#i just gotta get enough energy to be more than just a husk of a person

[reboren]

[transgamerthoughts]

City In The Mist

I had a goal this year of publishing at least one update per month to my ongoing Skies of Arcadia novelization 'To The Horizon.' I already have failed! January threw a happy curveball at me as I traveled to the Chicago area for my first major fighting game tournament. It was fun but took a lot of my focus. Writing stories on airplanes and in hotel rooms lacks appeal . Which means that our first new chapter of the year hits in February. But it's here!

Vyse and his heroic crew have been in Ixa'taka for a while now. It's not quite "Guts stuck on the boat to Elfhelm" territory but my fic hit the Green Moon Arc in June 2022. That's a long time and it's provided interesting challenges as a writer. How do you take an RPG from the early 2000s and modernize it just enough? Skies of Arcadia is a very broad and swashbuckling game but it does tangle with tough topics when our heroes reach the "new" lands under the Green Moon. The game is fundamentally a celebration of cultures and the vibrancy around the world but ya can't deny there's something weird about the heroic crew swooping into and saving the natives. Something's gotta give.

Part of the solution, which expanded the time spent here compared to the Red Moon Arc in Nasr, was to expand on the Ixa'takan perspective and give side characters like Merida and Tika'tika more role in driving off the evil empire. A "modern" take on Skies of Arcadia, while not diminishing the sweeping heroics of the main party, necessarily needs to expand who is allowed to be a hero within the main narrative. That's even more important than expanding the lore.

I dropped a fresh chapter dropped last night, which means we're nearing the end of our time in Ixa'taka . As our heroes dive into the lost city of Rixis to confront a variety of magickal secrets and surprising revelations, the board's set for a grand finale. I'd love to get that follow up chapter done before the end of the month for a lovely two 'fer round but that might be tricky. Still! While this chapter was quite big, the next will be a very focused. Ship battles, ancient giants, things of that nature. If it doesn't come in the next week, it'll still be soon.

I've medical matters to deal with this year but there will be less travel. The fic should have an explosion of chapters in the next few months. For the curious, here's an excerpt of the latest. Keep reading for a brief look at the magick'd mists of Rixis, the Old World capital that time forgot.

Rixis was not a city of gold but the reality was as good as anything Vyse might’ve imagined. A cityscape as dense as Riqueza covered every inch of the plateau’s surface but where the Valuan sprawl was marked by electric lamps and smokestacks, Rixis was completely entwined with the natural world. Whereas the Upper City might’ve had a glittering spire touched with yellow moonstone lights, the various dwellings throughout Rixis were interrupted by trees brimming with impossible vigor. There was no axe that would penetrate their bark and no deficiency that could sap the color of their leaves.

Vyse thought he understood the word “green” until this moment but had clearly been wrong. Likewise for concepts like “red” or “yellow” or really any color one could name. The foliage was a rainbow delight that draped over a majority of the dwellings. The buildings bore the same odd snake-skin sheen as the gatehouse which allowed them to paradoxically stick out like nothing he’d ever seen while also camouflaging them away. Even if they could sail high enough, they might’ve missed spotting Rixis.

Not everything was immaculate. Throughout portions of the city, large craters created unsightly blemishes that took away some of the wonder. Burnt moonstone husks rest in some of their centers, the stones robbed of whatever energies they once held. Had time drained them or had they fallen with so much heat as to exhaust themselves? Either way, he knew exactly what they were.

“They had no protection from the Rains of Destruction,” Vyse noted sadly as he stepped off the dias and into the city grounds.

Fina wandered to his side. “Veridian mages were peerless healers,” she said. “But they didn’t weave wards with the same strength as the Silvites or Ardites. There is protection here however.”

It took a moment to realize what Fina meant but as Vyse looked closer, he started to notice a strange mist hanging upon the air holding the barest hints of beryl heaviness. It wasn’t clouds or fog although they were certainly high enough. The haze occasionally shuddered with movements that he couldn’t quite apprehend. It felt like seeing stray movement in the corner of a mirror except it was playing out entirely before his eyes. Motions that progressed with disjointed skip and shapes that never quite formed into anything knowable behind the wavy green. He took a few steps further into the mist and found that, contrary to his expectation, it held a friendly warmth like a friend’s embrace.

“Is this gloom?” he asked. "From the moonstones?"

Drachma cautiously approached the edge of the haze and ran his hand through it. “S’not quite,” he noticed as his face turned downward into a scowl. “More like’n what Rhaknam carries ‘round him.”

Vyse understood the comparison. The arcwhale carried a veil of frigid demise wherever he traveled in some odd mixture of magick and natural defense mechanism. Vyse recalled the strange mustiness that accompanied Rhaknam’s presence in the sky. As if a portion of the world was being pulled into mist. This was similar although far more inviting. He wondered if the mist was as dangerous.

As if to put the party at ease, Fina walked further into the cloudy city. Cupil slid off her wrist and bobbed at her side, giving a comfortable meeeep as his hue changed from silver to green. His master gave a playful twirl like an angel dancing on stardust.

“It’s visible glimmer,” she explained. “A magick was cast with such potency that it burned hot enough to leave traces centuries later. I can’t imagine what it was…”

Drachma stomped towards a crumpled heap of stone where a house’s wall had fallen in. “Ye ken fix t’call me daft if y’like but I seen this rock ‘fore. Travelin’ merchant were selling chunks.”

Aika gave an exasperated sigh. “Does it matter? There’s no gold! Merida said the streets were jam pack’d with gold and silver but there’s only crummy rocks.”

“It’s verdite,” Fina noted as she ran her hand over a nearby wall. It rippled at her touch like the surface of a pond grazed by the wind. “Naturally receptive to magicks though not as strong as moonstone.”

“How’d some merchant get a hand on it?” Vyse wondered. Drachma shrugged.

“Mebbe some Valuan runaway what were posted ‘ere,” he mused. “Iff’n we’re far enough what Ixa’taka’s below Valua then might’ve been a fool drifted in from North Ocean.”

Aika took her place next to Fina and touched the verdite stone. A smaller ripple cascaded along the surface. “I don’t care if it’s magickal,” she moped. “This was all supposed to be gold!”

“Green magicks pull from the world around the user,” Fina said with a gesture at the verdite-clad city. “In a city built with a stone that conducts energy? Even a fleeting spell would be formidable.”

Drachma frowned. “Ain’tcha suppose to feel that kind ‘o magicks in yer bones? I gots nothin’ in me body right now 'cept me usual aches.”

“Not everyone’s as connected to that sort of thing.” Fina sounded sorry for the old man. "I can certainly feel it."

Vyse tilted his head. “When you were teaching me red magick on the journey, I was pulling on power inside my body. Green magick is different?”

Fina nodded. “Every school has quirks,” she offered. “Red magick pulls from our own energy, green draws from the world around us and is then modified by our emotions.”

Aika giggled and brought up her hand. Her purple moonstone rested in the pal and with a teasing whistle, she chilled the air around above it. Hints of frost flaked upwards. “What about purple?”

“It’s powered by belief,” Fina replied. “The more you believe in the spell, the more real it becomes.”

Drachma rolled his eye. “Talk’n hogwash.”

The cold in Aika’s hand swirled with more energy. “I mean… it’s cold. It is! Freakin’ cold!”

“I can feel it from here,” Vyse agreed. “Nice and chilly.”

“Purple magick is a matter of trickery," Fina explained. "We rearrange the world in a way that it isn’t: a burst of cold, an illusion. And the more we all agree it is… it becomes. This is true of all magicks but particularly for purple spells.”

Aika shrugged and the cold in her hand faded. “Dunno if I really get it. I just think about makin’ something cold and it starts to happen.”

The lesson concluded as Drachma took heavy steps deeper into the city, foot falls hanging on the glimmer-filled air. “Ain’t meant t’cut yer brain-fest short but ye ain’t noticed?”

“Noticed what?” Aika asked. She looked around the city as if expecting to find something obvious.

Vyse took a moment and cast his glance about as well. Rixis was pristine save for the scant moonstones slammed into the ground. Scars of a calamity that shattered the world. Then he realized.

“There’s no bodies,” he pointed out. “No signs that anyone ever lived here.”

“Wouldn’t expect a dead Valuan noble like we found in Pyrynn but yeah! There’s nothing! The temple had all sorts of stuff. Even had coffins for those weird kings.”

“Might’ve fled before the Rains,” Vyse posited. Fina shook her head.

“They didn’t,” she said with surprising surety. “No one knew the Rains were coming and the shift from the falling moonstones drove their Gigas out of control. After that I’m not sure.”

The absence of information gnawed at the back of Fina’s mind. There was only so much information available about the world immediately after the Rains of Destruction, much of which came from the Elders’ magicks. It was part scientific monitoring—climate data, seismograph readings, glimmer particle recordings, argenti scout reports—and part arcane scrying. Piercing the veil of chaos that draped over the skies following the calamity was a difficult task but it wasn't impossible. Fina had an intimate recollection of this data, having studied it for years in preparation for her journey.

But there was something bothering her which she could not explain. Beneath that tangle of encyclopedic trivia was a vague feeling that threatened to become knowable. Something important that could provide a deeper context to the riddle of Rixis. It was like how the start of a dream could only be vaguely recollected. If she could only dig deeper into the ocean of herself, she knew she’d find something.

Because there was something there. Something she had forgotten.

Vyse’s voice brought her back to reality. “No animals either,” he noticed. “Time’s left the city completely untouched.”

Drachma shrugged. “Kenne say I wanted t’stumble on some den ‘o fiends anyhow.”

The old man looked around the city again and suppressed his sense of adventure. What was he doing here? How was it that he was across the damned South Ocean and it had nothing to do with Rhaknam? The whole situation felt preposterous. Here he was kicking about some Old World metropolis, nearly choking on glimmer and gloom, while the thing he wanted most was on the other end of the world.

There had been a moment in the mines where it felt right to be here under the Green Moon fighting the Valuans but he changed his mind. The Old World! Buncha arcane blather that he wanted nothing to do with! An old bastard like him was never meant to wander such magick’d grounds. If only he could…

A scream cut through his thoughts and diffused through the fog with such fear that he wondered if the earth had cracked open and birthed a horrible beast. It took a moment before he realized that it was Aika. The scream was so far removed from her normal tone that the old man had confused it to the screechings of a cornered monster. He cast a glance around and found that she had disappeared from sight save for a quaking shadow deeper in the haze. Vyse was already running towards her, with Fina in tow. With a burst of speed that gave false impression to his age, Drachma scrambled towards the young pirate. He fully expected a fight but froze when the scene drew into view.

There were figures in the mist. Hundreds of them. Shades of translucent thinness that trudged about without leaving any footfalls on the ground. A tall warrior much like the ones back at Horteka marched through the center of the city on business lost to time. A partner at his side, cat-eyed and bearing the smallest hint of fangs, patrolled with equal purpose. One woman, resplendent in garb and shimmering soft green, had portions of her body that gave way to feathers. Her face was covered with enough ruffling plumes to imply great importance or at the very least a bold adventurousness. Two young children twirled around her with arms more like wings than anything belonging to man as Drachma understood. With enough speed, he suspected the pair might lift their feet off the ground and sail right into the sky. This marvelous cavalcade of those untouched by body-magicks and those displaying their changes spread out until the city seemed populated once again.

He was looking at ghosts.

[ryosei-hime]

Taking It Slow

The last chapter in my Personal Space fic. Finally. I wrote three different versions of this chapter only to go back to the first one in the end. Warning for mild (?) sexual content. Foreplay levels. I learned what turns on parrots for this. Also available on AO3.

 Angel sighed and hung his head before rolling off of Husk and sitting on the edge of the bed. He kept his head down, the bottommost set of hands gripping the mattress, one hand covering his face, another buried in his chest.

 “I knew it. I fuckin’ knew it.”

 Husk had to lay there a moment, waiting for his irregular breathing to settle. He sat up and reached out towards Angel’s shoulder, but he jerked away.

 “I knew ya didn’t wanna. I told ya you didn’t hafta. But you let it go this far anyways.” The fist clutching at his chest tightened as he looked up, anger and hurt in his eyes. “Are you tryna break my heart?”

 “What? No, I-”

 “It’s me, isn’t it? I'm just a ‘two-bit whore.’ Too nasty for you to fuck, right?”

 Angel held himself with most of his arms, still clutching his chest as his head fell again. Husk’s own words being thrown back at him made him flinch. He hadn’t realized those insults even phased Angel. He always took them in stride, ran with them even. Now he felt like a fuckin asshole.

 “If I wanted to feel like shit, I’d’ve gone to work.”

 “Do I get a chance to talk or is this a fuckin monologue?” Husk demanded, fur bristling in frustration.

 “Fine. Just say it already. I ain’t good enough for ya.”

 “I didn’t say tha-!”

 Husk caught himself before he could go off and took a deep breath. He scooted closer, holding a paw out.

 “Give me one of those damn hands.”

 Angel reluctantly put a hand in his paw without looking at him. Husk held onto it like a lifeline, trying to find words to explain himself and apologize all at the same time.

 “I’m sorry I ever said anything to make you think that’s how I see ya. That’s not what this is about.”

 “Then what is it?”

 “Honestly, you scare the fuck outta me, kid.”

 “Excuse me?” Angel demanded furiously, retracting his hand.

 “No, I didn’t mean-. Fuckin’ hell. It’s just...look!” He held up a fist full of feathers that had fallen out when he hit the bed. “I’m over here moltin’ I’m so damn nervous!”

 The anger and hurt seeped out of Angel’s face and he searched Husk’s eyes, forcing him to look away as he went on.

 “You’re always flirtin’ and touchin’ and I just...don’t know how to handle that. I ain’t had that kind of attention since I was alive. And I don’t get what you see in this fucked up body.”

 He gestured at his torso, frustrated again. Angel grabbed his wrists to stop him, trying to look him in the eyes again.

 “Husk, you been down here a long time. You really never been with nobody?”

 Husk just looked away, even leaned away a little. It’s not like he liked admitting it. It was fuckin embarrassing being some kinda demon-body virgin. Angel released his wrists and arms wrapped around him all up and down his body, pulling him close so Angel could rest his cheek against the top of his head.

 “You gotta let go of your human body, Husk. It’s gone. And there ain’t nothin wrong with the body you got. So, stop lettin it be the punishment they want it to be. Make it yours, baby. Own it.”

 Husk’s arms went around Angel as he spoke and he buried his face in his chest, trying to hide the pain there. It just wasn’t that easy. He didn’t know how to come to terms with it and if he hadn’t by now, what chance was there it would ever happen? It was pointless to talk about it. So he tried to shift the conversation back to Angel.

 “Didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

 “Hey, this is still the best date I ever had.”

 Husk exposed a sardonic smile as he turned his head from the softness of Angel’s chest.

 “Shit, that’s sad.”

 “I mean it,” Angel insisted, cupping his cheek and gazing down into his eyes. “You’re not as bad at this as you think you are, y’know?”

 Husk avoided eye contact and pulled out of his embrace, leaning away. Compliments were so damn uncomfortable. Angel’s hand ran down his arm and slipped into his paw, other hands finding places to stroke along his legs. It was kind of soothing and brought him leaning back towards him.

 “Why don’t we just take things slow,” he suggested gently. “You can do whatever you want. And if I do something you don’t like, I’ll back off, promise.”

 Husk looked a little miffed. Now he felt like he was being treated like some kinda fragile baby that might break at the least wrong move. But, like most things, it was his own damn fault. He sighed and gave Angel a tired smile.

 “Yeah, all right.”

 Angel fell back onto the bed, stretching his arms up over his head with a satisfied grin.

 “I’m all yours. Hit me big boy.”

 Dammit. Why’d he have to put it like that? Nervous energy coursed through Husk as he leaned over Angel. Being put in control certainly helped him feel more confident, but his being in charge was just an illusion. Angel exuded sex, drawing him in the way the moon pulled at the tide or a hapless moth fluttered to its fiery doom.

 Husk’s claws brushed over Angel’s hair as he went in for a tentative kiss, paw gliding down to cup his cheek. Angel’s arms came down around his neck, fingers tangling in his fur as he leaned into it. As Angel leaned up, Husk moved to straddle one of those long legs of his. His paw moved down to Angel’s shoulder and a claw gently slid the bra strap there aside. Angel broke the kiss to whisper in his ear.

 “Go ahead. Tear it.”

 Husk swallowed before hooking a claw under the bra and splitting it down the middle. As he did so, Angel captured his lips again, passionate and forceful. His paw rested on Angel’s chest as he focused on not losing it again, claws kneading the fluff there. More hands crept up his back and found places to rest on his hips. It was overwhelming trying to keep track of them all.

 “Wait,” he gasped, breaking the kiss. “Too many hands.”

 “Just one pair?”

 Husk nodded. Angel kissed his way along Husk’s jawline as the extra hands receded. He sighed softly, tilting his head as Angel’s lips trailed down his neck. One of the hands still in play moved down his back and slipped under a wing. As Angel’s fingers gently sifted through the feathers, Husk felt a shiver go up his spine. He tried to muffle the small, shaky sigh it caused in Angel’s hair.

 “You like that?”

 He nodded, a purr rumbling deep in his chest. Angel grinned deviously as he played in Husk’s feathers, fingers sifting through and messaging the skin around them - until one came out in his hand. He sat up a bit more with a concerned look.

 “Oh, shit, baby. Sorry.”

 “It’ll grow back,” Husk muttered. “Keep goin.”

 His wings extended to their full length as his face sank down into the crook of Angel’s neck. He nuzzled in as he continued to purr and Angel’s fingers went back to work, one hand tending to the wing while the other trailed up and down his back in a soothing motion.

 “This really gets yer motor runnin’ huh?”

 Husk made some kind of agreeable noise into his neck and flapped his wings, raining feathers down around them. He nipped at Angel’s neck causing him to respond with his own small sound of pleasure. He was starting to see what got Angel’s motor running himself. Too bad he wasn’t confident enough to fully give it to him yet.

 Angel had no trouble with his confidence and Husk sucked in a breath as Angel’s mouth found his ear, sharp teeth putting just enough pressure on the insides to send thrills through him. Angel’d found his two most sensitive areas so quickly and now he toyed with them both. Like he had some kind of radar for erogenous zones.

 “Damn you’re good,” Husk breathed.

 “Damn right I am.”

 Angel’s tongue flicked over the soft folds on the edge of his ear, sneaking a third hand back in to toy with his other wing. Husk’s knees went weak, the arm holding his weight shaking. He sank down into Angel, unable to keep himself up as he went on.

 Angel’s hands slid down to the base of his wings as he collapsed into him. He let his fingers continue to play around the plumage there as Husk buried his face in his chest again. He brought in a fourth hand to massage the inside of his ear, making him purr all the louder. He hid his face in his chest fluff.

 “You like it in there?” Angel asked with a laugh.

 “I live here now,” he responded, muffled.

 “I’ll forward your mail.”

 Husk grinned as Angel’s fingers became more gentle and soothing than probing. He could feel his body relaxing from the tension he’d built up, Angel’s arms eventually sliding around him to bundle him up in an embrace again.

 “How was that? Too much?”

 Husk shook his head, turning it into a nuzzling motion.

 “God, I’m glad I let you win that game.”

 “You let me win? That’s not how I remember it, baby. As I recall, I threw ya off yer game, so you couldn’t get that Ace and Queen you had lined up.”

 Husk lifted his head and gave him a devilish grin.

 “You sneaky son of a bitch.”

 “You know you love it,” Angel replied cheekily.

[keeroo92]

Breaking Point

My SFW contribution to @jackpot-dantezine, where Dante falls apart on the way to confront Urizen.

Word count: 1,909

-------

The air hung stagnant around him, oppressive and unnaturally warm. Shades of red and brown, grey and a sickening green encroached up the walls. When he called the smell, “hot garbage”, he’d been far too kind. Veins pulsated a stern drumbeat as Dante stepped forward after his two female companions. 

“Bet you both I bag the first Queen!” Lady taunted. Trish responded with a cool smirk and a quickened pace, but Dante’s mind was elsewhere.

What if it was Vergil?

Dante had his doubts, despite what the weirdo client told him. What were the chances, right? Vergil’d been gone for years, stuck in hell after their last meeting. Getting back here, let alone in good enough shape to pull off this bullshit, was a longshot.

Still. His brother had a way of popping up and causing trouble. 

The first boom of battle ricocheted off the nauseating walls, reminding him where he was and what he still needed to do. He’d better catch up. Thinking about shit wasn’t his style; killing demons was. 

Time for a good ol’ fashioned beat down, that’d get him out of this funk. 

Dante cracked his neck, hands twitching to grasp the twin handles of his beloved Ebony and Ivory. The staccato thud of his boots mirrored the thudding of his heart, hastening as he got closer to a fight.

He turned a bloody corner just in time to see Trish deal a death blow to a Hell Judecca, its skeletal arms dissolving into ash as she spun to find her next prey. Her signature yellow sparks glowed brightly from her hands, her body dashing across the blood-stained ground to strike a pair of Antenora. Show off.

“That puts me ahead by two, Lady! What, are you taking a nap?” the blonde called.

“Not even close!” Lady replied, firing her bazooka straight down the throat of a Caina.

Dante grinned and picked a target, spinning on his heel as a scythe hunted his flesh. Too easy. He twirled Ebony and shot the ugly bastard in the face behind his back. Why did all demons look like the ass end of a bad burrito, anyway?

Eh, who cared?

His heart lurched. Vergil would. When they were children, Dante’s brother never ran out of questions about the nature of demons. He’d asked everything imaginable, from how they fought to how they multiplied. 

Dante tried not to think about that part.

And for every question Vergil asked, their dad had an answer. He’d stop whatever he was doing to explain, smiling proudly all the while. Like Dante wasn’t even there. It used to annoy him, but now the memory only brought bittersweet longing. What he wouldn’t give for them all to be together again…

“Dante, duck!”

Leather snapped as Dante instantly dropped to a crouch. A stream of fire licked his flesh, a Hell Bat above screeching its displeasure at the near miss. Annoying bastard. He never should've let it get so close. 

I gotta keep it together, he thought cynically, or the girls will get on my case.

Plus, banter always helped keep his mind from visiting its darker corners.

The man in red summoned a smirk and fired a few rounds, his bullets poking holes in the bulging orange belly overhead. A sound not unlike a whoopee cushion signaled his success. Nice.

“Sayonara, sucker!” he crowed, watching as the bat’s leaking body propelled it into a wall to explode. “Let’s call that one twenty points.”

“No way, lazybones! You don’t get extra for making fart noises,” Lady called with a scowl. 

