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endof-theline · 3 years

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Day 5- Tropetember: Accidental Confessions

Day 5 of super early Tropetember is a little late but it's a little longer to make up for it! It's the Avengers' one year of being a team party and everyone's drinking but Tony, including everyone's favourite Super Soldiers who decide flirting with Tony would be a great idea... that is until it's not.

On Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32394175

At first it seemed like a great idea, why wouldn’t it? A party to celebrate a year since the team formed, to celebrate everything they’ve done and everything they’ve been through together. Tony had been excited to have the whole team together and having a good time, letting loose and relaxing since Fury had given them the all clear to be off duty for the night and reassured them that SHIELD could take care of anything that popped up. Natasha, Bruce, Thor, Sam, Clint, Wanda, Vision, Steve and Bucky were all ready for a much needed day off and they were excited to have their party as well, it’s not everyday superheroes could relax. Thor even brought Asgardian drinks so that Steve, Bucky and himself could drink with everyone else.

Unfortunately for Tony, he was the only one not drinking since Bruce had decided to join in after Clint pulled out a bottle of whiskey Bruce loved and hadn’t had since before the Hulk’s creation. Tony was fine with not drinking, his friends were either tipsy or drunk but no one was being gross or weird so it was still fun even without a buzz. He smiled at Natasha who shot him a look when she realised that Tony wasn’t going to be drinking and even offered to join him, he didn’t want to drag Natasha into his own problems so he waved her off and told her to have a drink for him instead.

It had been months since Tony had decided to give up drinking and he thought he was doing amazingly well considering that had been his usual escape after practically rough missions, he found that he actually didn’t miss it that much once the majority of the withdrawal had died down. The team had been so proud of him and helped him along the way, the topic had been brought up several times leading up to tonight about them not drinking but everytime Tony waved them off with a smile.

“Tony, I just wanna say how proud I am of you” Steve said as he dropped onto the sofa beside Tony, his arm going around Tony’s shoulders and his grin looked like it hurt with how wide he was smiling “You are doing so amazing and I don’t know how it feels but I imagine tonight has been hard for you, y’know with the drinks”

“Thanks Steve, it’s not too bad since I get to see you guys having a great time” Tony smiled back up to him, that annoying feeling in his chest returned as he looked up to the drunken hero. Tony had fallen hard for the Captain and had never had the courage to act on any of it, good thing too since when they rescued Bucky it barely lasted a month before the super soldiers were dating and poor Tony just had to smile through the pain as he just as quickly fell for Bucky.

“It’s been so long since I’ve got to have a drink and not worry about anything” Steve mumbled as he let his head lol towards Tony’s and when Tony went to speak up, Steve just popped his head back up and looked around before spotting Bucky talking with Natasha “I think it was in the war, having drinks with Buck after getting him back, s’kinda the same feeling”

“Well, I’m glad you’re having a good time” Tony chuckled and tried to catch anyone’s eye to get him up and away from Steve, only managing to catch Bucky’s which he took as an invitation to come over as well “Speak of the devil”

“Aw, you talking about me, doll” Bucky teased as he sat down on the other side of Tony, leaning into him as he smiled at the pair “Nat was just telling me ‘bout the parties you used to have”

“Oh, was she?” Tony asked as he shot a glare over to redhead who just lifted her glass up to him before turning to talk to Clint with a smirk “What did she tell you?”

“She said that they were massive and usually ended up in the news” Bucky snickered as Steve started to giggle as well while Tony had to take a deep breath “She said that’s how it came out that you like men”

“That would be true” Tony nodded along, he had been planning on coming out on his own terms but had thrown a party where he was photographed kissing a few of the guys and it was immediately leaked that he had taken one of them to bed “People took pictures of me and some guys at one of my parties messing around and they forced it into the media earlier than I wanted”

Bucky and Steve’s mood shifted so fast that Tony almost got whiplash for them, they had been laughing but as soon as Tony explained what happened they grew upset and angry. Tony guessed it was a bigger deal for them to have been outed than it was for Tony, he assumed it was because of their background even though the pair were out and proud.

“Tony, I’m so sorry” Bucky suddenly seemed a lot more sober than seconds ago as guilt washed over Tony, he had completely ruined the mood for them.

“Oh it’s fine, I almost expected it to happen and besides it was years ago, pre-Iron Man times” Tony waved his hand and smiled at them, the smile faltered when neither of them smiled back at him “Seriously you guys, my life isn’t very private and that’s the way it’s always been so I’m more than used to it”

“That doesn’t make it alright, Tony” Steve stressed and had that look on his face that screamed Steve wanted to hurt everyone who had wronged him, it was a look Steve wore whenever Tony spoke about his past “Just because you’re used to it, doesn’t mean you should expect not to have privacy”

“I appreciate the disapproval Cap, but it’s fine, I’m done worrying about the press in my life” Tony lied as he kept smiling and shaking his head, praying to any Gods out there that they would drop the topic “Besides, this is a celebration, you guys should be having fun!”

“We could have some fun” Bucky purred in Tony’s ear making the genius swallow thickly, his ears going pink in an instant as Bucky’s hand landed on his knee.

“Think that comment is directed to you there, Steve” Tony chuckled as he moved to sit up but Steve’s hand tightened on his shoulder to keep him in place, Tony looked over to the blonde to see the heated look in his eyes as he smirked at Tony.

“It wasn’t, Buck and I agree” Steve’s voice was lower and deeper than usual, Tony’s eyes flicked over to Bucky and received the same heated look he got from Steve in return “Ain’t that right, Buck?”

“Mhm, don’t you wanna have some fun with us, doll?” Bucky asked as his Brooklyn accent thickened, same as Steve’s, as the pair moved to press closer and Tony tried to ignore how fast his heart was beating. Tony had had dreams that started like this, he knew where they led and he wasn’t stupid either. They were both drunk, he could smell it on their breath and see it in their flirty looks that were a little dazed or lopsided, and as much as Tony wanted this he wasn’t going to take advantage of them like this. Never like this, no matter what the papers had said when he was twenty five.

“Please don’t do this” Tony whispered as he scrunched up his eyes, he couldn’t believe he was doing this. He had wanted these men for months and would have done to hear this anytime except from right now.

“Why not? Just some harmless fun between teammates, right?” Bucky’s hand had slid to his thigh and Steve’s had snuck under his collar so his hand rested on Tony’s bare shoulder, the heat of his palm felt like it was burning him instead of comforting like it had been.

“Just don’t, not now” Tony pleaded as his eyes scanned the room, hoping that no one was taking notice so he didn’t ruin the rest of the night for everyone else. Tony couldn’t say that hearing that Bucky just thought it was ‘just some harmless fun’ as teammates didn’t sting his heart, this didn’t mean a thing to him and he was just doing it because he was drunk.

“Give us a reason, why can’t we have some fun, Tony?” Steve pressed on and Tony swore he tried, he tried so hard not to say anything, but both men were in his space and saying things Tony had dreamt of hearing, things that had comforted him in his lowest moments and he couldn’t have it and he knew it meant nothing to them.

Tony ripped himself from their grasp, standing up and whirling to face them as he snapped “BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH BOTH OF YOU!” before he realised what he had blurted out, his eyes filling with tears because of course Tony Stark can’t have a secret “Fuck, forget what I said”

Tony ran. He did what he knew best and ran, he only ran back to his workshop but he locked everything down and dived for the cot as he let himself cry out his heartbreak. He covered his ears as Steve and Bucky banged on the door and shouted at him, he wished they had just ignored him or at least didn’t want to take their anger out on him. Tony pulled the blanket over him and covered his head with it so he could try and block out everything else, the light of the arc reactor soothed him as he sobbed until he passed out with Steve and Bucky still pounding away at his door.

No one saw Tony for two days and on the third, it was hard to recognise him as the Tony they knew. Tony was dressed up in a suit, looking picture perfect with his hair styled and goatee trimmed exactly, sunglasses covered his eyes as he carried a briefcase in one hand, his knuckles almost going white with his tight grip. Natasha knew this man, she recognised him as Tony before the team, the one under Obidiah’s thumb, this was the media version of Tony Stark.

“Tony, Bucky and I nee-” Steve tried to stop him, hand outstretched and looking hurt when Tony dodged it with ease.

“No need, Cap, in a few hours I’ll be on the other side of the country. Rhodes is taking over my position as Iron Man and Pep’s handling SI over here, Fury’s agreed to it and Pepper’s not happy but hell, she’ll probably enjoy not having me be so useless” Tony held his hand out to interrupt Steve who just stared at Tony in shock, the rest of the team gathering as Tony spoke “I’m sorry for fucking up, I should have kept my mouth shut or just gone with it, I’ll see you around… well no, I won’t actually, I’m not planning on coming back”

“You can’t just leave!” Bucky protested as he came to stand beside Steve, looking equally hurt as the blonde.

“Actually I can, I am in fact, now I gotta go or I’ll miss my flight. Glad I could stick around for a year before I fucked up” Tony laughed but it was humorless and no one else was laughing with him, in fact all of them just looked sad “Cheer up, things will be better without me, you guys are always complaining about shit I do so you should be happy!”

“Tony, that’s not-, we-, you-” Steve stammered helplessly as Tony just raised an eyebrow at him questioningly, Steve and Bucky shared a look before Bucky nodded at him and suddenly Steve was there, cupping his cheeks and kissing him. Steve kissed him deeply, not caring that Tony wasn’t reacting, his hands were cupping his cheeks and his body was pressed up against Tony’s, stealing his breath away.

“Steve, what-?” Tony tried to ask but Steve stepped away for Bucky to take his place, his hands going to Tony’s hair instead and kissing him just as deep and intensely as Steve had. Tony’s body caught up as his body sagged slightly and tears came to his eyes when Bucky stepped away from him “What are you doing?”

“We love you too” Steve said and Tony’s world crashed down around him. For the last two days, Tony had convinced himself that the whole team hated him, Steve and Bucky especially, and that the world would be better off if he just disappeared.

Tony stumbled away from them, almost tripping over his own feet as he stared at the team that were all staring back at him as his reality broke. He wanted to run, he wanted to escape again so when he went to run Bucky grabbed his arm and pulled him back instead, pulling him into a hug and moving with Tony when his knees buckled and he dropped to the floor. Steve knelt down beside them and moved Tony’s glasses off his face to show the tears that were now streaming down his face, his body shaking as he tried to remember how to breathe.

“Sweetheart, take some nice deep breaths for me” Steve comforted him and wiped back the tears, only for them to be replaced seconds later “It’s alright, Tony, you’re okay”

“No I’m not, you’re meant to hate me!” Tony shouted as he pulled at his hair, frustrated that everything had changed, nothing was going to his plan and he didn’t know what to do about it. He didn’t want them to hate him, but it made leaving a lot easier if that’s what they wanted from him.

“We couldn’t be farther away from it” Bucky said softly while he pushed Tony’s hands away and started to comb his fingers through Tony’s hair instead, the soft touches helping the headache that was building up but not helping his heart “We love you, and there’s no way in hell that we could hate you”

They let Tony cry himself out before trying to talk to him sensibly, just a lot of soft words and soothing touches until Tony had worn himself out from crying and was just curled into Bucky’s chest as his breathing stopped being so ragged and his heart stopped pounding quite so hard.

“We love you, Tony, and we’ll tell you everyday if we have too” Bucky whispered in his ear before Steve kissed his cheek and repeated Bucky in a whisper in his other ear, the pair not needing to look at each other to know that it was a promise that they were going to keep until Tony no longer needed to hear it from them everyday and then continuing it because they wanted to make sure Tony always knew he was loved.

It took a lot of conversations, a lot of tears, a lot of traded kisses and touches to finally persuade Tony that they weren’t lying to him, that they really did love him and that they wanted to be with him. Once Tony knew it and was feeling more secure where he stood, the change in him amazed the team since most of them had never seen him so happy. Of course there will still be bad days, but now Tony wasn’t alone and he had two soldiers to help protect him against the bad thoughts and nightmares.

Tony woke up every morning between Steve and Bucky with a kiss and a whispered confession of love, and every morning Tony blushed and whispered back:

“I love you too”

#tropetember #eotl writes #fanfiction #stuckony #Steve Rogers #Tony Stark #Bucky Barnes #accidental confession #feels

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hungryhungryhippo3 · 4 years

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I’ve seen a lot of comparisons between Peeta and Sejanus but I raise you this:

Peeta and Jessup.

(under the cut because it got longer than expected)

Jessup is probably my favourite character in the book that isn’t in the main cast. When we were first introduced to him, I kinda guessed that he wouldn’t be playing a big role because of how much attention (both from and within the narrative) Lucy Gray was given. Besides, like many people have pointed out, there’s already plenty of parallels between LG and Katniss, and I don’t think Suzanne Collins would’ve wanted to bombard us even further by having Jessup be a Peeta-resque figure. But from what little we know about him, there are definitely subtle similarities to Peeta.

Right off the bat, he has a natural chemistry with Lucy Gray. Whilst Peeta and Katniss’s dynamic was more of an equal partnership, Jessup sort of lets Lucy Gray take the lead.

As he neared the mayor, Lucy Gray stepped forward and extended her hand. The boy hesitated, then reached out and shook. Lucy Gray crossed in front of him, switched her right hand for her left, and they were standing side by side, holding hands, when she made a deep curtsy, pulling the boy into a bow. (p. 38)

Lucy Gray Baird stepped into the light, her cuffed hands half covering her eyes as they adjusted. Jessup reached up his arms, his wrists spread as wide as the chain on his restraints would allow, and she fell forward, letting him catch her by the waist and swing her to the ground in a surprisingly graceful move. She patted the boy’s sleeve in thanks and tilted her head back to drink in the sunlight streaming into the station. (pp. 41-42)

“Go on, Jessup!”

Emboldened, her hulking district partner slowly approached Sejanus and took the sandwich from his hand. He waited until a plum followed and then walked off without a word. Suddenly, the other tributes rushed the fence, hands thrusting through the bars. (pp. 65-66)

Jessup and Lucy Gray trust each other from the beginning. That last passage is also interesting to me because they’re the only two district tributes at this stage that seem to have that trust in each other. And it’s Jessup’s trust in Lucy Gray (and the fact that she cares about him to get him to eat, too) that pushes the other tributes to eat as well. This suggests to me that, at least in that moment, the other tributes are looking to LG and Jessup as to how to react/behave in these unfamiliar and hostile surroundings, because of how they trust each other.

There’s also quite a few parallels between Katniss/Peeta and LG/Jessup once they’re in the arena: Jessup is the one that braves the Cornucopia and the stronger tributes for weapons (although it’s not anywhere near the bloodbath it was in the 74th Games), LG and Jessup stay mostly out of sight in those cave-like tunnels, there’s a passing mention from Snow about them cuddling together for warmth at night, LG was probably looking after him as best as she could whilst he was sick, etc. That trust carries through right into the arena.

And then there’s his descent into rabidness.

Jessup made his way across the arena and seemed confused by Lucy Gray’s rejection. He began to climb after her into the stands, but he had trouble keeping his balance. As he entered the field of debris, his coordination diminished further, and twice he fell with great force, opening gashes on his knee and temple. After the second wound, which generated a fair amount of blood, he sat, somewhat stunned, on a step, reaching out to her. His mouth moved while the foam began dripping from his chin.

Lucy Gray remained motionless, watching Jessup with a pained expression. They created a strange tableau: rapid boy, trapped girl, bombed-out building. It suggested a tale that could only end in tragedy. Star-crossed lovers meeting their fate. A revenge story turned in on itself. A war saga that took no prisoners. (p. 257)

(There’s so much to unpack here but I don’t think I can untangle this all on my own, so I’d love to hear other people’s thoughts!)

Obviously the connection to Katniss/Peeta could not be clearer with the star-crossed lovers reference, but strangely enough, beyond that reference, I don’t find this parallel as compelling as the others. And the reason for that is because I don’t think Peeta would run after Katniss like that unless he had completely lost his mind (i.e, hijacked!Peeta). Jessup in this scene is still enough of himself feel confused and stunned (he isn’t attacking her), but he most certainly isn’t thinking straight. Instead, he’s acting on the one impulse he’s got left, this instinct that (in my opinion) has become his whole life and identity since he was reaped: stay with Lucy Gray. From a logical standpoint, he would keep himself holed up in a tunnel to die where he wouldn’t be a risk to LG, because there can only be one winner at the end of the day (and I fully believe this is what Peeta would do). But this desire to stay with her, even if it puts her in danger, comes from a baser instinct. And not necessarily in an animalistic, he-can’t-think-straight-because-rabies sort of way (which is the vibe I got from Snow’s observations of the scene), but more in the sense that this instinct is coming from this deep, unreachable and visceral part of him. He follows after her because that’s what he’s been doing since they were thrown into the Games together, and when he can’t he reaches out to her. Even when the rabies and the starvation and the abuse have stripped away everything else about him, it cannot erase the fact that Lucy Gray is important to him.

Then there’s that second bit, which is laden with symbols. If I might digress a little, I’m interested in the narrative imagery (tale, revenge story, war saga). I mean, the images are bleak, but there’s also this deformed personification to them (??); a revenge story that ‘turns in on itself’, a war saga that comes alive and ruthlessly ‘takes no prisoners’. To me, it (maybe?) suggests an intermingling and gruesome transformation from a passive fiction to an active and terrible reality. I cannot for the life of me think of a way to link this Jessup, but I would be so interested to hear what other people make of this.

I also wanna talk about the moment of his death as well:

She approached him with caution and knelt just out of reach of his long arms. Trying to smile, she said, “You go to sleep now, you hear, Jessup? You go on, it’s my turn to stand guard.” Something seemed to register, her voice or perhaps the repetition of words she’d spoken to him over the past two weeks. The rigidity eased in his face, and his eyelids fluttered. “That’s right. Let yourself go. How are you going to dream if you don’t go to sleep?” Lucy Gray scooted forward and laid a hand on his head. “It’s okay. I’ll watch over you. I’m right here. I’m staying right here.” Jessup stared at her fixedly as the life slowly ebbed out of his body and his chest became still. (p. 260)

(UGH Sometimes I forget just how impactful some of the deaths in the series can be)

I think I’ve said all that I can about the importance of LG in Jessup’s last few moments, and the effect she has on him in laying him to rest, but I am interested in LG’s reaction to his death. Specifically, to what extent does she mourn him when he’s gone? It’s clear that she cares a lot about him and she still trusts him to be able to get that close to him; she cleans his face and lays him to rest properly. But (unless she mourned him whilst she was hidden away) she doesn’t seem to be as bothered by his death as he might’ve been by hers. And certainly not as Katniss would’ve been if that was Peeta. I mean, I get it; she’s ultimately determined to survive and go home, she’s a lot smarter about her position in the Games (whereas Jessup had focused on her), she has Snow in her head. But (and this has no relevance to this analysis as a whole) as a Jessup stan, I’m a little bitter about it.

Finally, Jessup is a protector through and through. I couldn’t have said it better than Lysistrata so I’ll just put the reference in:

“What I’d like people to know about Jessup is that he was a good person. He threw his body over mine to protect me when the bombs started going off in the arena. It wasn’t even conscious. He did it reflexively. That’s who he was at heart. A protector. I don’t think he would’ve ever won the Games, because he’d have died trying to protect Lucy Gray.” (p. 262)

If that doesn’t scream Peeta Mellark, I don’t know what?? Does??? I was lowkey stanning him from the beginning when he helped LG off the train, but this moment really cemented that for me.

In conclusion, Jessup Diggs deserved better.

#ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #tbosas spoilers #tbosas meta #my meta #the hunger games #thg #jessup diggs #lucy gray baird #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #pls excuse me while i think about the fact that he was basically forgotten when gaul erased the games #and the person he shared some of the scariest but also revealing moments of his life with is also gone #no one will remember him or what he experienced #:(((

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plus-size-reader · 5 years

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Harmless Fun

Patrick Hockstetter x Plus size!reader Bowers Gang x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1867 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Richie had a crush on Eddie’s older sister, who just so happens to be dating Pat Hockstetter. The older boy is very territorial and decides to teach the younger man who you belong too.

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Richie'd had a huge crush on Eddie's older sister. He had for as long as he could remember but as of late, it was much worse.

You had fallen in with the wrong crowd and were making a series of mistakes that only served to fuel his obsession...no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

You would have been so much better off with him.

In truth, no one really knew what your deal was with the so called 'Bowers gang'.

You were one of the smartest kids in Derry, sure to graduation as the valedictorian, and one of the nicest too.

The only thing about you that didn't make any sense at all was why you spent all your time with Henry Bowers and his thugs.

Among the four of them, Patrick was your favorite. Everyone knew that if you were going to make one of them your boyfriend...it would be that long-ass psychopath that filled your tummy with butterflies.

And while that didn't serve to ease the strain Richie was under, there was something else that upset him more.

It was that laugh.

Your laugh was beautiful and would have easily been his favorite sound in the entire world but that wasn't the issue. It was the source of your laughter that bothered him, and it was almost constant.

If your laughter was heard across the courtyard, it was sure to be because Vic had made some clever jab at Pat or Belch was performing the ABC's again at full volume.

Richie knew one thing, and one thing only-whatever it was that had you so enamored with them, it made him crazy.

He became completely obsessed with what it was about them that drew you in, mostly because he didn't get it.

You weren't too much older than they were, three years tops, but you'd never given him a second look. It didn't make any sense.

He was a total Casanova and had been leaving you little clues all this time. You were just choosing to be blind to his crush because you were blinded by Patrick's long dark hair and Henry's biceps.

On cue, your fit of giggles erupted through the air, snapping Richie's attention toward you and only you. It was as if you were the only thing he was capable of seeing, like all other things and people surrounding you just ceased to exist.

"I hate it" he barked to his friends, his eyes locked on you from across the school yard. Patrick Hockstetter, a certified Neanderthal, has his arm thrown over your shoulder lazily...so comfortably.

