#we are all very lucky i didn’t fall off. if she’d caused me to dislocate my knee (my recurring body problem 🙃) i would genuinely have killed

[fingertipsmp3]

I swear to god everything from the weather to my equipment to my neighbours to my own fucking body is conspiring to make sure I don’t get a good run this week

[arcane-apathy]

F Drider X F Reader

AN: Welcome to a new little mini-series of mine. I have been dying to write a drider story for the longest time now. This story is the first of my high fantasy genre, all my other stories have been modern fantasy or sci-fi. But this one is pure fantasy. I’m very slowly trying to make my content applicable for a wider audience as well. Anyways... Thank y’all for your support, and I hope you’ll enjoy! 

Warning(s): Swearing, Violence, Injuries, Mention of Sexual Assault, Death, Alcohol, Brief Mention of Nudity

  The Bloodroot Forest was the last place you expected to make camp in. When you first saw it on the map you tried everything to avoid it. But, the forest was massive and would take weeks for you to circumvent. Upon arrival you discovered the name of it is scarier than the actual forest. Simply named after the dark red sap that flowed from the otherwise normal trees. The forest was calm, the paths well worn and old, and the deer were brave. 

  Your camp was measly and made of the bare necessities, product of a rushed escape. War has ravaged your community, forcing everyone to seek refuge in new places. You have yet to find a suitable home, one far enough away so you wouldn’t need to flee again. For now you lived out of your bag, foraging for food, and with a stiff back. But, whenever you wanted to complain, you had to remind yourself of what your fate would’ve been if you hadn’t left home. 

  The forest was peaceful at night as you laid on your makeshift bed, tightly wrapped up in your cloak. The wind gently tosses the branches above you and the occasional noise of an animal. Just as you were about to sleep, the noises changed. The nocturnal birds stopped chirping and you could hear the animals running further away from you. And you didn’t dare to move. Animals only left when they were scared and if the deer that were brave enough to mosey into your camp earlier were scared, something big was coming. 

  Very slowly you sat up, straining your ears for any hint as to what was coming. The silence was bone chilling. Then there was a rustle. You couldn’t tell exactly where it was coming from, which didn’t put you at any ease. Slowly your hand landed on the blade at your waist, a gift from your uncle after coming of age. 

  “Well, what do I have here?” You quickly cover your mouth to keep from screaming, turning around to look behind you. Yet no one was there. “Look up.” Out of sheer curiosity you obeyed, your eyes quickly met with large pure black eyes and pincers. You try to scramble away from them, only to find yourself hitting the tree behind you. Driders were a force to be reckoned with, most of them being mercenaries or guards to those of importance. But, encountering one in their natural habitat was another story. Here they were territorial and followed no laws. 

  The Drider smirks as he hangs above you, his black and white legs twitch in anticipation as he watches you, “I knew I smelt something off earlier. Now I know what it is.” His pitch black hand reached out to touch you, “and you do smell divine.” Normally when a scent-sensitive person no matter what race they were compliments you on your scent, it would fill you with a sense of pride. But this just felt wrong on so many levels. “So girly, what are you doing in my territory?” 

  You shy away from his hand, glancing up and the red and black abdomen above you, “just passing through, I promise to be gone by morning.” 

  He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, his pincers rising as he frowns, “see I can't just let you through without any way to pay." You could now feel the heat of his breath fanning over you as he gets even closer. Sadly with his advantage of four arms he managed to grab a hold of your wrist. "But, I can easily think of a way for you to pay." 

  Now it was your turn to frown, "I don't think so." His grip tightened, promoting you to tighten your grip on your blade. Thankful it was hidden within your cloak. 

  "You don't have a choice", he hisses and tries to pull you off of the ground. You pull out your blade as fast as you could, using the momentum to slice his arm. The Drider hisses in pain as you scurry out from underneath him, bolting into the foliage not even bothering to look back. If you were lucky you'd be able to return for your things at a later time. But your safety was more important than your measly possessions. 

  You knew it was crazy to try and outrun a being with eight legs and the instincts of an apex predator. But it was all you had. It didn’t take long for the muscles in your leg to start to burn. The cool night air felt like freezing on your skin and like a fire in your lungs. And you could hear him gaining on you. 

  “Get back here you little bitch,” he hissed. Which only prompted you to run faster, despite how much it hurt. You could hear that he was taunting you, but you didn’t bother to actually listen to what he was saying. All you focused on was the ground in front of you, avoiding the tree roots at all costs. But what you didn’t account for was webbing. The silk was basically invisible in the dark, and thick enough to trip you. 

  You fall onto your shoulder with a cry, pain blossoming along your left-hand side like a spiteful flower. The branches and roots doing little to cushion your fall. Desperately you crawl to your hands and knees. Doing everything in your power to keep any semblance of distance between you and the Drider. But his laugh was already too close for comfort. Before you know it, you're grabbed by the hair and lifted off the ground. You couldn't help but scream as he pinned you to a nearby tree. His two pairs of arms being a natural advantage, "got you now."

  You kick at his chest, using every ounce of strength to push him away. But it just wasn't enough. You couldn't reach for your blade, and any attempt to wiggle out if his grasp was in vain. "Let me go!" 

  "Yeah right, after you've cut me with your blade. Nice try you little wench, but I'm going have fun with you until you take your last breath," his grip on your arms tightened to emphasize his point.  

  “Put her down brother,” a more effeminate voice calls out to him. Your breath catches in your throat as the source of the voice steps out of the shadows. The male Drider was large in comparison to you, but the female that entered the clearing made him look small. Much like the male, her skin, eyes, and hair were a pure black. Instead of a red and black abdomen, her arachnid body was pitch black. As she got closer the more the male dwarfed in comparison. 

  “The bitch was in my territory and she cut me.” 