Dante raised his hands in a placating gesture as soot settled to mark the deaths of their foes. He hoped Ver- Urizen sent a few more their way; he needed to warm up before kicking the king’s ass. Maybe he should stretch, just to keep his blood flowing.

Dante sighed and shook his head. He’d never hear the end of it.

It turned out he didn’t need to worry; as the trio progressed, they encountered wave after wave of demons, all vying for fresh blood. Trish and Lady didn’t falter, picking off one after another as Dante did his best to stay on task, but his mind kept drifting back to his brother.

For decades, Dante held only anger at his twin for not being there, for forcing their mother to search for him. To a child, the immature logic made sense. If Vergil hadn’t run off, things would’ve turned out differently. Simple cause and effect.

But time dulled the blade of his rage, and a broader understanding of life took hold. Any number of choices may have changed the outcome of the attack, but obsessing over it wouldn’t change what happened.

None of them had the power to predict the consequences, or to change them. All he could do was keep fighting, and hope that by doing so he spared other families from sharing the fate of his own. 

If Dante was being honest, the constant battles tired him. His body didn’t move like it used to, and the first aches of middle age warned him it was time to slow down. He couldn’t chase demons forever, and part of him didn’t want to. It was a lot of work.

It might be time to leave it to someone younger.

Then again, what the fuck else was he going to do all day? The only thing worse than being tired was being bored.

And the thought of retiring while Vergil was still out there somewhere, doing who knew what… it didn’t feel right, as if the balance would shift to the demons and they’d go unchecked. As a descendant of Sparda that gave a shit about humanity, Dante felt a certain responsibility to bear the weight of defending them. It was what his dad would’ve wanted.

What his mother would’ve wanted.

Besides; if he didn’t, then who would? Nero sure as hell wasn’t ready, not yet. 

But above all else, if it came to a fight to the death, his brother deserved to go at the hands of his family. Someone who understood what he’d gone through and all that he’d lost. It was Dante’s responsibility, and he damn well wasn’t hiding from it. Not this time. 

The thought left a hollow ache in his chest, a bitter sorrow he desperately wished he could ignore. If there was any alternative, any chance of helping his brother instead of ending his life, Dante knew he’d take it. That he had to even consider killing Vergil showed how twisted life could be. It made him want to scream. 

“Aw, shit,” Trish said, breaking his rambling thoughts. A quartet of Nobody’s waited in the next clearing, scurrying back and forth like excited cats. Perfect timing - Dante hated these guys.

And he really needed to kill something.

He flew at the demons with a cry of fury, drawing all four to him as he pulled Rebellion out. The girls followed in his wake, but he saw nothing save the nearest mask as his blade struck home. It left a deep crack in the clay, but the prick backed off before he had the time to kill it.

He really hated these guys. 

“Lady, finish him!” he cried. The other three were already swarming him. Damnit.

He dodged a stray arm and slashed at another as a blast reached his ears. The grotesque floor shook from the force and Dante roared, unleashing a vicious series of slices at the stumbling Nobody closest to him. It whimpered and tried to back off, but he refused to let it go that easily. Rebellion’s heavy blade sank deep into the creature’s core, splattering hot blood on its fellows and its killer alike. Two down. 

Two to go. 

There were days he didn’t see the point of it anymore; no matter how many would-be demon kings he took down, there’d always be another, and the peons were even worse. Useless, feral things, their only desire to destroy and kill.

It only added fuel to the fire of his rage. He needed to get closer.

Dante sheathed Rebellion and pulled at the thread of dark energy connecting him to Balrog, summoning the metallic pseudo-armor even as he threw a powerful punch. A rapid kick followed, his feet cracking against the reddish mask of the third nobody. He’d kill it before it fought back.

But a fiery blast on his left hurled him to the side, the last demon cackling as he fell. Years of getting pummeled proved their worth as Dante rolled with the blow, using the momentum to get on his feet a beat later. He grimaced and flipped a finger at the laughing jerk. 

“Is that all you got?” he shouted. Who knew if it understood.

It screeched and slammed a limb at him, slashing at his chest. He stepped aside and brought his arms together, crushing the appendage and tugging the beast closer for a solid headbutt. He punched and kicked, again and again. Demon blood splattered his face, each drop like a balm to his wrath. The chaotic battle surrounding him faded away; it was just him and the demon and the sounds of his strikes pulverizing its desecrated body. 

“Dante?” Lady called, her voice barely piercing the fog of his anger. He ignored her and punched the Nobody in the face again. “Dante, it’s dead. You can stop hitting it now.”

How many people had this one killed? How many families did its hunger shatter? For all Dante knew, it might be the bastard that killed his mother. He punched it again.

“Dante, come on…” Trish said. 

Maybe this was the demon that left nothing but smears of blood on the playground outside. Or the one that tore through a local grocery store, or that small house where he found those god awful husks. Another punch. He didn’t notice his female companions coming to stand beside him.

“Dante, knock it off. We need to keep moving,” Lady said, her palm coming to rest on his shoulder as he pulled back for another punch. Trish mirrored her.

The edges of the creature’s face began dissolving, a fine grey powder all that remained. Dante’s panting breath sent the dust aflutter as he slowly lowered his arm. His jaw ached; had he been gritting his teeth the whole time? Fuck.

Better crack a joke, something to keep it light.

“So, that’s what, four points to me?” Dante said. Both women shot him fierce glares.

“What the fuck, Dante?” Lady began. 

He wiped away the blood still clinging to his face and sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“Didn’t look like nothing,” Trish chimed in. “You good?”

The red-clad man released the tendril of energy connecting him to Balrog, the blood-stained metal vanishing a beat behind. He didn’t know what to say. His rage still flickered within him, an ever present ember waiting for the right moment to flare into an inferno. It might give him an edge; it might consume him. 

Talk about a double-edged sword.

It didn’t matter what was happening in his heart or what it did to him. There was a big ass demon tree growing in his city, ugly bastards swarming the place and who knew what else. It was his job to clean up the mess, no matter who made it. 

Dante snorted. He was, in essence, a janitor. 

He cracked his neck. It was time to clean. “I’m good.”

[sashayaweh]

Sam and Bucky dance to this song after having to take refuge in a safe house during a particularly high stakes mission. Theres a record player and Sam makes this necessary senior citizen taunts when he catches Bucky's frequent glances towards where it sits on the wooden shelf. Eventually, Sam walls over to fiddle with it because Bucky insists on faking disinterest, but Sam really wants to see him being not-so-boring for once. It was rare to see the other man take interests in his surroundings, barring the hyperawareness that he had for every environment he found himself in.

Sam could almost imagine Bucky's robo-brain whirring to calculate all the exits, people, and vantage points for any possible threat. He never seemed to fully relax. Even sitting in a chair, he sat stiffly as if he was ready to leap out at at any moment. Sam could understand. He wasn't brainwashed and weaponized for 70 years, sure. But he has seen war and death. Things he'd rather forget. And he's felt fear. The initial fear of the thousand foot free falls, the fear of the police and the banks, and the fear of losing himself in it all. So, Sam gets the mental burden and understands how hard it is to leave once you're in.

So, he fiddles with the record player and pretends not to know how to work it. There's no other records visible, but luckily one is still in place. Bucky would eventually get irritated and put everything into place because he knows what Sam is doing. And he knows that Sam knows. Because Sam knows everything. Bucky assumes this from the amount of time the other man spends talking. So, he puts the record on like old times and ignores the lump trying to force its way up and the memories that resurface. Steve-

"You're lucky, man. Etta James, and a classic at that, talk about a two for one. Looks like our luck it starting to turn around, CP30," Sam smile toothily and Bucky wants to do do something to that gap in his teeth. He doesn't quite know what that is yet. Maybe punch it because Sam knows he doesn't understand that obvious reference. But Sam's smile soften to a close, and the corners curl at the edges as his head begins to sway with the notes. Like silk curtains, his eyes slip close in simple pleasure as if he was settling himself into the music.

Bucky watches and feels awkward. At some point, in the past, he would know what to do in the situation. He would know what to do with the violins and the soulful tones curling words of longing into the air. And tired fulfillment. Maybe, he would know what to do with Sam but he doubts it. Or at least how to...be himself. Maybe then they wouldn't argue for once. Sam opens his eyes and looks over to see Bucky who stood, stone faced and deep in thought. The focus of his hooded stare was intense and Sam scoffed. The other man was being broody again.

"Are you even listening to the music or did you zone out again?" He shifts, slightly elbowing his companion and Bucky blinks, his thoughts shifting back to the present.

"You started talking, I couldn't help myself," Bucky quips and Sam let's out a soft scoft that becomes a short laugh. Bucky feels his own lips twitch.

"You gotta relax, man. You could beat a piñata with the stick you have up your ass," Sam shakes his head. That wide tooth smile is back but this time its less cocky and a little more warm. Bucky rolls his eyes and looks away. He does that a lot. At least he understood the reference this time.

Sam sighs and stops the music. He replaces the needle at the original point and let's it go. After a few seconds of crackling silence, the song fills the room again. Sam slaps the back of his hand gently against Bucky's chest and steps back with a mischievous grin on his face.

"Wanna dance, old man?"

Bucky gently freezes in shock but Sam catches it because he expected it, really. Its why he asked in the first place. He wants to shake up that tightly wound exposure that Bucky has at all times. And he was bored. Bucky was not a talkative person and their current predicament left them without many sources for entertainment. It'd been hours since they arrived, yet Sam was feeling the time pass under his skin like an itch. He was exhausted and body weary, but it was better to stay awake so he could orient to the new time zone. As a result, he couldn't help but pester the other man.

"No."

Sam just kept looking at him. His gaze was sleepy, but a twinkle of the earlier mischief still shined through. Similarly, his skin reflected the warmth of the sun as it clung to the early evening and seeped through the windows. It was lucky that they got to be above ground this time.

The staring lasted a long moment. Like it always did. Then Sam shrugged.

"I know dancing may not be a particular talent of yours-" but before he could finish, Bucky was in his space and the rest of Sam's sentenced disappeared with some of his bravado. Bucky was fast and his sudden closeness wasn't expected given the man's reservations a second ago. The sudden adrenaline that had sparked through Sam's started to fade too. He wasn't scared of his companion, but the man's behavior was largely still a mystery to Sam which meant that sometimes he was caught off-guard.

Bucky raised his right hand out, brow arched expectantly, and Sam took it with caution. The man's other hand rose to hover a few inches above Sam's hip, and it took a few moments before he realized Bucky was waiting for permission. His cheeks warmed and he hoped his complexion made it less obvious. He gently guided the metal hand until Bucky settled it on the jut of his hip, the surface cool and smooth under his soft hold.

"Aren't you a gentleman? Thats that old-school chivalry," Sam teased. Bucky pulled their bodies closer and smirked wryly.

"I aim to please." A new song had started and Bucky briefly tore his attention from the heat he felt spreading along his front. He hadn't danced in a long time. Not like this.

The current song featured a masculine husk crooning affections for the listener. It was accompanied by the distinct, steady tempo of a piano. Bucky felt his body catch the music, the way he'd been taught, quickly adjusting to an appropriate rhythm. Sam followed without much of a pause, finally starting to settle into the feelings of sharing this foreign intimacy with the familiar stranger who was holding him so damn gently. Even so, Bucky gripped him firmly like he'd catch Sam if he even thought about falling.

It was...nice. Nicer than Sam (or either of them, really) had expected. He hadn't been held in who knows how long. He was too busy and had mostly outgrown flings, but it wouldn't be fair to a potential partner if he randomly left on long missions that required little to no contact with those who didn't have the clearance. But that was kind of an excuse. Since everything that had happened, Sam hasn't much felt like having others in his space. He was a social person and owned that, sure. But it was hard to open up authentically as much as he teased Bucky about his tendency to isolate himself. He tries to take the advice he regularly gives to the veterans he takes under his wing. Its enough to sustain his close relationships, including whatever he has going on with One Armed Wonder, but he has little energy to offer anyone else. He has to remind himself that thats okay.

Without thinking, Sam realized he had sunk his head into the crook of Bucky's shoulder. He had started to drift, still following the gentle sways of his partner's body like a boat welcoming the gentle rocking of small waves after a storm. Bucky hadn't said anything, luckily, so Sam remains in his position and enjoys the comforting sounds of soul that has wrapped around them.

He had finally put Bucky onto some real good conditioner after growing sick of the greasy tresses the man sported as the Winter Soldier. No judgement. Its hard to have a solid hair care routine as an international assassin for magic super Nazis. But now, it smelled like honeyed coconuts instead of the scentless, dollar brands he used to buy at random. Even though Bucky's hair was shorter, Sam still caught wiffs of it near his neck. It was more noticeable this close given the man's lack of cologne.

Bucky had noticed earlier when Sam's head dipped into his shoulder. Shortly after, he though he had heard soft snores, but the man's body had otherwise remained upright and solid like usual. He had continued to follow the pattern they'd set, so Bucky had just shifted his hand to his partner's lower back to provide support and kept their pace steady. Otherwise, he lost himself in the heat of Sam's hand and the confusing stillness that had settled in his chest. He felt...anchored. But that was Sam. He was strong and steady, and reliable, but just as capable of sinking as anyone else without the support he inarguable deserved. The support Bucky tried to provide.

Steve was gone now. He'd left the both of them to figure out the aftermath of everything that had happened. Bucky wondered if it hurt Sam like it hurt for him. He didn't blame his Steve; couldn't begrudge him that act of selfishness after all they'd been through. Without Rogers' strong presence between them, they had been left to scramble in the gap and reshape it for two. Sam had his family and Bucky had his therapist, but nobody could understand the them as much as the other, as different as they are. So here they are, slow dancing in a safehouse Rhodes had been generous enough to lend them on short notice. He was amicable towards Bucky, but the generosity was really for Sam. Bucky's neck itched, likely with dried sweat, and he sighed internally. He needed a shower.

The man worked his hand against Sam's lower back instinctually and the other man responds with a questioning hum tinged with sleepiness. Bucky doesnt have an answer so they continue in silence. The song had changed. It was a woman again. She was singing the Blues, if Bucky guessed correctly. He's been picking up more of the music Sam liked. It could be relaxing but full-bodied one moment or rich and thrilling the next.

So far, he has only worked his way up the mid-80s. Sam jokesthat his sensitive hearing isnt prepared for the young and hip tastes that dominate the charts, but he'll still sneak recent artists into his recommendations so Bucky isnt completely "out of the loop." Like always, Bucky would just roll his eyes, but now and again he closes them and try to imagine what Sam felt when listened to the music. Wonders at the connections the man shares with the melodies, and the histories curved into the lyrics. Some things, he couldn't ever understand, even if he tries. So, other times, he just listens.

Now, he's curled over his partner's slightly shorter stature, nose brushing the other man's temple. Sam was not a small man. He was built like a brick house. His upper body was strong, but his lower half was thick with muscle and padded by soft curves of flesh. Probably because he only does legs. Meanwhile, Bucky's own body is near the opposite: wide, sturdy chest that tapers to a firm waist and steady, straight legs. They contrast nicely, Bucky thinks. Filling up the spaces the other doesn't. For two people of their size, they still manag to fit snugly with little space between their bodies. Any closer, and Bucky isn't sure how he'd handle the proximity. He feels lulled into the calmness of the evening that had unexpectedly crept up on them in the quiet of everything around them, save for the music.

The two danced a bit longer, but eventually Sam's body grew too weary after the lack of sleep. With hesitancy, they quietly parted after the final notes of the song slipped from the record player. Bucky turns stopped the music while Sam flops into the nearby couch. His growing exhaustion does not stop him from throwing a smirk Bucky's way which the man met with his regular deadpan stare.

"Not bad. Not a single hip replacement necessary. I'd say thats a success for two old men." Sam quipped. Bucky stayed silent.

"You're not old," he finally said. He hadn't moved from his spot by the record player.

"Hmmm. Well, compared to you, 42 isn't that old." Sam lets his eyes close again but Bucky clears his throat, causing one of them to open in question.

"There's a bedroom upstairs," he explains carefully. They've been on the move for some time now with little time for real rest. If Sam was going to finally sleep then it should be in a real bed, at least.

Sam lets out out a quick laugh, "if you think you can butter me up with a dance-"

Bucky cuts off his teasing with a quick glare. If there was ever a moment being the Winter Soldier has served him, it was now. Otherwise, the heat he could feel trying to redden his ears would send Sam into a fit of hysterics.

"I did a perimeter check when we arrived. There's three bedrooms upstairs. All of them have en-suites bathrooms so take your choice," Bucky grumbles out, avoiding eye contact with his counterpart. The earlier stillness he had felt was slowly disappearing now that they were interacting again. His nerves were more taxed than before. He'll analyze that later. Maybe with his therapist, but she was kind of petty, so maybe not.

Sam's teasing smirk has settled into something a little more kind as he rises frim his seat and crosses the room to where Bucky stands. He roughly claps the other man's arm a couple of times before settling the familiar weight of his hand at the ball of Bucky's shoulder.

"I'm just messing with you, man. Thanks though. That couch would do my back in after being thrown by that explosion. Luckily, you were there to provide some cushioning," he says with that toothy smile. Before Bucky can respond, Sam bids him goodnight and slowly makes his way upstairs. Bucky watches him go, dry-mouthed and slightly confused. Once Sam has completely disappeared from view, Bucky takes in his surroundings and feels the emptiness of the room without Wilson's presence.

He'll do one more perimeter check then turn in for the night. Even he can feel the pullings of sleep. Maybe tonight, he'll dream about dancing.

[starkeristheendgame]

Do you take prompts? Because I would love to read something about prof!tony or prof!peter giving an online lecture while the other one sucks his dick under the table 🥺

This was a hella *chefs kiss* prompt and honestly, thank you so much for bringing this to me. I loved writing this and I had so many ideas! Big love to the Discorders or listened to me ramble and brainstorm. Prof!Tony railing his twinky little husband's throat? Sign me up. The POV varies throughout.

TW: Choking | Hair pulling | Exhibitionism/Voyeurism | Mild Daddy kink

Watching Peter sleep was one of Tony's favourite parts of being married. Peter looked so soft and so young, peaceful and golden in the morning light. He was a pillow hog, but that was fine by Tony. It encouraged him to actually get out of bed. He still wanted to shake his younger self for agreeing to morning lectures.

Peter looked serene and unbearably soft as he lay there, nose pushed up a little against the rich blue pillowcase, legs wrapped loosely around Tony’s own as he blinked away the sleepiness. He’d woken up a few minutes before his alarm and had turned it off before it woke his partner. His engineering students had an upcoming online test, and he’d agreed to host a lecture over Zoom while the University was closed for extermination after a bunch of insects and rats from the Biology lab escaped.

Tony shuffled a little closer, sliding across the bed to press their cheeks together, tipping his head so he could brush a soft kiss to the smooth roundness of Peter’s cheek. Sometimes he envied the boy his age - All soft skin and lithe muscle, not a laugher line or grey hair to be found in comparison to Tony’s crinkled eyes and the grey that streaked from temple to temple.

He kissed him again, just on the slope of his brow, then the corner of his little mouth, where it was lax and parted. He let his fingertips trail Peter’s arm gently, loathe to wake him up but knowing that the moment he’d try to get up, he’d be roused anyway. He kissed him again, a little firmer, hand skimming Peter’s side and flank and the boy breathed in a little deeper, shifting to nuzzle closer.

“Good morning” Tony murmured into his cheek, scraping the rasp of his stubble along Peter’s jaw as the boy’s lashes fluttered, then lifted.

“Ugh, no. I can already sense its too early” Peter grumbled, but his eyes were shining as he turned his head, catching Tony’s mouth in a languid, slow kiss. It was as deep as it was sleepy, and Tony sucked Peter’s bottom lip briefly, skimming it with his teeth before he pulled away. If he let the boy sink his claws in now, he’d never make it to the lecture. Peter’s hand slid from the pillow to cup his jaw, thumb stroking over the edge of his stubble before it moved up, sliding into Tony’s messy bed-head and gripping, pulling him back down with a smirk.

Vixen, Tony thought, but he let the boy manhandle him into another kiss, biting his tongue in retaliation for being so sly before he pulled away again. “I only have fifteen minutes before the lecture” he reminded his husband softly, and Peter’s gaze was devilish.

“Aren’t old men supposed to cum quickly?” He teased, and Tony growled at him, raising a hand to land a swat to a pert, round asscheek.

“Brat” he informed his husband sternly, though he was smiling as he took his hand, pressing a soft kiss to the diamond ring that glittered below his knuckle. The boy alternated between wearing it on his hand and on a necklace, and it still made Tony feel warm all over to see it. To know Peter was his. He moved to rise, and Peter came after him again, pressing him down into the mattress by the chest, slinging a leg over him and crawling atop his body.

“Daddy’s brat” Peter reminded him, hips rolling in a lazy, gentle thrust. The boy was almost always hard in the morning, and his slender length nudged at Tony’s bare hip, riding the jut of the muscle before he settled his hands on Peter’s hips, stilling him with a squeeze and a gentle kiss to the cheek, before he threw the boy aside like throwing off the covers.

“Brats are always in need of an exercise in patience. Consider this one” he offered, flashing his husband a smile and a wink as he darted to his feet and out of reach. He lamented it, but he knew it was the only way he’d be presentable and ready in time for his lecture. He shuffled through making a coffee and brushing his teeth, scarfing down an apple and a peach for a quick breakfast before he roamed back into the bedroom.

Peter was sprawled atop the sheets when he walked for the closet, scrolling through his phone and looking a little more awake. He’d brushed his teeth judging by the white smear on his shirt collar, and Tony shook his head fondly as he pulled on a loose pair of slacks and a white shirt. He wasn’t going to make too much of an effort, but he also wasn’t going to make the mistake of thinking nobody could tell he wasn’t wearing any pants.

“It should only be an hour, sweetheart. Try not to die of boredom while I’m gone” he teased his husband, leaning down to press a soft, fond kiss to his forehead. He didn’t trust Peter with a kiss to the mouth, and he hurried from the room before the boy could make any pitiful protests, moving to the office space they’d converted the empty second bedroom into. He’d actually made good time, and he was settled and ready by the time the first few students popped into the Zoon call. None had made the same effort - Rumpled and sleepy and several still clearly in bed.

They talked idly as more students began to file in, and when Tony had done a count and had his full fifteen, he settled them down and loaded up the shared files, delving straight in. They went through various topics one by one, covering what each student felt insecure on. Half an hour passed quicker than he’d expected, and he looked up to find Peter in the doorway, brandishing a fresh coffee and motioning for him to take a pause.