Richie would have killed to be in that position with you. All he wanted was a chance but at this point, if he went anywhere near you it would be his head.

You were basically untouchable.

If Patrick, or God forbid, Henry found out about Richie's little crush, that would be the end of the line for him. They'd bury him in a shallow grave and you'd never even know he existed.

"Why? She's just a girl" Stan shrugged, clearly getting fed up with the lunch time conversation, no matter what, it always drifted back to you and he couldn't have been more over it.

All that got him was a gasp from the other boy, who clearly thought that his opinion on the matter was blasphemous. How could Stanley of all people not see the beauty that was you? It didn't make any sense. You were perfect and Richie was just trying to make sure his friends understood the gravity of the situation.

How did a goon like Patrick Hockstetter get with a total babe like you? He'd done the math and it just didn't make any sense.

"What do you mean just a girl? Y/N is so much more than that" he started, beginning his rant as he did every day. They all knew how he felt about you, but they weren't in the mood today.

Eddie more-so than anyone.

He'd heard it all before. He knew that his friends thought that you were pretty, but none of them were as brazen about it as Richie had always been. It was very clear that he'd had some less than PG thoughts regarding you and it was hard for him to be comfortable about it.

It was weird and made his skin itch.

However, nothing was going to happen between you two, Eddie was sure of that. You were much older than them, but even if you had been interested, Richie wasn't your type.

You had always liked greasy guys, as evidence by your last few boyfriends and at best, Richie was a geek. It wasn't going to happen, but that didn't stop the younger boy from dreaming.

He was in love with you, or at least...the idea of you and that was enough for him.

Until Pat noticed...

It wasn't too hard for him to connect the dots. He might not have been the smartest guy in the world but the one thing he knew for sure was how an interested man acted around a beautiful woman.

It was a craft that he'd perfected over years of watching Henry get rejected, and there was no mistaking it.

That was what made him so angry about the dreamy look on Richie's face whenever the two of you passed. He was in a difficult position because he was jealous, not because he thought that he had any competition, but because you belonged to him.

It was as simple as that.

You were Patrick's girlfriend, and no one was allowed to look at you like that, no matter who they were.

But that being said, someone was going to have to teach the kid a lesson.

"Hey pipsqueak" he growled, resting his long arm over the younger boys open locker. Richie instantly tensed, but was careful not to make it too obvious. Patrick thrived off of that kind of thing, and he wasn't going to give him that satisfaction.

The older man obviously wanted something, so he it was better to just get it out of the way so that he could go home. Patrick was never going to just go away on his own.

"What?" he groaned, expecting some stupid insult or a demand to take his belongings, either way, there was no point to all this talking.

The way Richie was acting was meant to speed up the whole process but all it served to do was make Patrick angry. He was already here to deal with something touchy about this kid, now he was going to have an attitude.

That wasn't going to go over well.

"I saw you making eyes at my girl, and if you wanna keep 'em four-eyes, I would suggest you stop" he spit, slamming the locker door closed, just narrowly missing the boy's fingers.

Fuck...he was dead.

"Listen Patrick, I didn't mean anything by it" he stammered, doing his best to just deny everything in hopes that he wouldn't kill him. He knew how territorial the older boy could be and he should have known that he would notice at some point.

The whole thing was a huge misunderstanding, or so he had decided to make Patrick believe.

He knew that he was most likely going to have to take a beating no matter what but maybe he could lie his way out of a black eye. "I j-just like her t-shirt, the Ramones are pretty good" he lied, holding his hands up in surrender.

That earned a laugh from the older boy, who found a lot of amusement out of the begging of nerds. It was hilarious, that all it took was a single words from him and Tozier was about to piss his pants.

How was he not supposed to laugh at that?

"Whatever loser" he grinned, pinning him to the locker harshly with his fist in the collar of his shirt. Richie knew that he looked pathetic at the moment, eyes wide but he didn't care.

Anyone that wasn't scared of Patrick Hockstetter was hardly human.

"PATRICK!"

Speaking of hardly human...it was you.

You had turned the corner into the hallway just in time to see your darling boyfriend terrorizing another freshman. Upon closer inspection, you realized that the freshman in question was your brother's friend Richie, and that just wasn't going to stand.

"What are you doing? Put him down" you ordered, stomping over to him, using your authoritative girlfriend voice. Usually, you would just let Patrick have his fun but he knew that your brother's friends were off limits.

That was all you asked of him, so he better have a damn good reason to be acting like an idiot instead of walking you to class.

"Come on baby, it was just harmless fun" he whined, winking at Richie before dropping him to the ground. He wanted the younger boy to know just how wrapped around his finger you were, whether you realized it or not.

He smiled when he turned back to you, wrapping an arm around your hip to pull you into his body.

Your curves fit perfectly against his own body and he made sure to make a bit of a production as he kissed you, dragging it out to torture the boy he'd left on the floor.

He was going to make sure that at the very least, he knew who you belonged to.

"Harmless fun?" you repeated, not believing him for a second. You knew he was trying to distract you with a kiss like that, but you weren't going to move on that quickly.

He was still in the dog house over that whole display.

"Keep it up and I'll make you apologize" you warned, only half joking as you turned away from him to help Richie from the floor.

As you bent over to give the boy a hand, Patrick took the opportunity to crack you across the ass with his hand but you ignored him. He was just playing a game with you, and you weren't going to let him get the best of you.

It was still lost on you completely that this whole display wasn't about you at all. Patrick was just marking his territory in front of the loser, making it clear that you were never going to be his.

"I'm sorry about him Richie, are you okay?" you asked, moving his hair from his face lightly as you scanned him for any sign of injury. As soon as you were satisfied with what you'd found, you let him be.

All he could do was nod, keeping his eyes on the ground.

He could feel Patrick's burning eyes on his body from behind you and the last thing he wanted to do was further anger the hulking troglodyte. He was just going to have to be more careful about admiring you from now on.

You weren't always going to be there to keep him from getting beat up, and maybe he wouldn't be so lucky next time.

At the very least, he knew that you care about him a little bit and for now, that was more than enough to keep his crush alive.

#patrick hockstetter #patrick hocksetter x reader #patrick hockstetter x ps reader #patrick hockstetter x plus size reader #The Bowers Gang #bowers gang #bowers gang imagine #bowers gang x ps reader #bowers gang x plus size reader #it #it 2017 #it 2017 x ps reader #it 2017 x plus size reader

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jungnoir · 4 years

Text

nothing fucks with my baby;

lee minhyuk | inspired by prompt 6. “Just drive, I don’t care about the destination, just drive.” you remember him. he’s a good person, always has been and always will be. right? zombie apocalypse!au, exes to lovers!au. | 2.7k words. | dark, angst, romance, mentions of blood and violence and zombie stuff.

a/n: so, tumblr deleted the requester’s second ask clarifying which prompt they wanted (the one I intended to reply to), but this is for the anon who requested 6 with minhyuk! I tried something a bit different this time with the ending (and weirdly enough, I’m kind of itching to continue this. it won’t be fluffy, that’s for sure).

This new world was powerful. The stranger you’d meet tomorrow would become your executioner or your lifeline, your friend or your foe. You had been seasoned by the apocalypse, thinking yourself an expert on the souls of humans when there were so few humans left to know. You could tell by just the look in someone’s eye whether they’d rather put a bullet between your teeth or take one for you between their own, and very few of them fell into the category of the latter... except someone who might’ve done so for you once upon a time.

When you first saw him again, it was a rabid moment. You had just finished ravishing an abandoned shack for all the food it had to give when a few zombies found you by sound alone. You’d learned to be swift, to abandon what need be, if only to save your poor excuse of a life. It seemed that you hadn’t just alerted zombies, though.

The moment you’d thrown yourself out onto the dewy forest floor, ready to hightail it out of the dense forest once you made it out of the clearing, a horrible sound came from behind you. You had known it well because you’d been the cause of it many times before... a zombie’s existence had just come to an end, and it most definitely wasn’t due to anything other than another human being.

With your gained experience of this new world, you’d learned that the only thing worse than another zombie was another human. Zombies were pure in the way that they sought to infect and feed and nothing more. Humans... they were more complex. You would do yourself a great world of good if you could make it out of here without that human catching you, you thought. You didn’t need to try to make friends at this point, and you definitely didn’t need to be put in the situation of striking first. This new world was cruel, but you had yet to be broken down that much.

You had been ready to just run, but it had been so long. When was the last time you’d seen another person? Felt the warmth of another human being’s alongside your own? Maybe months; It had been nearly a year since the entire end of the world began.

Of course you looked back.

You weren’t sure what you expected, but if the last time you’d seen a human being was months ago, the last time you’d seen someone your age was even longer. The door to the shack was thrown open from your escape, so you could see in the small living room someone towering over a slumped body of a zombie, something long and shining in their hand. It dripped with crimson to the wooden floorboards, and the forest was silent. Whoever this was had taken them all out with expert speed. You really needed to go.

That someone’s head was lowered as they wiped the shining thing (a sword, you now realize) on the door frame, getting most of the blood off fairly well. Then, they stepped over the threshold and stood out on the porch, staring at you.

If you hadn’t known any better, the dead look in his eyes would have screamed “zombie” to you, but it was obvious by the color in his cheeks (though scattered in scars) and lack of unorthodox movement that he was very much still human. You’d also seen him before, enough to have his name spring forward to the front of your mind in an instant. However, he looked changed. This wasn’t the boy—man—you’d known before.

He must’ve recognized you too, because a switch seemed to flip in his brain and the defensive expression his face had been steeled into melts. Lips you’d known so intimately once before just barely quirk up into a smile, “Fancy seeing you here, (Y/N).”

You’re blanching, utterly lost on what to say to him. The last memory you had of Lee Minhyuk was when you were saying goodbye to him for what seemed like forever two years ago. Your relationship had seemed to have run its course and you had assumed that after college, you’d never have to see him again. It was a big city, and after the world went to shit, you’d had even lesser odds. Or so you’d thought.

He walks down the handful of steps to stand across from you, sheathing his sword in the leather scabbard at his side. You’d never seen Minhyuk hold a canister of mace, let alone a fucking sword. That instinct to determine if he was friend or foe bubbled back up again, though much more muddy. Everyone else was easy to read because you had no prior connections to them, but this... him...

“I guess if there was ever someone to steal my next raid, I’d have liked it to be you.” He says, crossing his arms across his chest with a weirdly nonchalant aura. “But my stomach says otherwise.”

At that moment, you seem to remember why you were here. Your backpack is almost overflowing with cans and supplies, all things that’d hopefully would get you to your next meal before you could collapse from malnourishment. “...your raid?”

Minhyuk sucks in a breath when you finally speak, like he had needed to hear your voice to confirm it was really you, “Yeah... I was planning to get the place on quieter terms. Imagine my surprise when I hear somebody gathering up an undead audience right outside. Imagine my even greater surprise upon realizing it was you... of all people.”

You would flush if you weren’t still reeling from the adrenaline rush of almost dying and seeing your ex-boyfriend all within the same minute. He doesn’t look totally the same, the changes prominent given the circumstances. His old wolf cut that you hated to love had now been trimmed military-style short in an attempt to look neat. Meanwhile, his once slender frame was now chiseling out with significant muscle. The only thing that really hadn’t changed about him was his eyes and the rather intense, unyielding look they were known for. They rarely gave anything away, which made sense for how unbothered he looked at the moment. They had been like that during your peaceful parting of ways two years ago too. How curious that you were both back here like that had never happened.

“I had no idea any one was in the area.” You say, slipping your backpack off one shoulder to unzip it some. You look at your wonderful haul and your heart aches at the thought that you’ll have to part with it. That meant you wouldn’t be given the luxury of loitering around the outskirts of town until you reached the next one. You’d have to go straight through, minding all the other scavengers and undead...

Minhyuk’s eyes light up some at this, the first emotion you’ve seen on his face in a while. He even accompanies it with a heart-stopping smile, “Means I’m getting good!” When he sees you fiddling with your bag, he stops smiling, “Hey,” his hand stops your own and you feel a shudder roll down your spine when his skin touches your own. It’s been so long, “don’t. You don’t have to. I’ll be in the next town before I know it. Maybe just spare me a can for the road or something.”

You blink at him, “But this was your raid.”

Minhyuk snorts, “Clearly not if you got in first. Seriously, keep your stash. I won’t lose my head over one lost raid.”

You could laugh at that. The irony that he could was evident. Instead, you hand him three cans and some bandages, “We’ll split it.”

Minhyuk stares at you again, expression unreadable. You don’t see a bag on him anywhere, and you start to wonder how he’s gotten this far without one if he’s still traveling. You doubted he’d camp close enough to a gaggle of zombies, so he had to be mobile. Before you can ask, he pushes the supplies back toward you, “Why don’t you come with me and we can share? Everything we find is ours.”

To join him... to join someone...

Of course you’d been asked to join a couple groups before on your journey, but your answer had always stayed starkly the same. You knew the danger of groups; what if you were to join one and they turned on you to save their own skin? At least out here on your own, every outcome was your doing alone. All those groups that had offered were full of people you could read, and each and every one of them had one priority higher than loyalty: to survive.

But Minhyuk wasn’t like that... right? Never had been. He was always the first to sacrifice himself for the greater good, always the first to protect you in lieu of himself. Always, always, always. It had been a long while since you’d last seen each other and despite all that had been altered skin-deep, you didn’t get the feeling much had changed inside.

He is as inviting as ever. When he points out his truck parked deep in the forest piled high with tools and supplies you could only dream of getting your hands on, you find that following him to the passenger seat is all too easy. It’s not the car he used to have, this one most likely stolen off someone when he had the chance judging by the paint job alone. It was a ghastly grey he wouldn’t have caught himself dead in. It didn’t fit his bursting personality.

Minhyuk pats the roof and pops open the door for you with ease, smiling gently at you as he ushers you to get in. “Watch your step, the bar is easy to slip on.” To emphasize his point, Minhyuk offers you a hand and braces the other at your back. If he could feel how rigid you became at his touch, he didn’t mention it.

Once you were in your seat, you dropped your hulking backpack to the floor and let out a sigh of relief. It was so easy to forget how long you’d been walking once you were actually sitting, let alone sitting somewhere you hadn’t had to check for remains or fecal matter.

Minhyuk shuts your door and jogs over to the backseat of the driver’s side, settling his sword on the floor. You take this moment to process what he has back there: the entire backseat is covered with different mismatched clothing and bags, some with things like bars of soap and toothpaste, others with nonperishables, and some full of such an array of weapons that you couldn’t possibly categorize them all. How had he gotten his hands on so much just on his own...?

When Minhyuk hops into the driver’s seat, he can see the clear question on your face. Perhaps you might’ve been too easy to read, or perhaps he was still so tuned into you like the old days. “Alright there?”

You swallow, clutching your backpack between your legs a little tighter. You’re reminded of your measly close-combat knives and clear your throat in an attempt to save face, “Yeah, sorry. The shock of this is just... erm... getting to me.”

“Hey, look at me,” Minhyuk is practically begging as you avoid his eyes, trying to look anywhere but at him. This is all so much and so soon. You hadn’t even the slightest thought that he might still be alive, let alone that he’d ever find you, and you couldn’t even go through the awkward post-breakup motions like you should have been able to because of this clusterfuck of a dystopia you lived in now, “seriously, look at me.”

What a gentle hand he still had, even after all the carnage he’d been through.

The touch-starved part of you leaves you shuddering at the way he arrests your chin between the pads of his fingers, warm and firm and kind. Minhyuk slowly moves your head until you’re facing him.

There were times when he’d kissed you this way. Oh, how you’d longed for someone to touch you the way he had just once more without the need to up and run away before they stabbed you in the back- “Well... still stunning as ever.”

Your eyes widen, “Huh?”

Minhyuk rolls his head to the side and laughs softly, brushing the hand on your chin along your skin until he’s dragging it back to himself, and mindlessly, you move your head to follow minutely. A little blaze in his eyes says more than he does, “Where would you like to go?”

“I thought you were headed to the next town.” Blinking, you look about you, “I’m just stumbling from place to place. I’ve got nowhere to go.”

“No one’s looking for you, either?” He questions, resting his chin on his fist. You shake your head immediately... to his silent delight.

“I’ve been traveling solo since the beginning and... nobody that would be looking for me is still alive, anyway.” You’d seen that much in the bodies of your family and friends in the early days, enough to mourn for a lifetime.

His tongue darts over his lips as he takes you in. Something like disbelief shines in the way he meets your eyes once more, “I’m awfully lucky to have found you again.”

He was lucky to have found you? You could practically cry from joy; not only was he someone you knew, trusted even, he was eons more skilled in this apocalypse than you. Those video games he loved so much had surely paid off for him in the end, it seemed.

Yet, here he was, watching you like you’d been what he needed to survive all along.

Instead of saying all that, you settle for your first genuine smile since all this had began. You don’t know how appealing it is behind cracked lips and bad breath, courtesy of the disrespect apocalypses have toward basic human hygiene, but Minhyuk seemed pretty charmed. With one wrist thrown over the steering wheel and his free hand starting the car, he tears his eyes away and soon enough, you’re moving. The jolt of the car is a welcome change to what you’d become used to out here. Why, you could just sink into your seat and doze off, even. Perhaps...

You rest your head tentatively against the glass of the passenger side window, watching the trees and dead bodies go by, calm despite it all. You know that the noise of the truck will draw out any other creepers hanging in the deep brush, but you know they’d never be fast enough to catch you. You can trust this. Him.

Slowly, you doze. It consumes you like a warmth and you can’t be assed to fight it. Minhyuk wouldn’t mind, you were mostly sure. Besides, he would wake you if he needed you. The next town wouldn’t be for miles.

There’s a slight twitch in Minhyuk’s hand as he watches you from his peripheral. It’d been so long since he’d last been this close with someone who wasn’t trying to eat him or kill him for his shit (intentions that were unsettlingly interchangeable between humans and zombies), and it’s you, too.

If he’d had any doubt that he was still madly into you all these years later, it had whipped up in a smoke the moment he’d seen you face to face. The tunnel vision he acquired whenever he dove his sword into flesh dissipated so quickly and he was grateful. He did not fathom in his mind that he’d need to be very cautious of who and what he struck down any longer, but he was glad he had been. You were strong—of course you were—and you made it back to him. How fateful.

You were the only person left alive who knew the old him, let alone the only person who had no clue what brand of cruel he had become. If you stayed with him long enough, you would.

All Minhyuk could pray for was that you’d understand... he was no longer a man who could feel remorse.

#there's a few ways i can spin this #lee minhyuk scenarios #lee minhyuk imagines #lee minhyuk x reader #lee minhyuk #monsta x scenarios #monsta x imagines #monsta x x reader #monsta x #majwrites #lee minhyuk angst #lee minhyuk au #monsta x angst #monsta x au

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reddeaddamnation · 5 years

Text

Imagine: Pyramid head taking an interest in you

[A/N: This is going to be a bit longer than my usual fics. Contains some smut because I'm that sick also entirely angst and fluff.]

Afraid... You never thought the most feared, hostile and dangerous creature in Silent hill would be afraid. And not because of a monster, lurking in the shadows or the threat of a weapon, pointed at him. He was afraid for your life. Now that you thought about it, it almost sounded ridiculous like a dream or a nightmare during a restless night. The pyramid-headed creature, that even the most vile and horrid atrocities ran from, saved your life countless of times and protected you with its own. Wherever you went, you always felt his gaze on yourself. He never let you out of his sight, even at the smallest step you took.

But one day you were caught off guard and so was he and that mistake almost cost you your life. You walked behind him down a narrow hallway of an abandoned school. You were looking for a locket of great importance to you. The last thing your mother gave you before she passed away and after all those years, you never took it off and losing it meant losing the last piece of her left in your life. You didn't know how you ended up in Silent Hill. All you remembered was driving down the road when a thick, suffocating fog appeared out of nowhere and before you knew it, some sort of creature jumped in front of your car, causing you to panic and turn the wheel, drifting off the road and driving right into a tree. And everything went black.

You woke up some time later and realized you were several meters away from your car, either dragged out or thrown out from the impact. But the door was opened wide and you concluded someone dragged you out and left you on the street. Your head throbbed painfully and your entire body hurt. You couldn't breathe. Suddenly you were pulled out of your thoughts when a low, growling sound came behind you. You tensed, fear overcoming you. You didn't make a sound, but when you turned around, it took every fiber in your body not to scream. A dog... but it looked like it was skinned completely. Its teeth clenched together, as it sneered, getting ready to attack you. It paced with its front legs, staring at you intently with its dead eyes.

You were just about to give into your fate. You were hurt. You could barely stand up, how were you supposed to outrun or fight a dog? Suddenly, a sound of metal scraping the ground sounded behind you, slowly inching closer and closer. The dog noticed it too and let out a growl, but this one was defensive. It crouched down, growling against the figure behind you, completely forgetting about your presence. You didn't move, didn't even breathe as you watched with your peripheral vision as the figure of a hulking man, wielding a massive knife walked past you. He almost looked human if it wasn't the giant red pyramid he had on his shoulders instead of a head. He lifted the knife, just as the dog started backing away and before it could escape, the blade came down heavily and you closed your eyes so you don't watch the rest. When you reopened them, the pyramid-headed man was watching you. Even though he had no eyes, you felt his intense gaze, heavy like his blade. The fear and pain was too much for you. Black dots played in front of your eyes. Was he going to kill you? You didn't care anymore, as all you wanted was sleep. The fog was suffocating you. And you blacked out again, the last thing you saw being the red pyramid.