  “And now you’re in my territory and I don’t care, let her go.” 

  The male looks at you, then back to the larger female with a frown, “fine.” Then he literally dropped you. You fall to the ground with a whimper, using your good arm to sit yourself back up. “Why even bother protecting her? She’d make a better meal than friend.” You struggle to get up, only realizing you were caged in by his legs and the tree. 

  “It doesn’t matter. My territory, my rules,” she slowly walks closer. “Step away from her.” Nobody moves, especially not the male Drider. All you heard was her sigh, heavy with disappointment, then all hell broke loose. The two Driders charge at each other, the male desperately trying to claw at her before she pushes him away. You watch in fear and awe, scrambling back into some bushes for safety. The male notices you moving and tries to lunge for you, but the female beats him to it as she stands over you. 

  “You really want to fight your own family over a pathetic human?” 

  “My morals mean more to me than you ever will.” She charges him again and picks him up before slamming him onto his back. Her pincers rise as she lets out a bone-chilling hiss of anger. With ease she climbs atop him, using her weight to hold him down. Her hands swiftly find their way around his throat. His legs flail and try to push her off, and he claws at her arms. But she did not let up. Instead you heard a sickening crunch, and his legs and arms fell to the ground. 

  Silence surrounded the two of you as she stood up and backed away from the lifeless Drider. Her chest heaving from the action and her hair in her face. You couldn’t help but stare at her in the moonlight. She sighs and looks at you, “I promise I won’t hurt you.” You watch her legs curiously as she steps closer to you. “You are hurt, please let me help you.” 

  You look back to the body and ask meekly, “he was your brother?”

  She nods, “one of thirty.” 

  Your eyes widen at the number, yet it made sense. Spiders lay a ridiculous amount of eggs, so Driders must do the same. You look back up to her as you try to stand up, “I think I dislocated my shoulder.”  

  “I have medical supplies back in my burrow, and light,” she smiles a little as she lowers herself down to look at you. “Can you walk?” 

  “I believe so, but it’s hard to stand up with one working arm.” She nods and grabs onto your good arm, gently pulling you to your feet. “Thank you.” 

  “Your welcome,” she smiles and gently holds your hand, “the forest will get darker the closer to my burrow we go. The trees are really thick over here.” You nod a little and let her guide you through the trees. Every time there was a log or boulder in your way she would pick you up and carry you over it. Her strength, agility, and endurance were nothing but impressive. No wonder why Driders are so sought after to be guards for nobility. Soon the opening of her burrow was in sight, a pair of bushes strategically planted alongside the opening to give it a little bit of cover. 

  The burrow was cozy to say the least, and was bigger than it looked on the outside. It was cool inside due to being underground, yet it was bright with the help of oil lamps and candles. The walls and ceiling were smoothed down and holding shape with the help of webbing. “Sadly I don’t have any furniture for you to sit on cause… well,”she motions to her abdomen before going to a large trunk. She pulls out a large blanket and leaves it folded up so it was like a pillow, “but this will be better than the floor.” 

  “I’m plenty used to sitting and sleeping on the ground by now. But thank you,” you sit down and wince as you bump your shoulder into the wall. You watch as she digs through a different trunk, reading the bottles and containers. 

  She walks over to you and sits on the ground in front of you, her legs sprawled out all over the place. Even without the added height of her legs she was still a few feet taller than you. If you had to guess, she looked to be around nine feet tall when she stood at her full height. “I don’t have many pain killers, but I do have a bottle of brandy if that will help.” 

  You chuckle as she hands you the bottle, “anything is helpful at this point.” 

  She motions to your cloak, “may I?” 

  You nod, “of course.” Her fingers were nimble as she undid the pin that held the garment closed. The cloak fell to the floor around you as she gently ran her hands along your shoulder. 

  “You’re right, it’s dislocated,” she offers a small smile, “but, I can easily put it back in.” 

  You sigh and take a swig of the brandy, “that would be greatly appreciated… After a few more sips.” 

  “Of course,” she chuckles and watches you drink. “I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Lalia.” You smile a little and introduce yourself as she watches you curiously. “So, what are you doing in the Bloodroot at night?” 

  “I was trying to sleep.” 

  “So you’re a traveler?” 

  “I’m trying to find refuge,” you wince as she lifts your arm straight. “I had to flee home because of war, and I’m just trying to get as far away as possible.” 

  “I’m sorry to hear of your loss.” 

  “It’s fine, I’m safe and that’s all that matters to me.” 

  She smiles a little and slowly lifts your arm, “this will hurt.” 

  “I fully expect it to,” you nod and close your eyes. The brandy only helps so much, even if you got wasted off of it. She notices your determination and nods. One of her hands gently resting on the back of your shoulder as she guides your bone back into the socket. You bite back a scream as you feel the bone pop back into place, then the pain immediately subsides. Simply an annoying buzz versus the piercing sensation that it was before. You let out a breath that you didn’t notice you were holding while Lalia tied something behind your neck. 

  She was using a scarf as a makeshift sling, “you should keep your arm like this for a couple days at least. So, it doesn’t pop out of place again.” 

  “Thank you Lalia, you truly are a lifesaver.” 

  She waves a slender hand dismissively, “it was nothing.” You glance at the claw marks that her brother had left along her forearms, the wounds already clotted. “Don’t worry about it, it’ll take a lot more than some claws to hurt me.” She gets up from sitting down and goes to put her supplies away. Now that your pain was gone, you finally got a chance to fully take in the woman in front of you. 

  Even in the lighting of the cave she was entirely black. Her skin, eyes, hair, and arachnid body were the color of ink. The light only reflecting off of her arachnid body made her look like she was made of velvet. Her face, just like her body, was slender and angular in nature. Then you also noticed she was completely bare, her lengthy hair being her only modesty. She was as beautiful as she was intimidating. And you couldn’t help but stare. 