“Alright, guys. We’ve done well so far. Lets take a quick break. Everyone come back in five minutes, okay?” He told them, and disconnected his camera and audio. He double-checked it, then pushed his chair back from the desk a little, curling an arm around Peter’s hips as he accepted the coffee held out for him with an appreciative groan. “Ugh, thank you, honey. I needed this” he admitted, leaning his head into Peter’s soft tummy, breathing in their mixed scent from his shirt.

“Mm, do you have to go back to them?” Peter asked, voice husked and low as he set Tony’s fresh mug aside and cradled his head, tugging teasingly at the hair near his nape. Tony groaned and tipped his head back, ready to tell his little slut to be patient, when Peter stooped and kissed the words from his mouth, like he knew what Tony was about to do. Tony sighed into his mouth, but accepted it, grunting when Peter shuffled to stand between his knees, hands braced on his thighs as he coaxed his mouth open.

“You - Shit. I only - Gave them - Five minutes” Tony managed between kisses, pulling away when Peter’s need to breathe gave him the opportunity. He risked a glance at the clock. Three minutes. And then Peter’s mouth was on his neck, suckling, licking, and his hand found its way into Peter’s hair unbidden, threading through the dark curls as he tipped his head. “No marks” he warned, trailing a hand up and down Peter’s side.

“Mm, I know” Peter responded against his skin, moving down to push aside his shirt collar to get at the sculped bone beneath, teeth sinking in just enough to slightly redden the flesh before he moved, sinking to his knees.

“Uh, uh. Come on, darling. I’ve gotta help them, they have a test. I can’t do the old ‘dropped connection’ this time” Tony sighed, hands moving to Peter’s shoulders to try and coax him back to his feet as their time rapidly ran out. It would probably look suspicious as it was, and his gaze was on the clock when Peter's mouth closed over his cock through his slacks, wet and warm as he laved his tongue from balls to tip. He heaved a breath, felt his traitor of s cock twitch in interest.

"Peter" he warned, because he knew instantaneously where this was going. Peter had always had a thing for Tony’s profession, and he’d lost count of how many times it had made its way into the bedroom with them. Roleplaying, Tony using Peter as stress relief after classes, the way that Peter whimpered Professor Stark between mewls.

Peter simply tipped his head to blink up at him, demure and sultry both as he settled under the desk on his knees, arms wrapping around Tony’s thighs firmly as an indication he wasn’t going anywhere as he closed his lips over where Tony’s sensitive tip lay against his thigh, suckling until the fabric of his slacks was sopping. Tony hissed a breath, looking up at his computer screen/ Most of his students were back.

Objectively, he knew this was wrong. Morally and legally both; and yet…

“Do not give me any regrets about this, Pete” he warned, voice low and promising, both as part of the ‘game’ and a subtle reminder of the very heavy real-life implications this could have. Peter’s only response was to slid his fingers up Tony’s thighs and to the zipper, dragging it down. Tony took a deep, steeling breath, adjusted himself in his seat, smoothed his hair, and hit the buttons for his audio and camera.

“Alright, munchkins. We all here? Where’s Alex? Someone text him. Okay, let’s begin from where we left off” Tony greeted them, putting careful energy into making his smile relaxed and normal as Peter shuffled between his thighs and reached into his slacks, slender fingers wrapping around his hardening cock to draw it out into the open. The cool air made him stiffen, and his gaze raked his screen for any hint  of exposure. But all he saw was himself from the upper torso and onwards, staring back at himself.

As Tony kept talking, Peter ducked down under the desk, closing his pursed lips around the flared, soft tip of Tony’s cock to suckle there, tongue curling around it before dipping briefly into the slit. His mouth was soft and wet and warm and Tony knew it wouldn’t be long before his cock was truly into it, hard and flushed and leaking under Peter’s skilled touch. He shifted a little, easing his hips forwards as Peter lapped at him and let his teeth just barely scrape the skin there.

“Yes, Sheena?” He asked tersely, when one of the girls waggled her hand at the camera in a signal for his attention. As she spoke, he could feel Peter hollow his cheeks, sliding down on his length. Inch by inch he was enveloped into sloppy, warm suction and he ground his teeth, shifting on his seat again. Peter’s hand moved to press down on his thigh, a signal to sit still, and the other hand curled back around the base of his cock, thumb rubbing at the sensitive groove between his length and his balls.

Peter gave a gentle huff against him as he talked, relaxing his throat as he swallowed Tony right down until his lower lip was pressed against his balls, tongue firm and soft against the underside. He didn't suck or hollow his cheeks, just let Tony's cock rest there in the plush warmth of his throat. Tony did his best to focus on his student, clicking through several files to help answer her question.

After a short while, Peter began to slowly slide off his cock, up to the tip where he suckled softly, laving his tongue in flat, firm strokes around the spongy tip. He licked into the slit and closed his lips over the head, massaging it with his lips and bobbing his head almost like sucking on a popsicle. He made faint sounds, but they were hopefully too quiet for anyone to pick up on. Nobody looked suspicious or asked, regardless.

And then Peter was sucking him down again, cheeks hollowed and swallowing him like he was trying to suck Tony's soul out through his cock. Tony moved his hands to grip the edge of the desk, nails biting into the pine. Peter could suck dick like a top-grade pornstar when he wanted to, and today was one of those days, cheeks soft and tight against his cock, tongue flexing in little strokes, swallowing so his throat caressed and squeezed the tip of his cock. Tony ground his teeth and shifted, slipping one hand slowly from the desk top to reach under it.

Peter grasped his wrist as he searched blindly, guiding his fingertips to the corner of his mouth where Tony's cock disappeared into his throat. It was were either drool there and Tony rubbed at it gently before sliding his hand up, fisting Peter's curls and gripping tight, forcing the boy down another inch until his little body hitched with a gag.

"Mr. Stark?" Tony blinked, and realised he'd been staring intently at the screen, but not actually listening. He let go of Peter's hair, itched his side as an excuse for his lowered arm, and offered the student who'd spoken an apologetic smile as Peter began to Bob his head vigorously.

"Sorry, I just realised I forgot to pick up milk the other day. My husband will be fuming when he wakes up. Again, my apologies. Where was I?" The lie came easy and sweet through his teeth, layered with a sweet smile that made the girl quirk her lips in return, before she began to read out the practise question she was struggling with. Tony did his best to ignore the pooling warmth and pleasure in his gut, listening closely.

Peter, not to be forgotten, dragged his nails down the insides of Tony's thighs before he moved one hand to his balls, smearing the drool pooled there before he cupped them, kneading as he slid himself up and down Tony's cock. Tony could feel the slow warmth of more drool dripping down his cock as Peter swallowed and gagged a little, throat impaled. Tony sucked in a breath, the corner of his mouth twitching as he reached up, rubbed at his jaw, muffled a moan on a cough. He slouched a little in his seat so he could nudge his hips up, fucking shallowly, carefully into Peter’s mouth.

His husband let his jaw go slack around his cock, keeping just enough suction for it to be a welcoming hole to fuck into. Tony kept careful attention on his students, focused hard on his voice so it would come out sedate and even as he reached down, grasping a quick handful of soft hair and dragging Peter down as far as he could go onto his cock, holding him there as he writhed. Peter whimpered just loud enough that Tony winced and braced himself, but his students were none the wiser.

It was almost too hard to ignore it now - The steady, hot pleasure that had his thighs tense, his cock hard and flushed. Peter gave a soft gurgle around his cock as he raised his hips and pulled him down, forcing his cock as deep into that soft hole as he could, before he relented and let his husband go. He risked a glance downwards, and regretted it instantly. Peter’s cheeks were flushed, from one across his nose to the other, his eyes were a little glossy and his lips were dark and swollen, drool dripping from the lower one to the carpet.

Tony gave a low groan then masked it with another cough, forcing himself to look back up as Peter drove down on his cock, sucking like he was trying to pull a golfball through a garden hose. Tony let his hips buck carefully up into the wet heat, eyes unfocusing a little as he tensed his legs and bit his lip in order to fight the urge to fuck until he emptied his load into Peter’s willing mouth.He bit his tongue, hard, let himself fuck slowly, inch by inch into Peter’s mouth. He could feel his balls tight and heavy, knew it wouldn’t be too long. He risked another glance down, watched his cock sliding in and out, watching a little bead of pre-cum and drool slip from the corner of Peter’s mouth.

He looked up at his screen, finding the digital numbers of the clock. Peter had been on his knees for almost twenty minutes, drooling and gagging himself on Tony’s cock. The older Professor inhaled sharply as Peter closed his lips tight again, sucking Tony’s dick almost furiously, and he gave his students a brittle smile, waving a hand.

“Alright! Okay. I think we’re gonna - Yep. We’re gonna call it here. Now. You’ve all done well and I-I’m...Pleased. Email me if you have any more questions. Spend the next 48 hours studying, please” and with a final wave, he cut the connection before any of them could argue. He could feel the vibrations around his cock as Peter giggled, could hear the wet slurp as he began to pull off and he spread his thighs, reaching down to grab the boy forcefully by the hair, to dragging him down and stuffing his cock deep into his throat.

“You greedy little whore” he breathed, watching as Peter scrabbled at his thighs, lashes fluttering as he choked on Tony’s length. “Look at you, couldn’t even wait. Had to risk it all for a cock in your mouth” he softened it to fondness as he spoke, letting up on Peter’s hair so his husband could pull off enough to suck in a breath through his nose. Tony didn’t allow him much reprieve, nudging his hips up and down in shallow thrusts.

Tony let himself moan freely now, uttering a deep, guttural one as Peter swallowed and whimpered around him, making a wet noise as Tony jerked his hips up, felt Peter’s throat forced open around his cock. He let his head fall back, threading his fingers gently through Peter’s hair before he tightened his grip again, holding the boy steady as he fucked up into his throat. Peter made a punched, breathy sound and gripped at his thighs for purchase, head tilting for better access.

He used Peter’s mouth as little more than a warm fleshlight, teeth grinding as he fucked up into it, cutting off Peter’s mewls with a wet sound. The loaded spring of his orgasm was tight and heavy in his gut, building steadily, and he looked down at Peter, sliding one hand gently around his throat to feel the muscles bulge and flex as he hauled the boy onto his cock, thrusting deep into his throat, growling as his balls pulled tight against Peter’s lip, his cock twitched hard, and then he could feel himself cum, could feel the pulse of his cock against Peter’s mouth as creamy cum spilled down the back of his tongue.

It was a well stoked orgasm, a smooth wave of pleasure that rolled through him, made his eyes roll slightly as he ground into Peter’s open mouth, fucked his cum deeper until the boy convulsed a little, snorting a strained breath. When his cock had stopped pulsing and the pleasure had died to a gentle lull he relaxed his grip, let his cock slide out of Peter’s mouth. It was soaked wet with drool, smearing against his shirt when it flopped from between his lips, but Tony couldn’t find it in himself to care, looking down at his flushed, thoroughly fucked husband. Peter blinked up at him with smug demureness, lips shiny and dark like cherries, cheeks flushed, pupils blown. He made a pretty picture that way, wrecked between Tony’s legs.

“You’re gonna lick me clean, sweetheart, and then you’re gonna get to the bed, face down and ass up” he instructed him sweetly, reaching down to cup Peter’s cheek and stroke it tenderly. “And the next time I have an online class, you’re gonna sit right back there and keep my cock wet until I’m ready to use you again”.

[pvremichigan]

Thank You For Loving Me. [Hell Arc Drabble 5]

Mich looked up at the man, the gray husk of a city before them nearly crumbling away, only visible vaguely through the corner of the eye. Her focus was on him, almost as if they stood in a gray senseless void atop a single strip of cement, creating the sidewalk between them. As if a vision had formed and so desperately tried to capture the surroundings but fell short of the details, the world nearly phasing in and out. This was excruciatingly unreal, the common feeling she’d experience in her dreams that had included Ryan.

Did she ever dream before then..?

Seeing him again. After over three years of his absence. The feeling was barely joy. It was agony. Mich was on the edge, on the verge of simply breaking down and losing it. How pathetic she felt knowing a single man could tear her composure down within moments, the composure she spent many lifetimes building up and solidifying to ensure nothing could drag her down so easily. Yet a single guy, a single man... Would be her downfall. Had been her downfall. It felt like he, in a way, would always will be even if just a small bit.

Something about him seemed so uncanny yet so familiar. This moment made her, for a moment, forget she was even in hell. Again, it felt like another dream. Another drunken blackout and the time in her mind that filled the gaps between consciousness. Perhaps the uncanny feeling came from the fact that she nearly couldn’t even recall what he looked like up close. She remembered the main features. The eyes, the hair, the terrible sense of style, the warm yet cold energy. Her stare lasted for what seemed like hours having only been minutes. The man spoke up, his awkward but stern composure showing through.

“Hoped I wouldn’t have to see you here again...”

The guilt struck as soon as those words left his mouth. That’s right, she would never be able to forget that... She was the reason he ever had to see her here in the first place. The guilt was immense, her chest and throat tightening worse than before. The tears began to weld up in the corners of her eyes, but she fought to refuse the fall of water.

“Move it, soldier. Let’s get outta here.”

...

Had he come back to save her again..?

For a moment, Mich had the urge to reach out and follow his command. She wanted so badly to just follow him to safety. It was only the flickering of the soul between them, it’s abrupt disappearance that brought her back to her mind. The reason she’s here is for that very thing, where the hell did it go...

Her heart sunk, realizing how close she was and how quickly she failed by distraction. The green haired man gave a light chuckle, putting his hand up as if to ease her.

“We’ll find it. You just need to follow your heart.”

What the fuck did he mean by that? This encounter made her uneasy... But he did have a point. It was very similar to what Xephrel had told her to do.

This didn’t feel real. For years she even had Carter scan hell for his soul or even his presence. Nothing, he was gone. Ryan was gone, there was no way he was here the whole time. The relief yet heartbreak of seeing Ryan again was so short lived. There was no way... Especially being so close to her soul. There was no way.

“Mich... We gotta go and we have to go now. We don’t have time, we have to get back home. I know a shortcut, let’s hurry up.”

Didn’t he just tell her how to get her soul though? He was rushing for them to leave. To escape. A shortcut..?

These demons need to learn how to mislead in better ways. This one was too easy. But... Knowing it was simply a demon - an obstacle - and not the man she once loved that had disappeared... It hurt. It did, it hurt. Shattered her... Better now to get it all out. Once... And for all. Besides.

There’s no way he’d try to save her from hell twice.

“No.”

“- No? Mich, we don’t have time.”

“I said no.”

“- No? Mich, we don’t have time.” 

He... Just repeated the same thing. Yet the voice grew a tiny bit more distorted than before. The redhead took a deep breath, standing in a way that would help her run or defend herself if need be all while seeming discrete. It’s time... To just let it out.

“No. ... For years, I waited. For years, I just waited. Waited on that very fucking couch. Your words- Ryan I GLUED them to my heart. Sewn them in with everything else you said. I held you to it. You said you’d be back, you PROMISED me you were gonna stay. You never did. You never did because that was the last time I ever saw you again.”

The tears were fought back but ultimately her eyes lost as the floodgates had opened. The anger in her tears could burn through wood. Like fire dripping from her tired eyes, she stood her ground. The surrounding area seemed like it grew darker in light, but her focus stayed on the one before her. If this was the first real fight, there was no backing down. Especially not from this.

Ryan, or ‘Ryan’, began to shift uncomfortably before her. His figure beginning to contort and distort the more she spoke, voice distorting further and further until it was barely recognizable.

“- No? Mich, we don’t have time.”

.

..

“̵̧̛̛̺͖̝̜̥̪͇̩̭̞͕͙͆̿͒̄̊̑̌͌͌̈͑͊͂̌̂̂̈́̄̄̅̓̀̂̄̀̈́͊̈̇͗̽̽̈́͐̾̔͑͗́̀͂̒͠͠͝-̶̨̡̡̛̛̻̻̠̪̠͓̪͇͕̞̫͉͉͖̯̦̘̻̘͋̓͋̊̑̏̉̀͆͌̈̀̒͊̈͛̌͋͐͊́̉͂̊̇̀̆͐͘̚̚̚ ̶̢̨͖͚̹͓̝͍̜̑̿N̸̡̻̞̣̦̞̗͎̠̩̱͖͎̤̮͕̩̲̻͖̟͇͚͔̟̙̙̖̳̥̰̦̳͎̝͎̐̆́͑͜ͅͅỡ̷̢̢̡̨̨̱̖̙͕̖̥̘̪͍̰͖̰̺̟̖̜̺̗̥̩̗͔̗̲̭̲̣̰̭̱͉̯̓̃̊̄̈́̀͌͑͆̅̍̉̄̓̐͘͜͜͜͠ͅͅ?̸̢̨̢̛̳̫̗͇͉͈͈̣̰̰̭̹̞͚̱̦̼̹̠̉̓̓̊̀͌̋͗̃̉̐̊͑́̈͐̎̍͋̀͊͒̒́͑̽͊̈̕̚̚̚͘͠͝͝͠ ̵̧̡̢̧̢̗͔̰̻̙̮͖̗̝̖̼̬̼̝̮͔̬̙̠̱͓̼̜̪̖̗͔̝͚̬͈̙̲̅͒̍̑͜ͅͅM̷̻̞͉͚̩͉͉̮̙̭̣͚̼͌̇͋̆͐̅̑̊̓̆͂͑͂͒͌̐̌̓͆̆̃̍̊̇͗͑̇̈́͛͗̓̓̋̐̄̈́̒̈́͘͘̕͘͝î̷͉̂̾̌̎̽̓̃͛̔̌͂̂̈̇̐͂͆̐̋̾̎͗͛͑̿̎́̽̽͛͠͠͝c̵̢̛͉̲̭͙̩͔̰͎̣͇̪̰͇͚͉̰̘͎̭͇͖̽̂̂̈́̿̽͊̅͛͐̋̀͆̃̀͊̌͊̍̉̓́̆̈́̓͌̅̅̎̒͗̒͜͝ȟ̷̡̗̺͉͕̹͓̮̲̦͙̪̮͉̩̙̪̠̳̰̗͇̖̠̬̭̗͎̰̥̞̻͍̤̋̍̏̅̂͠,̴̨̡̢̳̖͖̤̻͇̹̰̻͍͙̤̲͈͈̬̫̱͔̣̲͖̜̦̘͔͓̮̄̄̃̎̿̿̓̕͜ ̷̢̧̧̢̛̛̜͉̰̮̟̟͚̘̖̥̣̳͖͔͍͖͚̣̠̫̻̥̪̘͈̣̰̙̱͚͚̱̖̯̗̥̭̖̹̝̫̈́͒̀̋̊̑̇̅̃͐̈́̈̾̽͛͑͆͋͐̆̒̏̋̑̊̾̐͐̃͑̈̎̀̕̚̕̚̕ͅw̶̢̛͖̝͈̪̬͔̱͈̣̲͉̱̹̼̪̬͕̩̗̣̪̗̘̯̣̯̫̰̖̖̝̖̹̳̺̎͗̾̓̿̒̾̐̿͂͗̈́̔͗̓̑̾̏̌̃̽̂̕̚͘͝ͅͅé̷̡̯̜̪̝̗͕̼͖̳̤͉̘̪͕͖̮͍̳̬̜̫̩̣̪̞̝͍̯̟̯̳͚͍̱̟̜͇̩͉̟̬͙̘̄̀̑͗̃́͛͌̌̓̃̿̿̓͆͘͠ ̷̰̖̻͉̝̙͛̄̍͋͠͠͝d̴͖͖̯̹̜͇͎͈̈́́̌̈́̌͗̃̀̈́̃̓̆̃̌͘͠ǫ̵̡̨̛͇͓̻͙̟̱̣̳͓͙̼̳̟͓̭͕̫͖̼̳͕̙͇͇̞͚̺͖̱̖̝́͐̎͆͊̌̄̈̀̎̀̅̋̐̈̂̿́͂͗̊̔̇́̌̂̓͒̈̕̕͘͝͝ͅn̸̨̢̻͔̘̭̖̝̟̹̻̱̝͍̠͖͙̽̒̄͗̀̀̒͜’̵̨̡̢̦̯̗͇̪̫͕̗̩͖̠̹̖̪̬̭̲̲̦͈͖̫͂̅̓̔ͅͅt̸̛̺͎͔̞̥̯̓̍̋̋̿͋͊́͛̀̐̐̂͘ ̶̡̢̛̞̗̺͉̠̘͚͕͕̦͖̫͖̱̗̦͎͍̗͍͉̮͕̹̲̫̼̠̗̮͚̺̺̘̝̤̱̟̹̐́́̒̃̋̿̈́̔̈́̎̌͋̂̑̇̏̉̀͒̋͜͜͜͜͠ͅh̷͈̠͙͕͓̳̤̋͋͗͝a̷̧̅̈́v̸̨̨̧̢̨̛̛̥̳͓͙̼̹͍̩͍͖͎͍̗̘͇͚̟̟̹̘́̈̑̀͐̈́͂͊̉́̔͗͑̇̌̽̈̚̕̚͝͝͝ḙ̸̛̣̤͚͋̓̅̇͊̑̍̔͑̄̉̃̈́̃̋̿͑̄͆͐̆͊̍̂̊́͊̊͘͘͘͘̕̕̚͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ ̵̛̘̰͋̃̂̅̃͑̓͒̇̇́͐̏̾̍͒̄̀́́̂̏͛̊̚͝͝t̶̨̧̨̛̛̛̹̬̪͚͖̦̘̮͓͉̫̬̙͚̟̣͈̣͕̹̘͔͉̤̉̓͑̿̈́́̐̉̈́́͌̿̈́̈́̒͆͊͂̒̓̓̈́̀͊̅̓̓̒̓͒̚͘͝͝͠͝͠i̷̡̢̨̡̖̜̲̘̻̰̦͔̘̲̮͕̘̘̣̘͇̫̘͕͈̹͙̟͎̳̲̦͇̦̮̪̱̲̯̙̤̮̔̈̉̈́̀̈́̓͆͋̆̌͒͐̋̄̈́͑͌̈́̑͌̐͐̌͗̋́͒͆̉̊̕͜͜͜͠͝m̸̡̢̧̠̹̣̲͖͕͉̫̹̤̞̘̬̻̳͕͚͔̹̻̘͖̻̋̌̿̐̚͜ę̶̢̧̡̛̯̼̝͈̩̣̖̞̟̜͖̩̻͓̻̜͆́͗̓͌̈́̾̚͜͝ͅ.̴̢̡̺̜͇͍͕̰͕͉̟̗̯͕̻̜͖̙͓͙̜̭͂̃͋͑̉̾̌́̃̏̃͛̒͛̉͒̌̑̽̆̈́͛̎̈́̊̈͘͜͠͝͝”̴̢̤̣̪̥̳̞̝͉̼͎̜͙̝͍̤̲̗͍̠͎͌̈́̽̓̊̓͆͌̊̾̚̕͘͝

.