You awoke in some sort of run down building on a dirty mattress, next to a table and nothing else in the room. The walls were covered in dirt and mold and something dark... Blood... You jumped, frightened and your eyes darted all over the room. The pyramid-headed man stood at the doorway, still as a statue, watching you. You let out a yell and backed further up against the wall. "Who are you?" You asked, voice trembling "Where am I? What is this place?" A sound, resembling a sigh echoed from underneath the helmet. Could he not speak? He set his weapon aside and took a slow step towards you, careful not to startle you. It didn't work, as you scurried further away from him, hugging your knees to your chest. He noticed your fear and stopped in his tracks. "Did you bring me here?" You gestured around the room cautiously. Another small sigh left him and the pyramid shifted up and down ever so slightly in a confirming manner. You wanted to ask him why, but he wasn't going to answer anyway so you gave up on the question. "Did you save me?" Another nod.

You eased in your place a bit, but he was still hesitant about moving closer. "Thank you." Your eyes never left him. You were still cautious even if he did save you. Your gratitude eased him as well and he carefully stepped over to the table where three cans of something you supposed were food were left for who knows how long. He took one and offered it to you. At first you were hesitant, but his persistence was too much and you took the can from his hand. He pointed to your leg, which was carefully bandaged, then at your arm, which was heavily bruised. Your lip and forehead were bleeding and a bloody cloth was covering your waist. Your left side was damped in blood, but it looked like it had almost stopped. Did he even bandage you? You let out a small scoff "Yeah, I suppose I should eat something. I might get better faster." You opened the can and its content came into view. Pineapple? It looked quite fresh, but then again canned foods lasted longer than regular foods. You took a slice and broke it in half. You took a bite out of one of the halves and looked at your odd savior. "D-do you want some?" You asked and hesitantly held out the other half out to him. What you didn't expect was a long, black tongue to come out from under the helmet and wrap around the slice, pulling it back under the pyramid.

A long moment passed in silence. You were the first to break it "So... I don't suppose you know of a way out of here?" He only shook his head no. You sighed, devastated that you had to stay in this damn place a moment longer. You reached up for the locket like you would when you would need hope... Only to realize it wasn't in its usual place around your neck! You jumped up, groaning loudly from the pain in your leg and the wound in your side. "My locket! I need to find it!" You stepped towards the door but he grabbed your hand and shook his head when you looked at him. "You don't understand! Its very impor..." He cut you off with a loud groaning noise, pointing out the dirty window to the street. You walked towards it and gasped as soon as you looked out. Creatures... Monsters... They were everywhere... There was no way you could fight them all or sneak past them! But you weren't going to give up on your locket... You looked at your companion, hoping he would have a plan. He wrapped his fingers around your wrist and squeezed ever so slightly. "W-will you help me?" You asked and the nod he gave you was all you needed.

You lost track of time after the first few days. You didn't know how long you were in this Hell but at least your companion was someone you can rely on. Your wounds healed, he kept you safe and killed anything that posed a threat to you. He let you lay on him when you were tired and listened to your stories. He wasn't someone you could talk to and expect a proper answer from obviously but you were grateful he was at your side and kept you safe. A twisted parody of a guardian angel. The only thing he stopped you from was removing the giant pyramid on his head. "Doesn't it get heavy?" You asked but received no answer. You got used to talking to him in questions that required one word answers so its easier for him to answer. One day, you had stopped for a break in something that looked like a shack. There was still no sign of your locket but you had hope that you will find it. You rested your head on his chest, positioning yourself between his legs and let out a small sigh, staring at the wall opposite of you, as he protectively wrapped his arms around you. A wild question crossed your mind "Why are you protecting me?" You didn't know if he was going to answer, but you asked anyway. You hoped he will find a way to tell you. And he did. He shifted, reaching for the dusty floor. You watched curiously as he started writing letter after letter with his index finger until they spelled out one word. "Purpose..." You read quietly, feeling your heart flutter in your chest. You looked at him, a smile stretched on your lips. "I'm sorry we had to meet under such circumstances..." You looked down. How stupid did that sound? Where else could one meet a creature such as him? Surely not in the store or the park! Nonetheless you continued talking "But I'm glad I have you. I don't know what I would do without you. And... I can't thank you enough." A blush scattered on your cheeks as you touched his hand and inched closer to plant a small kiss on his neck. He froze for a moment, but regained himself and wrapped his arms around you again, holding you close.

He made you feel things you never thought you would feel and do things you used to think would be repulsive. You will always remember the way his member stretched you out to your limit and filled you to the brim. The way he would wrap his hand around your neck and slide his tongue down your throat as you were about to reach your peak... The same tongue that would play with your clit and thrust in your entrance until you were dripping wet and begging for him. And the way he filled you up and made you come undone with just his fingers... He could take you just about anywhere - against the wall, on the floor, on a table, bed, desk, bent over or not. He could go very rough on you sometimes, manhandling you even, but he never hurt you and stopped as soon as you showed any sign of pain. But you could take it. You could take anything from him just to feel the pleasure he loved giving you. You loved kneeling in front of him and letting him stuff your mouth full of his cock and face fuck you until he came into your mouth and watch you swallow every drop as he caressed your cheek, letting out pleased groans and sighs.

But your quest stayed and as much as you wanted to stay with him, you knew your place wasn't here. And that brought you to the abandoned school, since that was almost the only place you haven't looked yet. Your guardian walked ahead of you and you - close behind him. But as close as you were, you still hardly evaded the sudden door that was flung open and a screaming humanoid monster jumped at you, claws and teeth at the ready to rip your flesh apart. You evaded the first attack, but the second time it swung its long arms, it dug its sharp nails in the skin of your leg, holding you in place, as the other arm was reaching to impale you. The disgusting noise it was making was cut short as the knife of your guardian made a quick, clean cut on the creature's neck, severing the head from the body. It dropped dead on the floor, just as Pyramid head pulled you in a tight hug. His breathing was heavy and raspy. You soothingly wrapped your arms around his torso, silently telling him its alright in return to his silent apology.

Pyramid head refused to let you walk on your own and you just accepted the fact that he was going to carry you. "Let's go in there. Maybe there is something interesting." You pointed to the room your attacker came from and your lover started walking towards it. And... As if on cue... Your locker was in the corner, looking as good as new and waiting for you to find it. You ignored everything and straight out jumped from Pyramid head's arms, ignoring the pain and dropped on your knees to pick up your lost treasure. You held it close to your heart for a moment and immediately placed it around your neck. Then you turned to your guardian with a wide smile "I found it! I never would have done it without you!" You beamed and stumbled back into his arms to kiss the cold metal of his helmet, then his neck and chest. But you could feel sadness radiating from him. He knew what this means. And it saddened you too. "Now I have to find a way out..." You told him sadly. A sigh, filled with despair left him and it almost made your heart break "I know..." You simply said leaning against him, enjoying his company while you still could.

So far you were ready for everything. You didn't even know if Pyramid head was going to let you leave. You tried not to think about it too much because it only made the two of you sadder. The entire town was as if in a void. The roads were plagued with holes and entire missing parts of land... You didn't remember which way the road you came from was. Even if you remembered, you weren't even sure if you could go back the same way. The fog was so confusing... It was a miracle that you found a car that worked. And it looked like it had enough gas to get you far away enough. The road behind it looked good enough to travel through. You sighed sadly and turned around to look at Pyramid head one last time. "Thank you again... For everything." You took his hands in yours "I'll miss you. More than you know. But my place isn't here." You leaned closer to him, kissing the spot where his heart should be "I'll never forget you." You smiled up at him sadly, before letting go of his hands and walking towards the old-looking car. He watched you go, standing like he was frozen in place.

You don't know what happened to the town or the Pyramid-headed man. Even after you escaped, you still thought about him and the word "Purpose" he wrote in the dust was burnt forever in your mind and every time you thought about it a sadness took over you. Did he have a purpose before? And would he ever have one again after you left?

#Silent hill #Silent hill pyramid head #Pyramid head #Pyramid head x reader #Pyramid head imagine #Pyramid head x reader imagine #Pyramid head x reader smut

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irrelevantwriter · 5 years

Text

Spellbound

Pairing: Chief Jim Hopper x Witch!Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of bodily fluids, dick Hopper (bc I don’t want him any other way)

Word Count: 1.5K

Summary: You’re the new resident in Hawkins. But Chief Jim Hopper senses something isn’t quite right with you and he’s dead set on figuring out what that is.

A/N: In honor of spooky season, I wrote this completely necessary Jim Hopper x Witch piece. It was intended to be something completely different, but I can’t hide my true self so it turned out smutty and slightly twisted. I hope you guys enjoy and share with your friends!

P.S.

I know I have some requests to fulfill and I am actively working on them! I was in a bit of a rut, but hopefully this will end that. Thanks for being so patient.

*Masterlist in bio.

**********************

Your deep purple nails clung to the black sheet beneath you, your body contorting in ways that should be impossible. Fire rushed through your veins while sweat dampened your skin. Your cries echoed off the walls and while it might appear that you were in the most debilitating pain of your life, you were actually experiencing pleasure beyond your wildest dreams.

A man was ravaging your neck while his heavy body pinned you to the bed. His bearded face burned your skin, but you yearned for more. His meaty hands gripped your body in animalistic hunger, a thin string of control barely present. His deep voice sent shivers down your spine as he growled and cursed in desire and exertion.

Your eyes were screwed shut against the deep, penetrating thrusts of his hips up into yours. His movements were erratic, touching you with both gentle passion and wild abandon. You craved more.

You were sure your deep red lipstick was smeared against your cheek, the residue already showing itself in his facial hair. His hair was tousled, his own flesh reddened and glistening from your activities.

The man was a special one. He wasn’t just any townie. He was the Chief of Police. And he was under your spell. Literally.

Jim Hopper hadn’t liked you from the moment he spotted you. You were new in Hawkins and had just purchased a storefront right off Main Street. You sold homemade lotions, oils, and candles. Products that were advertised as harmlessly holistic. But somehow Chief Hopper knew better.

He’d come snooping around your shop, eyeing your products with a mixture of curiosity and distaste. He’d asked you questions about your life, prodding like the law man he was. You’d obliged him. Being overtly accommodating and sweet to throw him off.

It hadn’t worked.

He was suspicious and you had to keep just as much of a close eye on Chief Hopper as he did on you.

Which is exactly what led to him fucking your brains out on Halloween night.

You’d known he’d come sniffing around your place tonight. He was probably going off the stereotypical ideas he had of witches. A chilly Halloween night complete with cat sacrifices and bubbling cauldrons. He was somewhat right.

Because of your unique senses, you’d been anticipating his knock at the door. You’d answered, no longer playing the innocent card. You didn’t bother to tighten the sash of your black robe, instead choosing to let it fall open slightly. The hint of cleavage would add to your favor.

He’d walked in adorned in fill uniform, all hulking frame and thick limbs, studying your home with careful interest. He made an excuse about wanting to check in on a single woman living alone.

It was bullshit.

The man was nosey. And attracted to you. You’d picked that up from the start. And it wasn’t one sided.

Part of your appeal as a witch was your mystical aura and blatant attractiveness. It’s what kept the men coming. Town after town. Always a lost man who found you irresistible and the answer to all his problems. And Chief Hopper was no different.

You’d made him a cup of coffee. Laced with your own herbal blend of course. And you waited.

It didn’t take long.

He was shoving you against the wall and devouring his mouth with yours before you could ask if he wanted another cup.

He’d tasted like cigarettes and caffeine. He smelled like faded cologne and the autumn air. It was hypnotic.

Clothes were shed quickly, the urgency and clear need apparent. You were wrapped up into his arms, his lips tasting your bare breasts as you directed him to your bed of satin and velvet.

He’d thrown you down and barely gave you a chance to breathe before he was burying is tongue deep inside you, pulling your nectar straight from you as if you were the juiciest peach. Your fingers pulled at his roots, urging him to take you to that point but begging for mercy.

You found that Chief Hopper wasn’t a merciful man.

He punished you with his mouth, adding his fingers as an extra device of torture. He forced your first orgasm from you, his manic eyes taking in all your convulsions and shivers with pride.

You’d felt him climb on top of you, not giving you a choice in the matter. He split your legs open and took you for his own pleasure.

Your teeth bit down on his shoulder as he thrust hard and deep. His brow was furrowed, almost as if he was angry. You liked it. You liked it far more than you cared to admit.

“Fucking hell,” He cursed as you moved beneath him, squeezing his thick cock with your walls. Every thrust made him scrape deliciously against you, the friction exactly what you needed to crest again.

“Again. Do it again.” He commanded against your neck. You obliged, eager to feel him release inside of you.

Feeling the cum of a man under a spell was an other-worldly experience. The sensation of him filling your insides was an alternate universe of orgasmic pleasure. It was euphoric. Addictive. It was your drug of choice.

“Son of a bitch.” He rasped as he slammed against you one last time, his whole body tensing.

You used his body to rub against your clit, letting his vibrations aid you. You came with a gasp, nails digging into his back as you both took from the other.

The Chief collapsed next you, his absence making your body feel unnaturally empty. You could feel him leaking from your swollen lips, your thighs sliding together obnoxiously.

You felt his stare on you, but you were waiting for the inevitable heavy slumber that came with your concoction. Most of the men passed out and slept off the remainder of the spell. That was usually when you stole from them. A little here and there so they never noticed.

But Chief Hopper kept staring at you, a self-satisfied smirk adorning his lips. You turned to face him, enjoying the way his male gaze faltered and landed on your breasts.

“Something to say?” You asked, voice a lot more hoarse than you expected.

“You make a great cup of coffee, you know that.”

His statement was odd and it made you pause. His smirk stayed plastered to his face. It was almost eerie.

“So I’ve been told.” You replied, playing along.

He shifted up so that he was leaned against your headboard, his chest firm yet soft. You found yourself wanting to lay your head there, listen to his heartbeat.

“There’s a little something different about it though. I can’t put my finger on it.”

He snapped his fingers suddenly and you jolted, caught off guard by his jovial mood. The man was nothing if not a grump.

“It’s the blend right? A spice?”

“Why the sudden interest in my coffee making skills, Chief?” You shifted so that you mirrored his position, your sheet pulled up to protect you from the sudden chill in the air.

“I just like to know what’s in my coffee when people drug it. Call me old-fashioned.” He quipped, rubbing at his graying scruff. His demeanor was strangely calm for a man who just claimed he was drugged.

“And why would you think I did such a thing?”

He laughed, though there was no humor behind it. “I’m a cop, sweetheart. I don’t just accept shit from people I don’t trust.”

You nodded, appearing to agree with his statement.

“Valid point. But I didn’t.”

He startled you when he pounced and pinned you to your back, the sheet ripped from your body. His hands gripped yours above your head, a twisted grin on his face.

“You did. I saw you.” He ducked into your neck, breathing in your scent as he spoke. “And I switched our cups.”

Your eyes widened at his admission, struggling against his hands. You met his eyes and could tell he spoke the truth. Smug bastard.

“I’m guessing my hunch was right by your reaction then.” He leaned into your body, pressing his now hard cock against your thigh. “You use your magic wand and put a spell on it, sweetheart?” He provoked, his tone condescending.

“Prick.” You cursed, your body betraying you and responding to his movements.

You felt your eyelids start to get heavy, the endorphins and adrenaline now washing away to reveal the true nature of your spell. You weren’t worried per say, but you also weren’t sure what his exact motives were.

You moaned as a calloused finger danced around a pebbled nipple, his greedy mouth reaching down to suck harshly at the appendage. You writhed beneath him, trying to stay alert but feeling your mind starting to slip into unconsciousness.

You felt like you were floating and the last image you saw was Jim Hopper’s face as he spoke to you.

“You get some beauty sleep and I’ll be here when you wake up, sweetheart. We’ve got some more business to tend to.” He caressed your face softly, but you could tell even in your drowsy state that he was not going to be gentle once you woke.

You couldn’t wait.

#jim hopper x reader #chief jim hopper x reader #jim hopper x you #chief jim hopper x you #jim hopper fanfiction #chief jim hopper fanfiction #jim hopper fanfic #chief jim hopper fanfic

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sweetlangdon · 5 years

Text

Reckoning: Part Five (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Notes: AU of the Outpost plot of Apocalypse. A Gray accidentally finds Michael while he’s performing the ritual. Things take an interesting turn.

Warnings: Blood, violence, murder, all the usual stuff you’ve come to expect from this fic.

Word Count: 5.0k

You can find the previous parts here.

Her dreams were filled with Hellfire and devils and a world ravaged by the darkness. She heard it whispering to her as she slept, voices that seemed so much closer, so much clearer once she’d taken Langdon’s knife in that blood-soaked room. In her dreams, the sky was scarlet, a fire left burning. Everything else had drowned in ash and smoke except for the heap of bodies. They were pale, nearly withered away to bones. Left in twisted, macabre shapes with blood running from the corners of their mouths.

But she knew their faces. Every single one.

The Outpost, a hulking, black shape, loomed over them, awash in gold and orange from the fires. And then there was Langdon—impossibly, frustratingly perfect, dark and immaculate all at once. Not a drop of blood on him, not a speck of dirt on his clothes. She’d been distracted by the way the wind stirred his hair. His eyes were two deep pools of obsidian, an unforgiving black. And then he was moving toward her, dust and sand and ash swirling around his shoes, every movement more graceful than the last.

And he was grinning at her. That slow, arrogant crooked grin that took a while to curve his lips, the one that she tried to tell herself she hated. His molten black gaze drifted from her eyes to her hand as he closed the distance between. She hadn’t noticed it, the knife clutched in her fist, the crimson dripping from her fingers that didn’t belong to her.

But he did. Of course he did, because Langdon knew everything. Knew whatever darkness was locked away deep inside her soul. Knew what it took to coax it out and set it free.

And it was beginning to scare her, how much she wanted it.

His long fingers wrapped around hers still gripping the knife. His knife. Her breath hitched as his knuckles brushed her hair. He took her face in his hand, his thumb tracing the swell of her cheek. Langdon’s grin widened, and she decided that the abyss in his eyes wasn’t so horrifying anymore.

But he could keep the fucking snakes.

“Chaos becomes you,” Langdon whispered. A low growl that rumbled through her bones like thunder. Cataclysmic.

She’d been afraid the first time he told her that—terrified and angry and attracted, which seemed to be a package deal when it came to the fucking Antichrist. And now, once she heard the words echo through her thoughts, filling up her dreams, whispered against her skin in the blazing red light of the apocalypse, she believed it. She felt it, as real as she felt him.

And damn, if it didn’t feel good.

The knife slipped from her fingers when he kissed her. She barely heard the metallic thud of the blade dropping into the dirt, so lost in his touch. Langdon drew her to him, holding her face in the searing warmth of his hands, his rings lightly grazing her skin. He held her with a needy desperation that she didn’t expect. She forgot about the blood coating her hands, too eager to taste the chaos on his tongue.

There was scarlet where she traced the sharp lines of his jaw up to his cheekbones, wherever her fingers tangled into his silken hair. When he parted from her, she brushed her thumb along his lower lip before his head dipped toward her throat. And then she couldn’t hear anything else, nothing but his ragged, panting breath against her neck and the moan that echoed when he left a trail of kisses down to her collarbone. His lips were soft, but every time they swept across her skin, it felt like an inferno. He’d set her soul alight and now she needed him to stoke the flames, to keep that wildfire burning. Langdon smelled of smoke and darker things she couldn’t name—some kind of ancient power that tinged the air around them.

She didn’t care what the hell it was. She wanted it.

And if Langdon wanted chaos, she’d give it to him.

***

She was unceremoniously awoken by someone jostling her shoulder.

It wasn’t pleasant. It was actually so goddamn irritating that she tried to shove them away while still holding tight to sleep. Even after she’d groaned and swore loudly, rolling over on her paltry cot to escape, her fellow Gray shoved nearly her entire body weight into her shoulder. The Gray was lucky she wasn’t awake yet, otherwise she would’ve found herself sprawled on the floor. Her reflexes used to be quicker; it hadn’t mattered back then if she was half-asleep. For whatever reason, some of those survival instincts had worn off while they’d been trapped in this miserable pit.

“Fuck off.”

“You have to wake up.” Her roommate—whose name she always forgot despite the two of them spending eighteen months together in servitude—sounded completely done with her shit. “You can’t oversleep. I mean, it’s your business if you want Venable to starve you again, but I wouldn’t try her patience.”

“She can fuck off, too.” The long-suffering groan was muffled into her pillow until her fingers closed around the knife resting under it. Her muscles tensed. She’d almost forgotten about Langdon’s knife. “All right…I’m getting up. Stop hovering.”

If she had to guess, she’d gotten a few hours of sleep, but it didn’t feel like it.

Letting go of the knife’s sleek hilt, she made sure it was still safely hidden. There wasn’t any way to carry it around without her roommate noticing, so she pulled the blanket up over her pillow and hoped that the Gray didn’t get nosy while she was off doing the day’s chores. Her roommate eyed her, a mix of suspicion with a noticeable smugness that she didn’t really care for. She dressed quickly in a new, clean uniform without saying a word, trying to shake the last of the stubborn grogginess from her limbs.

Her heart slammed against her ribs when she saw Langdon’s coat tucked away in her wardrobe, the black striking among the drab shades of gray and white. She took a fistful of the fabric, gently, almost reverently, fingertips settling against the red silk lining. Something had been left in one of the inside pockets. Her thumb caught the edge of it, and with a little careful, discreet maneuvering, she found the clear vial of white pills Langdon had shown to the Outpost. The pills, he’d said, that would cause a painful but quick death.

Careless wasn’t his style. They’d been acquainted for about twenty-four hours if she had to guess, but after seeing him up close, she realized he never did anything without a reason.

Damn it, Langdon. What kind of fucked up nonsense is this? She stashed them in one of the extra pairs of shoes at the bottom of her wardrobe as she heard the approach of her roommate’s footsteps.

The weak, golden light from their fireplace tossed strange shadows onto both of them. She listened to the drumming of her pulse in her ears. It wouldn’t quiet down.

