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voidstilesplease · 3 years

Text

Swords and Arrows

or That Summer When The Ares and Athena Cabins Finally Allied For Capture The Flag part 1 of 3

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(A Steo Demigod AU) || For @anonymous's prompt: "Scott as a Roman demigod instead of Greek" || word count: 2,647 || The Entire Demigod Series -> [AO3][Tumblr] (it's finally a working link tfg)

Stiles pulls back, "I was going to ask if you missed me," he says, face flushed and beaming. "But it appears I don't need to."

"You never need to."

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"Why the long face, little brother?" Tara asks cheerfully, wedging herself on the bench between Theo and one of their half-siblings, and placing down her tray brimming with colorful food as opposed to Theo's bleak and half-empty one. She grins at Theo, but he's not in the mood to return the goodwill.

Theo pokes half-heartedly at the contents of his tray: a lonely sealed bag with a couple squares of ambrosia inside - the food of the gods - some cheese and two slices of wheat bread. "Don't call me little brother," he mutters with little heat, leaning to the table to whisper a request to his goblet, which immediately fills up with sparkling water.

Tara looks over Theo's head at Fred, their Head Counselor, sitting on Theo's other side. "He's not back yet?"

Fred shakes his head, wiping the bbq sauce at the side of his mouth. "Nope," he replies, popping the 'p' and catching on to the question without much elaboration. By now, there's only one 'he' that reduces Theo to a brooding and sulky man-child. "He hasn't answered Theo's last IM, too."

"Try the last five Iris Messages," Theo grumbles in annoyance. He turns to Tara, face contorted in a sour expression. "I mean, how difficult is it to take my call? He always has drachmas in his pocket exactly for this reason."

"He's probably busy disintegrating monsters," Fred says reasonably. Which, of course, makes sense. Monsters make the most infuriating and persistent roadblock of all. They make any journey twice as long for demigods - if they don't manage to kill you, that is. "Or, you know," Fred adds, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "maybe he's being an accomodating companion to the Son of Jupiter."

Theo grinds his teeth hard and fixes his head counselor with a death glare. Fred only shrugs at Theo's reaction, obviously aiming for the exact response, and chuckling through a bite of ambrosia. Theo has half a mind to punch him in the jugular. He doesn't need a reminder of who Stiles is with, thanks. Spitefully, he harshly impales a piece of grape from Fred's tray with the tines of his fork and shoves it to his mouth in the most menacing manner he can project.

It only makes Fred guffaw, spraying bits of food onto the table. The campers across from him slide their trays away protectively, shrieking an indignant chorus of "Fred!" as they make sure no stray bits made it into their platters. Fred raps at his chest as he reaches for his goblet, still laughing his dumb ass off while trying to wave his hand in apology.

Their neighbors also share their opinion on the appalling table manners of the Ares brood - spitting out food may slightly be a common scene from their lot, unfortunately.

Brett from the Apollo cabin throws corn kernels at Fred, a strange display of solidarity if you can believe it, while Ara, the half-Korean junior counselor of Athena cabin, gives the Ares and Apollo tables a look of disapproval. She's a pretty terrifying 15 years old, which is why Stiles is extremely fond of her. With Stiles gone to New Rome the first week back to camp, Ara is doing a kickass job taking over the head counselor duty. (But, to Hades with it, Theo would much prefer Stiles to be scowling at their table.)

"Okay, first of all," Tara says over the little chaos. "Fred, you're disgusting. Second," she holds Theo's chin to compel him to look at her, then smirks, "Stealing a piece of fruit is not a cabin 5-worthy intimidation tactic."

Theo opens his mouth for his scathing retort, but at the same time, one of Stiles's younger siblings points in the direction of the cabins. "Hey, it's Stiles!"

Many heads look up, but Theo springs to his feet instantly, scanning the area for Stiles. He catches sight of him almost immediately, bounding to the Mess Hall in his orange shirt, face bright under the camp's enchanted borders, as radiant as the last time Theo saw him four long months ago. Without much thought, Theo finds himself carried by his feet towards Stiles.

Stiles sees him coming too, and his smile broaden. Theo sprints, forgetting himself and where they are. They meet halfway, by the entrance of the Mess Hall, with Theo knocking into Stiles's open arms strong enough that it's a surprise they're still upright on the ground.

Theo squeezes him to make sure his mind did not conjure a Spectre to appease his longing. Stiles feels solid under his hands, if a little sweaty, and he smells as if he was run over by monsters. But underneath the grime, he catches the scent of Stiles's favorite body wash. He feels himself sagging in satisfaction.

Stiles pulls back, "I was going to ask if you missed me," he says, face flushed and beaming. "But it appears I don't need to."

"You never need to."

Theo doesn't know how long they stood just smiling at each other, but they break apart at Chiron's pointed clearing of the throat. It's not even in Theo's head to be embarrassed by his actions despite the cackling and many leering faces of the other demigods. Mr. D merely raises an unimpressed eyebrow, though the twinkle in his eyes can only be from amusement.

Chiron is sitting on his wheelchair today, hiding his horse's ass behind the illusion of human legs - why he still does it is a wonder - and rolls forward to them.

"Stiles Stilinski," he greets merrily, the lines of his eyes crinkling when he smiles. "Welcome back." Chiron gazes a little behind them, then, nodding kindly towards another boy Theo only notices, is standing patiently at a distance.

The boy, Scott McCall, son of Jupiter and a praetor of the Roman demigods' army, the Twelfth Legion Fulminata, steps forward to bow his head in respect of the centaur. "Chiron," he also acknowledges Mr. D who didn't bother to get up from the head table. "Lord Bacchus."

"Hm," Mr. D hums without correcting the demigod, sipping on his diet coke dismissively.

Theo doesn't hate Scott, but he also doesn't like him - strongly, irrationally, dislikes him. Instinctively, he shuffles closer to Stiles as if his boyfriend is going to dissolve into the Mist if he isn't close enough to pull him back.

Theo's been agitated since Stiles told him, a week prior, that he was flying to New Rome in California where Camp Jupiter is, the Roman camp, for a 'friendly' visit. Everyone's allowed to cross borders, but no one has really done so just to tour around. After all, the camps are on opposing sides of the country and monsters don't pause to consider not killing vacationing demigods.

A couple of times before last week, when Theo visited Stiles in his Manhattan apartment, he'd, out of the blue, mentioned the varied courses and scholarships that New Rome University offered, as Theo laid his head on Stiles's lap while the latter read. Theo hadn't minded it at the time, as Stiles quickly dropped the subject. But another month passed and Stiles mentioned it again, randomly, during one of their IMs, adding that he might check into the enrollment requisites. Theo started to worry, then.

If Stiles goes to New Rome for college, Theo can't follow him. He never even got to finish eighth grade. And Scott, he's one of the Romans, their leader, and grudging as he is to admit, one of Stiles's friends now the more he visits Camp Half-Blood. He will eagerly encourage Stiles, telling him of the countless perks that Camp Jupiter has. He will be as big a hero there as he is in Camp Half-Blood, and he can rise to praetorship alongside Scott if the Legion so wishes it.

Scott is not a bad person per se, but he wears the color and insignia of the place Theo might lose Stiles to. And if Theo blinks the wrong way, he might not see quick enough that Stiles is being whisked away to the other side of the coast, leading a life without him.

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After officially welcoming the son of Jupiter to the camp, feeding him, and getting him settled in Cabin One, the campers go about their daily routine of training.

The blade vibrates when it hits the shooting log, right on the marked spot. Then it disappears into thin air and reappears in Theo's hand only to be thrown back to the same spot. He does it repeatedly, unrelentingly, until Tara aims with his bow and hits his blade with an arrow to send both weapons clanging to the ground, a few meters away.

Theo heaves; he doesn't even know he's breathless just from throwing until then. Wiping beads of sweat from his forehead, he nods appreciatively at the bow in Tara's hands when his sister stands beside him with a smile. "If we aren't siblings, I'd mistake you for a daughter of Apollo."

"Please," she laughs, opening her palm, gesturing at the fallen weapons. Both her arrow and Theo's blade fly to her hands in a matter of seconds. "I don't want to light up like a glow stick while waxing poetry during a fight." Children of Apollo don't actually do those in the middle of a fight, but they do glow when they're healing, and they can make others speak in rhymes just for fun. Tara offers the knife back to his brother. "Also, we're children of Ares. By birthright alone, we should know to wield any weapon of war."

Theo takes the knife and snorts, "And yet, I suck at archery."

"I can't summon weapons out of thin air," She points out, grinning at him as she puts the arrow back to its sheaf. "I guess we just can't have it all or Zeus would be zapping us one by one."

Theo scoffs, leaning into position to begin throwing again.

"Speaking of Zeus," Tara says, a playful tone in her words. "Where's your favorite son of the Sky God?"

Theo spares her a glare before flinging his knife and burying it onto the battered practice log. He purses his lips before answering, "He's at the Big House with Chiron, Mr. D, Stiles, and the other head counselors." He clenches his fingers around the blade's hilt when it returns to his hands. "They're talking about a little orientation on New Rome University's scholarships and handing brochures and study guide for the DSTOMP." Theo doesn't bother hiding the acid in his voice from his sister. She'll recognize it anyway, even if he masks it with neutrality. He can't mask it with neutrality.

She quirks a brow, "You don't sound too eager," she notes. "Are you still jealous of Scott, little brother?"

"I'm not jealous of Scott," he says, gritting his teeth. "And don't call me little brother."

"Why are you so strung up, then, if you're not baselessly jealous?"

He finds his reply being interrupted for the second time that day, this time by a distant rumbling coming from the sky. All activities on the ground cease as everyone turns to the increasing volume of an invisible running engine. Theo scans the space above them, at first not grasping anything in motion, until a burst of light reveals a flying, glowing red bus coming down fast to the ground.

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Someone goes to alert Chiron as the rest of them scamper to the landing site by the amphitheater. The bus landed surprisingly smooth, despite its breakneck descent.

"Is that a Ferrari bus?" One of the campers points out.

Sure enough, the logo at the front of the vehicle, a black prancing horse on a yellow background, is of the famous luxury sports brand. But why would there be a flying Ferrari bus at Camp Half-Blood?

"Oh gods," Lori gasps somewhere on Theo's left. "Is that dad's sun chariot?"

As if on cue, the bus door opens, and a teenager who looks about Theo's age exits, wearing what he can only describe as a hipster look. He flashes a blinding grin - and quite literally at that, since they have to shield their eyes momentarily from the glimmer of his teeth - clears his throat dramatically, and announces:

"Hello demigods

The sun landed on your grounds

I am so awesome."

There's silence at first, then a series of enthusiastic applause from Brett and the rest of cabin seven comes next. The teenager bows theatrically, although Theo finds nothing extraordinary about what he just said. But soon, the others join in with half-hearted claps, recognizing the powerful aura suddenly seeping into their skins that could only mean there's a god among them - well, another god, aside from Dionysus, their Camp Director. And with the terrible haiku, there will be no mistaking who graced their camp today. The last time Theo had seen him, during the almost war on his first year at camp, the god had worn the body of a muscular mid-20's blond man. Now, it seems he favors to look even younger despite his four thousand years.

"Lord Apollo," Chiron's voice drowns out the applaud as he trots forward, now in his form as a white stallion from the waist down. "It's a pleasant surprise. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood."

Mr. D isn't as warm. He snorts, rolling his eyes. "Oh, bother, what brought you here now?"

Apollo's bright persona doesn't falter as he gestures at the bus - that is apparently his sun chariot. Theo remembers the time when he almost drove Apollo's chariot, if the Hermes cabin did not snitch it from under their noses, and thus putting three cabins grounded after a severe prank war. He had to take Liam's dish duties and pay him just so his present for Stiles could be delivered in time for Christmas.

"I'm here at the request of my little sister." The god says proudly, as the door opens again, this time with grumbling teenage and prepubescent girls coming out from the bus. All dressed in the same outfit: silver jackets, silver camo pants, and black combat boots, and they carry at their backs a quiver of sharp silver arrows. They glance at Apollo with apparent distrust, standing as far away from him as possible, as the god continues, "To deliver her hunters safely while she's away on a personal errand."

Several demigods groan in displeasure at the news, and even Chiron's lips form a thin line, though he tries to smile through the tension. Mr. D seems to be delighted now, though, happier to see the strange, vicious-looking ladies than his own brother. Personally, it feels like an omen of danger. Mr. D is never happy unless something perilous is about to descend upon his campers - even if his own daughter, Malia, is among them.

"Thank you, Lord Apollo." One of the hunters says albeit she looks physically pained by her words. She stands at the front of the group, a silver ring headwear around her head, with bouncing black curls, a pointed nose, and a strong chin. The other hunters also look at her when she speaks. It's easy to recognize her as the group's leader. "And thank you, Lord Dionysus, Chiron, for accomodating the hunters of Lady Artemis."

Chiron nods at the girl, eyes softening with kindness born out of familiarity, "You're always welcome, Allison."

Mr. D laughs boisterously, then. Like his punishment has just been lifted and he can go back to Olympus and away from the brats, celebrating by getting drunk on wine after years of prohibition. "Well, at least, Capture the Flag this Friday seems more enticing now, don't you think so, Chiron?" He gives a wicked grin at his campers, not waiting for a reply, his change in demeanor promising a torturous next few days for the demigods. "Ready to lose the Camp Half-Blood banner to these little girls for the 58th time in a row?"

~•~

#steo #steo fic #demigod au #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #stiles x theo #so idk what the heck happened #but i wrote 1k words more than my target word count #ahdbdjdjskxb idk #also for the demigod anon here's a response to one of your prompts!!#it took a hot minute but i hope you see this #scott mccall #brett talbot #tara raeken #allison argent #fics tag #demigodseries

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yellow-r-o-s-e · 3 years

Text

it's all unscripted

Word Count: about 2000

Pairing: romantic Lumity, platonic Blight siblings

Characters: Amity Blight, Edric Blight, Emira Blight, also brief Luz Noceda, Eda Clawthorne, and Owlbert

Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Post Episode, Takes Place Immediately After S02E08 “Knock Knock Knocking On Hooty’s Door”

Warnings: Crying, Anxiety, Bits of Implied Perfectionism, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse

Author’s Note: I literally cannot stop thinking about Amity in this episode. She went through such an emotional rollercoaster, poor girl.