.

..

The scene in front of her was disturbing, sure. However she was never truly visually disturbed. It was the emotional disturbance of knowing she really would never see the real version of him again that had unsettled her. Still, she spoke on.

“I don’t know why you left... I don’t know why you never came back or even just broke up with me. I never got closure, that’s all I wanted. Because of you... Because of ME... I started drinking. Every night. Blacking out. Waking up. Repeating the day over and over again until 3 GOD DAMN YEARS PASSED. 3 years... Of doing NOTHING but wait at home, drink, and fucking lose myself in the process. There was no more spunk for you to come back to, there was no more fiery passion, there was just disdain and misery. I let go of myself, I gave up on myself. Seeing Riley... Every day it hurts. Knowing you named him, i-it’s a constant reminder of EVERYTHING you ripped away from me.”

The tears weren’t enough, there was some moments to breath before the next word was said, even some light sobs here and there. The pain continued to grow as this now grotesque creature grew still in front of her. There was nothing recognizable about it. It was no longer Ryan... But instead a distorted memory of what he became in her mind. A simple leech she held onto solely for the fact of keeping what she knew instead of what it was now. The voice that had distorted grew monstrously devious as it began to sound exactly like Ryan, despite the voice not matching the figure it stemmed from.

“I didn’t leave you... I didn’t leave you and Lance.”

Lance...

Her eyes widened a bit at the mention as her heart sunk further down once again. It was enough pause to send her into a state of derealization, only to come to when the monstrosity had made the decision to lunge at her. There was nothing comprehensible about this amalgamation, the image kept changing each time she looked. All she knew was that it existed and was out to fool her and harm her. Of course it would.

This is hell.

“You LEFT. You left us behind and DISAPPEARED.”

Her fists clenched, the power from the borrowed soul seemingly glowing gold in her veins, an urge from an outer source caused her to jump out of the way. Every attack was evaded instead of fought against. It’s all she could do. There were no weapons, there were too many risks with hand to hand at this point... All she could do was run away.

She’s so tired of it...

“YOU RIPPED IT ALL AWAY, ALL THE HOPES AND FUCKING DREAMS OF BECOMING A GOD DAMN FAMILY. WE HAD A FUTURE, RYAN, WE HAD PLANS AND GOALS AND DREAMS AND YOU ABANDONED US. YOU ABANDONED ME. AFTER BRINGING ME... FROM AN ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP WITH SOMEONE WHO FUCKED ME UP MENTALLY SO SEVERELY THAT I DID NOTHING BUT LASH OUT AT YOU, AFTER TAKING ME IN AND STAYING BY MY SIDE NO MATTER WHAT, NEVER LEAVING AND NEVER GIVING UP ON ME EVEN AFTER I SHOT YOU DEAD, DOING YOUR BEST TO BOND WITH... WITH MY S-SON... EVERYTHING... WE HAD EVERYTHING. I WAS EVEN TRYING MY BEST TO IMPROVE, TO BE THE BEST I COULD BE FOR YOU. YOU LEFT. YOU LEAVE, YOU DISAPPEAR... WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU GO, RYAN?!”

There was no hiding it this time. The tears were endless it seemed, it was agony. Misery and heartbreak at its core. Trying to lash out at the idea, the illusion of the cause of the pain... Never being able to face the source itself and instead having to let it all out on a figment of what it really was.

“I CAME BACK INTO THIS WORLD SOCIALLY AND I WAS TORN APART, RYAN... ALL I WANTED, ALL I FUCKING WANTED... WAS JUST TO BE LOVED. I DIDN’T EVEN REALIZE AT THE TIME THAT IT DIDN’T NEED TO BE ROMANTIC. I CONSIDERED BARELY ANYONE A FRIEND... I JUST WANTED TO BE LOVED. I DIDN’T EVEN HAVE DAVID AND PENNY, I DIDN’T HAVE MY FAMILY- I HAD NO ONE. I WAS ALONE... I WAS...”

There was no strength left to shout, no strength left to yell and lose her mind.

“I was so fucking alone... You- You were the first person to really teach me what love felt like. Romantically, you were truly the first person I’ve loved genuinely. I didn’t want to lose you... I loved you so much... I could tell you loved me. Every moment you got, you’d be right at my door. Then why... Why did you disappear..? So abruptly too... It makes me think something really happened, something prevented you from ever seeing me again. It just hurts so... So fucking much that I can’t help but blame you. You gave me the world and I wanted to return that favor.”

It seemed like her acceptance of the situation was shining through. The beasts attacks grew slower, the thing seemed far more fatigued than before. The more when she was in denial and anger, the bigger it seemed to be. Her acceptance and confrontation was slowly driving this monstrosity to the ground. Its unfathomable stature began to stiffen, gray discoloration growing from the bottom up. The monster must’ve been turning into stone.

“Even after I sent the message in December... It still hurts. I still held on, but I thought it would help. A-And it did... But it wasn’t enough.”

Looking to the side, an object that hadn’t been there before had now caught her eye. A rusted crowbar, how... Cliche. She made no rush as she walked over to pick it up, seeing now that the threat was barely able to move.

“Seeing you, even if it was fake, was what I needed. I’m know... I will never get closure on what I wanted closure on. All those questions unanswered, the answered speculated. It’s not doing me any good and I want to move on... So I’ll make my own closure.”

She raised the crowbar over the shoulder as if readying a bat in baseball. Her eyes stained with tears, the heartbreak still visible in her eyes and expression. Though she tried to force a smile, it was tight and painful to hold or even manage in the first place.

“Thank you for showing me what love was like.”

“Thank you for loving me no matter what I did...”

“Thank you for loving me.”

A bit of a lip quiver, but the woman took a deep breath at the figure. Within the blink of an eye, it pitched a last ditch effort to stop her despite being nearly completely turned to stone. The monster was back to Ryan’s form. As if he were right in front of her once again, reaching out with the same exact expression and pose he had right before he dropped dead during the time she had shot him to death. At this point, Mich was too far in to stop... Though she lowered the crowbar, arms practically limp for a moment before she dragged herself forward and wrapped her arms around the stone figure of Ryan. A desperate moment of weakness, just keeping him in a tight hug as she cried once more against the cold stone. All the memories of the past... The first time they met, the time he held her until she passed out, the time he ran to her house in the pouring rain, the time he kissed her for the first time, the Christmas party... Every single moment played in every detail as if they were all happening before her all over again, the memories swarmed through her mind. Moments go by for what seemed like hours. It was hard to break the embrace, having to force herself away with a couple sobs as she weakly stumbled back and stepped a few steps back more, raising the crowbar with shaky breathing. The crowbar trembled with her hand, but her determination to finally come to terms was enough to steady the shaking just a little bit.

“This is our last goodbye, Ryan.”

“Goodbye.”

Once that final parting was said, she took the crowbar and reeled back, swinging it towards the stone at full speed with a swift swing. The stone seemed to obliterate on impact, crumbling to near dust from top to bottom. As soon as that stone crumbled, it felt like a giant weight had been lifted from her shoulders. There were no more tears to cry. No more worries to contemplate. Whatever answers were needed before were no longer necessary now. For the first and last time regarding this subject, this topic and situation that has haunted her for years... She was finally free.

The gold in her veins dimmed as the light source extracted from her body. The empty husk-like feeling of being soulless dawned on her yet again, and the dread nearly kicked in until she realized that it wouldn’t be forever anymore. However... Seeing how weak Xephrel’s soul had gotten within 3 weeks... Of course it needed to return. The fact that this took longer than it was supposed to... Was far more concerning than she had anticipated. Had she not been so far gone with memory loss and near death... She feels it would be a bit easier. However now there’s no time for contemplating what could have been. She doesn’t have long before she won’t survive without a soul here.

Mich was tempted to drop the crowbar, but knowing this place, she decided to keep it on her. She might need it. Having regained memories and not having a soul to block out the call of others, there was a calling - a lure she hadn’t heard as clearly as before. A positive call, a welcoming energy, like running home to loving arms. In a negative realm like this, that could only mean one thing...

Her soul.

And so... She ran. She followed that calling, Mich ran as fast as she could towards the call. The feeling, the energy. It drew her in. She had that locked in, after weeks of getting nothing and getting nowhere, she has a lead and she’s following. The only thing to stop her now was death... But the clock was ticking.

So she ran.

And she kept running.

And she never stopped.

[cutegirlmayra]

Oh prompts are back! Okay here's an interesting idea, Mephiles and Scourge both decide they want to take over the dimension and rule as king and also decide they need a queen to rule at their side and they both pick Amy. So they're fighting to rule and also make Amy their bride so Sonic has to both fight them off and protect Amy from them marrying one of them. Extra comfort for sonamy would be great please and thank you!

I shall do my very, very best.... at the very least lolol

This is gonna be AU as heck.

PROMPTS ARE ON SHUTDOWN DO NOT SEND ANY. THE TIME TO SEND HAS ENDED. Enjoy the prompts that have already been submitted during the frame that they could be~<3

Prompt:

As per usual, Eggman had conducted an experiment to try and harness the power of dimensions and worlds to his bidding. The result? After a long and tedious feud between the dimensional Eggmans on who was to rule all, the original was defeated by the many Sonics that appeared, and his friends sealed up the holes in the dimensions.

However...

Some individuals didn’t return... scourged by the humiliating ridicule of his universe, one hid to avoid capture and plan his revenge and final takeover.

Another withdrew into shadows,... lurking in wait as he found a way to keep a hole to his dimension open... traversing the timeline by acquiring this world’s Chaos Emerald and trapping his universe in a ‘frozen’ state.

Very complexed stuff, but the leaking of dimensional energy allowed him to pull his Other Half through to this dimension... but something was going horribly wrong.

“No!” Mephiles was trying to use the power the Chaos Energies to combined himself at last with Iblis, but Scourge had found the dimensional leak, and wanted in on the conquest...

He smirked as he gripped the Master Emerald, standing upon it as power radiated through him like electricity. “Woooo, snooze and you really do loose, buddy!” He held his fingers up like he was going to snap, having already seen Mephiles take out Knuckles who was lying upon the ground... “If I’m gonna be king over this pathetic universe, I’m gonna need some of that bodacious power!” he seemed to be purposefully trying to tick Mephiles off, not knowing who the being was, but seeing the flames circling the emerald and his focus in trying to blend his power with it’s own.

“You are useless, and I am not one who takes such inferior taunts!” Mephiles rose the emerald up, deciding to take care of the insect before he lost full concentration and Iblis was released into another form, which would tip off the heroes and led to a continual, strenuous chase to reach and combined first with him before Sonic and the gang defeated him yet again.

“You’re trying to seal those flames inside you, right?” Scourge pulled out a ring, but to Mephiles, he didn’t see the significance of this exchange. Scourge snapped and the ring glowed, “Then I’ll make a wish to have this power in-!”

Before all of this, Tails had been hosting Amy at his house, but the flames of Iblis leaked in streaks across Angel Island and they quickly set out to check it out.

Now, as Scourge was declaring his chaotic and powerful desires, Tails had landed the X-Tornado and Amy rushed to the scene first. “Amy, wait-!” he cried out, but she jumped down and rushed to see Knuckles slowly waking up from getting beaten down, and...

“Sonic..?” She looked horrified up at the Green Hedgehog.

“Erk-!?” He gritted his teeth, seeing another dimensional Amy. “YOU!?”

Suddenly, as though the command already issued, Iblis’s power completely broke it’s ties to Mephiles, spinning wildly out of control like a whipping hurricane of lined flames tumbling over each other to spiral down and head towards Amy.

“WHAT!? No! That’s not my-! Nooo..!!!” Scourge watched as the Ring shook his hand and finally burst, letting it’s power merge with Amy as Iblis swarmed her being.

She bent down and screamed as the flames dried up the gloss in her eyes, the tears from the pain, and then only left her with the seared ground beneath her feet as she collapsed.

“You insufferable fool..!” Mephiles dove down, pausing midway as he saw Tails rush out from the cover of the trees. “My Iblis...” He glared, slowly... down at Amy. He began to form a plan to reunite with Iblis... but it couldn’t be as of yet...

“Uhh... I have a feeling this makes that annoying pest somewhat valuable now...” Scourge bit his teeth down as he spoke, raising his head up as though also trying to figure out what to do now.

“I must reunite with... her now.” Mephiles hunched his body forward, as ghostly shadows started leaking from his being, crystalizing himself as though outwardly showing his resolve.

“Unite with... Woah! You sayin’ the only way I can get that power out of her is to-!?” Scourge looked aghast, as though that was the last person he’d want to ‘have fun’ with. He looked to the camera with a face that was clearly disgust, but also extremely agitated. “Ugh... If I have to... might as well let it burn.” a slow rising smirk spread across his face as he looked back at Amy.

Tails looked to the waking Knuckles and then the fainted Amy, before his eyes shook at the strange figures above him... One standing with his arms folding in secret delight at the prospect of conquering more than a new dimension... and the other looked ready to fight anything and everyone to secure himself to the new host of his full, undefiled power source once more...

“Sonic’s gonna hate me, which makes that a bonus, right? Taking his little wench in this dimension and killing off the rest of practically anything else with those flames will make for one heck of a wake-up call.” Scourge pulled his glasses down to cover his eyes, “So... Looks like you’re first, little cinders.” he teased, his glasses reflecting Amy in them... “Sadly, something’s gotta fit.”

After a terrible defeat from an already wounded Knuckles and an unexpecting assault that Tails didn’t plan for, having nothing but his flying-abilities to fight back with, Amy was abducted briefly before Mephiles and Scourge started playing tug-o-war and keep-away, trying to keep the ‘host of Iblis’ so they could harness it’s power by unleashing it again... Sonic had finally found them.

They didn’t get too far, the two were dueling each other as Amy was told her friends had died trying to destroy the flames inside her, and that they thought of her now as a ‘sacrificial lamb’ to save the world.

Hoping this would make Amy cry, Mephiles and Scourge were amazed to discover her resilience. She wouldn’t yield to their lies, and kept trying to flee as she was tossed back and forth between the two.

“Iblis, you must rejoin with me!” Mephiles, through the power of the Chaos Emeralds, was able to summon Shadows and large beams to strike at Scourge, who expertly dodged and weaved through them, taking out the Shadows and grabbing Amy around her waist. “Solaris is our destiny!!!”

“You’re not hot, and I can barely stomach calling you ‘Babe’, but there’s a fire in you that I just gotta taste.” Scourge tilted his head enough for her to see his eyes under the sunglasses, but she was more confused since he really did look like the spitting image of Sonic, just... different colors.

This wasn’t like her mistaking Shadow and Silver for Sonic... this really confused her.

“You... Who are you people!?” She kept pushing against him as he kept trying to bring her closer. “Let me go, you creep!”

He scaled his hand up her bare back in a weird, perverted crawl. “Now, now, the time for cute nicknames can wait, Babe. First, let me get rid of the audience...” Scourge had a wicked sense of delight at spooking her like this, but his attention soon turned to Mephiles, who didn’t realize Scourge’s error in not understanding what he meant by ‘reunite.’.

“If she doesn’t release the flames willingly... I’ll pull them out of her...” He reached out for her as Scourge threw her up on his shoulder, getting ready to fight and depart. “Along with the last breath she’ll ever take...Hahahahah!!!” Mephiles rose in the air before Sonic spin-dashed in a wild stream of light into Scourge, slamming into his gut as Amy was flung from his arms.

“What’s this?” Mephiles curled his fingers and watched as a more ‘familiar’ Sonic uncurled and raced back into the scene.

“I don’t know what you two weirdos want with Amy, but it’s not happening!”

“Sonic!” Amy cried out but some Shadows caught her and started hauling her back as Mephiles hovered down to her.

“So... this is your universe’s hero...” He glared deeply, “Another Sonic...”

Scourge was fuming with leftover hate for the other dimensional Sonic in his universe, and decided to take it out on this one. “Do me a favor, just act like you know me and don’t like me, then I can make this fight reaaaaall satisfying!”

“That shouldn’t be too hard.” Sonic smirked, charging into Scourge who speedily dodged and rammed a punch into his face. ‘What!? He has my super speed!’

“HAHAHAHA!!! You’re even more lamer than that Other Me!” Scourge adjusted his jacket and pulled out a pocket-knife. “No offense, but this is entirely personal...”

While the two were distracted, Mephiles turned to Amy and his minions held her up in the air, “Ah! H-hey! Why am I such a big deal all of a sudden!?” She tried to summon her hammer, and did in fact beat two away, but Mephiles grabbed her hammer and sent a crystalized clawed hand up to her chin.

“I can see them...” His eyes reflected her own... and like flickering flames, she gasped at her reflection. “If you won’t submit to your hopeless fate... then I shall destroy this husk that prevents me from joining into my true self!” he swiped but she bent her head back and dodged, but now... she knew what he meant.

“You’re both trying to kill me... for those flames that encircled me!?” She felt genuine fear then as Mephiles threw his energies into her shadow, causing her to cry out before he lifted her up and and held her in place. “Finally,... I shall have Iblis... And you, Amy Rose, will have some unparalleled significance... For a brief moment after your heart is burnt to a crisp, HAAHAHAH!!!!” He pulled his hand back to power up an attack, similar to the same beam he had used to once destroy Sonic, but Scourge threw his knife and it ‘tink’d off of his head.

“Now, who would be so stupidly ignorant of their own mortal ficklety?” He pivoted in the air as Scourge had gripped Sonic’s head to stop him in-battle... and clearly had thrown the knife.

“So, you lied to me?” Scourge laughed, “If I knew all I needed to do was strangle the girl, I wouldn’t have bided my time having fun with her first!” He laughed, “I’ve still promised the ugly trash a date, kinda hard to please a waiting corpse. Plus, I know that’ll just tick you off in the end anyway...” He turned back to Sonic, who kicked his hand away and looked up to Amy, shadows keeping her up in the air as she struggled and tried to use her hammer to give her some space between the ghostly vines that held her.

“Urk! What the-!? Weren’t you the ones who threw this thing at me in the first place?” Amy kicked her feet as the shadows kept crawling to reach her below. “Ah!”

“Oui, I called first!” Scourge grabbed Sonic’s raised leg and thrashed him with a mighty swing into the shadows.

Mephiles shot beams and hurriedly secured Amy to him, gripping the back of her head so she wouldn’t struggle anymore.

“Ahh!” She cried out as Sonic spun and threw Scourge to the remaining Shadows, who slowly overwhelmed him like zombies...

“No, quit it! Get your hands off the merchan-Nooo..!!!” He was enveloped by them as Sonic turned to Mephiles.

“Whatever thing you forced into Amy’s body... get it out!” Sonic pointed an accusatory hand to Mephiles, before swinging his arm out wide.

The two fought, but all the while, Mephiles was using it to get Amy to see Sonic suffering.

On the verge of crying, seeing Mephiles overtake Sonic and about to jab his sharpened crystalized hand through him, Amy cried out and the Flames encased the sky...

“At last...” Mephiles still went for the kill shot, but something strange happened, Scourge jumped to Iblis, trying to absorb the flames that would not accept him as a host.

“Darn! He’s still connected, huh!?” Guessing it was Amy, he grabbed her and the dark, ghostly flames around her released her from their hold.

Sonic shook his head away and grabbed Mephiles’s emerald, “NOO!!” the shadows all dissipated to the ground as the sound of a plane suddenly threw everyone down slightly as it passed towards the flames.

“Now, Blaze!” Tails cried out as Silver lifted Blaze into the spiraling flames.

The flames joined with her and she disappeared from his world, but the two emeralds she carried fell to Sonic, who finally had enough juice with all seven Chaos Emeralds to go Super Sonic.

“Heheh...” Scourge still knew he had the power of the Master Emerald, he could take on Super Sonic, “A kiss of death for the road?”

“What?”

Amy was jabbed with a knife and fell to the ground... having Scourge’s lips still lingering on hers.

He stuck out his tongue to Sonic and then wiped his mouth as he dropped her down, “Not really my type.” He joked, as Sonic’s color turned darker and he suddenly cried out as he transformed into Dark Sonic.

Mephiles’s eyes twitched at Blaze uniting successfully with Iblis, “But... how!?” before a shadow touched his own. He flinched, turning to see Shadow, Rouge, and Omega behind him.

He slowly began to laugh at the irony... then his laughter rose as he unleashed an all out attack at them.

Silver followed Blaze’s trail, but the universe was becoming unfrozen, and soon... that time-collapse ability was being to rewrite everything back to what it was.

With a flash of light, Amy was back at Tails’s home. She touched her lips and then her side... felt shadows and flames lick at her skin... and the cold, crystalized fingers piecing into the back of her head...

“Amy?”

She looked up from her teacup, shaking her head like nothing was wrong. She looked out the window, seeing nothing strange on Angel Island...

She felt a jab in her side and what felt like a cramp and gripped it tighter, then felt something soaring in her heart as though a beam of darkness binding her back to that timeline...

But she wouldn’t yield to it.

She wouldn’t cry.

She let the pain carry on till the leaking was done and the event... never happened...

“You seem kinda spacy.” Tails made a face and she assured him.

“Come on, you know I daydream constantly.” but she was sweating... she could feel ice tickle under her neck and chin where Mephiles had threatened her, she looked down into the reflection of the teacup... and saw his eyes reflecting flames in hers.

The teacup broke and she covered her mouth, racing out as she remembered a forced, smelly kiss and then the blood from the knife...

She remembered the black... then a dawn of light... and the flames blazing through her.

What she didn’t know... was it was the residue of the timeline that had just occurred, still lingering... almost passed...

She fell to the hill of Tails’s home and gripped the ground, shaking as she forced herself not to cry.

‘If I cry... then that other timeline will exist again!’ she felt her shadow suddenly pull from her, and with terrified eyes, saw Mephiles form out of her elongated silhouette.

“...You saved me...” He gave a low, billowing chuckle that rocked her entirely. “How unfortunate... for you...” He slowly moved towards her, and as she backed away, suddenly felt herself freezing.

“Wha...What’s happ-...” she couldn’t even form the words right, as she felt a chill still her entire being.

He rose his hand and gripped her mouth gently, but with enough force to make it feel like he was going to suffocate her, and looked deep into her eyes again.

“Shhhh... You’ll be dead soon, anyway. Struggle... cry beneath me... it won’t matter if you shout now... Your friends failed to completely remove that timeline from existence. Silver... His accomplice... Their plan has failed you.” He moved closer, a zombie-like head wobble as he looked like the spitting-image of Shadow now... but dulled colors, and she couldn’t figure out why.