“You talk in your sleep, you know.” The Gray folded her arms over her chest. She hated the smug grin that pulled at one corner of her roommate’s mouth. That amount of arrogance wasn’t attractive on anyone—except, maybe, for Langdon. With the population of the world blown to hell, he practically had it trademarked.

It had been too late to hide the coat.

Well, now I’m completely fucked.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “No.”

“Well, you do.”

She was positive her fellow Gray had seen the coat before she tried to tuck it back between her uniforms and sparse personal belongings. More than enough time for her to catch the scent of something to throw into the Outpost’s rumor mill. It was the only form of cheap entertainment the Grays had to pass the time. Part of the reason why things spread so fast around here was her hawkish gaze and penchant for eavesdropping. Her interests usually involved tearing apart the Purples—and after catering to their every goddamn need, she had to admit it was cathartic—but if her roommate figured out that was Langdon’s coat…

She’d be the first casualty of the Grays. They’d rip her to fucking shreds.

…But would their jealousy be such a bad thing? She’d never been on the receiving end of anyone else’s envy. Maybe it was petty as fuck, but she had to admit that maybe it would be fun for once.

“Sounds like you and Langdon—”

She looked up sharply, eyebrows knit together. “Sounds like it’s none of your business.”

“You don’t have to get defensive,” her roommate answered. But the smugness was still there, and fuck, it annoyed her. “I doubt you’re the only person who’s fantasized about Langdon since he got here. I mean, have you seen the way Gallant looks at him?”

Actually, she’d forgotten about Gallant. But her roommate had a point. Langdon liked to sow chaos, liked to play with people’s minds. She had proof of that now. What would stop him from fucking with all of them? Was she just another pawn to him, a complete dumbass charmed by a pretty face and the allure of doing whatever the hell she wanted without consequence?

How could she trust any interest he’d shown in her as genuine?

“Whatever,” she replied. “It was just a dream.”

An omen or a prophecy? Hell if she knew.

“Oh, I don’t think it was just anything,” her roommate persisted. “Care to share? Come on, I thought you would’ve been dying to spill the details—”

She scowled. Yeah, like your bloody corpse thrown in a pile of bodies.

“I’m really not.”

The creak of the door’s hinges saved her from her roommate’s interrogation. Neither of them had heard the tap of Venable’s cane until she appeared at the threshold of their shared room. She wore a frown as severe as her hair, the cloud of perpetual disappointment following in her wake along with a sense of impending doom. Her mere presence could suck the life out of anything that was still breathing around her. She’d met a lot of uptight authority figures in her life, had a couple sets of foster parents who were stricter than the nuns at the Catholic school she’d once attended. Somehow, Venable put every single one of them to shame in their eighteen months together.

“Ladies.” Venable’s tone was even but firm, carrying a hint of exasperation. “Have I not been clear about the schedule? I’m sorry you don’t have the luxury of late mornings, but that’s not how things run around here.” Venable’s dark gaze fixed on her, and it felt like the woman had slapped her across the face. She caught herself before she rolled her eyes. Mornings, as a concept, were a thing of the past, another lifetime entirely. “You were warned about this, were you not? If I have to tell you again, there will be harsher consequences.”

That was Venable Speak for I’ll throw your ass out of here faster than you can blink. She would be left to the radiation poisoning if the desperate cannibals didn’t get to her first. She’d thought about it a lot while doing her chores, all the ways it could happen, while counting the minutes until curfew. She often debated which was worse, weighed her options. Of all the shit she’d been through in her life, nothing had made her feel more pathetic and hopeless than this. Venable had been lecturing her with the same warning for about two months, if she’d counted right. She suspected they couldn’t spare any more Grays or her own corpse would’ve been rotting in the wasteland outside by now.

She held her tongue, even though it nearly killed her. This was about survival, after all. “Yes, ma’am.”

***

Doing laundry for the Purples was the most thankless, mind-numbing job on this ruined planet, so of course the second she’d been put on Venable’s shitlist, it was the task she’d been assigned. It wasn’t that she hated being invisible, because she had been used to that before the bombs dropped. The Purples, as a specific tax bracket that could actually afford survival, were extremely high maintenance. And the fact that life as everyone knew it had ended did not change that. Venable’s weird ass Victorian Gothic aesthetic seemed to make it worse. Somehow, she never thought surviving the apocalypse would involve a future—or lack thereof—washing rich people’s dirty clothes.

But, survival was survival. She was lucky to be here, even if people like Venable and Mead made her constantly question her worth. If she was such a goddamn nobody, then why would she ever catch the interest of the Antichrist himself?

Her thoughts were traitorous bastards. Every time her mind wandered off throughout her monotonous work day, she always found herself thinking of Langdon. Whatever she’d felt when he gave her that knife and asked her to wound him—and the power she’d had, even though it had been fleeting, when she thought she’d mortally stabbed him. The intensity of his gaze, the preternatural heat of his body. She actually fucking missed that pretentious asshole, which was wild and ridiculous and maybe a little bit pathetic.

She was the only one in this miserable place who knew his secret. That had to be worth something.

After she dropped off the last of the clean towels in Coco’s room, narrowly avoiding some kind of argument between her and the Gray, Mallory, who was attached to her hip, she slipped away to Langdon’s suite. She told herself it was because of the bloodstained towels she’d left all over his bathroom floor last night. Anything else would’ve been pitiful.

When a knock on the door didn’t elicit any kind of response, she found it unlocked.

“Langdon?”

The door shut with a soft click behind her once she’d slipped inside. She didn’t have his coat with her—she’d have to return it after curfew, the only time that was relatively safe—so it was pointless to be here without him. The bathroom door was open this time, the room empty. Nothing but the flicker of candlelight, splashing like gold on the walls. Unlike a lot of the Purple suites, this one was kept tidy, the bed made as if it hadn’t even been slept in. Like she’d noticed last night, there were no personal touches to the room except for the laptop on the desk, which wasn’t even there anymore.

The room was so much colder without him in it.

She ached to know more about him. Any sort of hint about who he was outside this place before the world fell apart. Before he made it this way. What kind of life led to bringing about the apocalypse? She wondered if he had a family. A spouse. Parents. Her only frame of reference for the Antichrist was The Omen, and she doubted that was any help whatsoever in this situation.

Her life was so fucking bizarre.

“All right, Langdon,” she said to the vacant room. “Let’s see…”

Her fingers trailed across the top of the desk. Sitting in the chair, she pulled open the drawers, only to find every single one of them empty. No Cooperative files like she’d seen in Venable’s office. No letters. Not even a worn photograph of his family. She lingered there a moment longer, drumming her fingers on the glossy wood, wondering if Langdon would know she’d been in here without him. Maybe he would; he seemed to have eyes everywhere, an eerie omniscience. A satisfied grin tugged at the corner of her lips, knowing he was probably somewhere in the Outpost conducting interviews while she had the run of his private suite.

A soft gasp broke the quiet when she pulled the armoire open and discovered it overflowing with his clothes. “You are a fancy bastard.”

It was mostly a sea of endless black, a few pieces of dark or bright red lost in between. Her fingers skirted over silk and satin and velvet, neatly pressed pants, waistcoats, and jackets kept in impeccable order. A row of dress shoes and ankle length boots sat on the bottom shelf, all of them polished. The scent of him, dark and cloying, drifted into her senses the longer she stayed there snooping through his personal wardrobe.

And the absence of him was downright maddening.

She could almost imagine him here with her, silent as a phantom. Keeping watch.

A small drawer held his silk cravats, but that wasn’t what caught her attention. Next to the tangle of expensive silk sat a crystal bottle, the cap gilded with a decorative flourish and a serpent winding around it. She took it out, eyebrow inching upward. Two tiny rubies flashed in the candlelight, the serpent’s intense, angry gaze fixed in the middle distance. It was nothing more than a cologne bottle, except it happened to be so vague and yet so elegant that she wondered where the hell it had come from. Whatever scent it held turned amber in the light.

“Pretentious,” she muttered. “Hedonistic. I can’t say I’m surprised…but if I had access to anything I could ever want, I’d flaunt it, too. Being Satan’s son must have its perks.”

Once she uncapped the bottle, the scent hit her immediately. Rich and warm and earthy with a hint of bergamot and citrus. There were some darker notes hidden in there, some things she couldn’t place. Alluring. Decadent. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep, letting it fill up her senses as if Langdon had been hovering right behind her, knuckles grazing the back of her neck, his chest flush against her spine. She was lucky the room wasn’t occupied because the sound that it provoked was probably the definition of unholy.

She sprayed it on her wrists and the hollow of her throat, the scent blossoming on her skin, following her even when she left the bottle where she’d found it. With the armoire shut, she went to the dresser. The top drawer had an orderly pile of black dress shirts; to her shock—because she thought he would’ve burned them along with the bloodied towels that had gone missing—she saw his ruined shirt tucked into the corner. The only thing in this room that wasn’t perfectly arranged. She pushed the drawer closed once she wrenched it out of its hiding spot.

It took her a minute to find the tear in the shirt, the place where the blade of his knife had pierced him. But it was still there, the only reminder that it hadn’t been some feverish nightmare. Her fingers worried at the ripped fabric, stumbling over where she could feel the dried blood. She stared at it for a long time, remembering how odd it had felt when the blade sunk into him, how easily she could do it again. There was the absence of him, but the absence of that power, too; she felt it fading and wondered if she’d ever be able to summon it again.

Maybe she was better off being a nobody. A shitty worker ant under Venable’s shoe.

“Sorry, Langdon.” She rolled up the shirt and shoved it into the pocket of her apron. “Old habits and all that. Though, I don’t think you’ll be missing this much.”

The door closed softly again behind her, and she stayed for just a moment more, her forehead resting against it as the scent of him drifted into the hallway with her. When she spun around, she caught the edge of a shadow darting around the corner. Her heart leapt straight into her throat, thinking it was Langdon. But it was so much worse than that.

Her roommate locked eyes with her from across the hallway, the two of them separated by the wide expanse of one of the main staircases. The Gray had captured her gaze long enough for her to know that this time, she was completely and utterly fucked. There were no lies to tell now, no excuses to explain this away. Her fellow Gray didn’t say anything, just lifted her chin in a sort of childish, condescending manner before she disappeared down the stairs.

Shit.

***

She awoke sometime past curfew, a feeling weaseling into her subconscious to wrench her out of a dreamless sleep. It felt more like a warning than her internal alarm clock, now set to the formless passage of time down here. Wrestling her way out of the fatigue that threatened to drag her back into the blissful dark, she sat up and blinked against whatever still blurred her vision.

Her roommate was awake. Wide awake. The doors to her own wardrobe had been thrown open, her fellow Gray, dressed in one of those horrible vintage nightgowns, stood there rifling through her personal shit. She’d found what she was looking for, though, because Langdon’s coat was in her hands and she recognized the pool of black fabric at her roommate’s bare feet as the shirt she’d stolen from his room earlier. Now she knew why her roommate had been asleep already when she went to bed, why her gossipy ass hadn’t said a word about what she’d seen. The Gray had been waiting instead. Biding her time for the right opportunity.

She swung her legs over the side of her cot. The floor was chilly under her toes. “What the fuck are you doing?”

The Gray’s smile was slow and rather triumphant. “I should be asking you that. Is this Langdon’s coat? How did you get this?” She took a few steps forward, trampling over the shirt she’d left on the floor. It made her irrationally angry, the way she kicked it to the side.

“I think he would say that’s classified.” She couldn’t help the smart comeback, despite the anger in her blood. “Why are you going through my shit? Who gave you the right?”

Her roommate’s grin dissolved into a deep frown. “I saw you,” she accused. “In Langdon’s room earlier. And I saw you hiding this.”

“I know you did.” Without thinking about it, her hand slid beneath her pillow, fingers curling around the handle of Langdon’s knife. “Now put that back where you found it.”

The Gray’s eyes narrowed. “So, what’s the story between you and him, then?” Her roommate threw the coat at her chest and she caught it with one hand, letting it drape across the cot where her blanket had been left in a tangle. “The secret visits, his clothes in our room—Mead said you were a thief. For the record, I never believed her.”

Well, maybe you should have.

“He asked me to do his laundry.”

“Right.” Her roommate scoffed. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

“Not really.” Her fist tightened around the knife.

“Are you fucking him?” the Gray asked. “Is that what this little arrangement is about? You give him everything he wants, and he’ll let you into the Sanctuary?”

“If I was,” she slipped the knife out from under her pillow, the blade flashing silver, “would that make you jealous?”

The Gray let out a trembling breath. “What are you doing?” She stumbled back a few steps, her eyes horrifyingly wide as she rose off her cot.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She advanced on her roommate, the knife clutched in her fist. The Gray wilted into a corner, a frightened whimper springing free from her throat. She wanted another taste of that power so badly, wanted the feeling of chasing after the chaos Langdon had unleashed inside her. It disappointed her a little that the Gray didn’t fight back, didn’t so much as scratch her or make a desperate grab for the blade. Once her roommate sunk into the wall, recoiling, silent tears dripping down her face, she leaned over the Gray with one hand splayed above her head.

“Would you be jealous,” she asked again, “if he wanted me?”

“Stop,” the Gray yelled. “I’ll tell Venable what you’ve been doing. And she’ll tell Mead, and they’ll throw you out and shoot you—”

It was quick. Not a second thought spared, just a swift, violent motion and the blade of the knife disappeared into the soft flesh of her roommate’s upper torso, slipping between her ribs. The Gray went slack with terrified shock, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights, one last pained whimper left to give. Another violent tug and the blade sliced upwards, a rush of blood spurting down the Gray’s white nightgown. Scarlet dribbled from her roommate’s chin, and she felt the splatter of her choking cough hit the side of her face. The Gray’s blood was warm, running down between them, her own nightgown stained from the aftermath. She pulled the blade out and watched the Gray crumple to the floor, the pool of blood growing bigger and darker around them. It was sticky and familiar between her toes.

She was panting heavily from the adrenaline, her exhales shaky. She dragged her sleeve across her forehead. “Shit.”

The blade had turned red, the air in the room tinged with the familiar scent of iron. She lowered into a crouch, eyes fixed on the Gray’s still body. Her sightless eyes. Rising to her full height, she gathered up Michael’s shirt from the heap on the floor and stowed it away in her wardrobe. She’d still have to return the coat to him, once she figured out how to deal with this mess. On the bright side, maybe he’d let her borrow his shower again.

The fire in the hearth behind her flickered wildly and then almost extinguished as if it had been smothered by a strong wind. The change in the air around her was immediate; the sharp rise temperature caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand up, a bead of sweat to trickle down the side of her face. She heard herself exhale, but it was more than that—the tension in her muscles dissipated, and she could take a deep breath. The ache lessened.

When she turned around, Langdon had his arms folded calmly behind his back, dark amusement on his lips. He cut a tall, lithe figure in tailored pants and a waistcoat, and the casual way he’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt caught her off guard.

“This is becoming a habit between us.”

She listened to the measured cadence of his footsteps. He moved past her to have a look at the body growing cold at her feet, his arm brushing against hers, his skin searing hot through the sleeve of her nightgown. Hearing the low rumble of his voice again made her stomach do another embarrassing somersault. His head turned toward her again, icy gaze drifting to the knife still clutched in her hand.

“You stole my knife.”

She threw him a pointed look. “Bullshit, Langdon. You let me take it.”

The slight rise of his chin, the mischievous, barely perceptible tilt of his head told her that she’d been right.

“I knew the temptation would be too much.” Langdon stepped closer, all languid elegance, that arrogant grin overtaking his face. “I knew the moment you turned the blade on me you wouldn’t be able to let it go.” His fingers closed around hers, wrapped around the hilt of the knife and smeared the blood. When she tried to let go and push the knife into his hand, he held tight to her fingers, his thumb tracing her knuckles.

“No,” he whispered, nudging her forehead with his, so close that the warmth she’d missed seeped through the thin fabric of her bloodstained nightgown. “I think you’ve earned the right to keep it.”

The knife slipped from her fingers and buried itself into the floorboards. Langdon hadn’t let go of her hand; instead, he brought it between them like he had last night, except now the blood was still warm and new on her skin. She watched, her breath catching a little in her throat, as he flipped her hand over to inspect the inside of her wrist. The pad of his thumb was soft, curious, as it followed the veins there. He ducked his head, nose skirting the delicate bone where the blood started to congeal. A flutter of his long eyelashes, the sharp intake of his breath told her that Langdon had discovered the remnants of his cologne on her.

He didn’t say anything, just pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. The touch was gentle, so fleeting that she could’ve imagined it. But it was enough to ignite the fire in her veins, enough to make the room spin just a little. She wanted to reach out and tangle her fingers in his hair like her dream, but she stopped herself. Fucking hell.

She struggled to speak. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Her voice shook more than she would’ve liked. “How am I going to explain this? Venable’s going to notice one of us is missing and I don’t—”

“You won’t have to,” he assured, voice dropping to a whisper. When he looked up, his smirk had returned. Langdon let go of her wrist and she hated him for it. “Leave that to me.” He searched her gaze and held onto it with an intensity that made her cheeks flush. “Anyone willing to kill to protect their secrets—and mine—is worthy of my trust. Do I have yours?”

She crouched to wrench the knife from the floor. “If you clean up the mess first.”

Langdon reached out a hand, fingers curled, his rings catching the weak light from the fireplace. The blood that had been spilled on the floor started to leach back into her corpse, not a trace of it left behind except for the red she’d managed to, yet again, get all over her clothes and hands. And then the Gray’s body ignited, the flames summoned from nowhere and producing little smoke. Together, they watched the body burn until there was nothing left except a few singed floorboards.

She supposed there were perks to earning the Antichrist’s trust, too.

***

Tagging my usual list, but if you want to (or don’t want to) be tagged, just let me know!

@lastregasolitaria @mylippo @zeciex @lvngdvns @langdonsdemon @wvntersldr @sojournmichael @gabnelson98 @antichristlangdxn @keavysmithxoxo @batgirlbride @dead-witch-boy @boofy1998 @gentianea @cryptid-coalition ��@kinlovecody @yuriohoe04 @electricurie @marvel-rpdr-and-ahs @gallxntdean @jcshadowkiss-blog @frozenhuntress67 @sebastianshoe @dixmond-taurus @bookobssesed99 @sassylangdon @queenie435 @holylangdon @angsty-otters-blog @denaexr @mr-langdonn @micheallangdons @lostin-fern @crazedcatcuddler @michaelsapostle @wroteclassicaly @monsucre @ritualmichael @queencocoakimmie @bluelancesredswords @theharvestgirloffire @punkysouls @sevenwondr @prettykitten123 @zoebensvn @kylosbabe @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @readsalot73 @americanhorrorstudies @tiny-ruby-seeds @confettucini @xavierplympton @kaetastic @blakewaterxx @marvel-imagines-yes-please @forever1313 @anacerta @imagines-oneshots-blog @tothetardissterek @vixi3303

#michael langdon x you #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x fem!reader #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon fanfiction #fic: reckoning

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arlingtonpark · 4 years

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SNK 124 Review

I’m calling this maneuver the Full Eren, in which your mounting resentment gets the better of you and you to do crazy shit.

Connie’s…been through a lot. Like, everyone here has been through a lot, but for him, it’s… a lot a lot. He lost his home, his family, a couple of his friends, had to kill people against his better nature, lost his best friend, and then Eren started working with Zeke.

He’s lost a lot, and it seems to have finally gotten to him. Sasha’s death seems to have done it. He’s become more and more bitter recently and he’s become more and more resentful. When you get shat on by the world, it gets easy to think you deserve a break.

Your toilet clogs, your car dies, and your girlfriend dumps you all on the same day, and so you start expecting things to start going your way again. Maybe you even expect people to start showing some kindness to you. Because you’re going through a lot.

Then, when things don’t really start going your way, you get pissed.

Connie’s entire freak out here basically amounts to this:

It’s not fair!

Armin got to come back to life by eating someone. And he’s Armin. They were originally going to bring back Erwin, but they went with Armin instead, the bright but inexperienced one.

Now there’s a repeat of that happening, but this time Armin tells Connie they have to choose strategically, not with their emotions.

It’s not fair!

Connie’s definitely being irrational here. Armin never asked to be brought back; Connie’s anger should be directed at Jean or Mikasa.

And of course what Armin is saying doesn’t imply that Connie’s mom is unimportant. I’m sure Armin does value her life, it’s just that he’s not thinking in those terms. In terms of bettering Paradis’ current situation, bringing back Pixis has more value than bringing back Connie’s mom. That frame of reference is what’s relevant here.

No one denies that choosing Armin over Erwin wasn’t strategically sound. Even Armin himself. But going against this logic before doesn’t mean they should just ignore it completely now.

It makes sense to revive Pixis instead of Connie’s mom. That doesn’t say anything about her value as a human being.

But now, Connie’s decided he’s entitled to some kind of break and he’s going to get it, and fuck you if you try to stop him.

People can do cruel things when they’re aggrieved.

What Connie is doing is awful. He’s going to revive someone by killing a kid. Doing that to bring back Pixis would have some sense to it, but here, Connie is just being selfish.

He’s not doing this for the sake of everyone around him; he’s doing it for his own sake and his mother’s.

Compare this to Eren.

Eren is doing this for the sake of everyone around him, but that is outweighed by the cost of all the people who’ll die. Killing billions for the sake of millions will never not be wrong.

Meanwhile, sacrificing Falco to revive Pixis would arguably be fair, since Pixis would be better able to help people than Falco. Or Connie’s mom for that matter.

He would be Paradis’ new leader, and he’d clearly be good in that role. He’s smart, personable, and fair. He has expertise, but knows when to let other people, even completely inexperienced people, take the lead, as he did when defending Trost. These are all things you need in a leader.

He’d be the best person who could lead Paradis.

But this is Attack on Titan, so of course they had to kill him instead.