Summary:

Luz was in love with her.

The revelations still sent fireworks through Amity’s heart.

They were even dating now, which was unimaginably cool.

She tried desperately to hold that warmth close to her, fearing it would slip away as she got further from the Owl House.

This—sneaking back home and pretending nothing had happened—was the easy part. It should be, at least.

Read it on ao3 at the link below, or click the Read More button to read on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33079672

Amity still felt dazed and jittery when she arrived in front of Blight Manor. Her feet hit the ground with a soft thud, crunching against pink and red pine needles. The concrete steps in front of her house loomed, looking colder and more threatening than she remembered. As she pulled her hood lower over her eyes, her fingers trembled.

It was fine. She could do this.

A headache had snuck up on her. Her forehead and eyes felt like they were burning, and she had a lump in her throat.

Still, she’d had a fantastic night. Nothing could take that away. Luz was in love with her, and they were dating. The memories still sent fireworks through Amity’s heart. She tried desperately to hold that warmth close to her, fearing it would slip away.

This—sneaking back in and pretending nothing had happened—was the easy part.

She turned to the palisman beside her.

“Thank you....” What was his name again? Edalyn had mentioned it, as she was insisting that he should fly Amity home to make sure she was safe, but then Luz’s hand had lightly brushed against Amity’s shoulder, and Luz’s gorgeous face had been right there, so close, and all of Amity’s thoughts had fizzled out to make room for sparkly giddiness.

“Thanks, little friend,” Amity whispered. The wooden owl seemed satisfied and flapped his wings. Then he took off, headed back to the Owl House, where his family was waiting for him. Luz was probably, hopefully, still thinking about her, and she’d be happy to see her little owl friend return safe, and...

A few pangs of inexplicable jealousy surged through her before she wrestled them away. She grit her teeth. This wasn’t how she was supposed to feel. She had been so happy a few minutes ago, it shouldn’t have evaporated this fast.

She closed her eyes and counted down from ten, bracing herself to move forward through the clearing. When she reached ‘one,’ she held her breath and sprinted until she made it inside. She shut the front door as quietly as possible and leaned against the wall.

Then, with no warning or reason, the electric glee came back full force, making her feel unsteady on her feet. She blushed, biting her cheeks to stop herself from smiling, or worse, squealing with joy. That wouldn’t end well for her. Luz’s words echoed in her mind. As much as her instincts tried to dissect the events of the night, as hard as she searched for any downsides or sources of negativity, she still felt like she was floating.

The good feeling lasted a few seconds before it was replaced by guilt, which didn’t even make sense.

“I need to get back home. My mom is going to kill me,” she had said, out loud, like a complete idiot. She had meant to say it to herself, but then Luz was alert and looking at her seriously and oh… oh no. She’d ruined the moment.

“Not…” Amity swallowed. “Not literally. I’ll be fine.” Needing to do something with her hands, she gave Luz a thumbs up.

“Are you going to be…” Luz’s voice was so soft, Amity felt like her heart was cracking.

“It’s totally fine…” Amity laughed, but it sounded hollow, even to her own ears.

“Because, earlier, she did try to kill me, literally, and I don’t want you to be in danger because of me, and-”

Amity groaned, trying to shift her focus to current issues, like getting up the stairs without being caught.

It would be so much easier if she could just feel all of her emotions at once, Amity thought, making her way down the empty hallway. If it was all at once, she knew she’d be feeling overwhelming happiness twinged with only tiny amounts of negativity. Unfortunately, the sheer amount of emotions were too much for her to handle, so they took turns crashing over her in waves.

She managed to slip upstairs unnoticed, and her hands were shaking when she silently opened her bedroom door, but she was pretty sure it was more from the leftover thrill of the night than fear of being caught by her parents.

She closed the door behind her and saw herself sitting at her desk, scribbling at a homework problem.

“What?” She blinked, confused.

The illusion of her dissolved into mist, and she suddenly realized that her brother was sitting next to her desk, looking directly at her. She froze, unable to speak.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

“We didn’t know where you went, but mom came to check on you, and I figured you didn’t want to be caught,” he said in explanation. “You’re welcome.” He smiled.

That made sense. Amity was pretty sure she should feel grateful for the save. Unfortunately, any gratitude she felt was more than cancelled out by the fury that he was in her room, perceiving her, drawing out the already too long night. Ideally the night should have ended twenty minutes ago, when she had still been with Luz.

“Hey, Em, she’s not dead,” Edric spoke into a shimmering circle, no doubt sending some sort of illusion to carry the message to their sister.

In a matter of seconds, Emira burst through the door, out of breath.

No no no no no, she hadn’t planned for this. She didn’t know what to say to them, hadn’t even figured out how she was feeling. She just wanted it to be tomorrow already, so she could be standing next to Luz at school, and everything could be bright and shiny and wonderful again.

“Oh, hey there Mittens,” Emira said, making finger guns. “Glad to see you here. Not that we were worried or anything-“

“Where were you?” Edric interrupted. “You freaked us out. Em was on the verge of telling mom-“

“No, I wasn’t.” Emira leaned against the wall, faking nonchalance. “I’m not a snitch. It was all under control, and I trust you.”

Edric stuck his tongue out at her.

“I’m sorry,” Emira said, “which of us said they thought they saw her get eaten by a worm demon?”

“Oh.” Amity finally found her voice, and their gazes snapped toward her. She slid down to the floor, trying to escape their gazes. “No, he’s right, that did happen.”

“What?!”

“Are you okay?”

And then the twins were talking over each other, pressing for more details, and Amity couldn’t quite breathe, and-

“You’re overwhelming her!” Emira chided. “Look at her face.”

“Like you weren’t also-“

“Shush.” Emira gently nudged her brother aside, sitting down in front of Amity. “Mittens, baby, can you tell us what happened?”

“I’m not a baby,” Amity grumbled. Why wouldn’t they leave? She just wanted to be alone, for Titan’s sake.

Emira rolled her eyes, and Edric shoved her gently.

“Mittens, teenager who is very wise,” Edric said. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“Yeah, um…” Amity tried to think back through the night, searching for an understandable place to start. “Well… you see…” she swallowed. “I…”

And then, she broke down sobbing.

Edric reached out a hand toward her, waiting until she nodded to pull her into a tight hug. She buried her face in his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he said.

“I know! That’s the problem! It’s not…” Amity hiccoughed, frantically rubbing at her face. “It was good. I’m just stupid. I don’t know why-“

She let out another sob. She was pretty sure she was getting snot all over Edric’s shirt. Good. That’s what he got for annoying her when she wanted to be left alone.

She made several attempts at speech that all came out garbled.

“Take your time,” Emira said.

“Luz-” Amity sniffled again. “Luz thinks I’m cool.”

Edric laughed at that. Amity tried to glare at him but still couldn’t stop crying.

“She’s so cute.” Amity sniffled, out of breath. “I’m gonna throw up.”

“That,” Edric cleared his throat, trying not to laugh again. “That sounds very difficult. How will you ever survive?”

“Shut up,” Amity grumbled, pushing him away from her. She stood up and flopped face-first onto her bed.

“We’re…” she had meant to get it over with, to say “we’re dating” and let the twins react over enthusiastically, but anxiety overtook her and her throat dried up.

"I'm sorry," Emira said, not sounding sorry, "but what does that have to do with being eaten by a worm demon?"

"Luz's dumb bird-worm thing kidnapped me," Amity said with a small laugh, grateful for the subject change. Then, she felt her face go bright red. She couldn't very well tell her siblings about the Tunnel of Love, or she'd be teased for the rest of her life.

"Okay..." Emira sat down next to her, and she fought not to hiss at the intrusion of her personal space. Emira must have sensed her discomfort, though, because she stood back up immediately. "And then?"

"Things... happened. And then Luz asked me hnnmnnmnm," she buried her face in her pillow.

"I didn’t quite get that." Emira said. Even without looking up, Amity could hear the smirk in her voice.

"Luz..." Amity took a deep breath. It was fine. She was okay. It wasn't going to become any less special if she said it out loud.

"Luz asked me to go out with her." It was silent for a second, and she savored the words.

"Woo!" Edric held out a hand to high-five her, and she tapped it lightly.

"Congrats!" Emira said. “No wonder you’re such a mess.”

“You did say yes, right?” Edric asked.

“I’m not stupid,” she said, throwing a pillow at him.

“Someone’s avoiding the question…”

“Yes!” she said. “I said yes, okay. Can I go to sleep now?”

“Hmmm,” Emira tapped her finger against her chin, and Amity groaned.

“Fine,” Emira said, “because we love you so much, and we’re so proud of you, we’ll let you sleep. Just this once.”

Emira grabbed her brother by the elbow and dragged him out of the room, shooting Amity one last smile before closing the door. Finally, she was blissfully alone.

Memories swirled through her brain again. Luz’s hand squeezing hers. Luz’s horrified expression when Amity had tried to fake a smile but couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down her face. Luz’s nervous laughter as she told Amity how much she liked her. Luz’s knee bumping against hers as they sat face to face, theoretically trying to decide what being girlfriends meant, but getting too distracted staring at each other to finish the conversation. Luz kissing her cheek and looking at her so sincerely as she told her “fly home safe.”

Amity’s heart thudded in her ribcage. She might combust if her siblings found out about how stupid in love she’d acted tonight, but she was going to explode anyway if she didn’t tell all the details to someone immediately.

Resigned, she sat up, and crept out of her room. Her siblings were still standing in the hallway, whispering excitedly. Edric noticed her first, tapping Emira’s hand to get her to look.

“Mittens?” she asked.

“I’m feeling every emotion,” she admitted, “and I can’t sleep, and I need you to come back actually,” she mumbled, not meeting their eyes.

“Sweet,” Edric said.

It wasn’t even a teasing remark, but Amity still blushed. She was screwed, she knew. Still, with their eyes on her, the hurricane of emotions that was tugging at her felt a little less heavy and a little more manageable. She was lucky to have them as her siblings, not that she’d ever tell them that.

“Aww, is she too in love to sleep?” Emira asked.

“Shut up,” Amity said, blushing even harder.

“Okay, okay, I’m shutting up. It’s your turn to talk,” Emira said. “Tell us everything.”

#lumity #the owl house #toh #toh spoilers #knock knock knocking on hooty's door #fic tag #my fic #amity blight #edric blight #emira blight #blight siblings

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lifblogs · 3 years

Text

Whumpay 2021: Day 14 - Slammed Into Wall / Forced To Their Feet

Anything for Revenge

read on ao3 2354 words graphic depictions of violence, star wars, the clone wars, whump, hurt!ahsoka tano, torture, interrogation, force inhibitor, fighting, collars, biting, force mind probe, broken bones, rescue

“Where is Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

Ahsoka struggled against the grip on her throat. When she managed to get some air in, she spat at Darth Maul, “Like I’d ever tell you.”

He snarled at her, and slammed her into the wall.

“Tell me!” he screeched.

When she looked into his bloodshot eyes with their yellow irises, she didn’t see something entirely sane there. She’d heard about what had happened with Darth Maul. In fact, Obi-Wan had specifically given her training sessions to avoid Darth Maul’s fate. He’d taught her the very move he’d done to slice him in half and what she could do to avoid it.

Yet he was still alive, driven by anger and hate, feeding off of the dark side of the Force. It was no wonder that he wasn’t all there. Part of him was now purely darkness and a brimming need for revenge.

Ahsoka tried to kick at him, but his reach was too long, and she was too short. He dropped her, and then he was the one who kicked her. With the metal of his foot, it was all too easy for two of her ribs to give in and crack. The air slammed out of her in a strangled scream. Before she could barely register the pain, tears blurring her vision, he grabbed her and forced her to her feet.

“Where is he!”

“You… need… to learn… some manners!” she snarked.

“You don’t understand. You don’t understand!” he raved. “I need him. Kenobi, yes. Kenobi. I need Kenobi.”

“So you can… kill him?”

Darth Maul’s madness seemed to go from heated to cool, and his breaths and erratic movements slowed as he met her gaze. She didn’t dare turn her head away, not even as the darkness she saw in those eyes made her shudder.

“Torture him. Torture him. Make him understand!”

“Oh, I think…” Ahsoka coughed, and her chest screamed. “I think he understands enough.”

That was when he threw her, and she landed on her broken ribs. It felt like they jabbed into something inside her, but they didn’t move again, and she supposed it was only the pressure that kept her stable, that didn’t let her start bleeding to death.

“No one understands! No one! Do you know what it was like, living for years amongst rubbish and filth, knowing that you were one and the same? Knowing that the pain you felt would never go away, and it was the fault of one being in the whole universe?”

Ahsoka tried crawling away, and he stepped on her back. She screamed.

“I will make Kenobi understand. Yes, before the end, he will know my pain. But first, I have to find him.”

He rolled her over with a fierce kick and shove of his foot, her side throbbing.

“Where is he!” he screamed, standing over Ahsoka.

She just bared her teeth in a snarl, letting him see her fangs.

“Fine,” he cried. “Fine. I’ll use you as bait. Let him come to you.”

“He’ll… He’ll never fall for it,” she gasped out.

“So you’re saying he and your master would sooner abandon you than offer help?”

“If they were smart.”

~~~

“Anakin, why do you always have to do something stupid?” Obi-Wan asked as Anakin locked onto the tracking beacon attached to Ahsoka’s comms. “If she truly is captured by Maul, he’s going to know we’re coming. She’s bait. And you plan on just landing, and walking right in there?”

Anakin eyed his screen, seeing that his fighter was getting closer to Dathomir, where Ahsoka was being held.

“Yep,” he said.

“In all the Sith hells, why do I listen to you?”

Anakin joked, even while he didn’t feel it, worry for Ahsoka clouding all else, “You care about me too much.”

“Yes, and I’m afraid that’s going to get me killed.”

A sensor popped up on Anakin’s screen, and R2 beeped at him.

“We’re within the planet’s gravitational pull.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Obi-Wan muttered.

“Nonsense, Master. This is where things get exciting.”

Their ships began to descend, Anakin picking up speed with R2’s help, and Obi-Wan following suit. He heard a mutter of “kriff, I hate flying,” and then he was saying, “Your definition of exciting is problematic.”

Anakin ignored him. He had to save Ahsoka. He knew Darth Maul wasn’t all there. And he could scarcely imagine what he would do to her, what he might already be doing to her.