That other man... looked like Sonic.

Now this man... looked like Shadow.

What on earth was going on!? Were these beings... forms of other Sonics and Shadows!? How could that possibly be!?

She couldn’t close her eyes, his power in freezing his own timeline failed, but he had joined with her own to preserve himself as a last resort.

Which meant she was the flickering flame... if he blew her out, she really would reset time and he could try all over again.

She didn’t know what to do... Time was jumbled within her core, she was the bridge to multiple timelines and intersecting universes...

“Shh... Just bend to Time’s will... I am infinite... inevitable... you cannot hope to prosper and win this time...” he slowly pulled her down, as though pushing her into the darkness of her own shadow. “I’ll steal your time-energy... take it as my own... and as Time resets, I’ll anticipate those annoying headaches you call ‘Sonics’ and become the destructive force revered as Solaris! I’ll be a God again-!” as though growing impatient for that time, he began to slam her into the darkness where she honestly couldn’t breathe now.

She struggled, swinging her hammer in pitch-blackness, grabbing his unwavering hand and arm in hopes to break free of his hold on her.

But the darkness was draining her time-energy... soon... she would disappear.

‘Sonic...’ she thought to herself, ‘He’ll destroy you... and if I’m connected to the other worlds... he’ll try and use that power to destroy you too... I can’t allow that... I can’t... breathe...’

Then the flames of Iblis burned a light into the world, and swallowed Mephiles in it’s wake.

His eyes widened, “Yes...” he cried out, “YYYEESSS!!!” but just as time was about to be conquered by Mephiles... He let go of Amy as she sunk into the darkness... and another gloved, white hand reached in and pulled her up.

Mephiles was back in his time, it unfroze and he was defeated and erased just as like the first time.

He couldn’t change fate.

But Sonic did.

Sonic pulled Amy up to him, his blackish-blue body encasing her in his own darkness.

A flickering darkness... to match her flickering flame of light.

With Iblis now out of her body, he threw her through a portal made by his uncontrolled Chaos Energy, speedily making it time for her to breathe again,... this time, back at Tails’s house again.

“Amy? You seem kinda spacy.”

Tails’s voice pulled her out as she gasped and the teacup broke again.

“Ah! Hey! Are you okay!?” Tails rushed to her but paused as she darted to the door. “Amy!” he cried out, reaching for her but she had already bolted down the hill.

“Sonnniccc!!!” she cried out, tears bursting from her eyes as the memory she had of that other timeline was quickly being erased from her.

She stopped suddenly and turned to her shadow... seeing Dark Sonic’s glowing white eyes in it.

“...Sonic...” she bent down to reach him, and he matched her action, but her shadow wasn’t of her, it was his own form...

“You’re safe now... Amy.” His eyes bent slighlty, “Time can’t hurt you now.”

“Sonic...” she dug through the earth, wanting to be with him, “What about you! You’re from that time! You’ll fade away!”

His eyes closed and his form turned from her, “That time shouldn’t exist... anything from that time shouldn’t... a world without you... is a world I choose to destroy.”

“Sonic!!!” she watched as her shadow faded in the light of the day... and her tears seemed to ripple into the dark-world she had almost fallen too...

Then Sonic’s silouette appeared coming from behind her and she turned to see Sonic holding three chilidogs. One in each hand, and one sticking out from his mouth.

“Whahh hapahpan?” he spoke with it in his mouth, blinking innocently at her tears. (What happened?)

She tried to hold it in, but dashed to him, hugging him as he struggled to not drop the food.

“I-!” a flash of light... and when she opened her eyes.... she couldn’t remember why she was crying. “I don’t know... I can’t... remember...”

The pain in her side, the fire in her soul, and the cold icy spikes on her face were... gone.

“I guess... I just missed you.” she pulled away then, “Are you okay?”

He blinked, raising an eyebrow. “Yah’re wahrd.’ He answered back, then saw Tails flying towards them. (You’re weird.)

“There you two are!” he waved, having also forgotten everything as in that flash, the teacup was still upon the table, undisturbed...

They waved back to Tails and it appeared to be another normal evening...

(I hope I did alright XD Not as evilly romantic as you may have wanted it to be, but I felt it fit their characters more this way..? and yes, Timey-wimey, wibbly-wobbly logic that makes this perfectly in line with Sonic 06 logic >u>; )

[planetsam]

In hindsight, he probably should have expected this.

Another countdown, another life or death situation measured by a stupid timer that echoes the rapid thump, thump, thump of his heart. Flint’s presence is a nice touch. Of course some part of him is furiously, brokenly resentful at the absence of his mother, but he shoves the thought away and tries again to get at the glass.

No dice.

On the other side of the barrier, Alex works. Michael can’t see what restrains him, but Alex is another story. The bruises, the cuts, they’re all painful obvious. To say nothing of the sleepless shadows and pallor of his skin. His hands aren’t steady but he keeps at it, bracing one hand against his knee or the husk of the bomb Michael made.

“Stop, stop,” Michael says finally, trying to put authority into his voice, “Alex—“

“No.”

“Alex!”

He gets a dagger filled glare before Alex turns back to the bomb. Stubborn, stubborn asshole. Michael feels every part of him tense at the dismissal. Of course Alex is going to stay and try. Stay and die, he corrects himself. There’s no saving both of them, no more than there is a them.

“Why then?” Michael challenges instead, “what are you trying to prove?” He sees Alex’s shoulders tense and he digs into the wound, “you’re not like them if you leave,” he says, trying to make his voice steady, “Alex, listen, you’re not another Manes,” Alex says nothing, just goes a little tenser. The beeping seems turn more frantic, “damn it Alex, don’t do this!” He says slamming his hand against the glass.

“Nothing is going to happen,” Alex says, his voice infuriatingly calm and his hands still working, “if you stop distracting me.”

Michael hates how much he wants to believe that. It makes him feel like this is another parallel to an earlier time. When he wanted to believe in someone’s words so damn badly. No matter how much the world kept telling him it was a stupid fucking thing to do. He wants to believe when Alex says it’ll be okay, that al he has to do is something so simple and everything will be fine. There isn’t much Michael wouldn’t do for Alex, but the small stuff has always been whatever kryptonite is on the planet he came from.

“You know dying here with me still counts,” he says instead, “it means you never moved past the tool shed, or the alien bullshit, or any of it,” he tells him, “whatever comes next they’re gonna know.”

“I’ll worry about that when I get there,” Alex tells him switching to a different angle, “someone redid your wiring.”

Michael’s stomach bottoms out. He tried to make the bomb easy, because he didn’t want to blow anyone up. Sure he had plans to follow but there were tweaks he could make, tweaks that only someone smart would see. Was he hoping that someone smart was going to be Alex? Maybe. But he was also hoping Alex would have nothing to do with his bomb. He should have known it wouldn’t be that simple. His fists clench and he gives the glass another hard shove. His mind and his fist betray him equally as he feels a crack in his hand and the glass says furiously untouched. Alex glances at him through his lashes before refocusing.

“You have to go,” he says abruptly, “I can’t convince you, I know that okay? But please,” the word slips out, “don’t make me go out knowing I killed you.”

Alex’s hand falters. His brows knit together and Michael holds his breath for the cut to break. It seems stupid but he’s not sure he can handle seeing Alex bleed. Hell he can’t handle any of this. But he also can’t do anything about it. The drug might be out of his system but there’s more than one way to keep an alien down apparently. Finally Alex looks up at him. Just that makes Michael realize Alex isn’t sure he can diffuse the bomb. It’s the first hurdle to getting Alex to leave. It takes a lot to make Alex give up but Michael’s got a knack for it, they both know it.

“I’m not leaving you here,” Alex says.

“Yes you are,” Michael shoots back. It’s a mistake because Alex seems to rally, “just go, I was looking for a way off this planet anyway remember?”

He’s hoping that bringing up their fight will remind Alex that they were done with each other, that he was over it and walking away. It seems to remind Alex of something but Michael knows in his bones it’s not what he wants him to remember. Alex still isn’t getting up. Or moving away from the bomb. Or any of the things that Michael is desperately willing him to do. He hasn’t turned into Isobel though so Alex just keeps doing what he wants.

“Why did you stop?” He asks.

“Now isn’t the time for questions!” Michael snaps, cringing at the surprised laugh that comes out of Alex’s mouth.

“Really?” Alex asks, “now’s not the time?” Michael rolls his eyes, “why?” Alex presses, “what made you change your mind?”

Michael didn’t think he’d die lying like this. He tries to focus back on Alex. Getting Alex out of here is the only thing that matters. All he has to do is be a selfish ass for another few minutes and this can all be over. The thought makes him laugh because there’s no better description of what he’s been the past few months. And none of it has worked because they are right back here. The laugh that escapes his lips is twisted and despite everything, concern shoving it’s way past Alex’s calm, solider energy. Stupid fucking emotions. He doesn’t have a shot in hell of lying to him.

“If I tell you, do you promise you’ll go?” He asks, “no matter what I say?” Alex hesitates, “get up,” Michael says, his voice somehow steady, even as he feels sweat drip down his back, “get up and I’ll tell you.”

Alex is smarter than him though. There’s no bargaining with him. Michael sees the calm and determination shine through and knows with a sinking feeling the door is closing. Alex would deny what he wants, he’d pull his own heart out of his chest, to do the thing he knows is right. Because that’s Alex, it always has been. He shakes his head to clear it and grabs the tool he dropped, checking the timer briefly and wincing a what he sees before refocusing.

“Forget it,” Alex says and turns back to the bomb.

“You were back,” Michael blurts out, “I couldn’t leave while you were back—“

“You could date someone else though?” Alex questions.

“So could you,” Michael points out.

“I’m not dating anyone.”

“You want to though.”

Alex stops working and turns to look at him. He’s not his father or his brother because Michael’s never really been terrified of the looks they’ve given him. Except on Alex’s behalf. The look Alex gives him though is the look of a man who could easily burn the world down. Michael’s seen it directed at him maybe once before and just like then it makes him feel about two feet tall.

“You don’t get to say that to me,” Alex tells him.

“Or what?” Michael challenges, “what are you gonna do?’ He taps the glass as a reminder but Alex remains unmoving, “what are you gonna do, Alex?” He challenges, firmer this time, “you asked and I told you—“

“I wanted the truth,” Alex tells him.

“That is the truth!”

“Then why?” Alex is suddenly on his feet but he’s at the glass instead of leaving, going in exactly the wrong direction. Like always, “why did you do—“ he shakes his head like he doesn’t know where to start, “any of that?”

“Because I wanted to stay, I wanted you to stay,” Michael says and it’s as simple and as difficult as that. His voice doesn’t crack, his emotions lay calm for the first time in—he can’t remember how long it’s been, “and I couldn’t handle the thought of losing you again,” he continues, “not like that, not for good.”

Alex stares him down for a moment, if Michael was better, he thinks he would try to unpack the emotions that shoot across Alex’s face. But there’s time to do that after Alex goes. After he gets somewhere safe. Alex’s one foot has already moved in that direction, because apparently the 3/4 of Alex that’s still him is a stubborn ass but the prosthetic is a survivalist. Statistically Michael knows the 3/4 will win out but he prays to whatever deity is listening that a miracle makes the 1/4 sentient so Alex gets out of there.

“Doesn’t matter now,” he continues, “now you gotta go,” he doesn’t know why his eyes are burning but he shoves the impulse away, “get out of here,” Alex opens his mouth and closes it, “I told you why now go—“

“I didn’t agree to that,” Alex cuts in sharply.

“Come on!”

“No I didn’t agree to that,” Alex repeats, “I didn’t agree to any of what you just said,” his determination start to burn through and the fear is right back in Michael’s bones, “I didn’t agree to any of what you just said.”

“It’s not up to you,” Michael says.

“It should have been,” Alex tells him and his voice is so firm that even if Michael hadn’t known he was right, he would have believed him, “I thought we were past taking choices from each other.”

“Please!” It comes out harsher than he intended but Michael is past caring, “I know you loved me, if any part of you still feels anything for me you gotta go,” he stumbles over the words, “Alex, come on, don’t make this all for nothing. I built that thing, if it kills me it’ll be—“ he fumbles, “justice. It’ll be fine. It’s not gonna be fine if it takes you too.”

“Michael—“

“Go,” he says but the word doesn’t even sound like him. Alex opens his mouth, “Alex,” he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, “come on.”

Alex stares at him, still unyielding but Michael doesn’t have to be in his head to know the words he said are still there. If he ever loved him, if any part of him still does, Alex will go. The world’ll be right again. No big gestures like building a fucking bomb, all Alex has to do is walk out a door. For him it’ll be a big gesture but Michael knows he’s up for it. Or he’s truly past him and this will all be for shit. Michael tries to think of something, of anything he can possibly say.

“I’ll find another way to get you out,” Alex says, “you’re not taking this choice too.”

“I’ll wait here,” Michael says, trying not to go weak with relief. Someone’ll see him. Someone’ll get him out. Or he’ll be far enough away. Michael thinks he at least sabotaged the bomb enough for that. Alex looks at him sharply and Michael tries to grin back at him, “you should probably get a move on.”

“Just—“ Alex looks at the glass. Michael wants to laugh because he’s been hoping for the same miracle.

“No dice,” he says.

“I’m gonna get you out of here,” Alex tells him, firmly enough so Michael almost believes him, “Michael—“

“If you walk out that door, I’ll know,” Michael says simply.

It’s hard to turn his back but if he keeps looking at Alex, he’s gonna lose it. And he can’t. Not if he can get him to go. He hears Alex press his head to the glass and he has to force himself not to look. To once again take another choice from Alex. He can only pray that Alex forgives him for it one day. He listens to the sound of Alex’s feet taking up a solider’s tempo to get away. He listens to the pause and can picture the annoyance on Alex’s face before they continue.

When he’s sure it’s just him and his bomb, he lets the pain double him over. He lets the stinging take over his eyes and the lump in his throat break free. He’s gonna be toast in a minute anyway so what the hell does it matter. Going like this is okay. It’s right. In it’s own fucked up way. He’s going out alone but he’s got the answer to if Alex loves him. Life’s never been fair as far as Michael’s concerned but this, this he can live with. Or end with, he corrects, as the world goes pink and white and hot.

And then it’s done.

[sentientpaperbag]

So this not only ended up being longer than I meant, but most of it is lore related because I changed some stuff involving the lore of magic in this universe. So you get to learn about Dark and Light Husks a little more

Also i might have gone on a bit and rambled in the tags, whoops~

Under the cut!

                                                           --------

Zonta was tired. She’d gone a little overboard with the spellcasting practice. She just desperately wanted to get her spells right without causing too much trouble. She knew using Dark Magic was dangerous, and usually using it as much as she had would result in some form of permanent change in her appearance or even becoming a Dark Husk.

But... she hadn’t had any side effects. She was actually, weirdly enough, good at it. To her knowledge, every witch had a specific form of magic that they excelled in. For example, Zonta knew a nice girl who lived outside of town in the forest, and her specialty happened to be plant based, although she usually used mostly fungi.

Zonta, however, learned pretty quickly that she was very good with Dark Magic. It wasn’t necessarily forbidden, but it was frowned upon to use this kind of magic, due to the very dangerous consequences of overuse.

Zonta supposed it could be worse. She could be in the cult of Light Magic. Or she could be a Light Husk, those were far worse than a Dark Husk, and Zonta decided long ago that if she ever turned into a Husk, she’d go for the less depressing Dark version. At least that way she knew people would leave her alone.

“What exactly are Light Husks again?” Markus, who had come over to help her as best he could with her practice, had absolutely no idea how magic worked. Zonta liked being able to explain things to her friend, even if he didn’t really get it. She supposed it was only fair, however. After all, she hardly knew how werewolves worked and he had done his best to explain that all to her.

“Light Husks are people who used Light Magic. It’s far more powerful than Dark Magic,” she explained, “It’s also more unstable. If you have to use any kind of frowned upon or illegal magic, it’s better to use Dark instead of Light, even if people seem to be more scared of the former.”

“So since it’s unstable it’s easier to turn into a Husk, right?”

“Mm-hm,” Zonta sat down on the long couch in her living room, propping her feet on her friend’s legs as he sat down beside her, “Light Magic, being incredibly unstable and dangerous, usually tends to turn a person into a Husk pretty fast. You get like… the weirdest God complex, too. I went to a gathering with some other witches one time, and there was a Light Husk there in this like… I wanna call it a tube but it wasn’t really one. Anyway, they were in this anti-magic container thing, because if a Light Husk got loose, the world would probably be in a shit-ton of trouble. Light Husks have a whole cult following, cuz they’re usually thought of as godlike. It’s… really creepy, actually.”

“Yikes.”

“Exactly. Anyway, this Light Husk was a woman, probably like… three, four years older than us, and she’s all glowing and ethereal and it’s absolutely terrifying. But like… these people are coming up to the container and they’re asking questions and she’s answering them and her voice is absolutely mesmerizing. Really echo-y and unearthly. Honestly if she looked more like a horrifying creature made of eyes and flaming wheels and wings she could have passed as what people thought angels looked like. I don’t like it. People are obsessed with Light Husks.”

“I hope there’s not that many out there…,” Markus looked a little worried for a moment. Zonta smiled reassuringly at him, shaking her head.

“Nah, there’s like seven. After the seventh person turned into a Husk, people kinda realized that hey, this shit is dangerous and probably lethal, let’s not turn ourselves into ethereal beings of light and energy.”

Markus frowned, lost in thought for a moment. Zonta glanced out the window behind them, silently thinking her own private thoughts, mostly about how grateful she was that the two of them were comfortable with one another to talk about the less appealing sides of their abilities.

“What about Dark Husks? Are you worried about becoming one? If you use your magic too much, I mean,” Markus finally said.

“I mean, I used to worry about it. But I usually can feel when I’m going a little too far and I think that stops me from going overboard. So it should be fine, as long as I remember to take breaks and stuff. Gotta let my magic replenish or I would definitely turn into a Husk.”

“What do they usually look like?”

Zonta shuddered, thinking about the depressing forms she once saw roaming the countryside, “They look like ghosts. Or at least what I think ghosts look like. To my knowledge, Jason is the only one who can see the dead, and I’m too afraid to ask if they look like Dark Husks.

“But they like… they have hallow eyes and sunken cheeks, their bodies are usually thin and bony. Their whole body takes on a monochromatic color scheme that matches their magic. So, for example, if I turned into a Husk, my body would turn different shades of purple,” she explained, shrugging slightly.

Markus tried to envision that for a moment, furrowing his brows together. Zonta thought he looked cute when he tried to imagine something she explained. He usually looked very serious like that.

“You keep furrowing your eyebrows like that and you’ll get a crease in between them,” she teased. He relaxed his face, a small smile forming.

“I think you’d be a pretty color, but I also think you’d look scary if that happened,” Markus said.

“You think my magic color is pretty?” Zonta tried to stay calm, her heart fluttering. Usually her magic color bothered people. Magic usually was a bright color, but hers was a darker purple, almost an indigo of sorts.

“Well yeah. I mean… I think your magic is cool. And the color is kinda nice, it suits you.”

She smiled, “Thanks dude, that means a lot to me. Usually when people find out my magic color, they freak out. And then, when they find out I specialize in Dark Magic of all things, they start thinking I’m like, evil or something.”

“Do you know what kind of magic your dad did?”

She shook her head, “My mom said she can’t remember, and he left before I was born. She told me she just remembers what color his magic is. It’s red. I’ve never seen that color for magic before, it’s kinda unique. Like the dark purple for my magic. Guess weird colors run in the family.”

“Maybe he did Dark Magic like you and that’s why you’re good at it.”

“Haha, maybe.”

Zonta fought the urge to yawn, her eyes heavy. She wanted to keep talking to Markus, but she had really worn herself out practicing.

“You look tired, Hummingbird,” Markus said softly, “You should probably rest.”

“Nah, I’m.. fine,” she mumbled. She knew she needed to rest, she just didn’t want to.

“At least close your eyes. You can still talk to me, but with your eyes closed.”

She complied, closing her eyes. It was fine for a moment until she felt fingers gently brush across her face and her eyes shot open.

Markus looked embarrassed, “Ah, sorry. Should’ve said something. You had a stray hair in your face and it was bugging me. You can close your eyes again, I won’t do that without asking next time.”

She chuckled, shutting her eyes again. She tried not to think about how soft his fingers had been when they moved across her cheek.

“Your accent popped out for a minute there,” she said, laughing when Markus replied, “Howdy, ma’am,” in the most Texan accent she’d ever heard.

“Hey... If I fall asleep, don’t let me sleep too long. I have to make dinner for my mom when she gets home in a few hours. The flight she was supposed to work on next got cancelled or something, so she gets to come home for a few days,” Zonta mumbled, her words slurring a little as she felt sleep start taking over.

“Or, you could sleep and I could make your mom something. She knows you practice a lot and wear yourself out, I’m pretty sure she’d be fine with my cooking.”

“She liked that one thing your mom made,” Zonta replied, opening one eye slightly, “Those tamale things. They were really good.”

Markus grinned, “I told you. You didn’t wanna try them.”

“I didn’t wanna end up not liking them and disappoint you.”

“You could never disappoint me, Zonta,” Zonta felt her face heat up at how sincere he sounded. She opened her eyes fully, sitting up a little more and moving slightly so she was closer.

“That’s nice to know,” she said quietly, wondering if what she was feeling was genuine or just because it’d been so long since she’d dated that any form of kindness from a cute guy sent her into a romantic frenzy.

He smiled gently at her, pushing her slightly on her shoulder so she was lying back down, “You need to rest, Z. Close your eyes again.”

“Fine,” she mumbled, “Hey, you think you could you try teaching me Spanish again sometime?”

“Only if you try teaching me how to dance.”

Zonta snorted, “You have two left feet.”

“And you can’t roll your R’s.”

“That’s fair,” she laughed.

Her mind started wandering as she felt sleep start drifting over her again. Her mind drifted to thinking about what holding Markus’ hand would be like. It was such a specific thought, and she was fairly certain it was because she was a little touch starved, but she just wanted to hold his hand sometimes.

She was half tempted to say something, but felt herself grow nervous at the thought of asking, instead opting to stay quiet.

She felt herself drifting off to sleep, and she swore she heard Markus say something, but her mind was foggy and she was pretty out of it. She felt herself growing limp as sleep overtook her, and she hoped that maybe she’d have a decent dream for once instead of the weird and sometimes frightening dreams she commonly had.

