get to you on your good side.

“Not too tight, the ribs, the shots,” you hiss out when you feel a stinging sensation from your torso. Layla apologizes immediately, loosening her grip but not quite pulling away just yet. Eventually she does, sitting down next to Steven. His demeanour changes, signalling the return of Marc. He looks over at her.

“Coffee?” He asks, his voice a little hoarse.

“Oh, shit, right.”

Layla retrieves the coffee tray and puts it on the table next to your bed. There are names scribbled on each one; Marc, Steven, Layla.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t get you one,” she admits, “I didn’t think you’d be awake.”

You shake your head. “S’okay. I probably shouldn’t have anything more than water right now. Plus it tastes like ass.”

“You’re not wrong,” Marc says, taking a swig of his coffee and nearly choking on it. “Fuck, that’s terrible.” He hesitates. He takes another sip. He straightens up as he puts his cup down. He reaches for Steven’s and takes a sip.

“Oh, bloody hell, that’s horrible.” He takes a second sip.

There’s a knock on the door and doctor begins to enter. Steve surrenders the body to Marc, in case of a need to speak Spanish.

“Buenos, días,” the nurse from earlier greets us. “Soy Dr. Juliàn Laguna. Soy el que supervisa el cuidado del Sr. L/N. Todos sois familia, sí?”

“Sí, es su hermano,” Marc lies, gesturing to Layla. “Estarà bien?”

“Sufrió muchas heridas. Su pierna está rota en un lugar mientras que su brazo está roto en tres. Dos costillas fracturadas. Conmoción cerebral de tercer grado. Tuvo suerte con la colocación de las heridas de bala. Bueno, tan afortunado como uno puede ser cuando te han disparado. Pudimos curarlo bien en la cirugía. Con el tiempo, sanará y estará bien.”

“What’s he saying?” You ask quietly.

“You broke your leg in one place and your arm in three. Two fractured ribs. They patched up the gunshot wounds well in surgery. With time you’ll heal and you’ll be alright,” Marc translates, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Muchas gracias, doctor, no sé- no sabemos qué haríamos sin él. Gracias.”

“Por supuesto. La muerte tendrá toda la lucha para sacarlo de esta tierra.” He clears his throat. “Les dejaré tener más tiempo para ustedes.”

“Gracias, doctor,” Marc says.

“So, I’ll be okay, right?” You asks quietly.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Marc says reassuringly. He takes your hand in his and presses his lips to your scratched and bruised knuckles. “We’re gonna take you home as soon as we can. As soon as the doc gives the go ahead, we’re hopping on a plane and we’re out of here.”

“Good,” you say immediately. “I think I’ll be taking a break from fighting for a little while. I’ll take the sidelines.”

Marc looks surprised. Sure, he told Steven and Layla that he wanted you to sit out once you fully healed, but he didn’t expect you to feel the same about it.

“Are you sure?” He asks gently.

You shoot him a tight smile. “More or less. I like being out there to watch your six, but this was too close of a near death experience for my liking,” you explain. “Plus, I’ll be able to take care of you when you get home. Both of you,” you add, shooting a glance and a smile at Layla. “Besides, since I’m not with Osiris anymore, I really need to take it easy.”

You squeeze Marc’s hand. “You won’t have to worry about me then either.”

“I’m always gonna worry about you,” he insists.

“You know what I mean, dumbass.” You pause for a moment. “So. When can we go home?”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! This has been sitting in my writing folder for a hot minute so I figured I'd finish it. Also I know virtually nothing about Guatemala including knowing nothing about Guatemalan healthcare but what little research I did had me decide to have Marc hide his relationship with Y/N for fear of homophobia but I wrote that bit a while back idk... Anyway, might make a fluffy little part two of Marc and Steven taking care of the reader while he heals 👀 lmk if you want it 👀 feed back is encouraged and appreciated! Have a lovely day!

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #male reader #x male reader #mr knight #marc spector x male reader #steven grant x male reader #marvel fic #moon knight fic #moon knight system #marvel moon knight #marvel cinematic universe #oscar isaac #oscar issac x male reader #marvel x male reader

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