Speaking of Eren, I love how the end of the world is mostly a background event in this chapter. Apparently we’re getting every loose end out of the way before the main action begins!

I for one believe that killing billions of random people is a bad thing. Many would disagree with me, but whatever.

The best part about this chapter is how it systematically deconstructs every brain dead argument fans are making to justify Eren.

The very first thing this chapter points out is that Eldians will die too. There are Eldians all over the world and they’ll be crushed with everyone else. And because this is Attack on Titan, we can clearly see a mom crying with her baby on just the second page.

But I guess Eren considers them race traitors or something for hating Paradis.

Oh, yeah, and also he just assumes they hate Paradis.

Connie isn’t the only irrational one in this chapter.

Next thing is Jean victim-blaming the people Eren is about to kill. That’s what it is, victim-blaming, and I’ve actually seen it thrown about to justify the Rumbling.

These people are going to be massacred, but…they brought it on themselves! They started this fight! They can’t complain about dying, they chose to hate on Paradis!

The chapter rightfully casts this as fishing for excuses. “They” is a very broad term here. Most of the people in that “they” are not involved in the fighting and are just people living their lives. Lots of them probably hate Paradis, but so what? They’re just random people with no power to harm Paradis.

Those people probably also hate Eldians, and many Eldians are clearly hurt because of that bigotry, but who cares?

Eren clearly doesn’t, because he’s killing the Eldians too!

Eren is killing everyone outside Paradis, regardless of whether they’re Eldian or not, regardless of whether they hate Paradis or not.

That’s the final thing the chapter points out. Many of the people who’ll die are not involved in the conflict, like Onyankopon’s country.

Conflict is a bad thing because it hurts people and destroys lives. To limit this destruction, soldiers are required to distinguish between civilians and enemy combatants. Shoot at the enemy soldiers, not the guy who just happens to live down the street. The point is to limit people’s suffering. Otherwise…you end up with what Eren’s doing.

Slaughtering people because they’re not on your side.

Almost everyone who’ll die are just people living their lives. Eren is killing them because for all his talk about the value of life, he actually rejects that idea. As I’ve said before, Eren is basically a nihilist.

He has no morals. He has no principles. He has no ideology. He just wants his friends to live. That’s a good cause, but it is not tempered by anything that you’d call “thought.”

Eren’s problem is that he has no vision.

He has no vision for himself, the world, or even his friends, the very people who’s doing this for. He wants them to live, but not being dead isn’t the most visionary life goal.

He wants his friends to live long lives, but he doesn’t seem to care about what they do with those lives, not even in a friendly “Hey, so what’ve you got planned for this week?” kind of way.

He can’t imagine people having dreams because he’s never had any himself, aside from wanting other people to survive to live their dreams. Eren is what you could call “thriving-challenged.”

I don’t know if Eren will succeed, but the story clearly does not support the Rumbling, and that’s good.

The Founding Titan’s power is apparently a lot cruder than most assumed. Eren unhardened the walls, but he had to cancel all hardening to do it. And he apparently cannot control all titans. Come to think of it, Eren’s speech last chapter was broadcast to all Eldians, not just the ones on Paradis, even though he has no reason to tell Eldians outside of Paradis what he’s doing.

I don’t know where Isayama is going with this, but it makes for an interesting limitation. Wielding the full power of the Founding Titan has been compared to being a god, but now the Founding Titan isn’t looking so omnipotent anymore.

That’s not much of a limitation, since Eren can still flatten the world at will, but that just makes him like the Death Star. An imprecise, hulking planet killer.

But, just maybe, vulnerable to a smaller-scale attack.

So Annie’s back. Isayama had to do it if he wanted to make it up to the fans for a mostly Gabi-centric chapter.

I don’t really get the anger people have for Gabi. Yeah, she’s been an ass before, but…that’s the point?

Her character arc is that she learns how to not be an ass.

She’s already made up with Falco and Kaya, and it seems she’s going to be on at least neutral terms with Armin and Mikasa, all that’s left is to make nice with Connie for killing his girlfriend.

That may not be possible, but it’ll be a sign of how much she’s grown to even try it.

Gabi’s arc is a good sign for where this story is going. She was a brainwashed warrior, but by being shown kindness and mercy, she’s realized how wrong she was. In that way, she’s a better person than Eren.

Eren never could see past the hatred the outside world had for Paradis. It never seemed to occur to him that people could be made to think differently. It was pretty lazy of him.

That’s a pretty good word for it, actually. Lazy.

Everyone else was actually trying for a peaceful resolution, meanwhile Eren was just bumming around not helping. He sort of seemed to be waiting for a solution to fall into his lap. He must have forgotten he’s the main character of Attack on Titan.

Eren never fought for peace; he gave up too easily.

Gabi, meanwhile, has actually changed. She was shown the humanity of her supposed enemies and she’s reevaluated her worldview.

Eren has said he understands his enemies now, but that’s such a shallow change. He understands they have lives they live through, but he clearly doesn’t value their lives any more than he previously did.

So, yeah, Gabi’s a pretty good character, and a pretty good person. I hope she lives.

Another A+ goes to Kaya this chapter, who’s finally come around to Gabi.

I’m not sure how I feel about how quickly she changes her view on Gabi, but I get the logic. In that moment, as Gabi was standing over Nile’s titan, Kaya saw the same daring selflessness she saw in Sasha. That’s what wins her over.

That leads to the talk about people having devils in them. I like how the series talks about this here. Everyone has a capacity for wrongdoing. We all struggle with it sometimes.

What’s great about this is that the series is talking about the faults in human nature in a way that allows for choice and free will.

This is a more complex understanding of human nature. It’s not like what you see in places like 4chan or Reddit, where people just say that humans are selfish and we can’t do anything about it. People have no free will because we’re just slaves to our “violent nature” and that’s why war is inevitable and blah blah blah.

According to this scene, people struggle to not do evil. Implicitly, this means that some people choose to do evil. They give in. This notion allows for ideas like responsibility to exist. That’s good, because it’s true!

Compare this to Frieda’s worldview, which is similar but subtly different. She believed that the world’s cruelty meant we needed to be kind to others to the point of subservience.

Frieda saw kindness as a response to the world’s cruelty; in 124, kindness is framed as something that can directly change the world and make it less cruel. It is proactive, ironically by not doing something. Not giving in to the devil inside you.

I really hope Tia Ballard plays Yelena in the English dub of season 4. She’d be great in the role.

I can say that with more confidence than Yelena can say Zeke is special, that’s for sure. She’s just now starting to realize that Zeke isn’t all that special, or really even all that smart, and now she just wants a chair to sit down in.

I don’t know what’s going to happen to her, but it looks like Floch is going to try and take over, so she’s probably toast.

I don’t expect Floch to get anywhere far, since he’s presumably doing this to keep the throne warm for when Eren gets back, and Eren doesn’t want it. Floch will dispose of the volunteers but will be himself disposed of when (if?) Eren returns to Paradis and inevitably rejects the role of king.

…Is Historia even technically still the reigning monarch? Her Prime Minister was murdered and her government was overthrown by a coup with popular support.

Jeez, this probably shows how much she’s been a nonentity more than anything else. Her majesty’s government was deposed in a coup with the backing of the people, and she just…wasn’t a factor!

At this point, there has to be something big going on with Historia if we’re being made to wait this long for her to enter back into play. Set ups and payoffs are a basic part of any story. The longer Historia’s inevitable role is withheld from us, the more payoff there will need to be.

I don’t doubt that there could be a satisfying payoff, but the curiosity is starting to become palpable.

...Crap, so this what it’s like to be powerless in the face of something you have control over.

The outside world has my sympathies!

#snk 124 #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #spoilers #snk chapter 124

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writingfromkitchenator · 4 years

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Bruce ~ We Didn’t Start the Fire

800 Followers Challenge! This is it, the last one! (Finally)

Bonus fic

Based on We Didn’t Start the Fire by Billy Joel

Words: 1,790

Warnings: Angst, power mishap, fear of being unable to fix the problem.

Neither you or Bruce asked for this, you hadn't wanted to be involved, hadn't wanted to be heroes, but it seemed that destiny did you both in.

You’d both been scientists, both involved in accidents with your experiments and both preferred to be in hiding rather than picked up and thrown into mess after mess. Most said that this irony was what brought the two of you together, although your own powers were very different from Bruce’s, but the two of you left it as sheer coincidence, saying you just happened to like similar things.

Including trying to stay out of the Avenger’s battles.

“You guys are a strong enough team without us,” You’d argue every time. “I don’t see why it’s so necessary for the two of us to be there.”

“Because one of you can turn into a big green tank and the other can turn themselves and other items invisible at will,” Tony would usually be the one saying back. “I still reckon you should try it on the other, but that’s just my opinion.”

“No one’s making the Hulk invisible Tony,” Steve said. “That’s the last thing we need on top of everything else.”

Tony would shrug. “You can’t say it wouldn’t be a hell of a surprise for the enemy.”

You’d always squeeze Bruce’s hand at this as he’d blanch, still not comfortable with feeling used, neither were you, but you kept more quiet on the matter.

And so, battle after battle, enemy after enemy, the two of you were dragged in to do your bits on the battlefield, but the truth was, both of you would rather be back at the lab working on new things that would be needed.

Finally, one day, you had had enough, vanishing and not turning up for the next team meeting. It was clear Bruce was worried, so no one pushed him for answers on where you were, but it didn’t stop more than a few being angry at you for being missing.

When a couple of them got hurt on the mission, it just made things worse, but when you still didn’t appear after a couple of days, that all faded and they started to get extremely worried, especially Bruce.

Tony was keeping him as occupied as possible, stopping him from trying to think too much on you, but even after long days it wasn’t entirely possible, especially when he found himself alone in his room.

He hadn’t been sleeping without you there and tonight was no different as he found himself staring at the ceiling. He knew he should sleep, that Hulk always grew more agitated when he didn’t, but it was near impossible feeling the cold bed beside him.

Then he heard crying.

At first Bruce thought that he was dreaming, that by some miracle he’d managed to get to sleep, but when it persisted, when it grew a little louder, he knew that he wasn’t.

Getting to his feet, he padded softly around his space, following the noise, and when he saw nothing in his small lounge, he frowned, sure that the noise was coming from here.

Then he saw the sunken spot on the lounge.

Slowly, he stepped forward, his voice quiet. “Y/N?”

The crying eased for a moment and then there was quiet response. “Can you see me?”

Bruce frowned at this. “No honey, I can’t. What’s wrong? Where have you been?”

There was a small whimper from the lounge. “I’ve been here, but no one could see more or hear me. It’s been terrifying.”

Carefully, Bruce moved forward and sat down on the other end of the lounge, looking at where he thought you were. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Your voice sounded tired, weak. “I just…when the call went out for that mission, I just…I couldn’t do it Bruce, I couldn’t go out there again, I burst into tears and before I knew what was happening, no one could see me and no one could hear me. That’s never happened before and I…I found myself so alone. I didn’t want to touch anyone for fear of scaring them and I’m-I’m so, so sorry that people came back hurt, I never-I never…”

“It’s okay,” Bruce said softly, wanting to reach for you, but not sure how. “I promise Y/N, it’s okay. I can hear you now, so we can start to sort this out.” He looked at the empty space and then holds out his hand. “Come here honey.”

He felt the familiar touch of your hand in his and, still moving slowly, he pulled you to him. You shook in his arms and he could feel dampness seeping into his shirt as you buried against him. Relief flooded Bruce, even though he couldn’t see you for whatever reason, you were okay, after all these days apart, you were okay.

The two of you slept that night, Bruce taking some time to convince you that you needed rest, especially after saying that you hadn’t been sleeping either, then you could work this out together in the morning with the rest of the team.

The morning brought a lot of confusion, the team not entirely understanding why you’d been rendered soundless as well, or why you suddenly couldn’t control your powers. There weren’t too many solutions thrown around, no one really sure how to treat this, although Friday at least managed to get an infrared camera up to see you.

This was your power, you’d always been able to control it, now seemingly out of your control, the science was a little lost.

Bruce and Tony worked night and day, although it was clear that neither of them were comfortable taking your blood, being unable to see what they were doing. The rest of the team were trying to find other ways of helping, trying to see if anything would make you more visible. The closest any of them got was a new suit from Shield, lasting about ten minutes before slowly vanishing again.

It was frustrating, but there was little more than they could do than keep trying.

You tried to stick close to Bruce for the most part, feeling like he was your life line now, terrified of what would happen should you lose your voice again. Bruce didn’t mind, in fact he preferred it than not knowing where you were, but he was desperate to see you again.

Slowly though, it was seeming like a battle that you couldn’t win.

All of you had done every experiment that you could think of, and you were now sitting there, waiting, hoping the next idea would come soon.

Tony was the first to frown and lean forward, Bruce looking at him tiredly. “Y/N…you said this happened as a mission briefing was called, right?”

You sighed heavily from the corner of the room. “Yeah, why?”

But Tony’s mind was working now and Bruce watched him expectedly. “Well…it seems odd but have you thought about taking some time away?”

There was an odd silence in the room.

“Tony,” You said slowly. “Are you saying this is a stress reaction?”

“It’s entirely possible,” Tony said, nodding as he thought about it more. “You and Bruce have never been a fan of going on missions, it was bound to affect you at some point.”

“I’m a scientist Tony,” You said a little flatly. “Being stressed is part of the job.”

“Agreed,” He said. “But there’s a difference between mental stress and physical stress. None of us really know the true effects your power has on your body, and we have been asking more and more of you lately, so it’s entirely possible, as a reaction, that your body just shut itself off.”

“That could affect the voice too,” Bruce slowly nodded in agreement. “Again, we’ve never known the full extent of your abilities, if your body decided that it needed to be away from everything.”

You were silent for a moment. “But why did it take so long to come back? That put me under more stress trying to find out what was going on.”

“Well, you’d been crying,” Bruce said softly. “Your body was releasing all those pent up emotions. Chances are that it finally eased enough, at least on a chemical level, to be able to balance you back out a bit.”

There was silence for a moment.

“So, what? You’re saying I need a holiday?”

Tony chuckled at the suggestion. “We all need a break sometimes Y/N, so yeah, why not? We’ve got private jets that can take you anywhere, I’m sure after a day or two, with Bruce of course two, you’ll be back to your old self.”

You didn’t miss the wink at Bruce, or the red creep into Bruce’s ears. “Seriously Tony?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “What other ideas do we have? Certainly none that I can currently think of. If it doesn’t work, then we’ll go back to the drawing board, but I certainly don’t see the harm in being away from all this for a little while. If anything, it’ll probably be good for both of you.”

“He’s right Y/N,” Bruce agreed softly. “If anything, the time away will at least allow us to clear our heads, start fresh if it doesn’t work. If it does work, then we can work on managing it properly, maybe have you go on less missions, or at least have lower expectations set on your shoulders during missions.”

“But…” The hesitation was clear in your voice. “I don’t…I don’t want to just leave you guys to yourself, I felt terrible not being able to help on that last one.”

“You let us worry about that,” Tony said. “We’ve always worked with what he had, so we can get ourselves sorted, you just worry about you for the moment.”

Bruce nods, even though you made an indignant noise. “I’ll go start preparing somethings, that way we can go as soon as possible,” He then smiles softly. “I’m sure Tony has some good recommendations on place to go.”

He hurries from the room, you watching after him, an affectionate smile on your lips that no one could see.

Tony chuckles and stands to stretch, smiling over at you. “You have chosen wisely.”

You nod. “I know.”

He pulls up several holiday locations on the computer, feeling you step up next to him. “You make sure he relaxes a little too, okay?”

Nudging Tony gently, you nod. “Trust me Tony, I’ve got this covered, someone has to look after him as much as he looks after me.”

Tony smiles warmly, the two of you going over several spots and, if Tony wasn’t mistaken, there was just the smallest flicker of you coming back into existence.

#marvel #avengers #bruce #bruce x reader #short #drabbles #800 followers challenge

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zoocross0vers · 5 years

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Carcass Bride: Part 2

A/N: Hey everyone, sorry about the delay. I meant to post this up last night, but since it was pretty late already I decided to wait until today. So a bit later than expected, but I hope you enjoy this conclusion nonetheless. :)

...

Part 2: The Carcass Bride and Her Groom

If Judy hadn't been paralyzed with shock, she would've surely been crying with confusion and anger. How did things go south this quickly? She had surprisingly found the perfect mate for her in the male she was originally assigned to marry, but now…

Things had gone according to plan for her parents and family because she had still married someone who would provide her family with the money they needed to survive. In that sense she was happy to help out for their sake, but why did she still feel so broken?

Sure, it wasn’t a guarantee that she’d end up falling in love with her original fiancée, but the fact of the matter was that she did. She fell in love with Nick Wilde. She was willing to go to the farthest ends of the earth to find him after he had ran away embarrassed of his constant fumbling during their wedding rehearsal. What hurt even more was that she was aware that he too loved her. He had told her so when he had come back to her -- out of breath and petrified beyond belief. He looked as if he had seen a ghost just before he regained his color and told her with all sincerity that he wished to be with her always and wanted to marry her more than anything.

But then...she realized why he had looked so terrified moments before. He had been taken from her. By a vixen... and not just by a vixen, but by a dead one! A literal walking carcass! And she dragged him away from her just as he had confessed his love for her. Her Nick. Her fox. He was in trouble and she couldn’t help him. She tried so hard but failed him. And now...now she had been forced to marry someone new. Someone who showed her no interest or concern.

Her parents had at the very least thrown her some concerned glances -- noticing her evident sadness. But her husband? This Lord Woundwort. He hadn’t even looked at her, much less had he taken the time to ask her what’s wrong. He just continued on with his speech.

“Elegant, cultured, radiant. Judith has found a husband with all of these qualities and more,” said the large rabbit, his voice heavy with arrogance, “Serendipity brought us together and no force on earth can tear us apart.”

Just then, as if he had tempted fate itself, a green flame suddenly surged from the fireplace. All of the rabbits in the room gasped in fear, wondering what was happening. It wasn’t long until some bluish looking animals started to slowly appear behind all of Judy’s guests and family. And then there was the sudden plop of an eye in Judy’s father’s soup. “There’s an eye in my soup.”

“Aaah!” screamed one of Judy’s aunts in horror as things quickly turned chaotic in a flash! Everywhere they looked, there was a skeleton or some other decaying blue carcass of an animal causing panic. It was as the town crier simply put it, “THE DEAD WALK THE EARTH!!!”

The dead soon ran out of Judy’s house chasing out her relatives and guests, all except her husband Lord Woundwort, who merely snorted at at any carcass that tried coming near him. Though they were dead, they seemed genuinely terrified of the savage looking rabbit.

Not long after, everyone was gone, save for Judy and Lord Woundwort. “Right,” he said, practically unfazed by the previous chaos, “We’re going to take whatever money we can and get out of here.”

“Money?” Judy uttered as the word finally took her out of her depressive trance. “What money?” she asked again with a confused brow.

“Your dowry. It’s my right!” barked the hare sized rabbit.

“My parents don’t have any money. It’s my marriage to you that will save them from the poorhouse.”

Though the dead didn’t frighten Lord Woundwort, Judy’s words certainly did. “T-The poorhouse?!” he stammered in anger, “You’re lying! It isn’t true! Tell me that you’re lying!!!” he shouted as he harshly shook her by her arms.

“Did things not go according to your plan Lord Woundwort,” Judy asked, almost mockingly. Though she didn’t know why he had chosen to marry her initially, she had a feeling that it wasn’t for anything good and it seemed that she was absolutely right. She shoved him away from her, forcing him to release her, “Well, perhaps in disappointment, we are perfectly matched.” She marched out of the room in a huff.

The gray bunny made it out the door when she realized that the dead were still everywhere outside. The only difference now was that nobody seemed to be afraid of them anymore. They were all surprisingly walking side by side with them and they all appeared to be heading to the local church nearby with a giant wedding cake in tow. Where are they all going? Judy thought, as she followed behind them.

Pastor Bogo, a hulking cape buffalo and the church’s pastor, stood outside before the church’s entrance in his pajamas. He waved his arms menacingly toward the dead, “Back you demons! You shall not enter! Get back! Back! Back!!!”

The dead mammals merely glanced awkwardly at one another until a dead wolf spoke to the buffalo, “Keep it down, we’re in a church.”

The dead mammals ignored the buffalo and walked in as Pastor Bogo merely stood there, completely stunned over the whole scene.

Not long after, the wedding march began to play all throughout the church.

At the altar, stood Nick as he turned to greet his marching bride. Skye, the vixen carcass bride, marched down the aisle while two small, skeletal otter pups decorated her path with flower petals. Her blue face was full of bliss as her sapphire colored eyes stared up blissfully at her awaiting groom. Nick watched her with a smile. She was beautiful. Even for a dead vixen with a completely skeletal arm and leg, she was still quite lovely. Though she wasn’t his ideal bride, nor the girl he truly loved, he still liked her. If he had to marry someone else beside his beloved Judy, it would be her. She was mature, kind, caring, and strangely enough, still full of life despite being dead.

Besides, what did he have to lose at this point? The girl he loved...or at least thought he loved had betrayed him…

She had betrayed him for someone else…

How could she? It was all he could think when one of his family’s servants, a chubby cheetah who had recently been ill named Clawhauser, had suddenly died and informed him of Judy’s new engagement. He had told him that she had married that vicious looking rabbit that suddenly arrived to their wedding rehearsal. Was it that? Did she choose him instead, because he was one of her own kind?

Did that explain why it was he chose Skye too, despite the price being losing his own life in order to make their marriage binding? Did he really prefer a vixen over a doe, just like Judy very likely preferred a buck over him? Did Judy actually choose this buck? Or was she forced to?

It hurt him to think that she did, but he couldn’t say. All he knew was that he didn’t prefer a vixen. He loved Judy despite her being a rabbit. But now that she was snatched away from him, what more was there to lose? Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to die, if it meant making his marriage official with a girl who really did love him.