Markus quietly and gently moved her so her legs weren’t on him anymore, and he found one of the small blankets she kept around the house, covering her with it. He smiled softly at her and walked into the other room to go find something to make for her and her mother when she returned home.

[gezelligheiid2]

okay so. those of you who talk to me about elder scrolls know I don’t entirely like the portrayal of the Clockwork City as seen in ESO. this is kinda a big post of headcanons and other things to give you guys, my buddies, a better idea of how I view the Clockwork City when I write about Sotha Sil or Sulkan.

What is the Clockwork City:      So, basic concept is a city that’s some combination of “magic, metal, and natural” elements, but why. What is the goal of the Clockwork City? In some respects, I agree that the Clockwork City is meant to be some sort of “higher plane of existence” that is more perfect than Nirn. Truly, it is a place of learning. The City is meant to be inhabited by the people Seht believes have the capacity to learn something from their time there: it’s not a place for random people, nor is it a place that you can enter because you know someone that might live there. The City is a huge work in progress, even when Seht dies, and is never fully complete. 

Does it still have those robots tho?:      Kinda. I’ll be totally honest with you, my main beef with the Clockwork City in ESO is the whole SIRI thing it’s got goin on. I hate it. Apparently, it’s Sotha Nall’s voice that you hear? Cool. I still hate it. There’s no voice that reads off readings to you or welcomes you to places, and that goes for the factotums as well. So, the semi-human robots are still around, but they don’t talk. Factotums are mainly just used for basic jobs, it allows Apostles to do more important work while still sustaining the City as a whole. So watering or picking crops? Factotums. Cleaning? Factotums. Easy repairs? Factotums. However, there are still plenty of basic jobs that need to be done, who does those?

Yeah Marcus who does those other basic jobs?:      A p o s t l e s. Alright, lemme get fuckin zesty with you: knowledge doesn’t only mean “making robots”. The part earlier where I said this was a city for people who would learn from being there? I mean it. You aspire to learn banking? Well shit, the city needs one of those, so Seht might pick you up and give you a place there. You wanna make food with all kinda of wacky ingredients? Well the Apostles gotta eat, so you might get picked too. Want to run your own store? Fuck man, the city needs that: you’ve been chosen. Now, most Apostles end up as the Robot people since that’s what this place is known for. Maybe, you already know where I’m going with this. 

Where?:      Fuckin class system. Get hyped, the Clockwork City has an upper and lower class, and I think you already know what I mean. It’s like the real world where people see 4 year college as being super cool and awesome and 2 year college is not as good or cool and fuck them for thinking that but I digress. So get this: the Clockwork Apostles that are considered “Seht’s faithful” think that they’re more important and all around better. It didn’t start like that, but when you bring beings from Nirn to a “new, better Nirn” they’re going to bring their own fucked up brains with them. If you ask Seht, he would say that every person in the city is his apostle. If is ask the Clockwork Apostles: they’re the only apostles. For that reason, most of the non-robot people don’t call themselves apostles because then it just starts an argument. Clockwork Apostles gated off their ranks only for people of “reAl inTElleCtUAl PerSuITs”. However, there isn’t really a monetary class system? There isn’t a district that lives in poverty while the others don’t coughslagtowncough. This is a place of learning, not of wealth. Seht wants you there, he’s not going to just let you starve and die. The people Seht selects to live here have homes that they don’t need to pay for and are given a sum of money to take care of food and other things. However, jobs are still a thing and its a good way to get money since what you’re given for being there isn’t enough to furnish your house of buy something nice for yourself. I went on a tangent whoops. Anyways, these apostles that have other pursuits are called “Cogs” by the Clockwork Apostles: referring the whole idea of cogs in a machine, but enforcing that they’re not cool or special. Which is rude. 

Wait why does Seht let them be like that?:      Honestly, because he’s soft. They’re his kids, that’s how he treats them. But that doesn’t mean that discipline is something he does well. He doesn’t. That’s the problem. 

Also you mentioned free houses:      Hell yeah I did. When Seht kidnaps you into the ether, he makes sure you have somewhere to go. Sure, they’re little starter places meant for just one person, but that’s the beauty of it. There are plenty of other places to live, Seht even gets excited when someone wants to put their skills to work and build something themselves, but that’s all extra. If you want to just do research and live in your little place? Cool, thats kinda what the spirit of the city is all about. You found someone you want to marry, maybe have some kids? Neato, there are bigger houses you can invest in by working. 

Wait but isn’t this place religious?:      That is a good question: it is. But it wasn’t meant to be. Seht isn’t like the other Tribunes, he’s not preachy or anything and really isn’t all that temple aligned when you think about it. However, a God doesn’t have to say scripture for people to start making it. The Truth in Sequence isn’t a document written by Seht, it’s written by his “Fourth Tourbillon”. You know what that means? No. It doesn’t mean anything. Aside from that fact that a Tourbillon is a watch-piece, we have no idea what the job he’s bragging about it. What we do know, is that Seht has said some things about how he sees the Clockwork City as being a perfect world, but he really hasn’t talked much about the beliefs the Clockwork Apostles seem to think he has... Shedding your weak mortal skin for metal? He’s never said anything about it. The union of flesh and machine? I mean, he makes those things but that’s not really his end goal. The Dwemer are bad? Where do you think his designs came from: the Dwemer. Seht lets these beliefs fester since, well, he’s never said what he believes in public. He’s like a real god: vibing while his followers all freak out and make assumptions about what he does or does not like based on second-hand accounts. 

Are you done:      No. I gotta talk. About the fuckin water. You know what Seht likes? Water. He grew up seaside, his House was known  for magic and fishing. So, I don’t like that ESO shows all the water being polluted. And no one cares. The water is clean, the only oil you might see would be from machines that might have broken and fallen in or broken pipes. The water is normal. Also while I’m on this, weather is weird. Seht has engineered the systems that involve the weather and its pretty cool. You can see sunrise, sunset, moon phases, and even stars. What won’t you see? Rain. Why are there trees and grass? Magic. The Clockwork City exists outside of time and space, so I don’t find it hard to believe that the ground is weird and can sustain these weird forms of plants: the city is also watched by a Magnus so there’s a lot of magic involved. Does it make sense? Not really. But you know what makes less sense: letting it rain in your clock city.

Oh shit don’t they eat paste:      It’s around, but there are more kinds of food available. Honestly the paste happened when Seht tried to make cooking robots and maybe someone was into it. 

Is that fake Heart still a thing?:      Yeah, Seht made a replica of Lorcan’s Heart to power the city once he’s gone. Here’s the kicker: what the hell powers the Heart? So I offer you this: the Heart doesn’t last. Once Seht is dead, there’s a time-limit to how long the city will be on. It’s really more so people have time to get ready and leave once he dies. And that’s what happens. He dies and the city empties out. The gears rust with time and things don’t operate anymore. The plants die and water dries up, the Fabricants just. kinda die. No one is there to fix them or make more of them. Bigger things, more powerful things, still linger in the city: their soul gems still bursting with energy, but they can’t escape when the portals don’t even work without power. It’s a husk of what it was, now roamed by creatures that had been kept under lock and key back when the power was on...

Wait you mentioned kidnapping earlier:      That’s how you get here. Seht sees you and then just. Takes you. Welcome to the City.

[raidbossmadi]

People Like Us : Chapter 7

7. The parts we play

Previous Chapter : Here 

“I just don’t get it.” Troy huffed taking a drag of a blunt as he sat at a grungy table in the engineering garage. His hefty prosthetic arm resting on the table it’s forearm panel open as Lydia diligently looked over the circuitry and mechanics inside. 

“Don’t get what?” She asked as she worked. It was commonplace for Troy to rant about the things that were frustrating him while he was getting his arm serviced and the engineering team were all well equipped to deal with their gods problems, after all they were his loyal children. Tyreen might be the favored of the cult at large but here in the garage everyone preferred Troy. 

“Why I feel like this, I don’t really know what to call the feeling either. I’m not sick...at least I don’t think I am.” He sighed, he knew what being sick felt like and this was something different entirely. It felt like his heart was being held in a fist that was tightening ever so slowly, that his head was swimming in a sea where all he could think about was one singular thing; the new siren. 

Lydia let him talk as she continued prodding at various components in his arm and testing their reactivity then loosened a few wires. “That feel any better, boss?” 

Troy stopped his rambling and rolled his shoulder back letting the weight of the arm rest on his shoulder plate.  A hiss of pain exited his lips as the shoulder plate dug back into the already bruised ribs beneath it, the reason for his coming down here in the first place. 

“Nope! That’s not it.” The arm thudded back onto the table which creaked under the sudden weight. He chewed his lip as a distraction from the protesting soreness in his already delicate damaged side. It was just his luck this was all piling up on him like this, the strange feelings, his arm not cooperating, Tyreen increasing his work load. He never could catch a break could he?  

“Not since the day Ty and I were born.” He thought, taking another drag hoping it would take the edge off his soreness. 

“You ought to be checking the counterweight Lyd.” A gruff voice came from behind the male siren and Tink dressed in welders gear hopped up onto the table. “The plate’s not shifting down far enough to be caught by his implant so it’s not shouldering the weight the way it should.” 

“You wanna take it over from here then Hephaestus?” Lydia asked. “I can head out if you two just wanna you know, have guy talk?” 

“Yeah leave it to me, I think I got the solution for our boss’s head problems too.” He said with a smirk that made Troy squirm a little, he didn’t handle confidence in other men well and it seemed that extended to his mechanic as well.  He tried to put it behind him, after all these were his inner circle members; people he could and did  trust with his life. 

“ So what do you think is wrong then Heph?” Troy leaned back in the chair staring up at the sheet metal ceiling and wondered how many bolts he could count before he got bored of it. 

“Told ya, your counterweight is screwy…Oh! You mean the other thing.” The Tink snorted, of all the smarts the man made god that sat before him possessed, he sure didn’t know anything about his feelings.  

Troy leaned forward again, his hair falling in front of his eyes yet the icy blue glare was still just as effective. “Yes the other thing. Jeez.” 

“Alright, alright don’t go bearing those fangs at me Troy. So this feeling you get, does anything in particular trigger it?  Are you walking out to do whatever bullshit you're up to when you ain’t here and seeing a particular person that gets you all dizzy? does this certain person cross your path and you just feel like you don’t know why the planet's gravity turned off for you alone?” Hephaestus didn’t look up from Troy’s arm as he talked gingerly tucking wires out the way to get to the forearm counterweight.  Troy seemed to handle things better when he wasn’t being talked to directly, something about making it seem like he was still in complete control of the situation kept him docile enough to ask hard questions. 

“Uh..ye..yeah that’s it exactly. But it doesn’t make any sense does it?” Troy huffed annoyed at himself “After all-”

“Lydia didn’t give herself that bite mark, nor did half the people here. I know, and I know if I  were a few feet taller I’d likely have one myself. But there’s a big difference between your little flings and what you’re feeling right now Troy.” 

“Then what is it? I don’t understand.” Troy ground the butt of his blunt into the table flicking it and the pile of ash it left onto the floor. 

“I know you don’t, and that’s why you’re angry, but I want you to think long and hard about this Troy. What makes this person different from any of your little flings? No one can answer that but you and you’d better figure it out before you go hurting them and yourself and everyone else around you because you couldn’t figure it out.” Hephaestus knew he was treading dangerous ground; Troy’s temper was nothing to play with but it was clear to everyone close to the male twin that he lacked a level of emotional maturity that, if he did not figure out for himself would continue to destroy every close relationship he tried to have. 

“Why can’t you just tell me? Clearly you’ve got it all worked out.” 

“If I tell you, you won’t learn anything and that’s the real hang up here. You think you’ve got it all figured out and because of that this new situation’s got you all confused. So all I can tell you for now is think long and hard about what’s different and only then will you understand why you’re feeling this way.” Hephaestus finally looked up from his work on Troy’s arm in time to catch him rolling his eyes in annoyance, he would get it in time. 

“Anyway, your counterweight was all tangled up with leaves’n’shit.” He said, pulling the aforementioned clump of vegetation onto a pile on the table. “Gimme a minute and I can get it recalibrated.” 

Troy stared at vegetation, his lip curling slightly, all of this led back to Eden-4. It just didn’t make sense, ever since he’d fed on Sloane everything had been so strange.  He liked the idea of not being so reliant on Tyreen and there had been something soothing about the energy he’d taken from the nature siren. But he didn’t want to harm her, when she had fainted in his arms he had felt genuine concern that he had harmed her irreparably and that had scared him on a level he hadn’t felt since the day Tyreen killed their mother.  

It hadn’t been until that moment that he understood the look of sadness that his sister wore after feeding sometimes. He had thought that she relished in taking the life from those less important than her to feed the ever growing image of a Goddess. 

He was taken out of his thoughts by the sound of the panel being closed up, looking down at the table to see Hephaestus watching him expectantly. “Well give it a try.” 

“Oh right.” He pulled the arm off the table more gingerly this time cautious of if it was really fixed. It sat back in position at his side with little protest of his sore ribs and he sighed in relief. “Much better. Thanks I guess I owe you one.”  

The tink shook his head. “Just doin’ my job Troy. You just go back up to your place and get that thing off while those bruises heal. And tell your big mouthed sister to lay off for a couple days why don’t you?” 

“She’s not gonna like that.” Troy hazarded though a few days to rest and figure things out without Tyreen jumping down his throat sounded like exactly what he needed.

“Does she ever? Doesn’t change the fact you’re not her workhorse. Now get outta here and don’t let us see you for a bit.” Hephaestus teased  and shooed the male siren away. 

Lydia approached him as Troy made his exit and quirked a brow noting that there had been a distinct lack of yelling which she had not expected. “Your talk went well then?” 

“Yeah, I gotta let Iris know I owe her fifty bucks though.”  Heph said with an amused snort.

“What? Why?” 

“Made a bet with her a while back, told her I didn’t think that  angry boy there had it in him to truly love anyone. She disagreed. Didn’t think I’d ever actually have to pay up, but, here we are.” 

—-

“You cannot be acting like this, you need to settle down.” Tyreen hissed. The God-Queen grabbing an errant vine that had erupted from the ivy plant she kept in her room, the plant shriveling as she leeched it back into submission. 

She could understand the other siren being a little upset about the things that had occurred the night prior but lashing out was unacceptable behaviour for anyone with powers like theirs, Sloane might not be able to husk anyone but she sure could if her emotions got out of hand . With the plant taken care of there was little threat for the both of them and Tyreen while still keeping her distance folded her hands in front of her to show she wasn’t going to lash out in kind. 

“Are you feeling calmer now or do I need to have Mouthpiece put you in time out?” She asked. 

“Yes, fine,whatever,I'm good. How about you start explaining what the fuck went on last night.” Sloane asked huffing through her nose, she had not planned for things to be aggressive but her powers had other ideas when she had originally started this conversation.  

“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal about this.” Tyreen started, sounding equally annoyed. To her none of this was worth getting upset about. 

“You don’t? Really? Tyreen your brother did something to me and I don’t know what he starts freaking out I start freaking out , then the next thing I know I’m in the fucking hospital and you don’t think that that’s a big deal?” Sloane exclaimed honestly not sure what even to say at this point. 

“Fine alright maybe it’s kinda a big deal. You might want to have a seat, I don’t know how long this’ll take to explain so we might as well get comfy. I’ll grab drinks you want alcohol ooorrr?” 

“I’ll just have a soda Tyreen.” Sloane gave an exasperated sigh before walking over to the couch and sitting down. A million thoughts were swirling in her mind, why was Tyreen so chill about this like it was normal, even if it was normal  for her surely she must understand that not everyone would think that. She was brought out of her whirlwind of thoughts as Tyreen placed the soda can on the table in front of her before taking a seat in the arm chair. 

Tyreen popped the top of her own drink, a beer and took a sip before she sighed again. “So we lied, well kind of. Troy is a siren, but he’s also not a siren, confusing  I know just stay with me here alright? Our dad always called him freak, a parasite, he said he was a broken siren that shouldn’t even exist. He told us that if anyone knew Troy was a siren they’d take him away and study him, I mean he told us a lot of things about the world outside that wasn’t true but I don’t doubt that that was the one thing that was.” 

“Wait wait, I’m lost already, what do you mean your dad lied to you?”  Sloane tilted her head in confusion, the twins in the time they had been together had barely talked about where they came from and she had never pried despite her curiosity. 

“Our father raised us in a cage, he told us the rest of the universe was full of bandits and corporations that would tear us apart. When we got out we saw he was right, but he never accounted for the fact that we would tear them apart first. But that’s not what matters, this isn’t entirely my story to tell so when you do see Troy again you’ll have to coax the rest out of him. The important part is, Troy’s sick, he always has been. He needs a real siren like me to feed him energy or else...well he withers away. I don’t have the time to babysit him constantly with the Children of the vault expanding at an exponential rate, I can’t always stop what I’m doing or even be on the same planet as he is.  So when we realized we were going to be near another siren we thought…” 

“You thought that it would be ok to just grab another siren and not tell me the truth. That you just wanted to use me?” Sloane asked, her voice pitched up as she put the pieces together. 

“Not exactly…” Tyreen started. “We were going to tell you, but Troy instead of topping off on me decided to let his reserves run low and test it himself. If it had been up to me I would have sat you down with the rest of the inner circle and explained the part you’d play.”  

“They all know?!” 

“Of course they all know, I don’t take anyone into the circle  without first consulting with the others. The circle is a system of give and take, we all have things to offer each other and while Troy and I sit at the top of it all we still give back to the rest. And to be fair, serving Troy isn’t the only thing we wanted you for, you’ve seen the Cathedral garden and the garden on the Centurion, we have another one as well we’ll be visiting soon. Your siren abilities are perfect for maintaining them and we’ve been looking for a caretaker for awhile.” 

Sloane swallowed, unsure of what to think about all this. She knew the twins hadn’t taken her in on pure altruism alone and that she would have to earn her keep among them; she hadn’t expected this. She hardly knew anything about them save for the facets they allowed people to know and just like that this conversation had shattered the public facing facade. 

They weren’t perfect, they weren’t the righteous gods they hoped to become. They were people, broken scared people who had been raised in some sort of backwards way, told that the world outside of their bubble was dangerous and against them. Who wouldn’t want to rise above that, to remake a better world as a god. It all made sense now and the realization that the people who seemed to have the universe under their fingers were just as deeply flawed as anyone else was comforting. They weren’t the wolves that she thought they were, they were just as scared and frightened as she was, they just knew how to spin that fear into power. 

Now with Tyreen’s sins laid bare she couldn’t bring herself to feel the anger she had when she’d walked into the room. There was still a touch of fear that she couldn’t shake at this moment though, she still needed to process everything she had just learned. She couldn’t string together the words to explain what she was feeling she needed time to think about what she wanted to say. 

“I… I’m not angry anymore but I need some time to think, Tyreen. I’m gonna go take a walk around the Cathedral, yes I’ll bring a priest for safety don’t worry. I think I might go spend the night with Iris though, just to have some thinking time.” She said and hoped Tyreen would allow her to leave without much fuss. 

“That’s fair, I'll give you the time to collect your thoughts.” Tyreen sat back in the armchair watching Sloane rise and leave. When the door clicked shut she crushed the now empty beer can in her hand and chucked it at the wall. 

“You’re so fucking stupid Tyreen!” She berated herself. “Of course laying out you stupid sob story wasn’t going to just magically fix everything and have everything go back to normal. So fucking stupid.” She picked up her echophone with the same amount of fury and double checked the time of her afternoon appointment with the marketing heads. Enough time to let her feelings out. 

“You shouldn’t deny yourself these feelings.” A familiar voice that was not her own spoke up in her head. Nyriad, the siren that had wielded her powers before her waking to share her wisdom as she often did when Tyreen was upset. 

“I don’t even know why I’m upset though, she’s not obligated to thank me or even understand me.” Tyreen snorted. 

“Perhaps you should reflect on why she makes you feel this way. I know you long for another to be as close to you as your brother. Do you know what that feeling is called Tyreen?” 

Tyreen was admittedly stumped at first but the longer she thought on Nyriad’s words and her own thoughts and feelings it all started to fall into place. The truth she always knew she’d inevitably have to face and how she would have to decide if she would act on it or continue to keep buried like everything else she was afraid of. 

[gasp-iwrotesomething]

Love your account. Could you do R11 with Vince please and thank you

Thanks so much, anon, it means a lot to hear you say that! And of course, I’d be thrilled to write this for you! Thanks for your request and I hope you enjoy!

R11: “You’re worth running up a flight of stairs for.”

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The night had been dull, starless with the moon a slim sliver of pale light in the sky, and yet the city of Chicago was alight like a firework. Vince was a prodigy in the superficial fling of the city, his chiseled features and hazelnut eyes alive with the roar of wind flying by. Beside him sat MC, whose rouge curls flirted with the strong gusts and flapped behind her as Vince drove throughout Chicago. The two had just left the speakeasy, where gaggles of people in glitzy attire danced and drank and then danced again until their hearts were content. Everything had gone smooth, yes, but how it went was an afterthought to the two budding lovebirds. Vince had rumored to MC that he had somewhere he wanted to take her--somewhere where “even the Devil himself don’t dare to step a damned foot in”. That had given MC a pleasant curl of jitters and she felt her heart gallop like the winning horse in the Kentucky Derby. She had been put on autopilot for the rest of the night and her control boomeranged back only when she dared sneak a glance at Vince. He’d meet her impish gaze with an innocent smirk, then turn away to do Vince things--MC only had the eyes for the man who was doing them, what he did wasn’t her concern. Once the last drunken fellow stumbled out of the speakeasy, Vince sought out his redheaded beauty and swept her up into his car, his face split with a playful grin and a soft edge to his eyes. Vince kept his mouth zipped the entire way there and didn’t relent no matter how many times MC flashed her stricken puppy dog face. “That trick ain’t workin’ on me this time, doll,” Vince cheekily said as he winked, “these eyes gotta stay trained on the road unless you wanna spend the night in the ward.”

MC rolled her eyes, her ruby lips pouting at her cocky boyfriend. “I think I’ll wake up there if you don’t tell me where we’re going! Curiosity ain’t something I can handle, ya’ know!” She crossed her scrawny arms across her chest and gave the bootlegger a glare that could break any other man down--but not the resilient Vince Moretti. He merely chuckled and shook his head, amused at her dainty antics. “A few more minutes ain’t gonna kill ya’. Trust me, this surprise will make up for all of this denyin’ on my end.” MC’s pout doubled and she sunk into her seat, her posture resembling a toddler who just watched the candy store pass by outside the window. “It better, else you’ll be alone when we get there...” MC mumbled beneath her breath, just to be a brat, admiring the blur of colorless buildings flashing by. Eventually, Vince’s car pulled into the driveway of a deserted warehouse, the windows shattered and the walls smothered in moss. He parks and an eerie silence falls between them, evoking a sense of unease that spooked the small redhead. Shivering, MC spins to Vince with a confused and unsettled expression. “Vince, what in heaven’s name are we doin’ here? This place looks like there’s some ghouls camping out in the shadows.” The bootlegger shoots her a rakish grin and extends his hand, confident. His eyes are glazed with the kind of trouble that MC loved to see--it was the liquor that loosened MC better than any spa day could. Seeing their glare, it was difficult for the flapper to stay apprehensive--she wasn’t the type of gal to turn down a good time.