  “Are you alright,” she tilts her head.

  “Uh yeah,” a little bit of heat rushes to your face, “just the brandy is starting to catch up with me.” 

  “Oh,” she looks around her living space before going to a shelf. She brings back a pitcher and a cup, “water from the nearby spring.” You smile as she hands you the cup, taking a large drink out of it. Not only was your pain dying down, so was your energy. Your exhaustion from traveling the woods all day and from running for your life. Lalia chuckles as you loudly yawn, her  legs making their way back to one of her many chests. She pulls out a bed roll and another large blanket from it, “I’ll make you a bed real quick.” 

  “I can make my own bed, it’s fine.” 

  “You have one working arm, I have four. I’ll make your bed.” Her tone left no room for arguing, so you simply sat and watched as she laid out the roll and the thick blanket atop of it to make it more plush. “Then you can use your cloak and the blanket you’re sitting on to cover up with.” 

  “Thank you, again… I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.” 

  “There’s no need hun, I’m just doing what’s right.” You couldn’t help but feel a little flustered by the pet name, but you didn’t let it show. Instead you got up from your spot and made your way to the bedroll. Using your good hand to pick up your cloak. You kick off your boots, something you usually didn’t do while on the road. Then made yourself comfortable on the makeshift bed. Lalia brought over the blanket you were sitting on and gently laid it down around your feet. “Do you think you’ll need anything else?” 

  You arrange the blanket and your cloak to your liking, “I don’t think so.” It took you a little bit, but you were finally able to lay your head on the bedroll’s built in pillow. Which was hard with only one working arm. While you try to get comfortable, Lalia is walking around the main area of her burrow. Turning off the oil lamps and blowing out the candles, leaving only one lit so you weren’t drowned in darkness. You silently yawn as she moves about the burrow with ease. Making you wonder if it was purely by memorization or if she had enhanced night vision. 

  “I can feel you watching me.” 

  You blush as you were caught red handed, “I’m merely curious… You’re only the second Drider I’ve ever talked to.” 

  “I hope my brother didn’t make too bad of an impression.” 

  “There have been worse.” 

  Lalia slowly makes her way closer to you, her voice slowly becoming quieter, “I will have to go back out soon… To hunt and to claim my new territory…” 

  “I see, are you nocturnal?” 

  “Not exactly, but it’s easier to hunt at night. I’ll be sure to find your things as well.” 

  “That would be greatly appreciated. It’s all I have.” Her smile falters a little at your words, “no pressure though.” 

  She scoffs a little, “that’s not what I’m sad about.” 

  “Please don’t be sad for me. Like I said earlier, I’m alive and that’s all that matters to me.”  

  She comes closer to your bed and crouches down. Her warm and slender fingers gently brushing your hair off your face. "That is quite the noble thing to say. I don't know many people who would say that." 

  You couldn't help the heat that rushed to your face, "I'm nothing special." 

  "I would say otherwise,” her kind smile illuminated by the distant candlelight. You return the smile before having a jaw splitting yawn. She chuckles and gently pets the top of your head before standing up again. “You should sleep hun, it’s been a long day.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” you sigh and you try to get comfortable. “Good luck hunting.” 

  “Thank you, I’ll be back before morning.” You nod and watch as she walks towards the mouth of her burrow. Your need for sleep makes your eyes too heavy to hold as soon as you lose sight of her. Despite being alone within the burrow of a Drider, all you felt was comfort.

[idkwhatimdoingbutimgonnacontinue]

I’m bored so enjoy the beginning of my story

The heft of the knife in his hands was as familiar as anything. Gazing down from this particular staircase and waiting for Flames was too. Though still significantly less familiar than the knife. He had gotten into a habit of being on these stairs in these last few weeks. He rather hoped the habit would break soon though. If he was lucky, it would. He laid the handle of the blade flat across his knuckles and pushed down with his middle finger then his ring finger and then his pinky. Again and again and again, he did it, waiting and watching.

 Flames would tell him he was being theatrical. Though who he was being theatrical for was beyond him. If you asked him, he was just bored. And practicing moving a knife across his fingers was so familiar to him, he could probably do it in his sleep. Maybe that’s why it was purely theatrical. He still wasn’t sure how something could be theatrical without other people around, but Flames was probably right. That’s how most things worked out between them anyway.

 The door the landing up crashed open and a female voice rang out across the cement walls. He paused with the blade between his middle finger and ring finger, his breath going still as he felt a twinge in his shoulder socket.

 The girl sounded breathless as she tried to talk to whoever was escorting her out of the office above him. “A simple mistake, sir. A simple one. It’s just that the conveyor belt was going so fast, and I didn’t want to fall behind.”

 She babbled on as they went up the stairs, masking any noise he made as he made himself stand painstakingly to his feet. He stifled any noise he might’ve made if he were in polite company and any he might’ve made in no company at all and made his way silently up the stairs.

 He held the knife in his hands with a relaxed yet powerful enough grip that if he needed to, he could do some damage. He knew that holding the knife in a clenched fist would just send pain shooting up his arm. That was if he had to use it. Of course, if he used it, he’d be in a whole other world of pain.

 The twinge in his shoulder lessened and he froze. He was only a handful of steps below the pair. The man, a mass of muscle and height, and the girl, a twig with comically long hair. He had lessened his grip on her arm, he noticed. She was turned to look at the mammoth, a startled look on her lips as he did it.

 Or at least that is what the man would see. He smiled down at her, a slow creeping thing. She batted eyelashes at him, pretending to not understand. “What’s going on? Are we not on our way up to see Mr. Light?”

 Mr. Light. The owner of this factory. He wasn’t a particularly pleasant man, but not very dangerous either. Unless you count the numerous times he has looked over the treatment his supervisors doled out onto his employees. The factory had an impeccable record for being the most efficient in the district. It also had a reputation for being the worst place to work.