~~~

“You know,” Ahsoka forced out, struggling, “I’m not a fan… of necklaces.”

Darth Maul just grinned at her, and still approached with the collar. “Too bad,” he sighed, seeming genuinely sad for a few moments. “I do like this one. If you try using the Force while this is on you, it’ll simply redirect the energy on the negative plane, cancelling it out.”

Ahsoka rolled her eyes, even as she backed up against the rock wall.

“Oh, so you do have a brain,” she muttered.

Then she couldn’t breathe, and her throat was being crushed. Eyes watering, vision spotting, she managed to make out the image of Darth Maul in front of her, hand reaching out to her, fingers curved with violent intent. She tried to claw at the feeling, at that force choking her, but it was no use. Her next thought was to combat him through the Force, to try and pry him away from her. But his will strengthened, and all her air was cut off entirely.

He approached her, metal collar in hand. Ahsoka tried to struggle, but his grip held her fast, and in no time at all, it was around her neck. Once it was locked, he released her, and she collapsed to the cave floor.

“Let me go,” Ahsoka croaked, ashamed that such words had even left her.

“Not. Just. Yet.”

Despite knowing it was no use, some innate survival instinct gnawed at Ahsoka for her to try and pry the collar off. It was cold against her skin, and heavy. She was only glad it wasn’t a shock collar, but it was still no use trying to get it off. It was impenetrable, it would seem. And with it on, she could reach out for the Force, but it was as if it wasn’t actually there. She tried to use it again, to push and pull the collar off of her.

Her head started to pound and her vision blurred with the effort. Or maybe that was just from the broken ribs.

She let out a weak cry, and collapsed, breathless.

“You’re lucky I didn’t go with the chemical collar,” he told her, back to her now, so he could look out at the dark red sky.

His hands were clasped behind his back, but still within easy reach of his vicious lightsaber.

“That one would’ve done some damage, and would have made you feel cut off from the Force entirely.” He sighed. “I heard it’s quite a... lonely feeling.”

Ahsoka just glared. There was no point in talking to him.

“Do you think they’re coming for you?” he asked her.

She still said nothing.

Another sigh left him, and he turned back to her. “Fine, since you’re being so helpful, let’s try another tactic, just in case they don’t show up.”

“Torture me all you want,” Ahsoka panted out, trying to push herself up and away from him. Pain stabbed her and she bit her bottom lip, wincing. “You’ll… You’ll never get anything out of me.”

“I’m so happy to know that you think that.”

Suddenly, he was kneeling by her. Too close, too close! Her instincts were screaming that she was in danger, that everything was wrong. The adrenaline already running through her system to combat the pain of her injuries increased tenfold. His hand was before her face now. And she felt him. Oh Force!

Her head slammed back against the rock wall, and he started prying into her, looking, looking…

Ahsoka tried to fight him off, both physically, and with the Force. He took a few seconds to grab her wrists and pin them above her head. He straddled her, holding her down. And then he was going after her mind again.

Ahsoka screamed, and she couldn’t stop.

~~~

Anakin nearly crashed his fighter in his rush to get to the planet’s surface. Before it stopped sliding against the rocks and nearly crashed into a bare tree, he was leaping up out of the cockpit, lightsaber in hand.

There was suffering, darkness. Ahsoka needed his help.

“Anakin, what in the galaxy are you doing?” Obi-Wan cried as he rushed to get out of his fighter and join Anakin, who was already taking off at a sprint.

“She’s in trouble, master!”

Obi-Wan caught up to him, but didn’t stop him. They ran towards that writhing, screaming darkness. And it wasn’t long before they heard Ahsoka’s voice rent the air.

The sound, and the adrenaline that it sent rushing through Anakin, stopped him in his tracks. He lost all focus and discipline. Oh Force, he couldn’t breathe. What was that monster doing to her? Could he save her? Ahsoka, Ahsoka!

Obi-Wan grabbed his bicep.

“Come on, she needs us.”

They set off again, drawing closer to a cave within the walls of a mountain.

“That’s what I was… trying to tell you,” Anakin got out.

They neared the cave, the sky darkening around them like red poison, and there they saw him. Darth Maul was getting up off of a beaten and collared Ahsoka, looking absolutely delighted.

He went out to meet them. Obi-Wan and Anakin paused, drawing their lightsabers and igniting them.

“What did you do to her!” Anakin demanded.

“She was being very… hmm… obstinate,” Maul said, casually walking back and forth before her like she was some piece of prey he’d caught. He waved his hilt around nonchalantly. But even as he did that, Anakin could practically sense him vibrating, and his crazed eyes kept darting towards Obi-Wan. “But I got what I needed in the end.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan asked, stepping forward, dropping into one of his forms. “And what’s that?”

“You!”

Darth Maul’s red lightsaber ignited, and he charged at them.

~~~

Ahsoka was barely aware of the fight happening just outside the cave, barely aware of the flashes of dueling light, and the violent hum of energy. She could barely lift her head up, or even keep her eyes open.

But she stayed conscious, her head hurting and feeling all wrong.

The blue lightsabers worked in tandem against the red, and she saw that Darth Maul was being pushed back. And back.

And back.

Force, he was right there!

Quick as lightning, he whirled, and grabbed her. She cried out, injuries jarring, stabbing pressure rending her body. He held her close, and had the lightsaber against her neck.

“Kenobi,” he hissed, “surrender yourself, or she dies.”

Ahsoka half expected Obi-Wan’s characteristic snark, but it didn’t come. He lowered his weapon, stepping into a relaxed stance. He switched off his lightsaber.

“No, no!” Ahsoka cried.

“Obi-Wan, what are you doing?” Anakin demanded.

Obi-Wan handed his lightsaber to Anakin, and said, “The right thing. Alright, Maul. You can have me, do what you wish with me. Just keep your promise. Let. Her. Go.”

Tension thickened the humid air, and Ahsoka could barely breathe. Or maybe that was the broken ribs.

She felt vibrations alight in Darth Maul’s chest, vibrations that rose up into his throat, and left his mouth as fierce, deranged laughter.

“Oh, I never said I’d let her go.”

Sensing what was about to happen, not even thinking about it, Ahsoka leaned forward and bit his arm as hard as she could. Blood was drawn, and he dropped his lightsaber that he had been about to use to slice into her, torture her in front of her family.

He screamed, and Ahsoka grimaced against his bitter blood.

He threw her off, and the landed in a heap at Anakin’s feet, blood dribbling from her mouth.

Darth Maul lunged for her, for Obi-Wan, and Anakin tossed Obi-Wan his lightsaber.

The fighting renewed. Ahsoka managed to drag herself away, not wanting to be used in such a way again. Obi-Wan had been about to give himself up for her?

She wasn’t worth it. Not in the sense that her life didn’t have meaning, but in the sense that she was a Padawan, and Obi-Wan was a master. He had far more experience, and training, and wisdom. The lives he could save surely far surpassed hers. Attachment was wrong, yet, despite knowing that, Ahsoka just wanted to be back home on Coruscant, and have Anakin hold her hand.

The fight escalated, Anakin receiving a burn on his thigh, and Obi-Wan across his back. But they kept fighting, despite the blood, and the sweat. They were determined.

Darth Maul fell back, and it wasn’t long before he was retreating.

Anakin was about to clip his lightsaber to his belt, but Obi-Wan said, “No, after him! We need his ship to get Ahsoka out of here.”

The chase began.