At this point, there was no turning back. He would numb his remaining feelings for Judy and promise to love Skye with all his unbeating heart.

Skye finally made it to the altar, her smile never faltering. Finally! She would be the bride she was originally meant to be, but this time, it would be with a kind and sweet mammal. Not with the murdering monster that snatched her dreams away from her and killed her on what was to be the happiest day of her life.

Nick was a handsome, kind, sweet, and loving mammal, and she knew that she would at last find her peace and happiness with him.

He offered her his paw with a warm smile and she took it, standing beside him at the altar.

Elder Otterton, a middle aged skeleton who was once an otter, stood before them to officially marry the two in death. He was referred to as ‘Elder Otterton’, due to him having died over three hundred years ago. In that regard, he was one of the oldest and wisest members of the land of the dead. It was he too who had informed the carcass bride Skye, that her marriage to Nick never existed because he was alive and she was dead. Therefore, death had already parted them.

Though now, they would correct that by having Nick drink from the ‘Wine of Ages’, a poison that would forever cease his heart and allow him to join Skye in marriage and in death.

Once the wedding march ended, Elder Otterton began the ceremony, “Dearly beloved, and departed. We are gathered here today to join this fox and this carcass in marriage.”

Unbeknownst to anyone, another bride had at last made her way toward the church. Judy stood at the church’s entrance when her jaw dropped in shock. “Nick?” she gasped with a breaking heart. A cheetah skeleton that sat in the back shushed her after her surprised remark.

Another deflating gasp escaped Judy’s mouth. No...this can’t be happening… she thought as she quietly made her way around one side of the row of seats to a pillar that stood to the side of the altar. She watched from behind Nick’s back. She was so paralyzed with sadness, that all she could do was watch as the love of her life was being married to the vixen carcass right in front of her.

“Living first,” continued the skeletal otter, instructing him to recite his vows.

“With this paw,” Nick began as he raised his right paw, “I will lift your sorrows,” he lifted the cup where the poison he was to consume would go into. “Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.”

“Now you,” instructed elder Otterton to Skye.

Skye took a moment to stare deeply into Nick’s eyes as he smiled at her. She was so appreciative of the sacrifice he was making for her. “With this paw,” she began, not wanting to waste a second longer. “I will lift your sorrows,” she lifted the red bottle carrying the poison that was to kill her groom, “Your cup will never empty,” she looked to him again as Nick gave her a reassuring smile to let her know that he was ready to meet his fate. Skye gave him a small nod and began pouring the poison into his cup as she continued to recite her vows, “For I will be…”

Her gaze wandered as she caught a glimpse of someone in the background. Skye gasped when she realized that it was Judy -- the 'other’ female -- as Skye had once jealously called her before Nick explained to her that Judy was his actual fiancee.

Judy gasped quietly as well when she saw that she had been spotted.

“I will be…” Skye repeated, struggling to keep focused as she glanced back and forth between Nick and the clearly heartbroken Judy.

“Go on my dear,” encouraged Elder Otterton, completely oblivious to the vixen’s hesitance.

“Your cup will never empty,” Skye repeated, forcing herself to continue and taking another glance at Judy. “F-For I will be…”

Seeing that she was unable to continue, Nick finished the line for her, “I will be your wine.” Nick brought the poisoned cup toward his lips until Skye suddenly placed a skeletal paw over the cup, preventing Nick from drinking out of it. Nick turned to her, completely confused as their guests muttered in equal confusion.

“She’s having second thoughts,” they heard one of their dead guests mutter to his living wife.

Judy’s jaw gaped in awe, surprised at the dead bride’s sudden hesitance.

“I can’t,” said the vixen with a breaking voice.

“What’s wrong?” asked Nick with concern as he turned to glance back, noticing that something behind him was bothering her. Before he could see however, Skye placed a paw at his cheek, bringing his full attention back to her.

“This is wrong,” said the vixen, her voice heartbroken yet decidedly firm. “I was a bride. My dreams were taken from me. And now...now I’ve stolen them from someone else,” she wept with sincerity, “I love you Nick, but you’re not mine.”

The carcass bride released his cheek and with a humble smile, drew her paw forward, asking the bunny bride to step forth. Nick followed the direction of the vixen’s paw and his jaw dropped when he saw why it was that she was so hesitant to continue. “Judy!” Nick said, his still beating heart skipping a beat at the sight of her.

Judy made her way toward the two foxes, her gaze low at first in a mix between guilt and shame until she reached the vixen’s welcoming paw. Skye took the bunny bride’s paw and then took Nick’s paw, placing it gently over the bunny’s.

Skye smiled happily at them both. It was only at the sight of her reassuring smile, that two original lovers felt that it was okay. They returned the vixen an appreciative smile and then turned to one another with a loving smile towards each other.

“Oh, how touching,” spoke a malevolent voice. Everyone turned to the church’s entrance where Lord Woundwort stood. “I always cry at weddings,” he said with a mocking sniffle.

Judy took a step back from him in disgust. In her joy at being reunited with Nick, she had completely forgotten about her previous wedding to the large vicious rabbit.

“Our young lovers together at last,” Lord Woundwort said mockingly as he made his way down the aisle, “Surely now they can live happily ever after,” he reached the three mammals at the altar, practically hounding over Judy, “But you forget…” He violently grabbed Judy by an arm and pulled her away from Nick and Skye, “She still my wife!!! And I will not leave here empty pawed!”

Judy struggled in the rabbit’s grasp until Skye spoke, garnering everyone’s attention. “You!” she said, as if suddenly recognizing the vicious brown rabbit.

The savage-looking rabbit’s own eyes widened as well, suddenly recognizing the vixen too. “Skye?”

That gave the vixen her answer. “YOU!” she hissed furiously.

“But...I left you,” said the rabbit.

“For dead,” said the vixen, finishing his sentence. The crowd gasped in shock. Skye had just come face to face with her former betrothed and murderer. Their wedding guests began to growl angrily at the large rabbit.

“Stay back!” hissed the rabbit at the guests as they began surrounding him. The hare sized rabbit took a large sword out of a short skeleton fennec fox’s stomach. He brought it under Judy’s neck and sunk his claws into her arm.

“Aah!” Judy gasped in pain as the rabbit tightened his grip on her to ensure that she wouldn’t struggle.

“Sorry to cut things short, but we must be on our way,” said the rabbit with a wicked smirk.

“Take your paws off her!” Nick growled at the brown rabbit with bared teeth.

The psychotic rabbit smirked at him and pressed the tip of the sword toward Nick’s stomach, “Do I have to kill you too?”

With Judy now free from harm's way, Finnick, the small skeleton fox, bit Lord Woundwort’s rear, forcing him to release Judy. Judy free herself and ran away from Lord Woundwort, standing beside Skye as she held her arm in pain.

“Nick! Catch!” yelled an old armadillo with glasses as she tossed Nick a weapon to defend himself. Little did she know that she had tossed him a two pronged fork.

“Really?” Nick spat in disbelief when he realized that it was just a fork.

“Sorry,” responded the dead armadillo.

Beggars can't be choosers however as the rabbit charged at Nick with the sword. Though it wasn’t at all an ideal weapon, Nick made due with the fork, blocking Lord Woundwort’s attack. Nick mostly dodged and blocked with his fork, getting in only a couple of pokes at Woundwort. One at his already injured rear and another at his foot when he had forced Nick to take cover beneath one of the church’s pews.

“Aah!” Lord Woundwort growled in pain as he fell back, knocking down the nearby pews like dominoes. Judy and Skye stepped back as the pews fell in their direction.

Nick jumped back on his feet when Lord Woundwort did the same, popping out from beneath the pews. With an almost savage-like growl, he slapped the fork away from Nick’s paw with the sword and then he violently slashed at Nick’s stomach with his own claws, forcing the fox down on his tail.

“Nick!” Judy cried as she tried to run to his side, but Skye held her back.

Nick hissed in pain and clenched at his stomach. Lord Woundwort hounded over him and pointed the blade right at Nick’s face. The hefty rabbit smirked with an evil sneer, “Look at you, pathetic. You call yourself a predator when a prey animal can easily knock you down? You lack the viciousness your kind should have. If I were you, I would’ve put those claws and teeth to good use and tear my enemies limb from limb.”

“Well, lucky me I guess that you’re not a predator,” Nick quipped sarcastically.

“Maybe not, but I can kill just as well. After all,” he turned to Skye with a sadistic grin, “You wouldn’t be the first fox I’ve killed.” Lord Woundwort pulled the blade back, ready to stab Nick right through his skull. He launched his arm forward with a growl.

“No!” Judy ran to him, only for Skye to push her back as the sound of a blade meeting flesh rang in everyone’s ears. Nick, Judy, along with all of the wedding guests gasped, when they all saw that it was Skye who had taken the blade in Nick’s stead.

Skye removed the blade from her stomach and pointed it at Lord Woundwort.

Lord Woundwort scoffed, “Touche my dear.”

“Get out,” Skye growled, having had enough of the rabbit.

“Nick,” Judy ran to Nick’s side.

“Carrots,” he stood and protectively placed an arm in front of her, keeping her safely hidden behind him and away from the psychotic rabbit.

Skye meanwhile kept the sword aimed at Lord Woundwort. The large rabbit laughed mockingly as he circled around her and headed toward the altar. “You’re going to kill me now?” Skye gave him no answer, she merely kept the blade aimed at him with every step he took, “Very well then, I’ll leave,” he stopped at the altar and raised up the wedding cup that Nick had held earlier. “But first, a toast! To Skye! Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.” He mocked as Skye’s ears fell back in sadness and humiliation.

“Lemme at him! Lemme at him! No! Don’t-Don’t hold me back!” cried a little green maggot named Maggot, who was Skye’s friend and local resident who lived behind one of her eyes. He was so appalled by Lord Woundwort’s words, as were the rest of the dead who desperately wanted to kill the cruel rabbit but were held back by Elder Otterton. “Wait!” he cried, “We must abide by their rules. We are amongst the living.”

Lord Woundwort chuckled and then turned back to Skye, “Tell me my dear, can a heart still break once it’s stopped beating?” He chugged the wine from the cup with one full gulp. He smacked his lips together and tossed the cup to the side. “How about...we find out!” he said as he charged toward Skye with a paw up, ready to strike at Skye’s chest with his sharp claws. Skye blocked with her arms, only for Lord Woundwort to suddenly stop in his tracks a second later. “Agh!” he choked, reaching for his throat and fell to his knees. He began to gasp and gag desperately as he moved his paws down to his chest, clutching at his heart.

Maggot smirked, thinking back on Elder Otterton’s previous words, “Not anymore,” he said with a sing-songy tone. When Lord Woundwort looked up, his face and fur were all blue now -- he was dead.

“Yup, you’re right. He’s all yours,” said Elder Otterton, letting the dead drag a now terrified and very dead Lord Woundwort back to the land of the dead with them -- to do whatever wicked thing they wished to do to him.

The armadillo cook from before, shut the door that led to the land of the dead, but not before eerily stating, “New arrival.”

Elder Otterton stayed behind for a moment and covered the ‘Wine of Ages’. It would no longer serve its actual use as Skye relented Nick to allow him to return to his true intended, Judy -- who was also now free from her own marriage as Lord Woundwort was now dead.

Judy rested her head and a paw against Nick’s chest, “Oh Nick, I never thought I would see you again.”

Skye smiled happily at them, but with a sadness still carried in her heart. She headed toward the door where the rest of the dead had left through.

Nick watched her go, saddened. Though he knew his place was really with Judy, he felt that he still owed her one. “Wait, I made a promise,” he said as he walked toward her.

Skye smiled and shook her head, “You kept your promise. You set me free,” she removed the wedding ring he had placed on her finger and placed it in his paw. She wrapped his paw around it. “Now I can do the same for you.” The vixen then looked back to Judy, “Take care of him will you? He’s a good guy.”

Judy smiled at her with a nod. Skye continued back toward the door when Judy called to her, “Wait, where will you go?” she asked, concerned for the selfless vixen.

“I guess, wherever death takes me,” she shrugged, “Congratulations you two. You make a lovely pair.” Nick and Judy held paws and nodded appreciatively at the vixen. Elder Otterton then came by the carcass bride’s side. She took his arm and gave the happy couple one final glance before she crossed the threshold back to the land of the dead.

Nick sighed as Skye forever disappeared as the door shut behind her and Elder Otterton. Though they weren’t meant for each other, he knew that she would always carry a special place in his heart as a dear friend.

He looked down toward Judy who looked as if she wanted to cry. “Hey,” he spoke gently to her, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied wiping at her forming tears, “It’s just...were you happy with her?” she asked meekly.

“What?”

“I mean, did I ruin your wedding? You both seemed happy until...I came along. And...And I just...” Judy’s eyes looked like they wanted to fill with tears again.

“Hey, don’t say that,” Nick cooed gently to her, cupping her cheeks in his paws.

“But…” she sniffled, “I want you to be happy and I don’t want to be the reason that you’re not.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her sweet words, “Listen to me Carrots,” he looked her in the eyes and spoke sincerely, “I won’t lie to you and say that I didn’t care for her. I did like her, but...I think that even she knew that you’re the one I truly love Judy.” Judy watched him, reading the sincerity in his eyes. “I felt so broken when I heard that you had gotten married to someone else. More so when I heard that it was a rabbit that you had married. I-I thought that you didn’t want me because I was a fox and…”

Judy gripped his wrists, “How could you think that? I could never willingly replace you with anyone else. I don’t care that you’re a fox.” His eyes shone as she lovingly caressed a paw at his cheek, “I love you Nick.”

He smiled wide, his heart fluttering with joy. He rubbed his thumbs against the fur of her cheeks, “I love you too, Judy.” Judy moved her face forward, attempting to kiss him, but he put a paw at her lips, “Wait, before we do, there’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you properly the first time around.” Judy raised a brow in confusion, until Nick lifted his right paw and confidently began to speak, “With this paw, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty for I will be your wine.” Judy gave him a giddy smile, “With this candle,” he pointed at his paw, “Just pretend there’s a candle there,” he quipped as Judy giggled, “I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you, Judith Laverne Hopps,” he gently slipped the ring on Judy’s middle finger and took her paw in both of his, “To be mine. Forever and always.”

Judy couldn’t contain her tears any longer as she jumped up at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I do! Forever and always too.” Without another word, they kissed. Two very different mammals who were only meant to marry for financial gain, but instead found love in one another as they were at last reunited once more.

Though they were happy, there was one question that remained unanswered: What had happened to the carcass bride that had accidentally torn them apart, but then selflessly brought them back together again?

Back in the Land of the Dead…

Skye sat on a small set of stairs looking up at the sky. Her friend, Maggot crawled up to her and noticed her just staring up at nothing, “What are you looking at?”

“Back in the world of the living, the moon would be right up there,” she pointed to the sky.

The little green maggot grimaced sadly at her with a shake of his head. “I don’t know why you gave up that boy to that bunny.” He climbed aboard her arm up to her ear.

“I didn’t give him up,” she replied. “I accidentally stole him from someone else and I just set him free.”

“Call it what you will,” scoffed the maggot, “I still think you’re just making yourself blind to the truth,” he said as he popped out of her eye socket and forced her eyeball out of it.

“Hey!” she barked, “How often are you going to do that, you nasty little worm!”

“Until you come to your senses,” he replied, “You’re just going to let what that horrible rabbit said about you be true? That you’ll always be a bridesmaid?”

Skye huffed sadly, “That doesn’t matter now Maggot. I’ll always be a carcass bride on the outside, and maybe I’ll never be the bride I was meant to be in any other regard. But I’ve made my peace with that, so quit bugging me with your cynical opinion.” She looked around her, “Great, where’d my eye go?” she walked a little further down the street she was on and spotted an eyeball on the ground. “Oh, there it is.”

She picked it up and put it back on, though there was something off about it. “What the?” she said as she could swear that she was seeing two different things -- one of which was a profile view of herself. She looked to her side and saw a blue striped hare in a tuxedo looking at her with one pale blue eye and a sapphire one. Skye removed the eye she picked up just as he removed the sapphire eye from his own socket. They blinked with their one remaining eye and looked down at the extra eye in their paws. She held a pale blue one which matched his remaining one, just as he held a sapphire one which matched her remaining eye.

“Oh, sorry,” they both said simultaneously with an embarrassed chuckle.

“Here, allow me to,” The hare exhaled on Skye’s eyeball and gently cleaned it against the lapel of his tuxedo. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to take your eye by mistake,” he said politely.

“That’s okay,” she said as she too took a moment to clean his eye with the skirt of her dress. “I’m sorry I took yours. You have a nice eye color,” she said.

“Thank you,” he replied with a smile as he took his eye back and handed her hers. “You have a very lovely eye. Er, eyes. They’re as bright as real sapphires.”

“Thank you,” she said with what may have been a blush at her cheeks had she still been alive. She placed her eye back at her socket. With it back in its rightful place, she was able to see that he was quite handsome. Not to mention, he was also very well dressed. “That’s a very nice suit you’re wearing. I like that flower at your pocket,” she complimented.

He placed his eye back and looked down at his suit, “Oh, thank you. It was my wedding suit.”

“You’re wedding suit?” she asked with a curious brow, “You mean you died on your wedding day?”

“Yes. I’m afraid I did,” he replied with a hint of sadness.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said the vixen, sympathetically.

“Don’t be. In certain ways, it may have been for the better.”

“Why’s that?” she asked curiously.

“Well, at least this way I’m no longer married to my now ex wife. She’s the one who murdered me you see.”

“Your wife?” the vixen asked in shock. “That’s awful!”

“Yes,” his tall striped ears fell back, “And what hurt the most was that I actually thought I loved her and...I thought she really loved me as well. She looked so innocent and sweet with those large glasses and her beautiful wool.” He sighed in disappointment, “Not long after our reception however, she asked me where I kept my stocks and bonds and after I answered her, she poisoned my glass of wine.”

“So you became a carcass groom?” she asked the obvious.

“Yes,” he said patting down his tuxedo. He then looked up at her, “And you? I see you’re a carcass bride.”

“Yeah. I guess I picked the wrong mate too and basically went through everything you did.”

“That’s truly horrible to hear. You seem like a sweet girl and you’re very beautiful. I can’t see why anyone would want to harm you,” he said with a polite smile.

Skye giggled shyly, “Well, I guess I could ask you the same thing. Why would someone want to harm such a polite and handsome gentlemammal such as yourself?”

The hare shrugged bashfully, “I suppose we’re two parts of the same romantically deceived coin.”

“I guess we are,” she agreed. “What’s your name by the way? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before.”

“Oh, that’s because I died in a town called Bunnyburrow, just outside of Zootopia. But I couldn’t stand wandering around there any longer, knowing that that sheep was living off my wealth and lying to my family about my death. So I opted to leave instead.”

“That’s terrible,” she sympathized, “But don’t worry, she’ll be caught soon. Life, or I should say death always catches up with scum like the in the worst ways.” She smirked proudly with a cross of her arms, “I should know, the rabbit who murdered me died recently and, let’s just say that even in death he can’t rest in peace.” She winked.

“Really?” he asked amazed, while Skye nodded proudly. “Well then, perhaps justice will eventually find its way in my case. Last I heard, my family was starting to grow suspicious of her, so perhaps there is a chance my death will no longer remain a mystery to them.”

“It won’t,” she gave him a confident smirk.

The hare smiled in turn and offered her his paw in greeting, “Oh! Where are my manners? My name is Jack Savage, and you are...?”

“Skye,” she replied, offering her paw to him.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” he gently took her paw and placed a soft kiss on it. He then looked up to her eyes with a smile. “I look forward to getting to know you better during my stay here, Miss Skye.”

“Likewise, Jack,” she returned his warm smile.

They continued to hold paws, neither of them ready to let go of the other anytime soon.

Caught in one another’s gaze, neither noticed their respective maggots pop out of their respective ears. Maggot peeked out from Skye’s ear and locked eyes with a pink female maggot sticking out from Jack’s ear. The two stared at one another for a moment, until the female maggot batted her eyes at Maggot who shook his eyebrows at her with a flirty growl. And she in turn gave him a sultry growl.

As it were, it appeared that both Maggot and Lord Woundwort were wrong about Skye, for she was one carcass bride who had long last found her carcass groom. And this time, it would be a union that not even death would ever be able to part.

The End

…

A/N: Went with a different ending. She deserved a happy ending too, darn it! Lol! xD

Apologies once again for not having the full thing ready by Halloween, but I hope you enjoyed this abridged fic of Corpse Bride. Maybe for Christmas I’ll have something else done on time. Until then, hope you guys had a great Halloween, Dia de Los Muertos, and just have an overall good day! :D

#zootopia #wildehopps #nick x judy #judy x nick #savageskye #jack x skye #skye x jack #fanfic #crossover #corpse bride #Happy Belated Halloween 2019

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jinmukangwrites · 5 years

Text

End of the Day

ENDGAME SPOILERS, READ AT OWN RISK

A fix-it-fic because as good as Endgame was, there are still things I think could have ended differently. You know what I mean. We're all still crying.

-o-o-o-o-

The first thing he thinks when his eyes slowly creak open is that he shouldn't be alive. He doesn't know why he thinks that, only that it's at the forefront of his mind, that it's the only thing that's clear to him when the white ceiling above him slowly comes into focus. He shouldn't be alive, and there is a reason for that. A good reason. Something… something final and horrible happened. He remembers… pain shooting up his arm and an explosion, a flash of light. He remembers seeing the kid's face, tears and snot running down their cheeks and chin, he remembers wanting to say something, something important, but then Pepper came into his view, shining as beautiful as the sun, and Morgan, sweet Morgan, he can see her in her mother's eyes.

"You can rest now," she says, and he isn't inclined to argue. He's so tired, in pain, and-

He should be dead. He used the infinity stones… all of them. And he's just a human.