 The girl gazed up at the man, a dawning horror burning in her eyes. She made as if to run, but he slammed her against the wall. She let out a loud groan, perhaps hoping to cover up any noise the boy on the steps below her would make.

 He didn’t make a single sound though. He clutched at the railing but remained otherwise impassive as the man leaned in towards the girl. Her eyes were wide as she glanced back at the boy on the staircase. A mild look of irritation flashing as their gazes met. He pulled himself back together.

 With practiced ease the boy held the knife up and made the last steps up without a noise. He pressed the blade against the man’s back and felt the man freeze under his ministrations. Flames tilted her head back and glared down at the man who had been pawing at her just heartbeats ago. “My friend there is itching to kill you,” she said in an almost bored voice. “He doesn’t enjoy long fights, but I can guarantee you that if you do fight, he’ll make it last for an excruciatingly long time.”

 Her voice had gone hard towards the end and lost all the breathlessness that the man had been used to. Been used to for weeks now. The boy felt itchy with those weeks. Bored out of his mind with the days spent in a stairwell waiting and watching. “What do you want,” the man said, terrified.

 He knew who they were, the boy thought amusingly. Good. He’ll put up less of a fight then.

 The girl flashed out of the man’s hands. He careened into the wall, his face smashing into concrete. He let out a low groan. The boy hissed under his breath. “A little warning next time, Flames,” he muttered, pressing the blade back against the man’s back and feeling him tense up again.

 The girl smirked at him and said, “Maybe be a little faster next time you let me be followed by a creep in the stairwell.”

 “I’ve been sitting on hard concrete for hours, forgive me if I’m not as fast as you,” he spat. He turned his gaze to the man then and said in a dangerously calm voice, “Give me your card and I’ll consider sparing your life.”

 “They’ll fire me,” the man blubbered with his face pressed against the wall, blood staining the concrete where he broke his nose. The boy was half tempted to touch his own nose but resisted the ridiculous urge. “I have a family.”

 “I pity your family then,” he said without feeling.

 The man’s fingers slid into his pocket and he held out the card to Flames, terrified of the boy behind him. Flames wasted no time and snatched the card out of the man’s fingers, a grin spreading on her lips. “At least he handed it over willingly.”

 “I somehow doubt Mr. Light will be so willing,” the boy said dropping the knife and watching as the man sobbed in relief. “You will still have your bloodshed.”

 “Pff,” said Flames. “The bloodshed is a mere sideshow in comparison to seeing you in the moment. The untouchable Empathy. You could kick his legs out from under him, and the only sound you’ll hear is his knees hitting the floor.”

 Empathy considered her without passion. It was true in a way. If you hit him, he was unlikely to react. It was only when he hit back that he made a noise. And only because he hit hard, and he felt it just as much as you did.

 When Empathy first showed up in the Underground, most of the other people with their afflictions pitied him. Not just because he walked with a limp sometimes and was later plagued with what the doctors and healers simply called “chronic pain”, but because he felt every pain those around him felt. It was pure torture for the most part, but as someone with chronic pain of his own to deal with, he bore it without much complaint. Not much anyway.

 In the beginning they didn’t know what to do with him except give him a home and food. Healer, and later Band-Aid, taught him about the body though, and for the most part he had grown up helping with people plagued with aches and pains that felt very mundane in comparison to some of the pains Empathy dealt with on his own. Still he knew enough about pain and other people’s pain tolerance that by the time he was 17 he could tell at once whether or not a wound was infected, whether a bone was broken or sprained, whether there was internal bleeding or not.

 Flames had been one of the patients he helped. Most people got their names from their affliction, but Flames’s name didn’t come from that. It was pure spite on her part. Though the name she had wasn’t entirely far off. Empathy had seen Flames run fast enough that she started a fire with the friction. Which is exactly how she ended up in Empathy’s care. She upended his life and helped him hone a skill nobody had realized he had before. That skill being he knew exactly where to press to cause the most pain.

 Empathy took the man’s arm and spirited him down the stairs, his limp more pronounced than usual after several hours on the cold concrete stairs. Flames followed behind, a smile gracing her lips as always. “You know I could always throw him out the door.”

 Empathy said nothing. She would’ve been faster about it, but she also would’ve been more brutal. While Empathy had a reputation for being a torturer, he didn’t actually hurt people for fun. Band-Aid used to lecture him about doing no harm – amongst other healer type ideology that Empathy still adhered to (for the most part).

 Band-Aid was a rather newer afflicted in the underground. He spent a lot of time pasting on bandages and healing over small wounds. He specialized on the outer parts of the body. He was particularly good with scars though. Empathy had his own scars. A couple of small things on his stomach and one larger one running from his left wrist halfway to his elbow. He nearly broke Band-Aid’s hands when the boy had tried to smooth them over though. Those were his. And he would keep them.

 Healer worked on the inside of bodies. Surgeries and internal bleeding. Damaged organs. That stuff. Healer was older, and she’d been there longer than since Empathy arrived which was a long time indeed. She was something of a mother figure to Empathy because of this. She used to take him with her into surgeries and guide him to hold things out of the way as she worked. She dealt with internal injuries, but she still needed to see them.

 She usually used Empathy in the room to see if the patient was waking up or coming off anesthesia. “It is delicate work,” she’d said. “Too much and they’ll die. Too little and they’ll be screaming in pain.”

 Empathy felt the pain that came along with surgery muted by the anesthesia. It could’ve been worse, but for the most part it was an unmemorable pain that he could forget as soon as he felt it. He asked Healer once why people felt pain when they were supposed to be being healed. “Pain is a part of healing. Sometimes the only way to heal someone is to hurt them. After all, you can’t expect someone to set a dislocated shoulder back into place without some pain.”