Ahsoka, despite all her training, whimpered, and reached out for them as they left.

~~~

Long minutes passed before a ship was landing next to her. Obi-Wan was helping her up.

“You’ll be alright, little one.”

Usually she hated anyone talking to her like she was still a child, but she allowed it just this once.

“Artoo? Come in, Artoo!” Anakin said into his commlink. “I need you to pilot a ship back to Coruscant. Ahsoka’s too hurt to fly it herself.”

Beeps sounded from the other end.

Anakin lowered his wrist, saying to them, “He’s on his way.”

Then, he was rushing to Ahsoka, and his hands shook as he held them out, unsure where to touch her.

She let herself fall into his arms, and she began to cry.

“It’s okay, Ahsoka,” he said, voice tight with pain and relief. “Everything’s going to be alright. You’re with us now.”

Ahsoka nodded, and felt Obi-Wan start to disengage the collar on her neck as Anakin held her.

Safe. She was safe.

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scribbling-stiks · 3 years

Text

Retrievers - XXVI - Lizards

Russia is about to answer with a reluctant 'yes' when he hears shouting outside.

'Oh no.'

"Stay here," Russia orders, turning on his heels.

He runs out the backdoor and doesn't pay Alabama's shouting any mind. He rushes into the backyard. Suddenly, something comes flying through the trees, crashing through blackberry spines.

Another humanoid monster tumbles through the air and hits the ground, dredging up mud as it carves a trail into the dirt. Dixie runs after it, Mississippi on his tail.

"I knew I shouldn't've pushed my luck!" Dixie exclaims, his fists clenched at his sides and a nasty sneer on his face.

Russia runs forward when Dixie turns around and shoves Mississippi to the side. Another creature lunges right for where the teen had been standing and Dixie reels back, punching it. It shrieks and flies out of view. Russia can hear it crashing through the plant life, and one of the trees seems to collapse because of it.

'Damn, I'm lucky I didn't get that when he punched me. I would not have kept my face.'

"Get inside and get you your brother! Stay out of trouble!" Dixie demands, shoving Mississippi toward the house.

Mississippi stumbles and Russia grabs his shoulder, steadying him before letting him go. Russia watches as Mississippi sprints back into the house. He yanks Alabama from the porch and into the door as he runs in. The door slams shut and Russia runs to Dixie's side.

"What are we dealing with?" Russia asks, clenching his hands into fists.

"A bunch of human-looking lizard monsters came out of nowhere. It's got to have somethin' to do with your magic earlier."

Russia spins around at movement and decks a hissing monster in its face. Then a larger creature bursts through the treeline with a loud hiss that makes Russia's blood run cold. He stares up at it and is almost blinded by the sunlight its scaly face reflects. It's almost three meters tall and looks almost like a huge dragon, but more human.

'It looks like the gorgons Greece talks about sometimes.'

"Shit!" Dixie yells.

It roars, and five more creatures creep out of the woodwork. The smaller ones charge, and Dixie throws them back, one by one. Russia eyes the largest of the group, his mind spitting thoughts a mile a minute.

The largest towers over them, its forked tongue flicking into the open air. Its eyes narrow and it begins scampering toward the house.

'I need to take that one out before it finds one of the kids.'

The smaller creatures begin to surround him.

'How am I going to do that?'

Russia grabs a slimy, reptilian arm from the fray and yanks the creature attached to it into the air. He flings it at the largest creature. The two collide, and the smaller one yelps, but neither seemed hurt in the crash, only angry.

Dixie ducks and weaves between the claws, sending them flying back with well-aimed hits.

Russia's head swivels around and he spots the thick trunk of a pecan tree behind him, its knots are worn down from climbing. Russia turns back to see the creature spitting and running toward him at inhuman speeds. It's a second away when Russia starts running directly for the tree.

"I hope you have a plan, Ruski!"

'I hope this works.'

Russia plants his feet into the base and runs up the side. The bark pushes against his boots. He hooks his heels onto one of the larger knots and springs off into the air. He raises his hands over his head, and the world flips. He watches the treetops stab the sky from five meters in the air. The sound of wind fills his ears, and winter air caresses his face.

He leans his head back and spots the thing reaching up at him.

He reaches and takes its wrists into vise tight grips. It digs its talons into Russia's arms, but Russia holds tighter. He kicks one of his legs out underneath him and bends his knees. He watches the ground approach him and yanks back with his hands. The thing shrieks and Russia watches its feet leave the ground.

It follows his momentum and Russia smirks.

'Good.'

Russia's left leg hits the ground, closely followed by his right. The thing flies over his head when Russia whips it forward. It rushes down to the ground in a blur, and its spine cracks loud enough to leave Russia's ears ringing.

It begins to dissolve and Russia releases its arms. He ignores the burning his blood and the slime cause while they mix on his skin. He spins on his toes and catches one of the smaller ones charging at him. He picks it up by its neck and rolls it at the four others running at him. The monsters fall over like pins, and Dixie grabs two of them and conks their heads together.

Russia gets ready to dispatch the other three when automatic gunfire rings out behind him. The monsters drop and start to dissolve.

Russia turns around to see Finland standing in the doorway, lowering her gun. Behind her are Mississippi and Alabama, who are poking their heads out around her. Finland smiles and offers a wave. Russia grins, relieved.

"WOO!" Dixie cheers.

Then a hand hits Russia's shoulder, and Russia turns to see Dixie looking at him with an impressed look.

"That was a cool trick you did there," Dixie comments.

"Thank you," Russia replies, rubbing at the scratches on his wrists.

Russia looks a little closer to see states, provinces, and countries alike watching through the windows. Russia smiles and begins walking toward the door. He's welcomed back inside, and he and Dixie are greeted by applause.

Russia disappears into the first-floor bathroom and begins scrubbing the bloody, slimy mess from his arms. He does notice with worry that the scratches had begun to turn green.

Russia walks back out and wrings his numbing hands.

"Russia? Is everything okay?" Montana asks.

Russia silently shows her his hands, and she gasps, horrified.

"AH! LOUISIANA! HELP!" she shrieks.

Russia suddenly finds himself shoved back on the couch and Louisiana prods at the wounds. New York stands by, arms full of bandages. Louisiana sighs and waves her hand out beside her. Someone hands her a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and Louisiana dumps it over Russia's arms without warning.

Then, she shoves salt onto it, and Russia yowls. He throws his head back and squeezes his eyes shut and he tries to keep his trembling arms still.

"I know, but I have to stop this before it causes irreversible damage."

Russia clenches his teeth and watches through tears as the green recedes. The sensation returns to his arms and hands, and Louisiana rinses the wounds out with a water bottle. She pats it dry and New York begins securing butterfly bandages and wrapping the whole thing in gauze.

"Russia?!" America yells from the stairs.

"He's down here!" Finland calls.

America clumsily stumbles down the stairs, and Russia tries to smile. America hurries forward and falls onto the couch next to Russia.

"Are you okay?!" America asks, gently holding the bandages.

"Yes," Russia says between his teeth.

America reaches up and wipes the tears from Russia's cheeks. Russia lets his shoulders fall and he turns his head toward America and tries again to smile at America.

"I saw you by the way," America says, tenderly holding Russia's cheeks, "it was amazing."

"Thank you," Russia mumbles, trying to blink away tears.

Russia leans down and America pecks Russia's forehead. Russia closes his eyes and tries to ignore the pulsing in his arms.

"Here," America says, gently grasping at Russia's arms.

Russia allows America to take them, and America rubs them. Russia senses the static around him, and he reaches toward the magic. There is a tug in his chest and he opens his eyes. But instead of seeing the normal world, everything is glowing. Russia sniffles and the sounds around him get drowned out.

Russia stares around. America shimmers, and his chest is light blue. It concentrates around his chest. Looking further, he sees Arizona with a heart of flames and Massachusetts surrounded by an aura of green. Arizona's fire looks more solid, and the other colors look far more transparent.

Threads of white circle around outside. Russia is completely enthralled watching them swirl, his eyes like that of an infant. Russia reaches out and watches the wide threads flow through the window and swirl around his hands.

He takes a deep breath and feels the strands begin to flow through his chest, his heart. He looks down and sees himself begin glowing a bright, pale pink. He turns back and sees America's magic flicker. He instinctively places his hands onto America's chest and begins to carefully give America some of the magic that flows through him.

He's careful to try to control it, knowing what happened to the necklace.

Russia looks away from the white glowing in his hands and sees America staring at him, his mouth open. The flickering stops and Russia blinks and pulls his hands away. The pulling in his chest disappears, and so do the colors.

Russia looks around and finds that he could hear a pin drop.

"What?" Russia asks.

Table of Contents

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daisylincs · 4 years

Text

@angrylittleintrovert prompted me Staticquake + “you need to relax more” // “you need to stop taking unnecessary risks.”

I'm not going to lie, when I saw this prompt, I saw the opportunity to write a Staticquake AU for one of my favourite tropes EVER - the how-could-you-be-so-stupid-I-was-so-worried slap-slap-kiss.

I promise you I meant for this to be only about 500 words long. I promise you. But then I sat down in front of the computer, and, well, my muse completely ran away with me. And before I really knew what had happened, I had developed an entire AU setting, plus some intense feels, for my precious babies.

Oh, I have no excuse. Just *shoves fic in your face* enjoy this!!

Daisy paced up and down the landing ramp of the quinjet, her steps sharp and angry. She moved fiercely, purposefully, heedless of the blood and soot covering her cheeks staining the leg of her suit.

Step.

She remembered their briefing, how this was supposed to be a standard, low-risk op - "it'll be easy for the likes of you two, nothing to worry about. All you have to do is get in, take out a few guards, steal back the briefcase, and get out."

Ha.

Step.

She remembered the moment it had all gone wrong - when they had burst through the door and found a ticking bomb strapped to the briefcase.

Step.

She remembered the look on his face when she had told him to clear the building, she would handle this.

Step.

She remembered how hard it had been to keep the bomb's energy contained in a sphere of her vibrations.

Step.

She remembered the crackle of static in her ear, followed by a terse - "clear."

Step.

She remembered the window shattering as she blasted it with her powers, taking a flying leap out as the building exploded behind her.

Step.

She remembered hitting the ground running and gritting her teeth against the pain in her legs. Asphalt was hard.

Step.

She remembered the high, terrified scream from the building she had just left, the white face pressed to a window miraculously left unbroken.

Step.

She remembered him muttering a curse and sprinting past her before she could stop him.

Step.

She remembered screaming after him that the building wasn't stable and could collapse at any moment.

Step.

She remembered the fierce look in his blue eyes - "I have to at least try and help" - before he rushed into the flames.

Step.

She remembered the building's frame finally giving in as he dashed through the door, with her a few steps behind and just too late to follow.

Step.

And she remembered coming back here, to the quinjet, to the rendezvous point, and waiting.

Because they had promised each other, huddled together under one of the orphanage's frayed, too-small blankets, that they would come back to each other no matter what.

And they had always kept that promise.

Turn.

She wasn't afraid, Daisy told herself firmly. They had always kept that promise. There was no reason to think today would be any different.

Lincoln was going to come back.

And when he did, she was going to kill him.

They had grown up together, survived the foster system together, gone through Terrigenesis together, become SHIELD's first Inhuman strike team together - he wasn't allowed to ruin that by making reckless, stupidly heroic decisions!

They had gone through far too much together for it to end like this.

Step.

Didn't he know how much she needed him in her life? He was her best friend, her partner, the one thing that had stayed constant throughout her life no matter how crazy things got.

Step.

Didn't he know that if she lost him, she would lose herself, too?

Step.

And then she saw him.

For a moment, Daisy froze completely. Then her brain caught up, and she rushed down the ramp of the quinjet, crashing into Lincoln's chest just as he was beginning to walk onto the plane.

"Daisy!" he said, stumbling back a step and catching her wrists to steady her and himself.

Daisy yanked her wrists out of his grasp and slapped him, her palm connecting with his cheek with a satisfying smack.

"You absolute IDIOT!" she shouted, taking full advantage of the shock in his blue eyes. "How could you be so STUPID? You could have died!"

Her voice cracked a little towards the end, and Daisy realised that her entire body was shaking, whether from anger or sheer relief she couldn't tell.

"Do you have any idea how reckless that was?" she asked, her voice raising even louder than before as she ran her hands over his face and chest, frantically checking for injuries. "That building was completely unstable, not to mention on fire! I don't care how good you are, you don't get to take those odds!"

"It's not about being good, Daisy, it's about saving lives," Lincoln said, his voice sharp as he got over his shock and cut into her rant.

"Oh, because you can save so many lives when you're dead!" Daisy knew she was being unfair, but her emotions were ramped up far too high for her to make any really logical decisions.

Lincoln returned her glare with exactly the same furious anger born from desperate worry and relief. "I was reckless? Daisy, you stayed in a building with a ticking bomb, risking your life on the off-chance that your powers might be able to keep it from blowing. Oh, and then you jumped five stories out of said building, straight onto solid asphalt."

"That's not the same as literally running into your death!" she argued loudly, the worry that had been singing through her blood all too glad to be released as boiling anger.

"How is that not the same?" he challenged, his blue eyes blazing. "You took a risk -"

"Which had way more chance of success than yours did, honestly, Lincoln, what the hell were you thinking?" she broke in, barely even noticing they were practically nose-to-nose as she glared at him.

"That doesn't change the fact that you took a massive risk! You could have died or permanently hurt yourself," he accused, wiping away some of the blood on her cheek with a warm hand while his eyes remained locked with hers.

Daisy released a shuddering breath and closed her eyes, instinctively leaning into his touch as his thumb stroked the curve of her cheekbone.

When she opened her eyes, she realised fully for the first time just how close they had gotten during their little shouting match. Her palms were still pressed against his chest, and his hand cradled her cheek, their noses almost brushing and their lips inches apart.

Daisy's eyes flicked down to his lips, and she realised three fundamental truths at the exact same time:

Number one, even when his eyes were blazing with anger, Lincoln's hand on her cheek as he half-unconsciously checked her injuries was gentle and warm. He cared so much about her, and matter how angry he was with her, he would never, never hurt her.

Number two, in the softening glare in his blue eyes, and in the desperate worry and overpowering relief still zipping through her blood, she saw that they had both reacted far too strongly for two best friends and partners who had been through life-threatening situations before.

And number three, she couldn't bear the thought of a world without him.

Daisy looked up at him, at Lincoln, the three epiphanies racing through her skull -

- and kissed him, fierce and desperate and full of all the powerful relief and raw emotion she couldn't put into words.

She pulled away after a moment that felt years longer, her breathing harsh and ragged. "Don't ever scare me like that again," she ordered, pressing her forehead against his and trying to ignore the way her lips were still tingling.

He huffed a small laugh against her lips, opening his eyes slowly and looking up from her mouth to meet her gaze. "You need to relax more."

She opened her eyes fully to give him an incredulous look. "And you need to stop taking unnecessary risks!"

His eyebrows shot up. "You're one to talk!" he accused, bumping his nose against hers.

She rolled her eyes, moving to punch him in the chest, but stopped as she realised she was still clinging to his shoulders.

She had come far too close to losing him today - she didn't think she'd be letting go anytime soon.

His eyes softened as her silence stretched on, and she could see in his eyes that he got it.

Daisy let out a soft breath and closed her eyes, and this time when she stretched up to kiss him, there was none of the anger or raw desperation of last time. It was soft and slow and perfect, both of them taking the time to really feel each other, to share without words how much they meant to each other.

Neither of them needed words to hear it, but the message was there, loud and clear to two people who had been best friends for their entire lives: never leave.

And both of them replied silently, promised it into their second kiss and the start of this new relationship: I never will.

#staticquake #staticquake fic #staticquake ff #staticquake au #prompt fill #there we go!#I hope you liked it 🤗🤗#I know I had a LOT of fun writing this #seriously this practically wrote itself #I love it when that happens #lily's fics

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hoodoo12 · 4 years

Text

Familial Ties (And How To Break Them) 7/14

Mature. Breaking into a church, new demons, violence ~

He only had rudimentary knowledge of Catholicism -- that was a total lie, he knew enough to stay the hell away from that group -- but Pate insisted on the holy water, saying it would be helpful, so he went along. At least in Vegas, even a church, no one batted an eye at his appearance. That was both disconcerting and dull.

Beetlejuice hung back as Pate spoke to the priest about obtaining holy water. He flipped through a Bible he found on one of the pews. It was the same drivel he vaguely remembered from the fifteenth century.

Suddenly, Pate was back at his side, grabbing his elbow tightly and frog marching him back out of the building. She was hissing something under her breath about "stupid priests" and "don't understand the gravity" as they made their way back onto the busy sidewalk of the Strip.

"Pate, baby, what the hell?"

She told him the priest didn't believe her, that he thought they were crazy, and he wouldn't even sell them the holy water. There were also a few choice words about the whole situation, and a literal spitting rant about how the priest had wanted to call the cops.

Beetlejuice cocked his head and told her very blandly, "Yes, you're right. No one would ever think we were totally in the right about this, and only sane people traipse into a church spouting information about hellmouths and the need for gallons of holy water to destroy them. That guy was obviously delusional."

He waited till she calmed down enough to realize he was pulling her chain, then took her hand.

"Fuck that priest," he announced loudly. Only a few people passing by looked over at that. "You want that holy water? We'll just come back tonight and take it. Done and done."

Before she could muster the indignation to get angry with him, a grin broke out on Beetlejuice’s face that he quickly wiped away but it was enough to make her realize he was teasing her. Pate leveled a deadpan scowl at him and flashed him the bird, but it only made him snicker like a middle schooler before he composed himself and assured her that they’d come back that night. Though she did have her misgivings about breaking into let alone stealing from a church, she also didn’t have any better ideas about where or how to get holy water or how they’d kill the hellmouth without it. So she agreed.

There was a 24-hr diner a couple blocks over where they went to wile away the last few hours before the church closed. By nightfall, Pate had probably consumed two carafes’ worth of coffee by herself, not that the tired-looking waitress seemed to care about the half dozen used mugs on the table around her. She was much more perturbed by Beetlejuice reaching over the partition into the cooking area and grabbing a container of syrup, which he proceeded to drink straight from the spout. Pate hurriedly paid for them and hustled him out, muttering apologies.

Even after dark the streets of Las Vegas were far from empty, they might be even more vibrant and busy than they’d been during the day. But down the street where the church was located, things appeared quiet as the two of them approached the building, dark but for the light that shone through a beautiful stained-glass window at the front.

“A place like this has gotta have a security system,” Pate mused aloud. “Any ideas on how we get in?”

With a confident smirk, Beetlejuice loudly cracked his knuckles.

“Please, babe, give me a challenge at least!”

He cast a quick look around, as if searching for something, his gaze settling on a utility pole. Glancing back over his shoulder to waggle his eyebrows at her, he made a quick swiping motion with his hand, growling low in his throat as he did. Immediately there was a loud electrical snap and a shower of sparks fell from the transformer atop the pole. The stained-glass window went dark as the light inside abruptly switched off. As did the lights in a few adjacent buildings, the entire corner now swathed in shadows.

He turned back to face her, adjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket and gesturing with both hands like a stage magician who’d just performed a particularly mystifying illusion. Pate hummed in approval, clapping her hands with only a little irony.

“Impressive. What else can you do?”

"Oh, I can make lots of sparks fly, baby," he replied off-handedly, "but here on the street that'll get us arrested even in Sin City. Come on, I'll boost you up. You get in there, grab the water, and we're golden. You brought something to carry it in, right?"

Pate shrugged, dislodging the shoulder strap of a hydration pack she’d brought from home.

“From my hiking phase,” she informed him with a grin. “Can your demon magic jimmy the lock on the window?”

Beetlejuice simply snapped his fingers and even from where they stood Pate heard the tell tale click of the lock springing open. He moved past her, backing against the wall and lacing his fingers together for her to step in. Pate tried to be gentle, grasping his shoulders to keep steady as he hoisted her to the window. It gave easily, sliding open and permitting her to wriggle in.

It looked like a classroom, so she found her way to the sanctuary where she’d glimpsed a ceremonial basin on their earlier trip. Naturally it was empty, they must fill it only when needed. Which meant it had to come from somewhere. Pate headed for the pastor’s office, rummaging in desk drawers and the closet and filing cabinet until she unearthed a clear plastic bottle with a label that read “Consecrated Holy Water from the river Jordan.”

Perfect!

She went ahead and took the whole bottle, pushing a chair against the wall to boost her back to the sill.

“Score!” she called quietly to Beetlejuice, dropping the bottle into his waiting hands.

He caught the dropped bottle, set it down, and stretched upward to help Pate down from the window. He let his hands squeeze and linger on her backside for an extra moment; if accused of being inappropriate he'd just use the excuse he wanted to make sure she didn't stumble as she came back down to the sidewalk. He nodded at the bottle he'd set down.

"Good. Now can we get back to the hotel? Big day tomorrow. You're gonna need your rest, I want you on your back--" he said, but was cut off by gasp from her.

She flashed him a knowing grin when she felt his fingers gripping her ass, bracing her outstretched arms against his shoulders again as she dropped back down to the ground, his hands resting on her hips, hers still laid atop his shoulders. Pate rolled her eyes at his lurid talk, smiling even as she shook her head when something beyond him caught her eye.

Darkness still enveloped the corner around the church, maybe the whole block, but she could see movement. After a moment her eyes picked out a four legged shape, slinking cautiously across the road towards them as if wary of their presence. It looked like a dog at first glance, but as it drew closer she realized it was massive, three feet tall at least, with a large squarish head, low slung neck and humped shoulders like a hyena. It also appeared to have no fur or ears, drooping jowls dripping with saliva and eyes that gleamed.

She gasped harshly, realizing all at once that the eyes were not reflecting light because there was no light. Whatever this creature was, its large round eyes were glowing.

"What is that?" she whispered.

"--eh?" Beetlejuice replied, slightly annoyed something else had caught her attention when it should've been his. But her hands had become tight on his shoulders, and it wasn't in a good way. He turned to see what she could possibly be looking at.

The skulking shape even gave him a start, and his cold blood ran colder.

"Dziban," he said in a choked voice.

Suddenly, he wasn't sure what to do. He could get out of here, but didn't know if he could pull Pate through the ether with him, and like their distantly related-cousins the Hounds of Tindalos, they could travel through it too. Boost her back up into the church? Just fucking run? Frozen by indecision was a poor choice, but no option was a good one.

For Beetlejuice of all people to sound thoroughly shaken seemed a bad sign. The creature--Dziban, he'd called it?-- was skulking closer, peering at them with its gaping, pupil-less eyes. It looked emaciated, the mange-dark skin pulled tight over every bone and muscle. Pate shivered, her hands tightening on Beetlejuice's shoulders at the disturbingly human front paws, the toes as long as her own fingers and tipped with claws that clacked on the pavement as it padded ever nearer.

"Beej, what do we do?" she gulped, almost more frightened of this beast than she had been of the specter's malevolent sibling.

"You're going to go. Just put your head down and get the fuck out of here," he told her fiercely. No time for pithy comments now. He kept his eyes on the vaguely canid creature padding closer. "Rigel called Dziban out of that fucking book. I'm sure he sent it after me, so I'll keep it distracted."

He risked a look at her.

"Pate, just go!"

In the second he'd taken his eyes off Dziban, it'd covered a third of the block. He'd forgotten they could slip through corporeal space too. With its lipless mouth, it looked like it was smiling at the two of them, even as a thin tongue slipped between its teeth to test the air.

"Seriously, baby, you've gotta go!"

Beetlejuice put a hand on her shoulder and pushed as he stepped between her and the creature.

Her heart was hammering like she'd sprinted a mile already, watching the thing close the distance between them. She stood paralyzed on shaking legs, unable to follow Beetlejuice's command even if she wanted to. Fear had its talons in her, but she dithered, torn between giving in to her body's own instinct to run like a terrified rabbit or the compulsion to find some sort of weapon to protect herself and him.