“Enough of the pessimism, dolly,” Vince scolds lightheartedly, “your surprise is gonna get cold and I don’t reckon the folks who helped me set it up would appreciate me squawkin’ for a refund.” Convinced, MC takes the hand offered and Vince guides the small girl out of the car, shutting the door behind her as he tugged her along. Before they further their journey inside the warehouse, Vince dips into a mock bow and kisses MC’s ghostly knuckles, his mouth a scrap of hot satin against her skin. MC flushes the curl of her lips and swats the sly bootlegger away as he snickers wickedly. Vince leads her inside to a surprisingly well-kept room, armed to the teeth with crates of what seemed to be miscellaneous odds and ends. A faint glow haunted the second floor which coerced MC’s eyes to the steely stairs and the rusted bars that lined the edges of the floor. Vince gestures to the light with his chin, still grinning like there was an ongoing inside joke MC was unaware of. “There’s your prize, MC. All you got’s to do is use your legs and hustle your pretty little way up those stairs.” He husks it like a challenge--cause it was--and a grin accompanied by an eye roll gathers on MC’s face. She releases his hand and does her inscrutably bossy stance--hands on the hips, brows perturbed, eyes daggers that stab all that lands under them. “Oh really? Thought you knew me well enough to know that I ain’t no gangly gal with no energy in her step,” MC berates the bootlegger as she walks to stairs, her effervescent curls bouncing as she tosses him a wry smile over her shoulder, “stairs like these ain’t got nothin’ on me.”

Vince trails behind her with his hands in his pockets, brown gaze scanning MC up and down--lingering particularly on her thin legs. She could practically taste the doubtful air that emanated from him and it had the flavor of cigar smoke--thick and smothering yet from afar it seemed like the precursor to a badass gang leader seated in a leather chair within a small office. “I know you alright, but I admit, I haven’t seen you race for a shiny prize in a long while. Can you blame me for wantin’ to see if you’re still the spry troublemaker I fell over my own feet for?” MC feigns offense to the comment and frowns--there was something that Vince wasn’t telling her and it seemed like he was belittling her, as if she was too skinny and petite to carry her own. “I’m still the same troublemaker you chauffeured to the speakeasy first day I got here, Vince,” she starts her journey up the stairs, transmitting a glance that could’ve been interpreted as a whole slew of things, “and you’re still the same ego-savvy bootlegger that I trusted back when Uncle Charlie was shot.” With that, she charges up the stairs and she can feel his eyes on her the whole way there, admiring the view of MC tiring her muscles out. The redheaded flapper reaches the top in no time, her curls frizzy from how they caught the wind. She plants her hands on her knees as she struggles to catch her breath, lifting one to give Vince a cheeky thumbs up. “Made it! Bet you can’t do... whew... better, Moretti!” MC jeers as she casts a curious glance at her surroundings, which unveils that the dim glow was actually of a cluster of candles stationed in the middle of a pristine table set. What in the world...? What is that supposed to be?

“Better? Than you?” Vince counters as his broad hand falls to his stomach, laughing subtly--it was almost comparable to lemon juice splashed in a wound to MC. “Please, I could run up those stairs faster than you can catch your breath, bearcat.” With that, the Italian bootlegger dashes up the cold metal which emits a loud clank, clank, clank as he lands at the top--barely a bead of sweat tainting his skin. MC pouts as she realizes he’s not even breathing that heavily while she was acting like she only had one functioning lung to live off of. “But it’s a real darb to waltz up these stairs and see a hotsy-totsy flapper... well, I ain’t no romance expert, but you’re worth running up a flight of stairs over.” Vince has a dumb smile careening on his face and MC socks him in the arm just to knock it off him, her own features bright as the flattery of his words reach her mind. It was sweet of him to say, but there’s tons more lines to use to declare your love for your woman! “Shut it, you sap,” MC chuckles as she pivots on her heel to the table behind them--the one with decor that was straight out of the most luxurious restaurants in Chicago, “now tell me: what’s with the table? Bootlegger biz not holdin’ up anymore or something?”

It was a teasing remark, one that reinvigorated her curiosity, which prompts Vince’s eyes to regain their mysterious yet impish glaze. He extends his gun-calloused hand and with a smirk sharper than any blade MC had ever know, he murmurs low into the night as if the shadows could hear him. MC suspected that he made his voice guttural just to play with the butterflies gathering in her stomach, and to be truthful, it works--marvelously.

“Was wonderin’ when the questions would start up again. Come on, let me show you your surprise, doll. It’ll explain everything; trust me.”

And she does, happily taking his hand like it was a familiar route; comforting and understandable.

Reliable.

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Thanks again for your request! Really loved writing some good ol’ Vince Moretti!

If you want to request something, here’s the Prompt List, here are the Guidelines, here’s Who I Write For, and here is where you can Request me.

[omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts]

You Don’t Own Me...

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Wakandan! Reader

Summary: After your own family was recently murdered by Klaue, you’re taken in by the royals and begin to live in the palace, making you close friends to T’Challa and Shuri. Erik is a guest in the palace as well, after making amends with T’Challa, ultimately saving his life, but the man decides to make yours considerably harder, teasing and messing with you all hours of the day with the occasional passing flirtation. So when you catch him training in the private gym set aside for sparring and sit down to braid his hair for him, T’Challa’s wedding to Nakia that same night, where Erik can’t keep his hands to himself, and an elevator you both get into alone, things take a delightful turn.

A/N: so my baby is not dead cause he is way too pretty to die, and I’ve been wanting to write this for awhile because he’s beautiful and just *sighs* we love him (I’ve been sick and I watched Black Panther twice in that small span of time it was magical), I hope you enjoy it I loved writing it cause damn that stare tho I adore your feedback btw!! (it’s so long wow) I asked so you all shall receive! Here are a few that commented:

@cocoaflowerrs​ @harleycativy​ @honeytoffee​ @chaneajoyyy​ @mydemons-aremy-friends​ @thehomierobbstark​ @lifelover4u​ @wrtngnght​ @bitemyxxx​ @bakerstreethound​

Warnings: FLUFF, mild swearing, so many feels, sexual tension to the max, a punch is thrown, heavy kissing

The long, floral bridesmaid dress your best friend, Shuri, had made for you trails ethereally behind your figure, it’s simple and seductive, cinched at the waist before flowing outward. She made it to be practical as well as still being able to fight in it, slits down your toned, brown legs for you to walk easily without tripping over the long fabric. You step lightly through the palace halls in sandals, tied up to your calf, smiling to the guards when you pass by them. You find the lab where your sister and brother are arguing, T’Challa groaning loudly in frustration when Shuri points at his toes rather aggressively.

“I might be a troublemaker, but at least I moisturize my skin!” she gestures to his arm, pulling up his sleeve. “So damn ashy, brother!”

He swats her hand away, “I am a king, forgive me if I don’t have time for a personal spa day-”

“How are you expected to take care of a kingdom when you can’t even take care of your skin?” Shuri says, unable to get it all out through the giggles, pointing to his ankles.

“Oh, you wish to go there?”

“What are we yelling about?” you ask, tilting your head curiously when both of their attentions whip towards you. “You didn’t do what I think you did, Shuri...” you warn, giving your best friend a knowing glance.

She stifles a laugh when she holds up her tablet, “Oh... but I did.”

She presses play to the video of that faithful incident of T’Challa being thrown across the room after testing out his new suit’s kinetic energy distribution. That happened months ago and around the time you first arrived here, but it never fails to bring a grin to light up your face, you bite down on your bottom lip to hold in the fit of giggles threatening to surface.

“She showed it to Nakia!” he throws his hands up in aggravation and glares at Shuri. “I am never going to live this down, you know that? That video will haunt me until the day I join the ancestors.”

“Well... I hope your fiance found it as amusing as we do,” your lips quirk in the corners, moving to leave the room. “Hopefully as Queen, her sense of humor can help improve your own.” Your frustrated friend glowers at you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” T’Challa looks you over, giving you the parental stare he learned from his mother. “The wedding is in only a few hours. You have things to do.”

You furrow your brow, “I’m not the one getting married, bridezilla, all I have to do is show up.”

“You’re the maid of honor. There is more to your role than just showing up. You know how important this is to me, y/n, and to Nakia,” he pleads with his forehead wrinkled in that worrisome way, guilt-tripping you into complying. You roll your eyes with a sigh.

“I’m just going to go to the training room, it’s the only time I get a moment to myself, I won’t be long,” you tell him softly. “Does that please you enough, your Highness?” you mock, hand curled around the doorway.

“Fine, but Erik is in there already,” he warns. “I wouldn’t bother him.”

“You offend me, T’Challa,” you scoff. “He talks a big game, but the boy is harmless.”

“She only says that because she wants to have his kids,” Shuri smirks. “Oh, Erik! Take me now,” she presses the back of her hand against her forehead, tilting her head back dramatically. “You love him like those women in the American soap operas, like Rosy and Julio!”

“You mean Romeo and Juliet?” you correct with a small smile, despite the burning of your cheeks at the thought of Erik in that way. She wasn’t wrong.

“Whatever,” she waves you off. “Just use contraceptives...”

“Shuri!” T’Challa scolds while you make your swift exit, laughing at your best friend’s odd, theatrical antics.

You walk down to the training room, Erik’s strenuous grunts echoing off the gym’s walls, the sound of cloth wrapped flesh slamming into a punching bag. You enter the room quietly and watch as he moves graceful, animalistic, he holds power in his hands and demands the attention of the room without having to ask. His shirt is off, great, and you can’t concentrate on where to look, at the low hanging, deep gray sweatpants, barely clinging to his defined hips or his muscular, Greek god like torso and chest, littered with small marks and scars. His black dreads were out because he didn’t bother to tie them up, knowing they would have slipped out anyway, hanging over his predatory eyes.

He hears sudden movement behind him, looking you in the eye when he catches you in the room with him. He was bred as a soldier to hear small noises, to notice everything, and to keep his emotions in check at all times, to keep a neutral expression in the face of an enemy. But you aren’t an enemy. So he cracks a half smile, unwrapping the white cloth from his calloused hands. His eyes wash over your figure in that dress and he holds back a growl, catching his bottom lip between his teeth.

He hums lowly, drinking you in, “You look damn good, princess.”

“Always the charmer, Erik,” you roll your eyes, afraid you’ve pulled something from how far they went back. Your eyes trail over him and he sees it, holding your gaze.

“Hey, sweetheart... I’m not the one that wants to have my kids,” he smirks, amusement glinting in his brown eyes. Shit. “But with you as the momma, you know they’d be beautiful.” You grow flustered at the compliment.

“You heard that?” you blow out a cool breath of air, wetting your lips anxiously. He watches the action with an unreadable expression, flashing that stupid and damned, attractive smile, rows of perfect, ivory teeth, the few gold ones glinting in the afternoon sun pouring in through the windows.

“Yeah... and Shuri, for someone as wicked smart as her, doesn’t know shit about American television. Romeo and Juliet was Shakespeare, not a soap opera,” he chuckles deeply, the masculine melody rumbling from his chest.

“The only reason I know anything about it is from sneaking into the father’s library at night, but that was a long time ago...” you tuck a curl behind your ear at the bittersweet memory of your family and he continues to listen without interrupting because he could relate to your struggle. “Shuri tells me that she finds it predictable and far too boring for her taste, she enjoys nonfiction and scientific journals, but I thought American books were... cute. Something about predictability in romantic literature is comforting.”

“So, you’re a romantic?” he arches a dark eyebrow, intrigued. “You should try reading Fifty Shades...” he teases.

“Nice try, but I’ve already read it,” you surprise him. “It lacked chemistry and tension. But the sex was... interesting,” you let out a fluttering laugh, the innocence in your voice rivaling the way you look over him.

“Let me know if you want someone to act it out with, gorgeous,” he crosses the room, eyes fixed on you, before he takes your chin between his fingers, knocking your jaw up. He unconsciously snarls his canines when he studies you. It’s got to be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Yeah, that sounds fun, you think M’Baku would be interested?” you pinch your brow, messing with him, challenging his stare with a daring one of your own.

“Don’t play with me, princess,” he shakes his head, husked voice dripping with warning.

You look at his sweat ridden, umber skin, his dreads going every which way. You reach out and take one between your fingers, brushing it out of his face while he analyzes your movements.

“Your hair is a mess, N'Jadaka,” you tell him. No one ever calls him by that anymore, if they did he’d probably make them regret doing so, but not with you, he wants you to say it again.

He licks his plump, pink tinged lips, “You gotta solution, beautiful?”

“As a matter of fact, I do, smart ass,” you slit your eyes, rolling your eyes for what seems like the umpteenth time today. “Sit down.”

“Yes m’am,” he smirks, doing as you say, sitting cross legged on the sparring mat below you both. You get on your knees behind him and take his individual dreads in your grasp, parting them into four sections at the top of his head.

He winces when you pull harshly, “If you fuck up my hair, princess-”

“You’re not going to do anything. Your precious hair will be fine, I’m fixing it,” you explain, loosening your grip slightly, gentle when you take three pieces at a time and braid it down his head to where it naturally ends.

“You’re hot when your bossy,” he muses and you tug at his hair in retaliation, earning a pained groan from him. “Watch it,” he hisses through gritted teeth.

“I’m the one with the power here, baby,” you tell the man child, wiping sweat from your brow at the concentration. “You need to be watching it.”

You guide him to lay his head in your lap as you sit down completely, halfway done now. He looks up at your face while you’re focusing intently on doing his braids, watching the way you bite your bottom lip, eyes set on the task in front of you, and nose scrunched in the most adorable way possible. He could look at you all day, he thinks, just like this. His taut back against your thick thighs wasn’t helping anyone either, feeling the ridges of his muscles and scar incisions on your bare skin through the sheer dress. He takes the bold risk of running his hand up your leg while he lays there, the sinful idea of you clenching around his fingers flashing in his mind, his warm, heated touch on your silk skin overpowering your good sense to stay away from him and his trouble. Your breath catches.

“Go any further, Killmonger, and I rip out a dread.”

He exhales a small laugh, putting his hands up in surrender when you get to the last step, almost finished, tying them all off with rubber bands he has, luckily, in his pockets. Thank God, you think, you didn’t know how much more of this you could take.

“Easy, momma... I was only playing,” he winks up from where he lays in front of you. “Don’t act like you didn’t like it. I know when you’re lying to me.”

You roll your eyes, but this time it’s paired with a small curl of your lips, tapping his broad shoulder, signalling for him to get off of you. “I’m done, you big baby.”

He grunts when he stands up and checks himself out in the mirror before him, hand gliding over his done hair, and he grins, dimples on display. It’s one of his rare, genuine smiles that only grace the outside world when your presence is known, mostly a result of something you do or say. Not that you know that.

“You did good, princess,” he looks at you, impressed. “I’m coming back to you again, get ready.”

“I’ll have to charge you the next time,” you fold your arms over your chest. “This was just a free trial.”

He chuckles darkly, cocking his head to the side, “What do you want in return?”

You. It almost slips from your lips, but you catch yourself just in time when there’s a knock by the doorway. T’Challa.

“T’Challa...” you throw him a look over your shoulder. “Don’t you have things to do?”

He looks between you and a shirtless Erik, his eyes widening slightly at the possibilities of what you two could have been doing, “I took a break, you were taking longer than you said you would.”

“I didn’t give you a set time,” you slit your eyes.

“You implied that it wouldn’t be long, you’ve been gone for more than thirty minutes.” He finally notices Erik’s new hair and compliments him, “Your hair looks nice, Erik.”

“You can thank your little friend for that,” he nods in your direction, eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than he thinks he should before your gazes break.

“So that’s what you’ve been doing?” T’Challa looks amused when he smiles at you, interested. “Playing hairdresser with a half naked Erik?” Erik is enjoying this more than he should.

“If I go with you to go help Nakia get ready, will you get off my back?” you ask, walking past him.

“Not entirely, but that’s a start,” T’Challa laughs, looking at Erik one more time. “Put on some clothes, Erik, you’re my best man, you need to get ready.”

“I thought white boy was going to walk with you?” he asks with a chuckle.

“Everett will too,” he rolls his eyes, waving him off. “He’s oddly excited about all of this.”

“The whole nation is excited, T’Challa, it’s not like your feelings for her have been a secret, my friend,” you gesture for him to come on already. “So hurry up or I’ll get Shuri to show Erik the video, too.”

“You wouldn’t,” T’Challa walks out after you.

“Wouldn’t I?” you dare your brother with a small, conniving smile.

“What video?” Erik calls after you.