 “So the saying that we can do no harm is a lie,” he had asked as he held back flaps of skin to look at the little pieces of metal lodged in the man’s stomach.

 Healer didn’t speak for a long while after his question and simply painstakingly took each of the pieces of metal out of the man. For a second he wondered if he’d been rude or worse that she wouldn’t answer. He hated not having the answer to things. He had a knack for asking questions that adults didn’t like to tell the answer to. Finally, though she had said, “I think it’d be better to say, “Do No Unnecessary Harm.””

 And he took those words and he applied it to everything. It gave him the wiggle room he needed for this work, but it also meant he would stand between Flames and her prey. Not that the man he was leading down the stair steps didn’t deserve it. After all, he had had no problem a few seconds ago hurting the man for what they needed. His eyes slid towards him at that thought.

 The man was a family man and yet went out of his way to prey on the young girls who worked under him. Empathy stopped suddenly. The man nearly slipped on his way down the step. They were about half a staircase up from the main floor. Flames made a noise and said, “Why’re we stopping, Em?”

 Empathy wondered for a second if his simple threats would stop the man below him from doing what he had been about to do upstairs. As he stared at the man’s tearful eyes and bloody nose and shifty attitude, he had the distinct feeling that this man would go right back to doing what he had been doing. He might have to find a new place to do it, but he’d still do it.

 Protect the many by hurting the one. It was a necessary harm, he supposed. He cocked his head at the man, mulling it over, and then grabbed the man’s arm in a violent twist. The man cried out and Empathy had to grind his teeth to stop himself. Tears mixed with the blood on his face, and he stared at Empathy in horror. “I gave you what you wanted.”

 “What I want,” Empathy said, voice rough and grumbly, “I can never be given.”

 Empathy then laid the man’s arm on the railing, over the staircase to the basement. The man struggled when he realized what Empathy planned to do, but he didn’t have much time to do it. Empathy was efficient as he ever was when he pushed all his weight down onto the man’s arm. He felt an echo in his own and then they were both screaming.

 Empathy was quick to shove his fist in his mouth, biting down on it, grounding himself in his own pain. The man however went on howling and cradled his now extremely bent arm. A white bone stuck out of it and blood splattered onto everything including Empathy.

 Empathy grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and pulled him close. He wanted to see his eyes. He wanted to see the mirror of pain in them. The shared burden of hurt that echoed and screamed in his body echoing and screaming in someone else’s. The man was terrified. “Don’t you dare touch another women without her consent.”

 Without waiting for an answer, he shoved the man back. The pain shivered through him. Shoulder, mid back, left wrist, knee, ankle, arm, arm, arm, arm. The pain shot up and through him, and he was seeing white. The man was screaming in agony, but Empathy remained impassive as he shoved all his willpower into not making a sound.

 Flames was quick to grab the man and throw him out the door. She gazed up at Empathy in the middle of the stairs. There was blood on his face and clothes. Though she was sure he didn’t notice. He probably didn’t even notice the blood on his fist either. That was his own blood. He bit through his own skin. Again. “Here I thought you were going to use all your energy on the boss,” she teased.

 Empathy cocked his head. A dreamy look on his face. “It is so peaceful when they leave.”

[next-time-on-the-reverse]

Anon Requested: How Dare You? - Eobard Thawne

A/n: Requested by an Anon, based off the Iron Fist Season 2 Scene. I hope you enjoy this, I don’t own this gif, it was sent to me by a brilliant human being.

She had been warned; Eobard had told her the second she felt threatened that she should tap the button on her phone, but she’d locked the device. It was difficult to meet with a Villain who wanted to meet her alone, whilst she kept her phone unlocked and finger poised to hit the panic button.

She rolled her eyes at the thought that the speedster would come running, of course he would. He’d only be a couple blocks away, plotting with Malcolm and Damien whilst also trying to avoid the monster that was chasing him. She inhaled, her mind casting to the little amount she knew about Adrian Chase.

It was strange to think Eobard had just plucked him from the timeline and left him in a warehouse to mull over the decision of joining the Legion. Thawne hadn’t even told her why he’d chosen Adrian. From what she did know he was an excellent killer, his crusade to rid Star City of the Green Arrow had been interesting to read about.

“You came” he sighed, his voice quiet. Every syllable chilled her to the bone as she rested herself against the metal railing. Her eyes fixed on the man. “And alone, I would have thought Mr Thawne would come himself and I’m slightly disappointed”

His words echoed around the building and she became increasingly aware of just how alone she was. How he could do anything, and no-body would be the wiser? In her thoughts she hadn’t noticed Adrian waltz towards her, a knife twirling in his hands. He placed the tip of the metal to her cheek, the cold making her jump causing a small cut to run along her cheek.

“Eo,- Eobard said you didn’t want to speak to him” She hesitated as he pulled the knife away, a knowing smirk running across the lower half of his face.

“I bet he also told you that I asked to speak to you” Adrian remarked; he frowned as he took in your appearance. “I know you, you were there when my father was killed. You just watched, in silence” he finished, the anger flashing in him. Eobard hadn’t lied, you knew him. His face hadn’t done his tells, his smirk hadn’t appeared the second he had received what he wanted.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” She questioned. “I don’t know your father”

“I think you do, let me refresh your memory” Adrian chuckled, his hands resting on her shoulder as he proceeded to infiltrate her personal space. She had begun to realise the wrong move she had made at the start. She should never have had her back to a sheer drop. “Justin Claybourne” He smiled, the pressure on her shoulders took her from her feet.

She hadn’t noticed until she was plummeting towards the cement below that he had pushed her. There was no time for her to unlock her phone, it had become very real that she had no way out of this. She was heading for her death as the cement grew closer, her eyes latching onto Adrian as he smiled and watched her body hit the ground.