When he positioned himself protectively in front of her, giving her shoulder a stiff shove to get her moving, it seemed the decision was made. She turned to bolt and was met with another pair of brightly glowing eyes and exposed teeth. She screamed and backpedaled away from a second creature.

Fucking fuck fuck fuck!

How could he have been so fucking stupid not to remember Dziban travelled in a fucking pair?!

At Pate's scream Beetlejuice spun, saw the second Dziban, and grabbed her. Pulling her off balance, he shoved her against the wall of the church, keeping himself between her and the creatures as best as possible. They had the two of them flanked, and they were going to play with them like prey, and drag them back to the Netherworld maybe alive but mostly dead.

Again without taking the time to give her any indication what he was going to do, he spun, grabbed Pate again, and shoved her upwards towards the broken window again.

"Get the fuck in!" he ordered, even as the first creature took the opportunity to rush him.

Pate gave a startled yelp when Beetlejuice seized her around the waist and all but threw her back at the window which she had neglected to close. Hands and arms scrabbling for purchase, she just managed to catch herself when his supporting hands left her, her ears filled with hellish snarls and growls. Contorting awkwardly, half in and half out of the window, Pate turned to see that one of the monsters had charged at Beetlejuice while the other remained fixated on her.

He just barely had the time to hoist her upward before Dziban was on him. He twisted as it launched itself at him; it was large enough to easily reach his throat but he managed to deflect it from its goal with his shoulder instead. Still, that got it close enough for purchase with its hands, and he had to grapple it while off balance. Pate still hadn't pulled herself fully into the church! He decided it was dark enough and plus the fact that fucking hellhounds were attacking them a few extra otherworldly phenomenon wasn't going to break any tourist's brain any further, so instead of trying to fend off the beast with the two most human hands he owned, the black tentacles erupted from the ether and wrapped around Dziban. They lent shadow mass to him as well, and helped stabilize him a little.

It hurt grabbing this thing; why did every fucking creature from the Netherworld have some weird extra ability?! Dziban were angry, hungry creatures and of course they had poisonous skin like goddamn frogs too! Why wouldn't that be the case?! he thought bitterly as the tentacles holding it most tightly ached and became weaker.

It still bit and scratched and that hurt too.

And Pate still wasn't through that goddamned window!

She tried to keep an eye on Beetlejuice as she squatted uncomfortably in the open window while also keeping the second hellhound occupied. She whistled to it like it really was just an overgrown border collie, letting her arm dangle down as low as she dared to tantalize it into keeping its attention on her.

When Dziban raised itself onto its hind legs to snap at her, she jerked her hand back, whimpering quietly when its horrifically humanoid paws gouged furrows down the cement wall. Turning her attention back to Beetlejuice she could see the writhing shadowy tentacles she had first glimpsed when they fought with Rigel in her apartment. They were wrapped around the hellhound's body, holding its clawed paws and snapping jaws at bay while others coiled around its throat, squeezing tighter and tighter until the beast's struggling started to weaken.

As if homing in on its twin's distress, the second hound turned toward the demon, growling. She wanted to call him, to warn him, but she worried that if she distracted him now the other hellhound might break free. With a tiny gasp she remembered the bottle tucked under her arm, whipping the cap off with fumbling fingers and holding it out as far as she could reach, dripping an uninterrupted stream down Dziban's back.

The hellhound flinched and snarled, shaking itself very much like a regular dog, but was otherwise unaffected and Pate's heart sank into her stomach like a lead weight.

“Consecrated Holy Water from the river Jordan my ass!”

It took more concentration and strength to effectively keep teeth and nails off him, especially feeling the effects of whatever venom the thing was secreting, but his tentacles held tight and slowly, slowly, Dziban's life slipped away. With a feral grin on his face, it gave him almost orgasmic joy to see the light fading from the creature's pupil-less eyes, even as it continued to snap and scrabble at him. A sudden splashing of water startled him, but the tentacles knew their work and continued slowly crushing. Pate's yell was more distracting, and he didn't catch what she'd said, so he turned to see what was happening.

In his moment of distraction, the beast he held struggled mightily so he turned back to focus on it again. That was enough to give the second Dziban--or the same Dziban, weren't they fucking clones or hiveminds or something?!--enough opportunity to leap forward and grab him.

Not by a tentacle, not by his suit: the hellhound's jaws closed on his shoulder and upper arm, and Beetlejuice went to his knees in agony.

"BEEJ!" she screamed, horrified, too far away to do anything other than spectate as the hellhound sank its teeth into his shoulder.

Goddammit, she had to do something! Craning to look over her shoulder back into the church, eyes searching desperately for something, anything she could use to fight them off him. There was a tall decorative cross of gilded, gold colored metal set in a stand. Struggling to lower her legs back down to the chair, Pate raced across the room, snatched the processional cross in both hands and ran back to the window, hauling herself up and pulling the pole with her.

Without Beetlejuice there to catch her, the drop back down to the ground looked much more daunting, but she took a breath and jumped. A painful jolt rocketed from her ankles to her knees and she pitched forward, catching herself on her elbows with a pained grunt. Getting to her feet, Pate gripped the standard tightly in both hands and raced forward, jabbing at the hellhound's ribs with the pointed end of the metal cross.

"Get the fuck off him!"

He had to get up. No fucking way was he going to be dragged down by fucking Rigel's fucking beasts! Beetlejuice snarled wordlessly and refused to loosen his grip on Dziban number one. It was fading fast. The second he tried to twist away from, to protect his head and neck, and then, from nowhere, a metal pole slammed into the creature, staggering it and forcing it to release him.

Pate looked scared and fierce, but she shouldn't be here--!

She obviously didn't get the message. She swung whatever that pole was, barely missing his head, and stabbed at Dziban again. Whether it was the metal it was made of or the fact it was a religious artifact, it made the hellhound jump back a bit. It gave a whiney, snarly noise that had no earthly equivalent, and it faded away. The one he had grappled also slipped away like water in cupped hands. Beetlejuice wasn't sure if he'd killed it or it was taken by its kin.

It was suddenly too quiet, and pain caught up to him. He was glad he was still on his knees, because he would have probably collapsed if he hadn't been.

Just as suddenly as they'd appeared, the hellbeasts seemed to evaporate like fog burnt away by sunlight. Pate's chest was still heaving, her blood singing in her ears and her heart thumping a frantic tattoo in her chest. Not sure if the demon hounds may come back, she kept a tight hold on her improvised weapon and lowered herself on trembling legs next to Beetlejuice. His pale face was somehow even paler, eyes pinched shut and jaw clenched in obvious pain.

She exhaled a quiet string of expletives at the sight of the dark liquid seeping through his fingers, gripped tightly around the bite wound on his shoulder.

"Can you stand up?" she asked softly and after a moment he swallowed hard and gave her a stiff nod, shifting his feet and rising a little unsteadily.

Pate stood with him, one arm held out as if to catch him if he lost his balance. She was loathe to drop the processional cross but she needed both arms, positioning herself under his uninjured arm and taking it around her shoulders while her own arm wrapped around his waist to help support him.

"I've got you," she murmured, uttering other meaningless soothing words to him as they limped back towards the hotel.

tbc . . .

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice x OC #rp #Beetlejuice based on Blumjuice

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lilithsgayadoptednephew · 4 years

Text

Holy Hands

Fandoms: Shall We Date?: Obey Me! Not Rated Graphic Depictions Of Violence F/M, Other Complete Work

Chapter List

Chapter 31

Luke didn't rise again.

Michael rounded on the defenseless humans before him, diving towards them before the brothers had time to notice. MC reacted on instinct, throwing Acacia to the ground and out of harm's way before shoving the approaching angel with their palm. Hoping to draw his attention away from their sister.

As they stretched their hand towards the enraged Angel, it was not their palm that made contact, but a large golden shield.

Honestly, where would they be without Lilith's bow?

Michaels approach was stunned by the defense, but he continued undeterred. Moving past MC completely to grab their frightened sister off the ground. The boys had caught on by now that they were under attack and swarmed threateningly around Micheal.

"Put her down" MC growled. For a moment it was easy to forget they were a human with how they sounded.

"Now you stay back MC, I don't want you getting hurt." He said sweetly.

"That's new," They spat.

"Well it occurred to me…" he wrapped his hands tighter around Acacia's wrists to keep her secure as he spoke. The brothers didn't dare move while she was being threatened. "Of course you'd be predisposed to sin, you've been amongst the source of it for over a year. I just need to give you the forgiveness you've been missing." He leaned down as if talking to a child. "I can fix your wayward mind, my Lamb. I can take you away from these terrible influences and remind you of your inherent innocence."

They stared wide eyed as he finished his explanation. With his relentless pursuit of the brothers they should've figured it out sooner. Michael was obsessed.

"Let the girl go, this is between us." Lucifer called out in hopes of drawing Michaels attention away from the humans.

Acacia sensed the distraction of her captor and raised her knee up. Stomping with all her weight right on Micheal's foot.

"Aaah!" He pulled back but only held her wrists tighter. "Insolent snake! That's enough." The angry man dragged the fighting human over the railing. Gasps and cry's sounded from the surrounding people, all of which considered Acacia family.

All of which had seen the consequences of that drop.

Holding the railing with one hand he held the squirming girl over the ledge with his other. She hyperventilated at the sight of the water churning below. The melting snow was no longer contributing to the water level and it had lowered considerably. Below her was not the water Lucifer had fallen in weeks earlier, but the harsh rocks exposed by the lowered tide.

She was too scared to even scream.

Any other words Lucifer had died on his tongue. He just stared and sympathized too closely with the look of animalistic panic in Acacias eyes as she looked down.

"You will all do as I say or the human falls!" He called to the small crowd. There was deathly silence. The wind whistled as it blew quickly over the concrete of the bridge. Acacia's wrist started to ache and her shoulder felt like it was pulled taffy, but she tried her best not to move. If she fell now it would be the death of her.

MC locked eyes with their sister. They slowed their breathing and relaxed their muscles, Acacia had to see they had this under control. Even if they didn't. They gripped their shield firmly and gave their sister a small smile. She calmed a little too, assured that MC would figure something out.

Lucifer didn't care much for Acacia, that was no secret. But she was MCs sister. He saw from the corner of his eye how MC consciously tried to reassure her without words. How they were racking their brain for a way out while trying to look like they already had one. It was too familiar, and he had to respect it. Lucifer turned his attention to Michael. He had stooped to threatening a human to get his way. And he did it in such an odd way. Dangling her over the bridge, and he didn't use his wings...where were they?

Mammon was distressed . He'd only just figured it out with Acacia! And she was...was… oh God why didn't he have his wings in case he dropped her? Mammon's wings weren't large enough to support his weight in flight, what if Michael slipped? What if he broke her arm dangling her like that? What if something happened and he couldn't save her and he never saw her smile or heard her snort-laugh again and he was stuck alone in an empty world with no one to–

Acacia saw MC was calm, but Mammon was visibly losing his shit. They all were at a standstill.

"I want everyone on their knees" Michael demanded. With no other option the boys lowered themselves to the ground. Months ago there would've been a bit more protest, but being human had humbled them all. MC stayed standing, hoping Michael wouldn't notice as they inched closer.

That's right... I'm just a silly human. I can't think for myself or speak against you. I can't act. Focus your attention on the boys, Michael. They are the threat, not little old me.

Acacia let out a small whine. MC looked to her and saw tears forming in her eyes. Her skin was tearing where Michael held her wrist. Blood trickled lazily down her arm and she stared at it with pain in her eyes. Her face going white. MC broke into a sprint.

They practically flew to the railing before there was time to react. There was no choice. With one hand they shoved their shield in Micheal's face, knocking him aside. The shield flew from their grip and went with him. With the other hand they grabbed Acacia by the collar of her nice leather jacket and threw her towards safety. MC felt relief for a brief moment as their sister grabbed the railing with shaky hands.

They let out a sigh as they fell, too late noticing they had no hands left to save themself.

0Time stopped.

Lucifer was formulating a bargain with Michael in his head as he saw MC make a mad dash over the edge. He wanted to run, to fly, to save them . To protect them like he promised himself he would, but he couldn't move. He looked at the drop he'd suffered mere weeks before and he froze.

He knew he'd never get over it in time.

Now they were falling, time was practically meaningless as his senses took in every excruciating detail of what was happening. Forcing life into slow motion. MC fell, they didn't even seem to care they were going to…

Lucifer's heart beat in his ears as he turned to Micheal. The angel's eyes were almost as frightened as he felt. He'd known Micheal for a long time, and that was Michael's greatest weapon against him. Now it would be their solace. they could read each other like a simple story book. The terrified eyes turned to his and there was a wordless agreement.

0Michael watched as his human fell in their sisters stead. They fell so slowly it felt like an eternity he couldn't move. They'd never be forgiven if they perished now. They'd never realize and repent and finally be his. His stomach dropped with them as they fell, his feelings he tried to deny forcing their way past his throat and behind his teeth. He couldn't save them. He had no wings.

His eyes locked with Lucifer's and his own thoughts were mirrored. It had been millennia since they'd read each other so quickly, but the response was instantaneous. Muscle memory.

Save them

Lucifer practically begged, but Micheal shook his head almost imperceptibly. The demon instantly put it together. Micheal didn't have his wings, he didn't know why but it didn't matter. All that mattered was MC was falling. And he had to do something fast, something that he'd never live down.

"I don't–" Michael started to explain, but he didn't need to finish telling Lucifer about his wings. His response was like stone.

"Take mine"

0MC only fell for a few moments, their eyes screwed shut. They didn't want to see themself hit the rocks.

Acacia was safe

Micheal had no leverage

They were ok with this.

But it wasn't rocks that greeted them as their heartstopping fall was interrupted. It was the giving jolt of landing in someone's arms. They didn't process this at first. Then there was a single wonderful moment where they thought...they naively believed perhaps Lucifer had saved them.

Then they opened their eyes, and nearly screamed as they saw themself in the arms of the enemy.

Micheal was a little unsteady on wings that weren't his own. Lucifer's were darker, stronger, and there were 4 instead of 6. He'd lost a pair when he fell and it never occurred to Michael just what a difference it made. He couldn't imagine what a strong flyer Lucifer must've been with 6.

Landing on the bridge he didn't release MC right away. They didn't like that apparently because they pried themself out of his arms upon touching down and stood away from him. Eyes staring in abject terror and an arm in front of Acacia.

He looked at the scene before him, now that the humans were safe the Brothers circled like a pack of jackals. All except Lucifer who was content to watch his brothers as he stood almost imperceptibly between Michael and MC. His wings returned to him and made him look much larger, matching the accusing glare he leveled the angel with.

What...what had he done? He knew MC had affected him in a way that made him weaker but…

The fear for their safety. The willingness to abandon his mission to save them. Agreeing with Lucifer. He'd fallen farther that he thought.

His mind reeled and his feelings twisted in his throat like a mass of writhing snakes. He had to leave. Not only could he not face all seven of them without leverage, but he couldn't do anything with his mind and morals in such a frenzy. He cast one backward glance at MC, they looked at him like a rabbit would a wolf, and the knife in his gut twisted farther.

They were more confused than he'd realized. He had to save them from this, and he made a silent promise that he would.

With that in his mind, he fled.

#obey me!#obey me fanfic #Holy Hands

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queercapwriting · 5 years

Text

Five Times Carol Didn’t Kiss Maria’s Lips, And One Time She Did

Maria had a busted lip from defending Carol in a cafeteria brawl. Carol hadn’t started it, not exactly. But once Maria had taken a hit, she’d sure finished it.

Well, really, they’d finished it together.

And after their punishments were doled out and they’d gotten clearance from medical, they were back in their room. Alone, at long last.

Maria’s lip had started bleeding again while she brushed her teeth, and Carol was dabbing at it with an alcohol pad. Maria hissed but otherwise stayed still.

Carol gulped.

She felt Maria’s eyes on her as she let her gaze linger too long on Maria’s mouth.

But she wouldn’t take advantage.

No. She couldn’t do that to her best friend.

Not today.

***

They were at Pancho’s, and that complete jackass was leaning into Carol, asking her if she knew why it was called a cockpit.

Maria hit him before Carol could. And didn’t even spill her drink doing it.

She just went right back to pulling at her beer, eyebrows slightly raised as their fellow pilot checked for blood on his lips and found it.

“You were saying?” Maria asked him. Carol stood when he rounded on Maria.

“I wouldn’t,” she warned, and she’d already kicked his ass in a sparring session that morning.

He skulked away promising vengeance they would never give him the chance to get.

“How’s your knuckles?” Carol asked as she sat back down, taking Maria’s hand into hers under the cover of examining her skin for injuries.

Carol wasn’t sure if she imagined Maria gulping at the contact, Carol’s sudden switch from deadly to tender, but she knew that touching Maria’s hand was magic and lit her entire body on fire.

She grabbed at her own beer and chugged.

“Oh please, you know I’m fine. I can throw a proper punch.”

“Damn right you can,” Carol shook it off with a laugh, and as they raised and clinked their beer bottles together, all Carol wanted to do was lean across the table, take Maria’s smiling face into her own, and kiss her until neither of them could breathe.

But there were too many people who wanted to see them fail. Too many risks for her, and even more for Maria.

She contented herself with laughing, hard, because there was too much life to live to let fantasies of what could be eat at her insides.

***

It was pouring, and they were sprinting.

They held hands as they ran, Maria tugging Carol across the grass and Carol tugging Maria up the steps.

They didn’t let go when they reached the barracks, and they didn’t let go as they burst into the room they shared more often than not.

They didn’t let go as Carol shook out her hair like a wet puppy, as Maria shrieked and shoved her back into the door.

They both fell silent at that.

At the sound and sensation of Maria shoving Carol up against the wall, at their sudden aloneness, sudden closeness, the sudden way that their breath was the only thing between them.

“Maria,” Carol panted, eyes drifting down to Maria’s lips.

“Yeah?” Maria asked, and her voice caught, and it made Carol’s knees go weak.

But Maria was her best friend, and she couldn’t risk it, couldn’t ruin it, they were so close to flying in ways that mattered, and she couldn’t just…

“Your hair’s a complete mess,” she settled for, and Maria shoved her again, and this time, it devolved into wrestling and skin on skin and the only ways they could touch each other, be on top of each other, make each other scream, without touching each other, being on top of each other, making each other scream, the way Carol wanted them to be.

She contented herself with waiting for Maria to get out of the shower, waiting for her to deep condition her hair. She contented herself with wrapping Maria’s hair for her, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her neck.

Because that’s what friends did, right?

***

“You’re early,” Lawson informed them, without looking up from her work.

Goose leaped off her lap and stalked toward Maria and Carol, both breathless, smiling, and only slightly sweaty.

“I won!” Carol declared.

“You did not,” Maria scoffed. “You cheated.”

Carol pffted. “How did I cheat? I was clever.”

“You violated the agreed upon terms of engagement--”

“Captains! We have a job to do?” But Lawson was smiling, watching her proteges like she knew there was something beautiful happening between them. Like sometimes, the most gorgeous things were the ones that defied explanation, wouldn’t or couldn’t be named.

“Yes ma’am!” Carol and Maria both snapped to attention, but Lawson shrugged them off.

“At ease, and get ready to fly.”

“We’re always ready to fly, ma’am,” Maria told her, and Carol nodded sharply.

Lawson looked at them like she was looking at a tragedy waiting to happen; but a tragedy that would, she had to believe, get its happy ending.

“I know that. So. Who’s ready to save lives?”

***

“Carol.” Maria’s voice was tense and terrified and also, Carol knew… hopeful. Excited.

She knew every nuance of Maria Rambeau’s voice, and she loved it. Loved knowing.

But right now, there was also something she’d never quite heard in Maria’s voice.

So she sprinted.

Sprinted from the couch through the bedroom and into the bathroom, and barreled into the door.

“Babe?” She didn’t mean to say it, but it came out, and both of them let it pass between them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Because it was.

Maria held up the stick in her hand, her lips slightly parted and her hair fluffed up like she’d been running her hands through it, liberally.

“You’re… you’re… baby?”

“Are you calling me baby or asking if I’m having one?”

“I…”

Maria took pity and Carol’s hands into her own, setting aside the pregnancy test on the sink counter.

“Yes. I’m having a baby.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “Alone. I’m keeping it. I want it.”

“Then you’re having a baby,” Carol smiled, wiping away Maria’s fear that she’d have a different reaction, even though they’d had this conversation so many times before.

“We’re?” Maria half corrected and half asked.

“Yes. We’re. We’re having a baby,” Carol smiled, and looked down at Maria’s lips, because what else would she do?

But her peripheral vision caught the pregnancy test on the counter, and the way Maria’s hands were still very solidly gripping her own, as though for comfort, for stability, for permanence in what was about to be a world that would change very, very quickly.

So she kissed her hands instead, eyes glowing and smile radiant.

***

She was forced to wait with other expectant fathers, instead of being in the room with Maria.

The world was too racist for them to pass as sisters, and too homophobic for them to say anything else.

So she waited, and she paced.

“Your sister in there?” one of the men had nodded toward the delivery wing, and Carol suppressed a yell.

“Something like that,” she murmured, because it’s what was safest.

“It’s our first,” the man volunteered, even though Carol hadn’t asked. But his face was clean of malintent, covered in nothing but pure worry. “Do you think they’re in pain? I don’t like thinking of her in pain. But she insisted I wait out here. You too, huh?” He lowered his voice. “Your girl?”

Carol’s eyes flickered, and she readied herself to throw down.

But he just lowered his voice even more and leaned forward. “My brother lives with his best friend. They have a kid together, too.”

Carol grimaced noncommitally, but let the man hug her when a nurse came in to tell him that he had a healthy first child.

And when the same nurse came back for her, her heart hammered like it never had before. Not when her father would scream or when her mother would cower; not when the endless ridicule flooded through from men in basic training, from the endless doors slammed in her face, from even more doors slammed in Maria’s.

Her heart was through her throat, and she knew those steps through to Maria’s room were the most important steps she’d ever take.

“Hi,” she whispered when she stepped through the door, letting the nurse squeeze her hand as she left them alone together.

“Hey there, Danvers,” Maria croaked softly, face still sweaty and eyes exhausted but glowing.

Carol stared almost cautiously at the little bundle wrapped in Maria’s arms as she came closer.

“Well hey, little sweetie,” Carol tilted her head as she reached Maria and the baby, knowing full well how closely Maria was watching her watch the infant in her arms.

“You wanna meet Monica?” Maria asked. The question was unnecessary, but Carol’s face lit up when she asked: it was Maria’s way of telling Carol that she’d officially decided on a name they’d chosen together.

“Hi little Monica. Oh god, your toes are so small and perfect. How do you have such small toes? What’s that about, huh?”

She covered baby Monica’s soft face in even softer kisses, over and over until she couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

“We have a baby,” she whispered, raising her head to look at Maria, who was shedding a few tears of her own.

“We have a baby,” Maria confirmed, also whispering, her voice also trembling.

“You’re amazing,” Carol whispered to Monica. “You’re amazing, and your mommy is amazing. She was so brave, having you all by herself like that. And she’s gonna be the best mommy in the entire galaxy, you know that? You know that, Lieutenant Trouble?”

“I love you, Carol,” Maria murmured, almost more to herself than to Carol. “I love you so damn much.”

It was nothing they hadn’t said before. It was nothing Carol didn’t know.

But just then, somehow, with that statement, the meaning shifted. The entire world shifted.

“I love you back, Maria. So much. And we… we have a baby.”

She kissed little Monica’s face again, and looked down when Maria’s hand caught her shirt.

They both instinctively checked to make sure they had the room to themselves: just them, just their little family.

“Carol,” Maria whispered, and it was all the permission Carol needed.

She kissed Maria’s eyes, first, then her forehead and cheeks, her temples, her nose, her chin.

They held Monica between them, delicate and careful, as Carol shifted and kissed Maria’s lips, for the first time and forever.

#carolmaria #carol x maria #danbeau #domestic danbeau #captain marvel #i'm so upset with myself #i mean i'm not but like #i also am??#i'm such trash and i enjoy.

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miss-tc-nova · 4 years

Text

The Last of The Real Ones - Noel Kreiss x Fem!Reader Pt 8

DRAMAAAAAA!