He should be dead.

He blinks and glances around the room, his short-lived theory of this being heaven is torn up like a scrap piece of paper when he sees the monitors and the wires piling around the room and connecting to his body. He can feel the pinch on an IV in his arm… his left arm. He can't feel the right. In fact, he can't feel a whole lot of the right side of his body.

He looks down and the heart monitor gives away his jumping heart when he sees nothing where his arm should be, his hospital gown falls off his shoulder strangely and he's hit with a strange sense of nausea. His arm is gone. It looks so unnatural and he can't stop looking at it.

His… arm is gone?

How could his entire arm be gone?

What happened?

Why is he alive?

There's a clicking noise as the white door across his room suddenly opens, he can only lay there in his mess of wires and blankets as a woman dressed in white medical clothes steps into the room. Dr Helen Cho stops in her tracks with wide eyes when her gaze falls on him. He's almost tempted to lift his arm to wave, but as consciousness continues to return to him, so does the pain. He settles for smiling slightly, the right corner of his mouth feels stiff.

"Tony," she breathes. She lifts her hand up to her ear and presses against a comm, Tony wonders where she got that, it looks advanced and he doesn't remember inventing it. "He's awake, send in the team."

He doesn't have time to question who the team is before she's quickly walking over to his bedside, nimble fingers checking over the monitors and machines before she's suddenly flashing a light in his eyes.

He hisses at the assault to his pupils and she makes a clicking noise with her tongue before she presses a button by the side of his bed. He finds himself being raised into a sitting position. "I'm going to check your stump, how are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm al-left," he says, or he tries to say. His mouth doesn't seem to want to work with him and it comes out a bit lazily and slurred. However, she does smile slightly; he's happy that even though he doesn't seem to be able to speak the best at the moment the joke still was able to be understood.

He lets out a small chuckle and hisses when the action puts fire in his lungs. He coughs and goes to lift his arm to cover his mouth, but the one he tries to move is the one currently missing and probably stuffed in a dumpster somewhere and that both horrifies and fascinates him at the same time.

Cho gently undoes the tie around his shoulder and pulls the gown down to reveal a mess of bandages. "On a scale from one to ten, how much pain are you in?"

"Ahh, six…"

His voice is scratchy, his throat aches. With each passing second he notices something that's in pain, but none of it is… agonizing. Just sore, stiff, numb, and bruised. Nothing too bad, but still enough to make him wince at every move.

Cho hums in content as her fingers go over his bandages... over his… stump. He watches in interest as she undoes the cloth and begins to unwind.

"What… happened?" Tony asks and Cho stops her work long enough to glance at him.

"What do you remember?"

He sighs and closes his eyes for a second. "Everything. I should be dead."

"You were with every single hero in the universe, Tony," Cho says as she returns to unwinding his wound. He catches a flash of scarred flesh colored an odd purple color. "Do you really think they were going to let you die?"

-o-o-o-o-

Turns out, Doctor Strange straight up teleported Tony to Wakanda as he was teetering on the thread between life and death. There, Shuri, Cho, himself, and other brilliant doctors worked for four days straight to save his life. They had to amputate the arm, which stung. His hands are important to him, and if he were awake he probably would have told them to let him go or find another way, but he wasn't awake. Pepper was. Morgan was. Peter was. May was. Happy was. They made the decision. His family made the decision so he won't complain.

They wanted him alive, he was ready to die but they wanted him alive, so he will continue to live for them.

He isn't allowed visitors for a few hours as Cho checks him over and makes sure everything is okay. His injuries are healing but they are extensive and numbered. His arm, or lack thereof, is the worst of them, but he has scars running up his neck and around his face, more trail down along his shoulder and side, going down towards his knee. He will need therapy along each of those areas, will need a constant supply of pain meds and scar lotion, but he will live.

The first person he sees is little Morgan, who he loves more than anything in the entire world. Loves her more than three thousand. He tells her that as Pepper walks in with tear stained cheeks.

"I love you five thousand."

"No! I love you six thousand!"

"I see your six thousand, and raise you one hundred thousand!"

"I love you one million kajillion thousand!!!"

He doesn't know how to best that number.

The next day is just the three of them with the occasional doctor or nurse coming into talk with him and check him over. It feels surreal, like it is all a dream and soon he'll wake up and Pepper won't be cuddled into his side—his left side of course, even with the absurd amount of pain meds he's on it still aches horribly—and Morgan won't be across the hospital room trying to figure out how to turn on the TV. Every time he blinks he almost expects to open his eyes to darkness, to nothing, or never open them again.

Yet his eyes still open and Pep's shampoo still fills his nose as he breathes her in, rubs her shoulder with his one hand, that alone must let her know that she is the most important thing to him right now. She hums in content and presses herself against him further, though she's gentle not to touch his scars and bruises.

The girl named Shuri came in once or twice to ask how he is doing and to show him her plans for a new prosthetic arm. He turns her down though, saying that he thinks he's done now and he doesn't need it. Pepper gives him a disbelieving look, probably already knowing that he's planning out his own design for an arm and he doesn't trust anyone else's work. Shuri doesn't look offended, she just smiles like she understands. Tony instantly likes her.

-o-o-o-o-

A week passes before anything fun happens. Pepper and Morgan returned back to their home so Pep could get back to running a company and Tony could finish recovering. They began to put him through physical therapy, specialist in Wakanda and Doctor Strange himself have fun putting Tong through the wringer as he almost has to learn how to move his body again. It's all different, he's off balance, his leg is stiff and thanks to a mostly scarred ear his equilibrium is thrown off, but he gets the hang of it. Eventually he's able to walk around fairly decently with a cane in his one hand and a rather annoying limp that he can live with.

And then he's clear two weeks later.

He remembers looking in the mirror before Doctor Strange came to work his wizard magic to teleport Tony back to his home. He thinks he looks like a very rich and more handsome version of Two-Face. Thanks to Wakandan tech and Stephen Strange's help, most of the scarring has been smoothed down to look mostly normal but he can tell, his skin isn't as smooth, it's rough and leathery to the touch. He doesn't think any amount of plastic surgery will ever be able to make his skin… human again. Iron Man has new scars now, though none of them look as aesthetically pleasing as the arc reactor had.

He supposes he will have to live with it. He's lucky to be alive after all.

-o-o-o-o-

There's a small homecoming party when he returns, just with his closest friends and family. It's strange to see Cap, an old man, hobbling around with his own cane, but Tony is happy for him. He finally went off to live his life how he wanted to. How he deserves to.

To say he's shocked to see one Natasha Romanoff there, happily making lame jokes with Clint would be an understatement. Turns out, when the soul stone was returned she was brought back, a soul for a soul. Equivalent exchange and all that. He's just happy she's alive, she plans to live with the Barton's until she figures out what she wants to do with her life.

"The old man told me we both need to get a life," she says, sipping at a a fruit flavored drink, "I told him you first. I suppose it's my turn now."

Thor is there too, thick as ever but he promises he's going to turn his life back around and when he returns from his trip with the Guardians he will be the strongest, most handsome Avenger there is once again. He says this while drinking a huge mug of beer, so Tony doesn't hold his breath.

Bruce… Hulk… Bulk? Whatever, that guy is there as well, his presence is instantly a comfort. His arm is in a sling and Tony can't help but feel a bit of jealousy towards it, but then Morgan runs up to him and grabs at his knees while Happy runs after her looking exasperated and he reminds himself that he could be gone right now. There could be a funeral in place of the party. His daughter could be doomed to grow up without a father, his wife without a husband. His arm is a tiny sacrifice when put into perspective.

He eats a whole lot of hamburgers that night.

-o-o-o-o-

A month after the universe is made whole again, Tony is finally able to reunite with Peter. He's been looking forward to it, he knows Peter has been too. The reason it took so long is because the world was way too excited to get it's children back, so excited, in fact, that they decided "let's throw them all back into school immediately!" Peter has been busy with school and reconnecting with friends and getting used to the fact that some of them are now older than him. Tony hears he's taking it like a champ with only a few bumps and bruises along the way. Thankfully his best friend Ned and his crush MJ are still his same age. The lucky kid.

The moment Tony sees Peter, it's like the world has slowed down. He is out weeding, testing out his new arm that he caved in and made himself, when May's car pulls in. Peter practically jumps out the window and sprints over to Tony with the widest grins and the definition of puppy eyes. Tony barely has time to stand up before he's locked in a crushing hug from the kid probably more powerful that Steve Rogers. Actually… now that Steve is a million years old, Peter may be the strongest person in the world excluding Thor and Hulk. Those guys are outliers. They are so freakishly strong they are just not included in the data. Carol is on that list too, now that he thinks about it.

Anyway, the hug is bone crushing and gross because the kid is crying, Tony isn't. One hundred percent, he's definitely not crying. It's just sweat, he's been outside all day.

They have a simple dinner and Peter instantly hits off with Morgan which Tony couldn't be more happy for. Morgan has grown up her whole life hearing stories about big brother Peter, her hero is Spider-Man in fact. Sure, Iron Man is great, but Iron Man is dad and that instantly lowers his cool points or something ridiculous like that.

He looks across the table as Peter is having a very avid conversation with Morgan about something or other. He can see black bags under the kids eyes, he can see how his hands tremble just a bit. Tony isn't stupid, Peter has definitely developed some anxiety, PTSD even, from the recent events. He hasn't touched the suit since returning back to Queens, not that Tony can blame him. May tells him that he's being provided a therapist, Sam Wilson himself, but the recovery is going slower than what it should. It seems that with all of Peters abilities, a broken heart and a tortured mind still takes a stubborn amount of time to heal.

Whatever the case, Tony will be there for him. He's considered Pete his son for the longest time. He's never said it out loud though because May is the main parent, but Tony can't change what he feels for the kid. He's never really had the chance to tell him though, how much Tony cares for him. So much was going on even before the Snap that Tony didn't even realize it himself how important Peter was to him, and then Peter dusted away and it was five years before Tony ever saw him again.

He decides he's waited long enough to make it clear to Peter, especially since he could be buried in a grave right now. He tells Morgan every night how much he loves her, but Peter has hardly gotten more than a hug or two.

Before Peter and May leave, Tony puts his real arm on Peters shoulder and pulls him in for a hug. It's amazing how quickly Peter responds, without hesitation, with a hug of his own.

"I'm proud of you kid," Tony says, "I'm so fucking proud of you."

He feels Peters shoulders jolt as sobs instantly break out. Tony holds him closer and puts his jaw over Peter's head and let's Peter get it out.

"Love you too…" Peter whispers through the tears.

-o-o-o-o-

Years pass, and Iron Man is no more. Just Tony Stark, Iron Man is a retired hero that will just be remembered and celebrated and nothing more. However, Tony still builds suits, just not for himself. The first one was for Peter, a strong spider themed metal suit made of the same technology Tony's last one was made of. It's smaller though, fits easily in a watch on Peter's wrist instead of the whole arc reactor thing Tony had going on.

The next suit was for Sam, who came to Tony panicking because he couldn't figure out how he was going to fly around with a giant vibranium shield. Tony had fun making that one, it was a challenge to find a way to make a place for the shield and still keep the wings aerodynamic. A fun challenge really, Morgan helped him out with it.

He's made many other things, but even that he stops doing eventually, Morgan is doing it all on her own. Just reaching Junior High and she's the smartest little person he knows besides her mom.

He's happy, he realizes as the years pass. Peter owns Stark Tech, Steve Rogers died a tearful and happy death, Pepper is retired, Natasha is happily married with her own rascals running around, she says they're adopted but Tony thinks they all look as mean and beautiful as she does. Clint is finally living his dream as a cowboy and nothing else. Bucky and Sam are the ring leaders of the Avengers, Wanda has found a love again, Happy and May for some reason fell in love and got married to the horror of Peter, Bulk Bruce Hulk whatever is leading the scientific world, Thor is chiseled once again and enjoying the on the go life in space, and Tony is so incredibly happy.

At the end of the day, when he takes off his prosthetic arm, painted a simple gray instead of the red and gold it used to be, he thinks about how lucky he is. He thinks about the family he's gained over the years, how many people have touched his life and how many say he's touched theirs. He used to be a drunk, used to be alone, used to be hated by everyone and seen as just an aloof rich playboy. Tony's surprised Rhody dealt with all his shit for as long as he had. It was Happy's job to, but Rhody could have left whenever he wanted, and he didn't.

At the end of the day, he thinks about the smiling faces of his loved ones. There could have been a funeral, they could have seen that crappy apology hologram he made before the time traveling thing, they could have been facing a world with no Tony Stark.

Tony is glad he's alive, because, once again, at the end of the day, he's so thankful for his family, the phantom pains in his arm don't even hurt anymore. He's glad he took the chance to bring back what they lost, and to keep what he's found. And have not lost his life in the process.

#jin writes #avengers endgame #marvel endgame #endgame spolier #endgame spoiler alert #spoilers #fan fiction #tony stark #peter parker #fix it fic #avengers #avengers endame spoilers #iron man #spider-man

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eightdoctor · 5 years

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Bruce Week Day 3: Mirror/Night and Day

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17859947

He runs and runs and his DNA runs with him. Every morning Bruce wakes up with a different face.

They say that your life and its path is dependent on the friends you make. So by extension, your life, your personality, is all reliant on your friends, your acquaintances.

Bruce doesn’t have those, and he doesn’t know what he lost first; his life or his friends. Maybe they were synonymous with each other, or maybe not. It’s not like it matters.

After his friends - and his life, he supposed; he’s dead now, technically, not even a person but a thing, a possession - he lost his assets. The money he had been saving for years for the white picket fence and the swing set in the backyard is gone, his apartment is gone, his clothes and furniture and everything is gone. They renovated his lab into a storage room, they deleted and purged all his files and research. If your life depends on what things you own, well...you know how it goes.

Then it was his name. With every disguise came a new name, a new person, a new life. A life that was discarded when he was found, peeled off and thrown away like trash. Countless names and lives and people were killed by the monster, the Hulk, whatever you call it, but countless names and lives and people were killed by Banner, as well. Names distinguish the person, a name decides your life and your identity. Bruce Banner had no name because he couldn’t afford to have one, and so he had no life because he couldn’t afford to have one.

The next thing to go was his autonomy. Simple, easy. He has no choice in where he goes, he just floats in the wake of the Hulk as he paddles furiously away from the military. Philosophers argue if humanity has free will, but Bruce doesn’t need to argue. Because he knows. The answer is a resounding no.

The last straw, the final nail in the coffin of his horrible, fucked up life, is the removal of his face. After a month of running and hiding and dying, the gamma twists his insides and swaps some nucleotides around so some As become Gs and Ts become Cs and he wakes up in his grubby motel as a stranger to himself. His hair is lighter, almost ginger, his eyes are rounder, his chin squarer. The reflection in the mirror moves with him but it isn’t him. It’s the worst feeling, he thinks - that disconnect. He knows he should look different, look like how he did on that fateful Day (a deafening roar and a wave of heat and power and green, green, green...the screaming and the Geiger counter ticking ticking ticking…), but he...doesn’t.

An adaptation. A mutation. An evolution. Call it whatever you want. Bruce calls it death.

Bruce is dead. It’s too bad he can’t die.

It’s in some backwater town in Texas where he breaks; some meaningless, inconsequential town with a population of 107 where the nearest Walmart is 45 minutes away. He’s staying in a cheap bed and breakfast owned by a nice old woman who can barely move from arthritis.

The room is adorned in frills and has that distinct old-person-smell, but it’s nicer than most of the places he’s stayed in in the past few months, with a mattress that isn’t rotten and electricity that doesn’t flicker.

It also has a mirror. He tried to avoid them after seeing how his appearance shifts every week, but running into one is more or less inevitable, isn’t it? Sometimes he catches his reflection in shop windows and cringes, or there's a flash of the wrong face in a body of water and he flinches. But he hasn’t looked close. He doesn’t think he’d be able to keep it together if he does.

And he was right.

It’s a Tuesday, when he breaks. He wakes up, showers, leaves the shower, towels off, walks past the mirror on the dresser, stops. Stares.

It isn’t him. Or it is him, but his cheekbones are lower on his face and his eyes are almond-shaped and hazel and he doesn’t even recognize himself. It’s like there’s a mime behind that pane of glass doing what he does as if the mirror isn’t a mirror.

He raises a hand to touch his chin, and the man in the mirror copies him exactly. A choked noise rises in his throat, some horrible hybrid of a scream and a sob, born of surprise. The man’s face that is-isn’t-is his reflection crumples, and Bruce feels his do the same.

It’s like his brain is split in two. Logic says that he’s in the mirror, that that’s him because that’s what mirrors do, they reflect, but then there’s his instinct. This isn’t him. This can’t be him. He doesn’t look like that. His hair is dark brown and his chin is pointed slightly and his eyes are dark and almost black.

He collapses to his knees, as if something hit the back of his legs and they buckle like a marionette with its strings cut. The man in the mirror follows him down, down, down. Bruce feels like crying, but the tears don’t come. They never do. He isn’t allowed to have these emotions, this sort of distress. He isn’t allowed to cry, because the Hulk doesn't let him. Crying leads to anger leads to destruction leads to death. So he doesn’t cry, but he wants to.

He doesn’t always get what he wants.

Bruce feels himself float away from his body, his face. He tries to hold on tight, because he can’t lose control, he can’t, but he never really feels himself come back down, and he never feels himself stop floating.

Jen’s apartment is there. It’s there, and she’s in it. Bruce knows she’s in it, because he had watched her walk in, his face concealed by a bowed head and the grimy baseball cap he had pulled out of a Salvation Army bin. Today his hair was ginger, the color of orange sand, and his eyes were round and owlish. He only got a glimpse of himself in the grubby mirror as he left his motel room.

But it didn’t matter what he looked like, because Jen was there. She was right there. His cousin, his friend, his familial soulmate. Less than 100 feet away.

Bruce couldn’t go speak to her, though. He was frozen, stuck, as if his spine had grown roots and anchored him to this metal bench with chipping green paint. His hands wove together in a flurry of movement fueled by his anxiety, and his legs shook his seat with how hard he was bouncing them.

Go talk to her, moron.

Wasn’t it supposed to be easy to talk to a friend, as instinctual and inherent as breathing? Bruce hasn’t had a friend in so long, perhaps he forgot what it was like to have one. Or, well, he hopes she’s still his friend, he would understand if she wasn’t. Maybe that’s why he can’t walk up to her apartment and ring the damn bell. Maybe he was afraid she wouldn’t like him anymore.

He’s always been such a damn coward. A milksop, just like Ross had said on that fateful day.

He shouldn’t have come here. He should just walk away, and forget he was here, and just leave. Jen didn’t need to be involved in this, and fuck, Jen probably hated him anyway, despised him -

He didn’t realize he was walking until he found himself standing in front of her apartment door with no recollection as to how he got there, fist poised to knock, a few inches from the wood. Fuck. He couldn’t do this. Bruce looked down at himself. A blue jacket with a mystery stain on it he had found on the sidewalk covered his emaciated torso, a pair of frayed jeans a size too big hung off his hips. What a mess this was. What a mess he was.

God.

The door opened, and Bruce stumbled back. Why did he come here he shouldn’t have come here but it was too late now because she was right there.

“Uh…” Jen stood in her doorway, awash in the natural light emanating from her apartment; it made her look ethereal, like she was a spirit or ghost or something. Bruce had to restrain himself to reach out and touch her, to see if she was actually solid or just a hallucination, a mirage. He wouldn’t put it past his brain to do something like that. “Can I help you…?”

Bruce looked up in shock, saw the wariness and trepidation present in her eyes. There was no spark of recognition in her features. None. Her eyes were void of familiarity, as if he was a stranger. He blinked, unsure of what to do. He was expecting surprise, happiness, anger, sadness - anything. Not this. Not this…this nothingness.

She didn’t recognize him. He doesn’t know what to do. What does he do?

“Jen,” he coughed, voice hoarse from disuse, “Jen…” his desperation was palpable.

“Um...yes?” She had taken a step back, her hand on the door, ready to close it.

“Jen - Jen, Jen,” he repeated her name like a mantra, a chant. It almost didn’t sound like a real name anymore. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe she wasn’t real, maybe this was just some bad dream. “Jen, it’s...it’s me.” It’s Bruce. He couldn’t say that, though. Because he wasn’t Bruce, hadn’t been in years.

Jen was looking more and more freaked out the more he spoke. She didn’t recognize him. She didn’t recognize him. “I’m going to...I’ll be right back,” she moved to close the door, but his foot darted out to prevent it from shutting.

“No!” He called. “No, no Jen, Jen please…”

“Sir,” her formal tone caused thorns to grow around his heart, squeezing and piercing and hurting. “I don’t know what you want from me, but -”

God, he couldn’t take this, this, this torture. “Jennifer! It’s me, it’s -” Robbie Bruce David Robert “Bruce. It’s Bruce.”

Jen’s stance immediately stiffened. “You - you aren’t Bruce. You can’t be. Bruce is dead.”

Bruce was dead, she was right. He was dead, and now there was only Bruce.

“And besides…” Jen continued, “you don’t look like him.”

Bruce didn’t know what to say in response to that, because she was right. He didn’t look like Bruce. So he just mutters something about having the wrong person and leaves, because he’s a coward.

Later, after Jen got shot and there was blood blood blood, pooling on the tarmac in a puddle of scarlet so thick it was almost black, reaching out to him in red tendrils like it did when Mom died, Bruce moved into action from the alleyway he’d been watching from. He couldn’t have done anything before the gunshot, because then the Hulk would have come out and hurt Jen and he just couldn’t hurt her, not again, so he didn’t move and just stood there and watched. And then Jen was bleeding out and he stood and watched. Just like he did on that night with Mom. He stood and watched until something clicked and he was spurred into motion.