It shouldn’t have been possible as she crawled towards her phone, the device had been smashed in the impact. She could see the blood, through blurred vision, that had begun to pool beneath her body, the pain erupting through her causing her to scream out in agony. The echoed bounced off the walls.

“Help” she screamed, her voice dying in her throat as she spotted the boots making their way over to her. The feeling of her head being yanked up by her hair causing another muffled scream of pain.

“I’ll be sure to thank Mr Thawne for telling me about the spear as I kill him.” Adrian remarked, he dropped her to the ground, his fingers dipping into her blood as he covered his face with a thick line. “I need to make this believable. No hard feelings”

-

Eobard had waited long enough; he was growing impatient as he placed his head on the lamppost, Damien and Malcolm had left him in search of some food to sustain them as they waited. It was remarkable that in the few weeks they’d been around each other the speedster hadn’t seen either of them eat.

She was late, but he trusted her; he would give her five more minutes and then he’d go there. He rubbed his face with his gloved hand, his eyes stinging. He probably should have slept last night but he’d been so focused on getting the spear that he had neglected his own fatigue. His eyes shot up as he heard the pained grunting, in a pinpointed look of confusion and concern he waited for the owner to stumble around the corner. A bloody hand being the first thing he could see; the second was Adrian’s body. His other hand clutching his side and blood staining his face.

The blood in Eobard’s body froze, his confusion become terror as he raced over to the man. He should never have let her go alone nor should he have let both league members go together to get food. It hadn’t been until Malcolm appeared, his hand wrapped around Adrian as they pulled him to the side of the street.

“What happened? Where is she?” Eobard questioned, he wasn’t concerned as to what happened, not entirely. He just needed to know where she was.

“The Legends – they found us. They attacked, she didn’t make it” Adrian cried out. His face wincing as he clutched his side. Eobard stumbled backwards, his breath stopping in his lungs. All he could hear was the sound of his own heart beat and the muffled shouts of his team as he sped off. He needed to check. He needed to.

The warehouse remained silent as he practically threw the door open. The loud bang as it hit against the wall did little to calm him. He couldn’t lose her, not after she had lost him. He had made the deal, he swore he’d keep her safe in their crusade. He spotted the crimson on the floor, his ears almost fluttering over the breathy cries of pain.

She had pulled herself against a wall, her head falling against her chest as the blood covered her shirt – his shirt. The panic rose within him, her injures looked far from minor, her eyes couldn’t focus as they closed. He sprinted to her, his mouth pulling his glove from his hand; he placed two fingers to her neck checking her pulse. It was weak, incredibly weak. He froze. He didn’t know what to do.

“Eobard” she breathed, her limp hand lifting to touch his arm. His eyes widened, and the concern bubbled within him again. He had to think, his hands wrapping around her. He lifted her; she needed a hospital. She needed some help. He ran as she continued to try to speak to him. He almost tripped on his own feet the second they entered the emergency room.

“Someone help her” He yelled, “It’s ok, you’re going to be alright. I promise” He reassured her; he watched as the paramedics and the doctors lifted her onto the gurney, each working over as the nurse stopped him from running after them. Eobard had never been in this situation, he didn’t know what to do. So, he waited. He watched as patients entered and left; as the nurses switched out. He waited as the doctors informed loved ones of casualties, until he spotted the doctor who had gone in with her. A sympathetic smile on her face as she stepped closer to him.

“Your wife is fine” She announced, she was clearly tired. Eobard had never been married and the assumption almost made him laugh, until he remembered whose life had been hanging in the balance. “She kept saying Adrian Chase, I don’t know what she means but it followed with not trust. You’ll be able to see her soon.”

Adrian. Thawne’s jaw tightened as did his fists as he thought about the man. His mind putting the pieces together; he hadn’t seen an injury on Chase, nor had he seen any scorch marks from Dr Stein or damage that normally followed a Legends’ attack. He kicked himself, he should have seen it earlier, the lie was obvious enough.

Nothing could stop Thawne as he sprinted off, his anger a searing temperature as he let it radiate from him. He listened to the tightening of the leather covering his hands, his speed increasing when he finally reached his team. Malcolm and Damien watched with cautious and puzzled gazes as Eobard lifted Adrian by his neck.

“How dare you?” He yelled, “Need I remind you the task at hand. She was not the one we’re fighting against and neither is she yours to touch. You almost killed her” He continued, his hand tightening around the man’s throat. Eobard’s mind scolded him, a quick suffocation was not what Adrian deserved. His actions called for a slow and painful death.

Thawne released the man, he spluttered as he grabbed his own throat. Adrian growled, his hand pulling his own weapon from his belt.

“Oh, big mistake” Damien and Malcolm both commented from the side lines. “You can’t beat a speedster. Trust us”

Chase seemed less than willingly to listen to the words of wisdom the two assassins threw his way as he stood. He watched Eobard, who in turn watched him. One of them would blink and the other would use it against them. It was lucky for Adrian, that Eobard blinked. The younger man rushing forward, Eobard chuckled as he stepped to the side.

Eobard’s fist slammed into Adrian’s jaw, the bone dislocating as the man fell to the floor. He stood after a few seconds, his jaw hanging loosely and the pain evident on Adrian’s face. He lifted his knife again ready for another strike. Eobard shook his head.

“You don’t hurt the people I care about and get away with it Mr Morrison, it’s people like you that give me a bad reputation” Eobard laughed, his hand plummeting into Adrian’s chest, his hand clamping around the man’s beating heart. “It’s a shame, I could have used you. Now I guess, I’ll have to go with Snart” He added pulling the organ out with his hand. He watched in silence as the heart stilled. The blood covering his glove.