~~~~~

Part 8: The Last of the Real Ones

“My Angel.”

“Bhunivelze…” I mumble, fighting the headache pressing against my skull. “I…I couldn’t complete the Soulsong.”

“Worry not, my Angel. Come to me.”

My arms quiver as I sit up. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Come to me. Serve as my Angel. And I will save your friends.”

Those magic words are all I need. Against the screaming of my muscles and the sickness I feel, I stagger to my feet. I start for the door on the other side of the room when I see a familiar, floating, white creature.

“Mog?”

“Wah! You’re alright, kupo!” He flutters towards me, running into my chest.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to help Lightning, kupo! You look like you were hurt pretty badly, kupo.” Before I can say anything, Mog produces a bottle and shoves it into my hands. “Take this and help save everyone, kupo!”

Guilt fills my chest but Mog may have just handed me my saving grace. “Thank you, Mog.” I place a kiss on the moogle’s cheek and head through the door. The potion does its magic, relieving my pain as I hurry along the path. At the end, I can see lights off in the distance. I can sense all my friends, but I can also sense God. I see the Eidolons engulf themselves in light and fly at Bhunivelze. I race for them, determined, desperate, and using every power that God has given me. The attack gets deflected, blowing the Eidolons back at their summoners.

“What?!” Snow exclaims.

I look at each and every person, preparing myself for the fight of my life, but my eyes catch on the brunette—he survived. I begin to think it better that he didn’t. I don’t know if I can take him on again.

Vanille cries out, “Please stop! We were wrong!”