You peek your head back in through the door frame and mouth, Later, eyes glittering mischievously.

~~~

The traditional, Wakandan, wedding ballad began to play elegantly and you look over at your nervous, best friend, adjusting his blazer. He catches your worried gaze and you smile softly, calming him. He reaches for your hand and you take it in your grasp, raising your hand to hold the side of his face. It makes you so unbelievably happy, seeing him marry the love of his life, an occasion you and dozens of other people have been awaiting. He squeezes your hand affectionately before dropping it, letting you return back to your place. The silent affirmation meaning the world to him.

You look over at Erik, his hand resting on T’Challa’s shoulder in a brotherly fashion. You glance over his black and white tux, it’s unlike him, being so dressed up, but it’s a good look for him. Really good, you think. It flatters his broad shoulders and muscular build nicely, and he grabs your stare in mid-air, smiling slightly. He shoots you a wink when no one else is looking and you look down at your flowers, hiding your burning face.

Shuri stands by your side, head leaning on your shoulder as she gets bored of the festivities.

“Glory to Bast, y/n, stop drooling over Erik... I’m going to be sick,” Shuri yawns. “How much longer will this be?”

You roll your eyes, “It hasn’t even begun,” you whisper as everyone sits up in the aisles, set up voluntarily by the villagers and children, and Shuri herself, of course.

The aisles were riddled with stargazer lilies, Nakia’s favorite flower, placed intricately and their vines wrapped, worn into the redwood. The ceremony is set in the room with the garden of the heart shaped herb, glowing luminescent and bright purple.

The ring bearers are the first to walk in, a few of the village boys and girls, some tossing pink rose petals on the ground, the rest fighting to hold onto the pillow where the rings rest atop. The guests laugh at the children, Erik walks down to kneel to their level with an adorably wide smile, making silly faces to make them giggle. Your heart warms at the sight. One of the little girls hands him the rings, along with a flower she places tenderly behind his ear, he mutters a small, sweet thank you, almost blushing. T’Challa even cracks a smile, tears beginning to brim his eyes, at the cute exchange. You find yourself doing the same.

Nakia finally steps out of the small entrance, everyone rising from their seats, her mother and father on either side of her. T’Challa freezes on sight when he sees her, Okoye, Shuri, and you notice this with moved smiles, all close to tears yourself. Nakia wears a long, emerald dress, breaking the white gown stereotype, she wanted to be different, she told you. And she looks stunning, gold detailing sewn into the green fabric, off the shoulder and draping behind her, her deep, sienna skin glowing gorgeously amidst the moonlight and green in her dress. T’Challa’s tears, once at bay, come rolling down his cheeks, his chest rising and falling.

He mutters a small I love you to her when she joins him on the stage and she smiles widely, beautifully, whispering that she loves him too. Her hand holds the side of his tear stricken face and she wipes one off his cheek with the pad of her thumbs, leaning forward to angel kiss both his eyelids.

“Hey! No kissing yet!” Shuri interrupts the tender moment, T’Challa glaring daggers at her while Nakia only chuckles, giving the people a good laugh, including yourself and Okoye, all wearing matching dresses.

The ceremony goes on as smoothly and emotionally as planned. Mid-vows, there are hot tears falling down your face, but you wipe them away, not wanting to take the attention from them. Erik, however, saw the action before you could hide it all the way, locking eyes with you from across the room, both of you opposite to each other with the loving couple between you.

His lips quirk, You alright?

You nod, smiling softly, and he returns it, his hard features softening when you look at him long enough.

You look beautiful.

You don’t know how you catch the silent words leaving his mouth, but you do, growing flustered immediately and smiling so wide it makes your cheeks hurt. You wish you could see this side of Erik more often, the sensitive, sweet one, the Erik that isn’t afraid to show how he feels.

But, before you know it, the officiant says, “Now you may kiss the bride!”

Nakia takes by the front of his blazer before he can think, bringing his lips to hers with fervor and passion. He cradles her face in his hands and dips her down as the crowd rejoices, Shuri making a show of showing blatant disgust. You slap her shoulder, laughing with one another when Okoye reprimands you both.

T’Challa and Nakia walk hand in hand down the aisle, everyone following them back to the palace for the reception with dancing, music, food, and drinks. You clutch the bouquet of lilies in your grasp, slowing your pace when Erik moves to walk by your side, stepping in time with you.

“That was so sweet,” you look at him as you both walk, glancing at the flower still behind his ear. “What you did with those kids...”

“What? The flower’s nice... and I didn’t want to say no,” he plays it off. “That’s all.”

“Mmhm,” you look down when you walk, smiling at the ground, unconvinced. “You know it’s okay to be nice every once in awhile, even you could spare to show your softer side, Erik Killmonger.” He regards you coldly, but your words have a way of melting that icy exterior of his.

“Whatever,” he rolls his eyes, still trying to keep the tough guy act but you see right through it when he looks at you from the corner of his eye, the ghost of a smile on his lips when you two arrive at the palace’s reception.

“Hold up,” he says to you and you stop, turning to him. He takes the flower out from behind his ear and places it gingerly behind yours, your curls keeping it in place. His fingers brush the skin of your cheek when he does so and your eyes lock, pulling back before he clears his throat. “It looks better on you, anyway, princess.” You smile softly, his touch lighting your skin on fire.

T’Challa and Nakia have already begun their first dance as a married couple, swaying her around the makeshift dance floor like a leaf in the Wakandan spring wind, it’s hard to keep your eyes off of them. Okoye and Shuri stand off to the side, stuffing their faces with assortments of food being served. Then Nakia makes eyes at you and Erik when her and T’Challa begin to slow dance, you and him standing side by side like that, hands brushing ever so softly. She nods towards him, raising her eyebrows in a silent command for you two to get over it and dance together. You slit your eyes. Erik notices this small, wordless conversation and smirks softly, glancing at you.

After debating and looking at you for a moment or two, wondering what to say, he interrupts your mile a minute thoughts, holding out his hand, “Dance with me?” he asks, almost daring you to accept his invitation. How could you say no to that?

You look to his hand then to his eyes and back again, heart beating considerably faster, and you take his hand cautiously, “Sure...”

His calloused hand grasps yours, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I don’t bite,” he says, pulling you onto the dance floor and into his hard chest, other hand on the curve of your back, lips curved maliciously by your ear when he whispers, “Unless you want me too.” You laugh at that.

You keep a distance, only an inch away from each other faces that seems to diminish whenever you share a breath of air, standing still in time when he twirls you.

“Where’d you learn to dance like this?” your voice is light, barely above a whisper when you speak, hoping to keep this little bubble you two have created.

“My pop,” he smiles, but it’s bittersweet, not quite hitting his eyes. “He said you’re never gonna get a lady if you don’t know how to dance with one. That and cooking is the way to a girl’s heart...”

“Your father sounds like a smart man,” you meet his sad eyes and they flicker slightly, like that flame in his stare he takes pride in slowly blowing out the longer you look, simmering his fear. You understood him, how it felt to lose your family like that, and he knew that.

“He was.”

“So are you,” you tell him, taking both of your arms and wrapping them around his neck, staggering the man for a moment before he in turns wraps his own around your waist, warmly bringing you closer. “When you want to be,” you joke.

His lips turn up in the corners, letting out a small laugh, "Thanks, gorgeous.”

You lay your head on his chest, inhaling his intoxicating scent of clean sheets and spices, a smell you can only classify as Erik, and his breathing slows.

“You’re so tense...” you tell him, hands moving to rest against his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat against your palm when he wraps his large arms around you.

He chuckles darkly, catching your wrist in your hand when you begin to trail your fingers down his torso. “I think you know why.”

“I’m not sure I do,” you say, fingers threading together behind his head, brushing the skin of his neck. “Enlighten me.”

The lights in the palace room go off and the person manning the music decides to turn on the deep blue and purple flashing lights, everyone coupling up with close friends and lovers. Erik’s grip on your waist tightens when some of the men make eyes at you, about to ask for you to dance, but upon seeing his possessive, threatening gaze, they think better of it. A slower, more sensual song plays, after someone requested to play more American songs, the DJ of sorts happily obliging.

He leans down to whisper to you, “Do you still want to dance, beautiful?”

“Mm, do I have much of a choice?” you tilt your chin up, beginning to sway with the music that’s playing, his hands never leaving your waist while his dark eyes trail over your dips and curves.

Your bodies move languidly with one another in the dark, your hips dancing to their own accord, and your back curves in that delectable way Erik can’t get enough of, turning yourself around to move against where you need him most. His hands slide down to grip your sides, knowing exactly what you’re trying to do.

“You’re a damn tease, y/n,” he bites by your ear, the deep laugh that leaves him vibrating through your body when he presses up against you, forcing you to feel every inch of him. Enough to feel him grow hard against your backside, so you move back, curls moving with the smooth and sexy movements of your body, hands sliding down his front, and spinning yourself around, leaning close enough to him so your noses touch.

Your eyes make a show of flicking up to finally meet his, “Am I?”

But before he can answer, opening his mouth to retaliate, close enough that you could lean in if you wanted to, a stranger’s large hand falls to your waist, pulling you into someone. You turn around and see a man you don’t recognize, just some drunk looking for a good time that he wasn’t going to get from you.

“Mm, you must be the new girl here... You’re even more lovely in person,” the man whispers by your ear, alcohol heavy on his breath and sweat on his skin, a sickening combination. “Wanna go somewhere a little quieter?” His hands going lower the longer he speaks.

“No... thank you,” you say, struggling to get the words out, but he doesn’t budge. You try to move from his grasp then Erik is walking toward him, pulling you from his grasp and setting you aside.

“Is that how you treat a lady? Grabbing her from behind and thinking she’s yours to keep?” he gets face to face with him, looming over the stranger by a few inches, eyes blazing in the dark.

“Back off, boy, I know how to treat a woman just fine,” he slurs. “You’re just jealous that I made a move before you did... maybe she finally wants a real man-”

Erik starts seeing red and before you can stop him, he’s knocking his fist into the man’s face, sending him tumbling to the ground with a loud bang when he hits the floor.

Shuri is by your side at once after seeing what happened, sending guards over to take the man out, pulling him by the arms inconspicuously out the doors while everyone is occupied.

Shuri’s hand clasps on your arm to get your attention. Your best friend looks at you with worried eyes, “Are you alright? We’re escorting the man off the premises now, and he won’t be bothering anyone else... Because if he had stayed behind, you know my hands would have been-”

You nod with a small smile, comforting your close friend with a small squeeze to her hand, letting her know you’ll be fine, “I’m okay, Shuri.” She breathes a sigh of relief. “We’ll tell T’Challa another time, we don’t need to make a scene,” you tell her. “This is his big day and I don’t want to upset him.”

She nods in understanding, “And Erik?” she looks to the man, trying to keep his composure, thinking that she’ll reprimand him for using violence, but she moves to embrace him. He’s taken back for a second before patting her back awkwardly, wrapping one arm around her small frame. “Thank you for saving my best friend.”

“No.. uh, no problem,” he stammers out, not expecting the hug.

She turns to you. “Why don’t you take a walk... go get some space from everyone? T’Challa will understand.”

You nod, knowing that’s the best for you right now, the crowd getting more and more suffocating by the second.

“I’m coming with,” he insists. “You don’t need to be alone right now.”

“Erik,” you look at him, hoping to keep a serious expression. “I don’t need anyone with me, I’ll be okay, promise.” Shuri wiggles her eyebrows at you before walking off, leaving the two of you by yourselves once again. You’d get her back for that.

He looks you over, “This isn’t up for negotiation, princess.” He holds out his hand for you and you take it, hesitant, his large, calloused hand encompassing yours.

Then he’s walking through the crowd, pulling you gently along with him, navigating between the guests. He wastes no time in getting to the doors that lead back to the palace’s bedrooms, the royal, gold encrusted elevator awaiting on the bottom floor. He drops your hand and you immediately find yourself missing the warmth, walking alongside him to the elevator where the up button flashes bright yellow. He silently leads you into the elevator when the silver doors finally open, closing behind you two.

You stand with your back against the elevator wall, mirror behind you, with your hands gripping the metal bar behind you. “Thank you...” you say, your voice quieter than you intend it to be, a fluttering phrase that makes him turn around to look at you.

“I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing,” he tilts his head slightly, concern deeply embedded in his chocolate eyes, studying your face.

“Sure, but I could’ve handled it myself, too, you know,” you meet his eyes boldly and his lips quirk at the edges, taking a step towards you. “If you hadn’t have stepped in.”

He squares his shoulders, slitting his brown eyes, towering over you with a small laugh that brings out his dimples, “I’m sure you could have, beautiful.”

Your head hits the wall, and you realize neither of you has pressed the floor button, sitting still in this vacant space, just the two of you, “Then why’d you do it?”

He’s chest to chest with you now, hands on either side of your head, caging you in like a predator stalking prey, “Do what?”

“Hit him... let him get to you like that...”

“He put his hands on you, baby,” his chest rises and falls, the fire returning to his stormy, dark gaze, the new pet name he’s given you sending your heart into sudden turmoil, unreadable on your face. “I...” he struggles to get the words out. He sounds so vulnerable, almost emotional when he tries to speak, and it breaks your heart. “I couldn’t let him hurt you-”

Without thinking, you step up on the tips of your toes, leaning close enough to kiss him, but missing, lips pressing against the corner of his plump lips, just as soft as you imagined them to be. His face heats up under your lips even after you break away, locking eyes with him, noticing how his have become much darker, glazed over with lust, deep brown consumed in onyx.

His eyes fall over you hungrily, sneering his canines, flicking from your slightly parted lips to your eyes, finding desire in your y/e/c irises, “You shouldn’t have done that, princess...”

He tilts his head down, sending his lips to crash feverishly against your own, sending you into the elevator wall. Your eyes flutter close at the overwhelming sensation, Erik kissing you, you never thought you’d see the day. He kisses you slowly, completely, and wantonly, taking his time in moving his lips against yours. Damn, he’s wanted this for so long, you, him. His lips made for yours and yours made for his, bodies molded into one another. You move to grip those beautiful braids of hair, fingers in the dips and intricate patterns, making him groan, tugging him closer to you until you both are flushed together, not a single breath between you. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, gently biting when he catches it between his teeth, eliciting small mewls to fall from your lips, exciting him, a puddle melted into his large hands. You’ve become his for the taking.

His hands slide under your ass, lips never leaving yours, gripping your thick thighs forcefully through your sheer dress, and pulling you up to guide your legs around his built torso, pressing you further into the walls that hold you both. He nips at the soft, brown skin of your neck, marking your neck with his teeth and mouth, lightly circling the spot with his cooling tongue to ease the bite, and you revel in it, legs tightening around him. 

Your hands find either side of his face when you break away to catch your breath, leaning your forehead against his, his shallow breath fanning your face, lips brushing ever so softly, wishing to meet again.  

“Shit, baby...” he kisses the curve of jaw, burying his face in your shoulder with a soft laugh. “If I had known...”

“Known what?” you breathe a laugh, kissing both of his dimples, making his smile widen. 

He presses his lips by your ear and chuckles, “That you actually wanna have my kids...” Dammit, Shuri.

[changingourdestiny]

Coronation Part 5: Here For You

Summary:

Marcia confronts Paragon about her Light being drained by the Taken. With no other options left, Marcia makes one last decree as the Taken Queen.

Previous Part: Here

Next Part: Here

“We need to talk.” Marcia glared at Paragon who just sighed, “I know. I was planning to tell you…but the effects have taken place faster than-” “You knew?!” Marcia exclaimed, “You knew this was going to happen?!” “Please let me explain.” Paragon began, “I knew that the Taken needed to feed of Light. But my plan was that they would feed off your Paragonialan Light and I would replace the stolen Light as it happened. I never thought they’d feed off your Guardian Light or that it would even happen this quickly. I swear I didn’t mean to-” “What Paragonialan Light?! It’s been corrupted since before I died!” Marcia roared, “I’m slowly losing my Light! And you’re saying you ‘didn’t mean to’?!” “I’m…I’m sorry…” Paragon apologised, her head hanging low. Marcia paced back and forth while muttering angrily under her breath before sighing in frustration, “So now what? What’s gonna happen to me now?” “Your Light is what was keeping the Taken corruption from taking over.” Paragon explained solemnly, “I imagine that once your Light is completely gone…you’ll become fully Taken.” “Figures…” Marcia muttered as she gazed down at her arm and removed her glove. Taken Blight had begun to spread from her hand upwards. “I’m truly sorry, Marcia.” Paragon continued, “I swear I had no idea this would be the final result.” “And Phyonys didn’t give you a heads up or nothin’?” “I haven’t heard from her since the revival of Cayde-6. I think she’s still mad that fate had been messed with. Maybe her not telling me is her idea of punishment…” Marcia glanced down at the handcannon holstered at her hip. Trust – a gun gifted to her from Drifter a long time ago, but it was different from the other versions of it. It had a carved ivory handle with bits of gold and silver adorning it. She still remembered the words Drifter told her when he gave her it. "Worlds end. And when yours does, make sure you have a partner you can rely on." ‘You told me to make sure I had someone I could rely on. Well…I’m relying on you, Eli. Keep safe. Keep them safe. And for the love of Light and Dark…don’t come looking for me.’ “Paragon.” Marcia spoke in an eerily calm and emotionless tone, “If I become Taken, that means the rest of the Taken will revert to their old ways, right?” “More than likely…” Paragon replied, slightly put off by Marcia’s sudden calmness. “Then you’re wrong.” Marcia spoke, “This isn’t the final result. The final result you talk about includes the Taken going back to being enemies of the Guardians. I WON’T let that happen!” Marcia held her arm high in the air as a blast of Taken energy flew upwards and began to slowly spread across the Dreadnaught. “Wh-what are you doing?!” Paragon exclaimed. “I took the role of Taken Queen to ensure that the people I care about will never suffer because of the Taken.” Marcia explained, “Even if the choice I made was a dumb one, I won’t let it be in vain. So I’ll seal as many Taken as I can here in the Dreadnaught. No Light will get in, no Darkness will get out.” “What are you thinking?! At this rate, the Taken corruption will spread even faster! You’ll become a Taken husk trapped here with the other Taken!” “That’s okay. I’m going to become Taken anyway, right? I would rather become Taken and Light-starved with the rest of them, trapped here in the Dreadnaught, than cause the people close to me suffering. I fully intend for this place to be my grave. I’ve faith in the others that they’ll take care of the stragglers. After all, Drifter still needs some Taken for Gambit. Now…

L̷̫͉E̒ͤ̿̊͌Ạ̭ͭV̾ͮ̐͑Ė̲͍̦̐͑̅͗̊͜!̷͕̃̒ͪ̎͂̾!̝̩̙͙̪̞̾ͨͅ!̔ͯ̒͒̆”

As a strange sphere of Taken Blight swarmed around Marcia, Paragon felt herself being forced out of the Dreadnaught and retreated to her world in the Astral Planes. “What have I done…?” she muttered.

Marcia watched from the sphere as more and more Taken appeared in the Dreadnaught and the Taken Seal continued to spread. Marcia clutched her arm as she felt her own corruption slowly begin to spread.

‘Ah…Paragon wasn’t kidding about the corruption spreading faster. But I’ve felt pain like this since I was revived, so it’s nothing new. Still…it hurts more somehow. Like the bad decisions that have lead me to this point are all coming back to haunt me. Drifter...Andal…Rae…Blaze…everyone…if you can hear me…thank you. Thank you for wasting time with a fool like me… …and I’m sorry I couldn’t even say goodbye in the end.’

.

.

.

.

.

“MARCIA!!!”

A loud explosion rocked through the Dreadnaught, getting the attention of all the Taken, as seven Lightbearers began fighting their way through the Taken. “Hang in there, Marcia.” Rae lobbed a Solar grenade at a group of Taken Vandals as she pushed forward, “We’re not gonna let you suffer alone like this. Promise.”

“Man…” Blaze groaned as she shot down a number of Taken Goblins with her Firelight handcannon, “You’re lucky I saw this in a vision, you know that? Otherwise we mightn’t have been prepared for this freaky-fest!”

“This is what happens when you keep secrets like this.” Ikora blinked behind a Taken Knight before draining its energy, “Take notes, Drifter.”

“Nice try.” Drifter smirked as he fired his gun at incoming Taken Thralls, “But you ain’t getting any secrets from me.”

“Sending all seven of us seems like overkill.” Zavala noted as he summoned a barricade while Adam fired his pulse rifle from behind it. “Well the Taken are keeping us on their toes, that’s for sure!” Adam yelled over the gunfire. “Yeah but it’s for Marcia’s own good, right? So it’s worth it.” Cayde added as he used Golden Gun to finish off a Taken Phalanx, “Besides, she’s putting her life on the line, so we might as well return the favour.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, THIS WAS A BAD IDEA!” Blaze exclaimed as she was jumped by several Taken Thrall. “Blaze!!” Rae exclaimed.

*WHOOSH!*

A plume of fire incinerated the Taken that were caught inside it as a flaming Blaze emerged, “Never mind! This was an awesome idea!”

“No, no, no! Please stop!” Marcia’s panicked and frenzied voice echoed across the Hall of Souls as more Taken appeared, “You don’t understand! I have to die here!!!”

“Whoa!” Cayde narrowly avoided a blast from a Taken Captain before shooting at it with the Ace of Spades, “Marcia, chill it with the Taken will ya? We’re trying to help so quit being so stubborn and chill out!”

“Marcia and ‘quit being stubborn’ aren’t usually in the same sentence for a reason, y’know.” Drifter called out as he weaved between Taken in an attempt to get closer to the Taken Blight sphere surrounding Marcia, “There’s gotta be a way inside that thing.”

“I have an idea,” Rae began, “But it’s really crazy, really dangerous, and probably really stupid.”

“Are you describing the plan or Drifter?” Cayde joked. “Either way, what’s your idea?” Ikora asked. “I could try to pass through the Blight in my Starlight form. It might make my Light strong enough to pass through.”

“Accurate description there, kid.” Drifter replied.

“So you are crazy, dangerous and probably stupid?” Cayde added.

“Yes, yes, and no. And I meant the plan, genius.”

“It’s the best plan we have right now!” Adam argued as he cast Sentinel and began taking out Taken Psions with his shield. “Alright. Go for it, Rae!” Blaze yelled. Rae nodded as she felt her Light swell within her before erupting out as her Starlight form. The blast of Light sent a few of the surrounding Taken flying backwards as she soared upwards and darted straight for the Taken Blight sphere.

‘Hang in there, Marcia. We’re here for you!’ To Be Continued...

[omgkatsudonplease]

恭喜发财!! (I just copy and pasted someone so, there it goes) Anyway, I'm just wondering what actually happens that could caused the death of Wei WuXian at the burial mound? I'm pretty sure it isn't because of the resentment energy. And, do you think you can make a kinda like a sneak peek on why would Mo XuanYu would want to summon Wei WuXian back to the living? (Although I kinda have the inclination that it has something to do with Jiang YanLi.)

恭喜发财 please, please write more in the dark!lwj au, it hurts in the best possible way! I’m really curious to know how wwx died in this verse…..

so, mo xuanyu’s reasons to summon wei wuxian were indeed stated more or less here, but as for wwx dying…

When the haze of battle and blood clears from Lan Wangji’s eyes, devastation greets him. Slowly, he opens his hand, allowing the Stygian Blade to tumble from his hands and onto the broken stones of the Nightless City plaza. The stench of blood rankles his nostrils – even after all these years, he has never quite gotten used to the smell of death. 

The cultivators he had faced were all dead. Dead, dead – their bodies now no more than empty husks, ragdolls motionless at his feet. His own army waits amongst them, silent and obedient. But not always.

Not always. Not when they ferociously tore to pieces the rulers of the Wen Clan. Not when Wen Qing’s hands had torn out the throat of Uncle Qiren. 

And not when he hears a weak voice cry “Lan Zhan!” from amid a mound of corpses, and he shifts the bodies aside to see Wei Wuxian lying there, a rose of dark crimson blooming across his abdomen. 

For a brief, terrifying moment, Lan Wangji’s heart stops. 

“Wei Ying,” he breathes, kneeling down besides Wei Wuxian on the battlefield. “You are hurt.”

“Just a scratch,” jokes Wei Wuxian, grinning up at him. “You really gotta fine-tune these corpses of yours, Lan Zhan! Some of them don’t like me very much!” 

“I am sorry,” says Lan Wangji. “I lost control.”

Wei Wuxian coughs a little. Blood appears in his hands. “Nothing a little fine-tuning won’t fix! I know you need to control that resentful energy, but could we have found a different time or place to unleash such a dangerous blade? Now everyone’s going to think all of this was your fault.”

“But it was,” says Lan Wangji, inclining his head. Wei Wuxian scowls.

“The lot of them are driven by their own resentment,” he says. “That’s what happens when you automatically assume other people mean to do you harm. I’ve noticed that a long time ago, Lan Zhan. I wish you never had to.”

“You are hurt,” insists Lan Wangji, and with a gesture the Stygian Blade flies to his side. He steps on, Wei Wuxian cradled in his arm more fragile than a child, more precious than gold. Wei Wuxian loops his arms around him almost by habit, and coughs blood against Lan Wangji’s robes. 

The settlement in Yiling is silent when Lan Wangji returns, the inhabitants having already been evacuated prior to Lan Wangji leaving for Nightless City. Only A-Yuan remains stubbornly behind, clinging to a tree just outside Lan Wangji’s cave. “Wangji-shushu!” he chirps. “What’s wrong with Wuxian-shushu?”

Lan Wangji gently sets Wei Wuxian down on his bed inside the cave. “He is hurt,” he replies, placing a hand out to stop A-Yuan from getting any closer. “What are you still doing here? I told you to leave with Ningning-shushu.”

“Didn’t wanna. Didn’t say goodbye.” A-Yuan pouts. “Wuxian-shushu will get better, right?”

Lan Wangji cannot bring himself to tell the truth. “He just needs to sleep, A-Yuan,” he replies. “And so do you.” Saying that, he presses down gently on a spot just behind the little boy’s ears, and catches him just as he falls unconscious into his arms. 

Lan Wangji closes his eyes, touches his hands to the boy’s temple, and starts to  hum. The shadows gather, settling soft and reassuring around the young boy’s head. When he wakes, it will be as if a veil of darkness has separated the memories of his past from the soon-to-be thoughts of his future. 

And with the slumbering A-Yuan in his arms, Lan Wangji departs on his blade once again, but this time towards Yunmeng. He slips, quiet as thought, through the defenses surrounding Lotus Pier, and just like how Wei Wuxian himself had once been, gently deposits the slumbering A-Yuan on the doorstep of the palace. 

When he returns to Yiling again, the preservation talismans he had left on Wei Wuxian’s body have burned through, and Lan Wangji immediately sets to work trying to heal his wounds. 

But it is no use. He has no spiritual energy left to give. His own core, burning brightly inside Wei Wuxian, is fighting onto life with the last of its will. All Lan Wangji can do, in the end, is tuck his robes around the prone form of his lover, and stroke his face, and wish things had never turned this way. 

“Lan Zhan?” breathes Wei Wuxian, his voice even weaker now than before. 

“Wei Ying,” replies Lan Wangji, taking his hand. “I am doing the best I can.”

“We both know it’s too late,” says Wei Wuxian, smiling even at the brink of death. “But it’s okay, isn’t it? I have sighed after death for so long that now it just seems like a reunion with a lover.”

Lan Wangji’s heart stutters, splinters. “Wei Ying, I will never leave you,” he promises, kissing each knuckle. Wei Wuxian chuckles.

“I know,” he says, reaching out to run his fingers through Lan Wangji’s ribbon, the faded Gusu white and blue now muddled with blood and dirt. “I’ll see you soon.”

His eyes close after that, and his hands fall, cold and still, in Lan Wangji’s own.

Lan Wangji breaks the Stygian Blade after that, destroys it so utterly in his rage and grief that the entire settlement that he had so painstakingly grew from the bones of the mountain is levelled in five seconds flat. 

It is not enough. And with the oncoming siege led by Lan Xichen, it will never be.