“I can’t say we didn’t warn him. Are they all like this in the future?” Damien remarked. “No wonder no-one wins”

[mmtions]

wedding: impossible (pt.2)

(pt.1)

michelle jones/peter parker - college/future fic (wip)

Against his better judgement, Peter has agreed to be MJ’s fake date to a wedding so she can usurp the bride, or something. Considering how much he’d like to be her not-fake date, he’s not really looking forward to it.

Despite all her apparent indifference to them both - and, really, most of her peers - MJ had become a close friend to Ned and himself. So much so that he freely told her his big, spider-themed secret. (She’s actually the only person he’s deliberately told, which is a milestone he’s not keen on analyzing too deeply.) 

She’d reacted pretty calmly, actually, only hitting him with a medium-sized Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche novel, rather than the special edition hardcover that was also in reaching distance.

So, they survived high school together, becoming an unexpectedly tight-knit trio (with absolute no parallels to Harry Potter, shut up Ned). They even survived the entry and violent departure of Harry Osborne from the group, which caused all kinds of angst for Peter, definitely revolving around the supervillainy rather than the whole dating-MJ thing, thank you very much.

And they’d even survived college applications together. Ned and Peter had been talking about MIT since they realised it wasn’t a fictional place on spy TV shows, and Harvard should consider itself lucky to get MJ as one of its alumni. It was a happy coincidence that they all lived within a twenty-minute car ride of each other, really.

None of this, however, explains why exactly Peter is currently on a ferry to Martha’s Vineyard, trying to make conversation with MJ that isn’t horrifically awkward.

He’d picked her up from her college dorm in the car guilt-gifted to him by Mr. Stark after the whole Infinity War mess, and most of the words exchanged during the whole hour-and-a-half trip had been about which radio station to play. They’re currently sitting inside the main ferry, a booth to themselves, looking out onto the passing waves. Peter’s already wearing his suit, the plain black one he last wore to graduation, but MJ told him that she’d change on the journey. (As long as she’s not expecting him to keep driving while she strips off in the front seat next to him, he’s perfectly happy with the plan).

“Hey,” she suddenly says, apropos of nothing. “Does this remind you of that time with the Vulture and the ferry splitting in half?” Because of course she’d gone into scary-research-mode with she’d first found out his double life.

“Um,” he looks around. The smell of seawater is stronger when it’s not filtered through a fear-sweaty mask, and the view isn’t quite the same, but, “Yeah, kind of, now you mention it. Thanks for that.”

She snickers. “No problem.”

And, well, he finds himself smiling, because he can’t help himself, and because this is their status quo, her making fun of pretty much every aspect of his character, and he didn’t realise how much he missed it even in the past week.

He readjusts his tie - although maybe he could just have taken it off for the journey - and of course MJ’s eyes narrow in on the movement. “I like your suit,” she says.

“Thanks,” he says. “May said I should match the tie to your dress, but you won’t tell me anything about it, so…”

Laughing easily, she replies, “Gold medal to Aunt May for remembering prom etiquette. Anyway, I’ve brought two dresses with me, and they’re different colours.”

“I’m sure I could have packed two ties,” he counters with a perfect poker face.

“Shut it, Parker.” She leans to teasingly shove at his shoulder. “Seriously, thanks for coming. I was considering Ned, but I’ve seen him on Dance Dance Revolution, and I can’t afford to lose an eye during the macarena, you know?”

He snorts. “Sure, happy to save you from that. But who turned you down before you considered me?”

He meant it as just a joke, ready for her to roll her eyes and say a cheerleader or her current debating rival, but as soon as he says it, he realises how desperate it probably sounded. He swallows, and prepares his commentary on the weather, when she frowns, a crease between her brows like every-time he says something stupid.

“I didn’t consider anyone else,” she says, and she actually seems sincere, which, honestly, has happened maybe five times during their entire friendship.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m joking, MJ, don’t worry.”

“Peter,” she says, and she puts her hand over his where it rests between them on the bench. “Seriously. You were my first choice.”

He casts his gaze anywhere but her face. “It’s okay, I’m here, you don’t need to-”

“Peter, I needed someone charismatic, and hot, and nice, and who I trust. Your waltz skills were a big bonus, I’ll admit,” and here, she grins, disarmingly casual, as if his whole world hasn’t stuttered a little bit at so many compliments coming from her mouth. “But I wanted you to come with me.”

“Uh,” he says, eloquently.

“I’m gonna go change into my outfit,” she says, abruptly, standing and edging out of the booth.  “Stay here. And try not to sink the boat this time, yeah?”

He shakes himself. “Not funny!” He yells after her retreating figure. She flips him off in response, and a mother shields her daughter’s eyes from the gesture as MJ stalks past them, duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Great.

While he waits for her to return, he nervously fixes his hair - and probably messes it up more - and considers texting Ned. Although what would he send?

(hey, has MJ been complimenting you recently? unrelated q: how’s that alien mind control detector coming along?)

He could maybe text May, but she’d get the wrong idea. Well, probably the right idea, but she’s always liked MJ, even more after the whole first semester mess that was his month-long relationship with Carlie Cooper. Even thinking her name makes the smell of burning strong in Peter’s nostrils, and he shivers. Bad mental path to go down, Parker.

He decides to just refresh Twitter, liking Pepper Potts’ (@CEOStarkPotts) tweet about fracking, and Mr. Stark’s subsequent reply about where he’d like to drill for oil, which he only likes out of courtesy because the actual mental image is bleach-drinking worthy.

He quickly finds himself then in a internet spiral, and he’s watching a Youtube restoration of a dug-up axe when there’s a cough from somewhere near. He startles, and looks up, and then thinks that maybe the ship did sink and he’s dead. Completely and utterly dead.

“It’s red,” he chokes out. At this point, it might be easier to just tattoo ‘giant dweeb’ across his forehead.