I take a deep breath, a pair of glowing, golden khopesh leaping into my hands. My old allies tense.

“It’s over,” snarls Fang.

Hope moves closer. “Please. You don’t want to do this.”

I raise a weapon to halt his advance and they seem convinced of my stance now. Snow is the first to break and attack. When I throw him back, the rest join in. All of them have always been strong so I become overwhelmed. I start taking in oxygen at a faster rate and heat blooms across my back. Snow’s blow to the cheek reignites my headache, but is also the final attack to bring me to the edge.

Using a trick I had learned from Caius, the fire erupts around me and the humans shrink beneath me as I become one with my Eidolon, Ifrit. Baring rows of teeth in my new form, I stare down at them. Snow and the Shiva sisters kick up the fight again. The eidolons make the fight significantly more difficult, but having used my body to summon Ifrit, I’m stronger than all of them.

Fang quickly follows Bahamut across the space. Not a single one of them was prepared for me here, not in this state. The rose-haired woman kneels before me, exhausted. My hand engulfs her, raising her in front of me. A deep-rooted guilt fills my chest but this is for their own good.

“Why are you doing this?” grimaces Snow. A low rumble leaves my throat. My silence is not enough of an answer for him. “Dammit! Answer me!”

“For you.”

Hope regains his stability. “What do you mean? How is this for us?!”

“Don’t you understand what he’s doing?! What he wants?!” Fang shouts.

Vanille adds, “He wants to destroy all the souls of the dead! They won’t be reborn in the new world if he gets his way!”

“They don’t matter.” They gasp and look to each other. I look to the brunette who seems furious with me. “Only you.”

“You have done well, my Angel. Now end this so everyone can live in blissful paradise.”

“And Serah? Yeul?” I ask, making clear eye contact with the Savior.

“Of course.” A pair of lights flickers between me and my opponents, taking form as the lost girls.

“Serah?!” Snow exclaims.

My heart quivers at Noel rushing for the second girl. “Yeul!”

“See. Everyone is here. Now end this. Fulfill your duty and attain your happy ending.” My grip on the rose-haired woman tightens and she grimaces.

“That’s not Serah or Yeul!” My eyes snap to Hope. “They’re lies!”

“It’s true,” Lightning chokes.

Hope announces, “Bhunivelze can’t pull souls from the Chaos. He can’t truly bring people back from the dead. That’s why he created other gods, to find the door into the unseen world where the dead wait in the Chaos to be reborn.”

“No…” I say in disbelief. “No! I was promised safe passage for all my friends!”

“Do not listen to them. Remember your focus.”

“He’s trying to destroy those souls with the Soulsong because he has no control over them. All he can do is create illusions to fool you.” My grasp on the woman loosens.

“Are two little girls, who were not strong enough to have survived, worth losing the rest of them?” The two girls vanish. “Are those two worth these six? Besides, with the seeress gone, you’re free to charm the hunter yourself.” Noel’s eyes narrow and the guilt only rises in my chest. “Isn’t his companionship what you’ve always truly wanted?”

“We can save them,” Fang interrupts. “If we stop Bhunivelze, we can bring the souls of the dead with us, including Serah and Yeul!”

“You know this is wrong! I know you don’t want to do this!” Noel shouts.

A hand rests against mine and I look to the woman in my hand. “We can all go together, but only as long as Bhunivelze doesn’t win.”

Fighting the hot tears threatening to well up, I let out a heavy breath. I release my captive before turning to the god, releasing a roar. “YOU LIED!”

His surprise turns to anger. “Do you forget who your master is?!” A blinding pain starts at my left eye, forcing a pained howl from me. “Do you forget what happens if you do not complete your focus for me?!”

Fighting through the pain, I look him in the eye. “You truly don’t understand human hearts do you? If you did, then you’d know that there is nothing I wouldn’t do for my friends. You’d know that I would do anything to make them happy! YOU’D KNOW THAT I’D BECOME A MONSTER TO SAVE THEM!”

“As you wish.”