The blood transfusion happened during one of those times where everything goes fast and slow at the same time. Bruce stares as poison enters her veins and hopes that it’ll work, that she’ll be alive after this.

He drops her off at a hospital when she’s stable.

Later he finds out that a large hulking woman, big and green and muscular, was seen in L.A.. As Bruce is eaten by the guilt, he hopes that Jen doesn’t become Jen.

He hopes she can keep her life.

He’s in Bangalore when he’s found. The slums are warm and hot and damp, steam rising off the muddy ground like a sauna. Most nights he arrives at his abode - a liberal use of the word - with inches of mud caked on his shoes and weighing his steps down.

When they find him, he’s asleep. But he wakes up, because he’s always been a light sleeper - it’s a habit that has roots in alcoholic fathers and crying mothers, that stems from running running running. He’s sure he hears them before they see him, because an entire military squad is very hard to keep silent. He doesn’t bother running, which is a first for him.

He’s just sick of existing and not existing in this wretched sort of purgatory, with his different name, different face, different blood. He doesn’t know what parts of him are really him anymore. He’s just a harbinger for the Hulk, a carrier of the plague, a bad omen that predicts nothing but destruction.

So he walks out of his lean-to and faces his executioner, arms up in surrender. Bruce doesn’t move and doesn’t care as they shackle the mutant inhibitor around his neck and roughly restrain his hands behind his back.

This is wrong. So, so wrong.

He shouldn't let them do this.

But he is just so, so tired.

So he does.

His hair is brown - almost black - and it falls in his eyes limply, burdened from days of dirt and grime and oil. Bruce’s eyes - they're more wide set, now, a light brown - are sunken like a corpse’s, and his movements are jerky like the undead. It’s appropriate. He looks as dead as he feels.

They say keep your friends close and your enemies closer. He has no friends, but he does have enemies. It’s the one thing he does have.

But they are mostly the Hulk’s enemies, so maybe he doesn’t have anything, after all.

Ross towers over him, square muscles square torso square jaw pulled taut, something awful glimmering in his eyes.

“Finally found you, you bastard,” Ross gloats, chewing a gross black cigar. Bruce doesn’t blink as Ross exhales smoke like pepper spray into his eyes. He does tear up, though. It’s the first time he’s cried in years.

Dead eyes glance up at their captor, blank and dull. Furious eyes stare down at their prisoner, filled with fury, then...something else. Confusion.

“This isn’t him!” Ross shouts at the army men surrounding him. Bruce’s face is slack with shock as his restraints are removed, and he’s shoved unceremoniously back into his house. He stands there until the soldiers leave, their feet light and solid despite the mud beneath their boots. He stands there and doesn’t move. And then he starts laughing. He laughs and laughs and laughs until he realizes he’s crying and the tears finally come and don’t stop.

He clutches at his cheeks with a tenacity that makes them bleed. He doesn’t feel the sting from his nails piercing his skin or the burn from the salt in his wounds. He just feels relief and disappointment and everything. He hasn’t felt anything in the past year, hasn’t allowed himself to. But the dam broke and now there’s everything.

The blood drips down his chin and mingles with the tears, and together they fall to the floor in a cavalcade of scarlet.

They say that your life and its path is dependent on the friends you make. So by extension, your life, your personality, is all reliant on your friends, your acquaintances.

He has friends now, and they’ve been with him for about a month. He had sought after Betty one day and explained everything, and Jen had seen Hulk save the world and had sought after him, and Rick...well, Rick was always there when he needed him. So he had friends, which was nice. He wasn’t used to nice. But he could get used to it.

He has possessions now as well. Jen let him live in her guest bedroom. He had a weighted blanket, a stack of books and scientific journals, and a phone and laptop. He felt almost like a normal person, almost like he didn’t have a maelstrom inside of him, always ready to be unleashed.

He was in Jen’s guest bedroom when he saw it.

The room is cluttered; not disorganized, just cluttered. Busy. He can’t find it within himself to throw anything away - he hasn’t had anything in so long, that he keeps everything. Ticket stubs, notebooks, dried out pens, everything his hands have come in contact with litter every surface. There’s a bathroom attached to his room, and this bathroom has a mirror, as bathrooms do. He avoids it.

It’s a Tuesday, when he sees it. He wakes up, showers, leaves the shower, towels off, walks past the mirror in the bathroom, stops. Stares.

It’s...it’s him. It’s him. His reflection stares back at him and he has a pointed chin and high cheekbones and dark brown eyes and light brown hair and it’s him - God, it’s him. He doesn’t react at first, just looks and doesn’t blink or move. It takes a while for the realization to break through that wall of shock. An arm slowly raises to feel his chin. He blinks.

And then he’s laughing. He’s laughing like that night in Bangalore. Loud and manic and relieved.

Jen must have heard him, because she barges in, almost knocks the door off its hinges.

“Are you okay - oh my God.”

He looks up at her, eyes glistening with tears. “Jen, Jen, I’m me.”

“Oh Bruce,” she says, and Bruce doesn’t need to correct her, because she’s right.

A name decides your life and your identity. Bruce finally has a name again, because he finally has an identity again. He looks like how he did on that fateful Day (a deafening roar and a wave of heat and power and green, green, green...the screaming and the Geiger counter ticking ticking ticking…).

For the first time in years, Bruce is alive.

#yeah ive already posted this sometime but im proud of it and it fits the prompt so #there #bruce week #bruceweek #bruce banner #bruce banner appreciation #my writing

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navpike · 5 years

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it’s that time of year yet again folks! time for me to round up the lot of everything i wrote this year and throw it at you all like a proud parent! this year i managed to publish 217,613 words across 22 fics, with an untold number more unpublished (some of which belong to an original novel i started at the beginning of the year, and an autobiography i dipped my toes into as well!) let’s dive in!

(a ** denotes some personal favorites!)

DC FICS:

Time And Again (28303 words) [batfam, bg dickwally, jayroy, superbat]:

Dick Grayson comes to live with Bruce Wayne on a Tuesday afternoon when he’s nine years old. It’s a Tuesday like any other, so Bruce settles the boy in and leaves him in Alfred’s capable hands after dinner and heads out for patrol. Gotham’s underworld does not take a day off, and therefore Batman cannot either. Dick awakes in the middle of the night and Bruce isn’t there. Alfred calms Dick down and sits with him and assures him that Bruce would have been there if he could and Dick believes him. Alfred's words can only maintain that belief for so long. Or, the one where Bruce doesn't tell Dick that he's Batman at first and things spiral out of control until people start communicating like adults.

Gold-Plated (1279 words) [batfam]:

It starts like this. Dick follows Jason into the cave, shouting at his brother’s back, while Jason roughly tugs at the release for his helmet. “I mean, I know you’re not going to stop dealing with all of your problems by shooting at them, but could you at least have the decency to not do that while I’m around? Could you at least pretend you still follow some sort of-” “Shut up!” Jason roars, whipping around to hurl his helmet at Dick’s head.

**Every Fiber of My Being (21376 words) [dickwally, batfam, bg timkon]:

As much as Dick and his siblings have argued, Bruce has never budged on his "Keeping Secrets Policy". There's not a person alive outside of the family that knows the secret identity of any of the Bats. Not even Dick's boyfriend. Dick understands the need for some secrets, knows that keeping their identities safe keeps them and their loved ones safe, but when he takes up the cowl, team dynamics aren't the only things that begin to change.

Tremble, Tremor, Shake (2118 words) [batfam]:

Tim doesn’t answer. He lurches like he’s going to go for the toilet again, but he doesn’t quite make it, instead dry heaving once, twice and then slumping against the wall again. Dick thinks that’s the end of it. He’s wrong. Tim slumps against the wall and immediately starts seizing.

**My Brain Occasionally Malfunctions (2243 words) [batfam]:

Dick was shot in the head. Such a serious injury is not without consequence. In which Dick's gunshot wound causes him to develop epilepsy and Jason has some thoughts on the fact that Dick tried to hide it from them.

Teenagers (1280 words) [dickwally]:

Dick and Wally have just found out that their twins have abilities and Damian's been training the twins behind their backs. Looks like everyone's revealing a secret tonight.

**Sign Your Life Away (23927 words)[timkon, batfam, bg dickwally, batcat, clois]:

The Wayne family is a good one, well known, well off, charitable, likable, politically unaffiliated. So when a treaty with Krypton is hinging on an arranged marriage, the Wayne boys are some of the first they approach. Tim is very, very aware that the name right underneath 'Wayne' on the UN's list is 'Luthor'. He can't allow some poor stranger to be forcibly bound to Luthor for the rest of their lives. So when they ask him, he says yes, before he can stop to think if this is actually a good idea.

MARVEL FICS:

**Project: Light (54526 words) [stucky]:

When Steve and Sam finally track down the Winter Soldier, the last thing they’re expecting is to find Bucky with a girl who’s calling him ‘Dad’. Steve doesn’t quite know how to handle that. The others know how to handle it only marginally better. Or, how to win over children and influence monsters: how Bucky’s surprise daughter helps the Avengers help Bucky find himself again, and how he finds Steve again along the way.

Always So Certain You're Fine (2252 words) [gen]:

They're grieving, sure, but they have a war to win, still, and by some miracle, they do it. Or, the Infinity War fix-it that no one asked for.

Suffer in Silence (6416 words) [thundershield]:

Five times Steve Rogers was in pain, and one time he finally wasn't.

**A Hero, Like Spiderman and Better Hawkeye (4286 words) [gen]:

If pressed to answer how he’d gotten to the top of the Avengers’ list of preferred babysitters/dog watchers, Peter’s not too sure he’d know what to say. In which MJ, Ned and Kate Bishop get roped into helping Peter babysit/dog watch, and things spiral wildly out of hand in a Starbucks.

Unexpecting (1893 words) [thruce, valsif]:

When they find themselves largely alone on Earth, tasked with preserving Asgard’s history and her people and working with Earth’s governments to settle political issues, and it seems like battle in another form, Thor and Brunnhilde find themselves seeking comfort in each other. It is harmless, (mostly) innocent fun, until they find themselves staring down at a little indicator, telling them that Brunnhilde is pregnant. In which Thor, Brunnhilde, Bruce and Sif raise a child together, and grow a little themselves in the process.

**What the Desert Will Let Him (5471 words) [samsteve]:

There’s an itch at the back of Sam's mind, that tells him to stay in DC and he thinks maybe this has something to do with The Voice and why he was thrown ass over tea kettle back into this world when he desperately didn't want to come back. In which Sam dies with his wing-man, but something sends him back to live out the rest of his life, because he's not done. There are people who need him, even if he doesn't know it yet.

**Wake Up Calls (4379 words) [gen, bg stucky]:

Bucky Barnes wakes up in Wakanda, the first time, and the second, and the third and fourth and twenty-eighth and sixty-first... Shuri starts out as an ally, and becomes a friend, and then might as well be his kid sister. Bucky and Shuri's relationship told through a few wake-up calls.

Dead Men Walking (16629 words) [gen]:

They don't always show it, but they've each got their own demons to battle. Peter keeps happening upon these battles. OR a bunch of times that Peter was there for the Avengers in a moment of need, and one time they were all there for him.

LGBTQIA(vengers) (3656 words) [stucky, natpepper]:

Steve Rogers comes out on a Tuesday afternoon. By Wednesday morning, it's hit every major news outlet. Twitter has some opinions, and Pepper Potts is taking no prisoners.

**Impact (6087 words) [winterhawk]:

Clint Barton is not born with wings. He is not a mutant, though he doubts that would have helped his case. He is an ordinary boy, until he, one day, is very suddenly not. Or: the wingfic nobody asked for, in which Clint's wings have brought him nothing but trouble until one day, they suddenly don't.

Perfect Men and Other Crimes (2069 words) [stucky]:

Bucky Barnes knows that he is lucky. He still cannot help but feel decidedly unlucky when he hears the New York Police Department’s new policy on partnering regular cops with enhanced ones. Bucky doesn’t have anything against enhanced individuals. He really doesn’t. But he is still profoundly uncomfortable around people who could snap him like a twig. Detective Steven Grant Rogers is exactly that.

Same Monster (2610 words) [gen, bg thruce]:

After returning to Earth, Bruce goes to visit his cousin when a case brings her to New York City. It doesn't go as planned. Or, the one where Jennifer Walters becomes She-Hulk, Bruce feels guilty, and Thor is a good boyfriend.

HAWAII FIVE-0 FICS

Can't Help DNA (5146 words) [mcdanno]:

The first time that Steve McGarrett and Danny Williams meet, Danny Williams is not holding a weapon. He has his hands in fists and Steve’s skin is singing in that way it does whenever he’s around someone else with the SuperGene. Steve, for his part, is pointing a gun at Danny’s chest and screaming at him which probably isn’t helping the situation, but he’s not going to admit that. He’s shouting, and then Williams is shouting and they eventually get their IDs out without Steve shooting anyone and without Danny’s Gene flaring up. It’s a win in Steve’s book.

Situational Awareness (6461 words) [mcdanno]:

Steve McGarrett has a soulmark from the moment he’s born. He has a mark that his dad covers up when he’s a baby, an ugly black thing in the shape of knuckles splayed across his cheekbone. Danny Williams gets his mark a few months after he’s born. There’s a black smear across the back of his hand and down two fingers and Danny dreams of the day his soulmate will touch him for the first time and set the mark alight with color. Steve McGarrett grows up hating his soulmark, Danny Williams dreams of the day he'll meet his soulmate. Somehow, against all odds, they find each other.

Things Unseen (15206 words) [mcdanno, bg konocat]:

Steve's known almost his whole life that his anchor was going to be one of the Kelly-Kalakaua family, the only ones strong enough to tie him to the Seen when he needed to talk to a spirit. What he did not know was how important a cop from Jersey who doesn't believe in ghosts would end up being. In which Steve and Kono are peak mlm/wlw solidarity, Danny is a wreck, Chin is tired and there are some ghosts.

#fic roundup #marvel #dc #hawaii five 0 #fic #mine

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whumpbby · 6 years

Text

Symbiote!Jay/Dick

So, I have started to write that mess.

Starts with some good ol’ wholesome cannibalism and Dick getting a scare of his life. Later on may contain tentacle sex.

“I have a very aggressive immune system”

Jay/Dick, with a Symbiote throw into the mix.

It was like some goddamn nightmare brought to life to play in front of his eyes. For a moment there Dick was convinced that that’s what this was, a bad dream - he knew that the chow mein in the back of his fridge was bad, he just fucking knew it and still ate it! Damn Dick Grayson and his stupid, stupid brain that saw soggy noodles as acceptable source of nutrition before his nightly patrol. Alfred was right, he was so not ready to live an adult life, he was simply not equipped to do so! Even Jason knew how to cook for himself and…

...and that brought him back to Jason - who was standing in front of him, as if nothing has happened. As if Dick didn’t just witness his younger brother take a point blank shotgun blast to the chest. As if he didn’t just see the cloud of blood and torn flesh splattering around the man, raining on the ground and the wall they were standing next to. As if Dick’s hands and face haven’t been splashed with that gore, because he didn't think to turn away, because he was sure that Jay had his kevlar armour hidden underneath that worn hoodie and trusted it to take the shot…

He was so terribly mistaken it wasn’t even funny.

But that wasn’t the worst part, oh no. Not the shot, not the way Jason’s side exploded with viscera, not even the small, punched-out sound he’s made as he started to fall.

Nope. That was horrifying, sure, Dick felt himself freeze like he’d only done a few times in his life (because Jay wasn’t even supposed to be there, not in his civvies, not at the business end of a shotgun, shielding Nightwing from a sneak attack he was too stupid to expect… he wasn’t supposed to die in some stupid, moronic robbery in some rundown 7/11, because Dick didn't have even a half of what it took to tend to a wound this horrific!) and didn't move fast enough to catch Jason as he fell - but he was, somehow, fast enough to throw his escrima stick with deadly accuracy and snap the weapon out of their attacker’s hands.

It clattered onto the wet concrete - and Jayson stopped falling.

Like a puppet with its strings pulled taut, his body halted its descent in an impossible position - knees bent, hands out, back nearly parallel with the dirty pavement… like a movie paused mid-take, Jason just stopped.

Then, after a beat that was barely enough for Dick to blink, his knees tensed and he stood back up in a move so smooth it was unsettling to the very core. He rose to his full height in front of the confused robber and for a moment Dick thought some of the blood got on his brother’s face, because the red spreading around his head couldn't be anything else, could it? Jason didn't have his helmet, as far as Dick knew, he was at the shop as a customer, unarmed and in civilian clothing...

That train of thought ended abruptly when the red helmet opened its mouth (the helmet that usually didn't have a mouth!) really, really, really wide and the wannabe robber’s head disappeared between the closing jaws.

Right in front of Dick’s eyes, a headless body slid noiselessly to the ground, blood bursting in a fountain from the severed neck. Jason swallowed audibly, turning around, and Dick could see his throat expand and his sternum rise and drop in an impossible way, because there was no way a human could just swallow someone’s goddamn head! It wasn’t! Even a guy as big as Jason… who was suddenly quite a lot bigger than he’s been a moment ago, stalking towards Dick like a predator, head lowered and face hidden behind the blood-stained helmet...

“Jay…” Dick ground out, only at that moment realising that the distance between them grew, because bis legs started to retreat before his mind decided to do so. That distance was quickly shortening, through, with every step of the mons... “Jay! What the hell… You were...”

There was still a hole in his chest, a sprawling landscape of torn flesh and shattered ribs and something Dick didn't want to recognise as ribs. And, oh God, Jason has never lost his penchant for zombie jokes, but this - this was taking it way too far! “Jaybird...”

In the dim light in the alley on the back of the store the holes in the helmet looked at him like the eyes of a beast, opalescent and emotionless. The lack of taunting, lack of scathing words, lack of anything that he’d learned to associate with Jason sent a shiver down Dick’s spine and his mind into a panicked spin, trying to make sense of the situation.

And the body, don't forget the body.

How could he even begin to forget about the damn headless body!

“Jay…”

“What the fuck is going on here?!”

Oh yeah, the other robber, returning for his buddy. Dick forgot about him!

The man - kid, honestly, he was no more than a kid! - crashed through the back door, took one look at his headless accomplice and, probably out of shock, decided to raise his handgun and shoot.

Somehow, Dick knew what was about to happen and he was moving before the knowledge solidified, dashing to the side, using the wall as a springboard to vault himself over Jason and the two clumsy shots, to slam into the kid, disarming him in one move and…

“No!” He gasped when he was grabbed around the waist and torn away, thrown back from the young idiot he was trying to save. “No, Jason no!” He struggled with what held him, but it was no use, his fingers couldn't find any purchase in the gooey, slippery mass pinning him to the wall. “Jason, stop, don't...!”

The voice that answered him didn't belong to Jason.

Maybe, in some other dimension, if someone took the younger man’s voice and put it into a blender with a handful of gravel, nails and old transistors. It was a growl, but it was also a buzz, like a lion trying to hiss.

“We need a new liver and lungsss,” it came out of the mouth that formed in front of the helmet, too wide to be human and filled with too many teeth. “Your friend dessstroyed our own… ssshame.”

Dick could almost see the kid from behind the hulking form, held against the wall just like him, pinned to it by an arm that morphed at the elbow to stretch into a red mass of gooey tentacles, slick and undulating as they wound around the kid’s upper torso, neck and the bottom half of his face, rendering the struggling captive mute. Unable to defend himself. Unable to do anything other than be terrified.

“Jay! Or whatever the hell you are… let him go!”

If only he could reach his other escrima stick or switch on the defences in his suit, maybe the electric shock would be enough to get free and then… as soon as that though appeared, his hands, that were struggling to untangle the red mass from his middle, were grasped back by it and slammed into the bricks over Dick’s head.

The thing’s head (it could not be Jason, it simply couldn't be! It was some doppelganger that took his form, like Clayface or…) turned back and Dick did his best not to shiver under the even stare of the opalescent eyes.

“Dickiebird ssstay sssilent,” it hissed at him, the nickname startling him into a flinch. “We will take care of it sssoon… after we make sssure the hossst livesss…”

“Host?” Was Jay somewhere inside of this thing? Was there a way to reach him? “Jason, listen to me! Stop this thing frommgh…!”

The appendage that slipped between his teeth was much less yelding than the first impression implied, it settled over his tongue, heavy and cloying like the silicon paste his dentist used once to make Dick’s first retainer when he was a kid. It brought nearly the same impression of his brain firing up warnings that he’s about to choke and suffocate, even though he was left with enough air.

“Birdsss can live without tonguesss,” the thing sounded almost fond while Dick froze at the open threat. “Husssh, now...” The fondness evaporated when the head turned back to the robber. “You, on the other hand… shot our ssspleen… ”

Dick struggled for all he was worth, powered by pure, unadulterated panic in the kid’s eyes, but he was helpless in the grasp of something that was barely solid enough to grip, but strong enough to hold him down with almost no effort.

No, no, this was not happening, - he tried to tell himself as the tendrils around the kid tightened and his struggles ceased, as the glassy eyes rose to the narrowed patches of glowing pearlescent white staring down in unmasked hunger. As the maw full of jagged teeth opened wider, drool dripping down the bottom lip and a black foot-long tongue slipped out… This wasn’t real, just wasn’t! Couldn't be! It was a bad dream - Dick’s got dosed with something by Crane or Ivy, he had to trip and slip into some alternate reality, because in his reality things like this simply didn't happen!

Where was police when you needed them?!

Dick moaned in distress when the tendrils cupping his face shifted, dry, but still completely gross, curling up, snaking through his hair and over his eyes. Before he knew it, he was effectively blindfolded - which did nothing for his nerves, honestly.

“He wouldn’t want you to sssee...” That was the last thing he’s heard before the muffled whimpering ended in a wet crunch and the darkness underneath his eyelids swallowed any conscious thoughts.

#fanfic #jay/dick #symbiote #I have a very aggressive immune system

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