She rolls his eyes. “Cheers, Parker, consider your next opticians’ appointment postponed. Seriously, is it okay, or should I try on the other one?”

He shakes his head so fast he’s in danger of dislocating his jaw. He’s staring, definitely, but he doubts anyone would blame him. Because MJ - Michelle freakin’ “fashion is capitalism’s worst industry” Jones - is wearing this long red slinky dress that looks soft and shiny and amazing. “Nope, no,” he says. (Smooth.) “No, I think that one works. It’s, ah, you’re really - it looks good. Yeah,”

God, it’s almost the exact shade as the red on his suit. Don’t worry, Dr. Octopus, MJ is going to murder Peter Parker by just wearing spaghetti straps, you’re welcome.

She slides back into the booth, and tucks her hair - which is out of its usual ponytail and falling all around her face in all its wild glory - behind her ears. “Thanks.” Then the soft smile is quickly hidden behind a meaner grimace. “This’ll show Anna.”

“You still haven’t told me what your big problem with this girl is,” Peter points out, thankful for the distraction of conversation.

She sniffs. “It’s a long story. And I can only tell it when the sun’s down.”

He rolls his eyes. He has no idea why he likes her so much, honestly.

-

They follow the GPS’s directions and arrive at the hotel, a charming place with white stone and a long gravel driveway accented with pretty, flowering trees. Naturally, MJ pulls a face at it.

“This is so typical of her,” she says.

“It looks nice,” he rebukes.

They follow the signs to the car park, and Peter only takes three tries, amidst MJ’s laughter, to get it into the parking bay. They traipse to the main entrance, other guests mingling and following their path.

"Wait," Peter asks as they reach the lobby and join the queue of people for the reception desk. "We're staying here tonight?"

"Yeah," MJ replies casually. "The ceremony and reception are here, so."

"You booked the rooms?"

At this, MJ suddenly seems distracted by her fingernails. "Room. Singular. And, yeah. Least I could do for dragging you out here."

He's too afraid to ask the other question he has, which is promptly answered when they get up to their designated Room 342. It has exactly one double bed, right in the middle of the room, like it's taunting him.

"I-" he swallows. "I'll call reception, get them to send some more pillows so I can sleep on the floor."

"Don't be stupid," she dismisses, already chucking her bag onto the right side and popping the complimentary pillow mint into her mouth. "You can't help little old ladies cross the street if your back's as bad as theirs. We can share."

Right. They can share a bed. Sure.

"When does the ceremony start?" Peter asks, a little desperately as MJ sits on the bed and bobs a little, testing the springiness, which is not a turn-on, shut up.

"In half an hour, probably." She shrugs. "I'm not bothered if we turn up late though."

He narrows his eyes. "You want to turn up fashionably late to a wedding ceremony."

"I'm not saying I want to, I'm just saying I wouldn't be bothered," she counters, with a straight face, until she breaks and stands back up. "Kidding, kidding. Let's go. I think one of my cool cousins is here."

He frowns, following her out into the hallway and only just remembering to grab the keycard from the small table by the door. "How come your cousin is here? I thought you knew this girl from middle school?"

"Yeah, we went to middle school together," MJ agrees, and perhaps Peter should know not to be fooled by her casual tone by now. "But she's my aunt's daughter."

Peter stops. Like, he actually stops walking, right there on the patterned carpeting. "So, your cousin.”

She mockingly shudders. "Gross. I try to pretend we're not related."

“This is your cousin’s wedding,” he says slowly, the horrible truth dawning on him.

She stops at the elevators just in time to give him a side profile of her rolling her eyes. “Yes, if you want to be pedantic, I guess.”

He swallows. "Exactly how many of your family members are going to be down there?"

She finally halts as well, and turns to look at him, raising an eyebrow like he's the one being ridiculous. Then she twists her lips, thinking. "Hm," she says, and he waits with held breath. "Only the ones on my mom's side."

Yep. He's going to die.  

He throws his arms in the air. Possibly he's being very dramatic, but come on! "MJ! Are you kidding? This would have been vital information before we got here!"

Something weird and undefinable flickers across her face. "Would you have not come if you knew?" she counters, which is really beside the point.

"Of course I would've come," he says, immediately, because it's the truth. If MJ asked him to come as his date to a wedding between a disapproving Steve Rogers and Electro, he would've turned up with his shoes shined. Regardless, he thinks he has the right to be a little thrown. "You're seriously going to introduce me to your whole family as your boyfriend? To get revenge on your cousin?”

He at least expects a little contrition from her. But instead, the elevator doors slide open with a small chime, and the corner of her lips are curling, like she’s daring him to do something. “You up for the challenge, Spider-Man?”

God help him. His head rolls back in defeat, and she slips into the elevator. He has a split-second to decide: and then he’s darting forward to slide in before the doors shut. 

She looks up at his entrance, as if maybe she hadn’t been all that sure, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Fine, I’m in,” he says, and his smile is met by one of her own. “But you have to tell me the story behind your hatred of Anna, and I get to tell everyone you cried at the ceremony.”

She bites down on her bottom lip in that way she does whenever she wants to laugh at one of his dumb jokes but is too proud to. “Deal.”

“And,” he adds as she presses the button for the lobby, because something feels different, and he’s still sparking from the sight of her in that dress. “You have to strongly imply I’m the best you’ve had in bed.”

He’s expecting her to laugh straight in his face. But suddenly her expression is… different. Before he can work out exactly what’s going on, the elevator doors are opening again, and she’s striding away.

He takes a deep breath, and readjusts his tie one last time. Come on, Spider-Man, he thinks, and follows her. 

thanks for the amazing response so far!! I think this is going to be my last update on tumblr - I’m going to finish the rest, and then probably post the full thing as a one-shot on ao3. hope you enjoyed this next part!