The pain suddenly spikes and I double over. I hear my name from my friends but my grip on my control is staggering. A crystalline parasite creeps across my skin. No matter what I do to fight it, I am being consumed. This is my failure to complete my focus and my fall to a Cie’th.

~~~~~

It feels like I’m underwater, floating in a void of my remorse. This is my end; whether the world ends or my friends finish me off, it’s over for me. The darkness begins to envelope me, gnawing away at my consciousness. The last of me begins fading even from this abyss; I’ll cease to exist soon. I can only pray Noel will be happy with Yeul.

A muffled sound amplifies the underwater effect.

Is someone there? There isn’t; just emptiness all around. But I hear it again, a little clearer.

“-to me!”

Noel? He’s definitely not here but that’s definitely his voice.

“I know you’re in there! You have to fight this!”

“Noel?! Noel, where are you?!” The panic is slowly setting in.

“If anyone can break out of this, it’s you!” A spark of light ignites in the distance. That’s where his voice is. I start struggling against the darkness. “COME ON! Are you gonna let that liar win?!”

“I’m trying!”

“Are you gonna let some pathetic god destroy everything you’ve been fighting for?!”

I manage to break into a run. “I…I can’t give up now!”

“Are you gonna leave after all the shit you put me through?!” The light grows closer but I don’t let up my sprint. “ARE YOU GONNA LEAVE ME HERE ALONE WITHOUT GIVING ME THE CHANCE TO SAY I LOVE YOU BACK?! ANSWER ME!”

“NO!”

The battlefield returns to me. The others are watching, waiting for me to make a move, but the weight around my neck draws my attention downward. Clinging to me is the only person who could have brought me back.

“I didn’t think so,” he breathes. It may be marred by tears, but there’s a smile there—a smile for me.

The destructive instinct of the Cie’th threatens to take over and I stumble back, fighting against it.

“Woah! Hey!”

“End this.”

“What?!”

A roar of pain tears from my throat. “END THIS NOW!”

Noel’s hand, warm and comforting, rests against my arm. “It’ll be over soon.”

These attacks are different from before, full of mercy rather than desperate conflict, but that doesn’t make them hurt any less. The Cie’th inside attempts to lash out but I make it endure this destruction with me.

The javelin is pulled from my chest and I collapse, all pain and even the Cie’th will dissipating. The crystal encasing me begins flaking away, dissolving into nothing. Finally, all the shame and the burden of my focus hit me along with the relief of having failed.

A hand rests against my face and I see Noel coming in and out of focus.

“I just wanted to save you.”

“I know. But it’s okay now.” His face clears up just in time for me to see him say it. “I love you.”

Those words break my heart. I spent so long denying myself, but here, in the end, I just can’t. I love him; I really do and I always have. And perhaps, if I had admitted that sooner, it could’ve saved us all so much heartache. At least here, in the end, I finally tell him. “I love you too.”

Noel leans, pressing his lips to my cheek. “I’ll see you again soon.”

I cling to my consciousness until the last moment; I want to be with him, to keep him in my thoughts until the very end, to love him until my dying breath. And I do.

#noel kreiss #noel kreiss x reader #lightning returns #lightning returns final fantasy 13 #lightning returns final fantasy xiii #ff noel #ff noel kreiss #ffxiii noel #ff13 noel #ff13 noel kreiss #ffxiii noel kreiss #ffxiii-2 #ffxiii-2 noel #ff13-2 #ff13-2 noel #fem!reader

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rabbit-exe · 4 years

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I wrote a short thing about my dbd bastards (that like, three human beings know about) specifically set in the most recent chapter of @ziracona‘s fic. sorry in advance, I don’t really like this one. also tw for canon-typical violence and stuff

Ivory Memento

Jason Dunn is running, because of course he is. That’s just the way of things. Jason, he runs and fights and throws himself in and out of danger, because someone has to so it might as well be him.

But this time is special.

Jason Dunn is not running away. Jason Dunn is running towards.

There’s a hole in the fake-world he’s been stranded in for so long, and God help anybody who gets in his way. He’s getting everyone out of here. He’s gonna save fucking everyone who deserves saving, and maybe then some, because - because.

(Because you couldn’t save her, says something bitter and nasty in his brain. Because you let her die and you let her do it.)

“Piss off,” says Jason to the thing in his brain, and catches sight of movement in his periphery - David? - injured and running towards him. David’s a rugby player, and he fuckin’ moves like one - like he’s unstoppable, like a battering ram.

Now his steps are athletic, but not like before - he doesn’t dig his heels in and force himself to barrel through the place. He’s agile, still striding with force but his footsteps don’t make any sound and he sprints like he’s about to pounce instead of ram -

Shit.

He watches his sister running at him, wearing the face of his friend, and as he takes the big fuck-off spear from where it’s slung over his back he figures it’s about fucking time.

He bolts.

As far as he knows, there aren’t any palettes here - but that doesn’t matter, because there’s shrapnel and broken car parts and he’s fucking resourceful, ok, he’s got this.

The satisfaction he feels when he slams a warped car-door into Morag’s shoulder (catching her jacket in the process - nice) is immediately overshadowed by awe when he instinctively doubles back and kicks the hunk of scrap metal, hard, hard enough Morag is sent staggering back with a muffled grunt of pain.

She’ll have some trouble finding him - he’s never been great at hiding in plain sight, but he’s a creative little bastard and finding somewhere to fuck off to that the killer won’t find is a talent of his. He darts off while Morag re-orients herself (taking longer than she should - he glimpses a pulse of blood through the cracks in her mask as she grabs at her face, and fuck, she’s actually hurt?) and runs to a little alcove of crushed car parts where there would usually be a locker, except.

The thing is, right, he’s not so great at the whole planning thing. He knows, logically, that right now is different. That there aren’t palettes, that this isn’t a trial ground, that there won’t be lockers either.

But he, like an idiot, forgot that.

And then she’s rounding the corner after a brief hunt for him, looking - well - pissed. Her grip around her mirror is white-knuckled, which leads him to realise that the glass is not bloody. But that doesn’t make sense, she has to hurt someone to mimic them.

But David takes hits for fuckin’ everyone, all the time. So… so maybe, right now, she doesn’t. Maybe she just needs them to have bled at all.

Fuck - he glances down at his scraped knee, barely bleeding anymore but still sticky with blood.

Morag makes a sound - like a sigh, some sort of weird exhale-growl, and Jason feels briefly nauseous as her form… it… cracks, like glass shattering, black nothing skittering along her skin and rearranging the shards into something… familiar.

It’s a little girl, limbs stretched grotesquely with too much material to fit properly into the shape. Dirt coating her, smearing her face, short curls of ginger hair matted down in thick clumps. Blood coming out of her nose, her mouth, her ears, the hole in her head -

“Millie?” He whispers, suddenly sheet-white and sweating. “But you’re,”

Jason looks at her and wants to throw up.

“How - you,” his brain is lagging and so is his body - it feels like he’s dreaming, like being drunk.

And then it hits him.

Her blood.

Jason’s stomach gives out and he vomits, coughing and spluttering and fucking crying because of course she could do this, she could the whole fucking time, Millie’s blood was the first she ever got on her fucking murderer hands and she’s his sister and he loves her and he doesn’t want to fucking kill her but fuck this is, this isn’t -

“No. No, fuck you. Fuck this!” He shouts, unable to care about how terrible an idea that is right now. “You were saving her, weren’t you? To show me when you finally - when you finally put me in the fucking ground for good. Well fuck you, Morag. Fuck you for killing our sister. Fuck you for killing our parents. Fuck you for not killing me! ‘Cause you’re never gettin’ the chance again!”

A lazy trickle of blood from the mirror and it’s Morag again, shoulders squared, still staring from behind that stupid mask that he gave her, the mask that got him dragged back here.

Something inside him breaks.

He punches her square in the jaw.

She’s not expecting it - yeah, she’s taller than him by a good fucking margin, but he’s pissed and she thinks she can’t be hurt.

Newsflash, arsehole, he thinks, watching as she slowly turns back to face him, a fresh pulse of red beading at the cracks in her mask.

“Jason,” she says, voice quiet and cracked like she hasn’t spoken in years. Because she fucking hasn’t, he realises, and that must have driven her even more off the deep end than she already was. “Ja-son.” She’s testing the sound, feeling out the shape of it in her mouth. Her fingers twitch.

And then she’s on him - in a flash, like a cat pouncing on a mouse.

Her mirror catches against the bridge of his nose and fuck it hurts but he takes it and kicks up at her, wrestling her hands away from his face and trying to knock her off-balance. He manages to get her off him, grabbing one of the shards embedded in her neck and ripping it out - not quite, it stays lodged in her flesh but it gives and tears and she makes a choked sound - and she reels back, grabbing her mirror tightly as she crouches above him about to bring it down into his face -

The spear is lying next to him, and he grabs it, shoving it with all his strength right into her shoulder, and her cracked, ruined voice gives out halfway through her pained growl. And he’s got her now, he can tell, she doesn’t know what to do, she can’t remove the spear without risking him escaping or getting hurt worse.

Then Morag grabs it firmly and rams the blunt end against his own shoulder, and there’s a weird popping noise and a sensation like when you squeeze bubble wrap tight enough to burst and the noise that comes out of him is fucking inhuman.

His vision whites out for just a moment, and comes back just in him for him to watch as she raises her mirror above his face, the spear gone, about to carve him up like he did hers so many years ago now and this is it, isn’t it. He was never going to win this fight.

She’s taking it slow, observing him like she wants to replay this moment over and over in her head, and she leans over just enough to shove her mirror into his face.

And also, coincidentally, just enough for him to do this.

She sees the kick coming a second too late and it doesn’t break her jaw like he’d intended (though a part of him is relieved because he’s seen that happen to someone before and it looks like it hurts in a unique, secret way you’re not supposed to be able to feel) but her mask comes flying off, and his boot takes off a strip of what remains of her face skin and she makes this noise he’s never heard her make.

It’s a punched, wrenching noise. Like something rusted and caught inside the workings of her chest and she can’t get it to move like it should, so instead it just jolts and hurts and… her face never healed.

His dislocated shoulder is still screaming at him, but that doesn’t seem to matter anymore, because his scary murder sister is dripping blood and ragged flesh down onto him and he doesn’t know what to do.

Before she even sees him looking at her, she covers her head, and makes another ragged sound as her dirty hands press against her ruined face.

He knew, logically, that whatever the Entity did to her won’t let her face heal. Her mask has been knocked off before, in trials, and it slowed her down but then she went right back to killing, so… wow, she’s really bleeding a lot, huh. It never really occurred to him how badly that must hurt. He’s never been close enough and calm enough to see her twisted body - there’s cracks in her flesh, spider-webbing up her arms, like broken porcelain. He can see her teeth through a gash in her cheek.

After a bit, he kind of stopped believing that she could be hurt, much less die - that she would just keep going. Like he did. But now his twin is moving slowly, pawing at the ground for her mask while keeping one hand pressed against her face, and he kind of hates that he feels bad for her.

He can’t kill her now. He just… can’t.

God fucking damnit, Morag, he thinks, staring down at what remains of his sister. Jason makes a decision.

“Your mask is somewhere around here. There’s a gate open. Go, or don’t.” He hesitates. “I won’t ever forgive you,” she doesn’t look up, but she’s listening, as she slowly gets to her feet. “But you’re my sister, and I love you, and even you don’t deserve to be stuck here forever. Go fuck yourself.”

He turns and runs.

She watches him go, head tilted in that curious way of hers, and he somehow doesn’t regret it.

#dbd #writing #the mortifying ordeal of being known #@ziracona this is all your fault #in living memory (fic)

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dark0angel13 · 5 years

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My Demons

Do it. Its in your nature. I hear it like a mantra in the back of my mind and for a split second, the world melts away, leaving only the red haze that encroaches on the edges of my vision. The urge is so strong my muscles contract and relax out of habit; my own body urging me on, like this is just another normal night. I guess, in a way it is. It’s always the same old thing. Stay alive. Survive.

The wind is cold against my skin, but I lean into it, sighing like it’s a security blanket that keeps the monsters away. Who am I kidding? I am the monster. I was born this way. The air is silent; the only sign of life coming from the chirping of crickets off in the distance. It’s the same every time and the tedious existence I live only makes the primal instincts I try to keep at bay that much stronger. Why am I doing this? Because you need to survive. But why do I need to survive? I’ve asked myself that so many times before, yet the answer eludes me like smoke on the wind. Close enough for me to see, but just out of reach.

I take a deep breath, savoring the scent of rain in the air. A storm is moving in, this is the perfect opportunity. A scoff leaves my lips, but my feet move as if they have a mind of their own. Light laughter bubbles from the small tent before me and I swallow hard. This is always the most difficult part, the calm before the storm.

Do it. It’s in your nature. What if I detest my nature? Too fucking bad. It seems that I fight more with myself than anyone else. Not my mother or Alpha, though I can only assume they are grooming me to take over one day and the thought makes the acid in my stomach lurch. It’s your birthright. You were born for this. Accept your fate.

Fate can kiss my ass.

A low growl sounds from behind me and my entire body goes stiff. It sounds impatient but I can’t bring myself to turn around and face him. Hurry up. I can hear it in my head but all I want to do is turn and run. What did this couple ever do to me? Absolutely fucking nothing that’s what. The growl tickles the hairs on the back of my neck, and I clench my fists.

“Why?” My voice comes out little more than a whisper and even I can hear the fear laced in it. There is a soft rustling before his voice sounds at my side, devoid of any emotion as always.

“Because this is who you are.” Bullshit. Tell me the real reason.

“This is not who I want to be.” I want to live a normal life. Go to college, get married for love instead of for the good of the pack.

“This is who I raised you to be.” There is no arguing with him. My father was a lot of things, a bastard being one of them, but he’s never made me do anything that didn’t benefit my well-being. These monthly hunts were the bane of my existence and he knows it. It’s for the good of the pack he says, like a song stuck on repeat. It’s always the same thing with him.

“I don’t want to lead the pack.” He growls again and I jump.

“You will do this.” His command sinks into my mind like a poison and I take a step forward out of instinct, the beast in me unable to resist a direct order from my Alpha.

“Fine.” I all but spit the words and take a deep breath in. The heat washes over me in waves of molten energy and, like always, I let a whimper escape me.

“If you didn’t fight it, it wouldn’t hurt.” He says matter of fact and I growl at him. No shit, Sherlock.

It never changes. The heat, the searing pain that singes my every nerve ending, swallows me and I’m drowning in it. My knees buckle, my teeth clench as I struggle to get a grip on myself. Deep breaths, you can do this. Swallow your pride and fucking get it over with. Its unbearable now, as the magic that I so desperately try to fight takes hold and I can feel my body change. It’s agony. Shear unadulterated, white hot agony that rips through me like a current before tapering off and I’m left panting before my Alpha.

“I didn’t give birth to a Beta. I gave birth to you, my successor. Get up.” His words are a command I can’t disobey even when he stands before me as a human. His stature, his aura, his scent. They’re overwhelming. His very presence makes me want to submit to him. I’m on my feet before him in a heartbeat, my nose coming to nuzzle his outstretched hand. Good girl. I can almost hear his barb through the way he rubs my chin before gently shoving me towards the tent. Now go. This is who you are.

I let out a light whimper and his hand fists in the scruff of my neck. I can feel his disappointment like a slap to the face and for the briefest of seconds, for a single heartbeat I stiffen beneath him and let a growl escape me. Not an ‘I’m sorry father’, not even an ‘I hate it when you grab me like this.’ No, the rumble that rips its way up my throat is violent, seething hatred. A warning to him that if he so much as twitches, I’ll rip his fucking throat out and I swear I can see sweat break out across his brow. His body reeks of fear for the first time in my entire twenty-three years.

“Show me the Alpha I’ve raised you to be.” Is that pride I hear?

I huff and he releases me, stepping back to smirk. Yeah, that’s pride. I’m so aggravated at the arrogant look on his face I growl again.

“Be mindful of who you’re growling at young lady. You belong to me.” He crouches before me and the look in his eyes has me lowering my head. He’s terrifying. “I can rip the life out of you just as swiftly as I can anyone else. Don’t ever forget that.” Absolutely petrifying.

His silent retreat tells me more than any word he could utter. Hurry up.

I don’t want to do this. Everything in my heart is telling me to make a run for it, to turn tale and get the fuck out of here. Freedom is out there somewhere. Sadly, it wasn’t waiting for me and I resign myself to my order. Do it. It’s in your nature.

I pad silently to the tent, which is quiet now and filled with the rhythm of even breathing. They’re asleep, and part of me is grateful. The faster I get this over with, the sooner I can leave.

The violent growl that shatters the silence makes my hackles stand on end. It’s power and authority personified and my heart races at its sound. I should have known he wouldn’t let me get off that easily. Fucking bastard. I crouch slightly, straining my ears as the two bodies jump and scramble from their tent. Seconds later, the sound of a shotgun being cocked has me moving. Out of fear, out of anger, out of excitement. I move swiftly, knocking into the man with enough force to send him sprawling to the ground and he grunts, the gun flying from his hand in the process. The woman screams and takes off, but my eyes are on the man, the feint scent of urine touching the air. He fucking pissed himself.

His eyes meet mine and there, beneath the fear, beneath the absolute horror, lies the acceptance. I lunge a breath later and my teeth sink into the soft flesh of his throat. The metallic taste rushes into my mouth and I can’t help the rumble that erupts from within me. It’s bliss. Sheer ecstasy. He struggles for what seems like an eternity before his body falls limps and I relax only momentarily before I’m blindsided. I hit the ground hard and growl slightly before weight is on me and hot breath is at my throat. My father, my Alpha, growling; telling me to forget him and go after the woman. His weight is gone as swiftly as it hit me and I’m up and running, my nose following the stench of fear, leading me to my prey.

She’s fast for a human, but I catch up in moments, my form breaking from the trees a second too late. Something slams into my head and I feel pain explode only to be replaced with the wet dribble of blood. I stumble and hit a tree, stunned for a moment before labored breathing meets my ears. She’s not just fast, she’s a fighter. I’m overtaken by anger now, red obscuring my vision as I regain my balance.

She’s trembling; her knuckles white as she grips the pipe like her life depends on it. Her eyes are wide, shinning with terror but the way her lip is curled up into a snarl has my hackles raising. She’s not going down without a fight. Part of me hates that this must be dragged out, but the other part, the primal, animalistic part of me that currently had control, loved the thrill of the chase she represented. A hunt wasn’t a hunt if the prey rolled over for me.

I take a step forward and huff, noting how her body tenses as the sound before she swings again. Her movements are sporadic, panicked even, and easily avoidable. Run. Run as fast as you can. As if she can hear my thoughts, she turns on her heel and sprints off into the woods and my every sense is attuned to her. Her scent, her sound, her very existence. She is mine.

Do it. It’s in your nature. The mantra repeats, driving me forward like a puppet on a string. This is who you are. I lunge, my paws hitting her square in the back and rocketing her into the ground. She screams, the air leaving her lungs when my weight settles on top of her. This is it. Finish her. You know you want to.

I waste no time ripping into her throat, savoring the sweat taste as it flows through me like it’s giving me life. She screams the entire time, her last dying breath wasted on noise that not only wouldn’t save her but hurt my ears in the process. It’s over all too soon and I step back and let a howl rip its way up my throat. Yes, the voice says proudly. Let the entire world know of your victory here tonight. The howl within me is long, powerful. The howl within me is the howl of an Alpha.

“Good girl.” My father is proud as he walks up, placing a hand on my head as the sound tapers off. “This is who I raised you to be.”

The high only lasts so long before I’m plummeting back down to earth, the same searing heat over taking me like a tidal wave and all too soon I’m lying on the ground, my form shaking from a mixture of terror, disappointment, and adrenaline.

“Let’s get back.” His words, his order, grate on my ears like nails on a chalk board and I can’t control when my stomach flips and I’m expelling the blood and tissue I was relishing in only moments before. When there is nothing left in me, I stumble to my feet and he tosses me clothes.

This is who you are. This is in your nature. The mantra, like always, plays in the deepest part of my mind and I cannot escape it. I can run, I can ignore it, but only for so long before the need to obey my alpha takes hold like a vice grip and I’m giving in to the beast waiting just beneath the surface. This is a war I fight daily; this is a war I lose daily.

This is who I am. This is what I was born to do. I can’t fight my instincts. I can only obey them.

I can only bend for so long before I finally break, and give in. To my birthright, to my fate.

To my demons.

A.N. This was something that hit me on my drive home from work. It’s a drabble and not really anything specific but I was compelled to write it down so here you all go. Special thanks to my Twin for giving me inspiration towards it. This is for you darling! @bmarvels

#Fic writing #Supernatural #Werewolves #Original work #My Demons

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aoifeanamadan · 5 years

Text

I was just swaying!

Fandom: Druck

Word count: 2042

Relationships: Davenzi

Summary: David and Matteo were having a nice time until Matteo accused David of Fortnite dancing (which David did not do). It doesn't help that Matteo got it on video.

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That day, the day David swore he seriously considered breaking up with Matteo for the first and only time since they had seriously got together, had started just like any other Saturday.

He woke up, he made breakfast for Laura, he checked the charity shops on the way to Matteo’s place for anything good, he arrived at Matteo’s flat and felt everything get lighter. Matteo and him chilled in his room for a few hours. They talked, they didn’t smoke (Matteo was trying his best to cut back), they laughed, they did the kind of things you’d expect two horny teenage boys in love to do.

It was normal. It was completely average.

Well, maybe average wasn’t the right word for it. It was better than average. It was David being caught staring at Matteo and not having to look away. It was Matteo running his hands through David’s hair. It was puffy lips and ribs aching from laughing too hard and David neary crying because how did he get this lucky. It was so so fucking good.

But, all good thing must come to an end. The end of their time lazing in bed was brought on by David, like it always was. Normally it would be David needing to do something. His energy would build up until it was just too much and he had to move around. But that day, instead of it being his restless spirit, it was his traitor stomach.

His body betrayed him once again, this time by making noises loud enough for Hans to hear all the way across the flat. That was the consequence of skipping breakfast.

The noises coming from David’s stomach were enough to snap them both out of their daze.

“Oh my god,” grinned Matteo. David shoved his shoulder as he laughed. Matteo’s body nearly melted at the touch. David was shocked that just a playful shove could do that to matteo but he was not complaining.

“Fuck off, I didn’t get breakfast” he grinned back bashfully. He didn’t mentions the reasons why. The one egg left in the fridge and the one slice of bread, both of which he gave to Laura. It was Laura’s paycheck that paid for the food, and the rent, and his school supplies. The least he could do was give her the last slice of bread. She didn’t have to know that though, and neither did Matteo.

“I get the hint babe, I’ll go make us something.” David had to ignore the buzzing in his chest when Matteo called him babe to form any coherent thoughts. “Cheese toasties?”

Under the laughter David could see Matteo felt guilty for not offering him anything. Not everyone had Matteo’s stoner metabolism. They couldn’t all survive off weed and sausage.

“Yeah, okay, let’s make cheese toasties.” David smiled softly. Matteo grinned back at him.

What had he done in his past lives to deserve this boy. Matteo’s smile was enough to make David get out of bed every morning for the next eighty odd years. This boy had him whipped.

“I’m coming to help. We can’t have a repeat of the first time you tried to make us food.”

Matteo hauled himself off the bed and shuffled to the door painfully slow for David’s overly energised body.

“Oh come on Grandad Matteo,” David called, jumping up off the bed and jogging over to shove Matteo towards the kitchen. Matteo laughed as he stumbled through the doorway.

Once they got to the kitchen it was smooth sailing. They worked well together, joking and sneaking kisses while buttering the bread. Soon the sandwiched were toasting and Matteo was watching them intensely to avoid any burns.

David stood behind him, just thinking. Thinking about how nice this was. David’s life hadn’t been ideal up to this point. It had been full of screaming matches and conditional love and abandoned buildings and crowdfunding from people who liked his art and telling himself that he has to learn to survive on his own.

It got easier once he found Laura, shivering in an oversized jacket outside the place she worked. He thought he’d have to beg her to take him in but she nearly cried with relief when she saw him. He didn’t even have to ask. She already had a room set up for him. The walls were mouldy and the bed was a mattress on the floor but he nearly cried when he saw it.

Even then, it was hard. There was never any money and he always felt like a burden, but one day they’d be rich. He could feel it in his chest, deep down in his bones. One day he’d have a mansion and every room would be full with people he found on the street.

And he’d buy Laura her own mansion right next door. She deserved it. She deserved that and so much more.

That had always been his plan. But then Matteo came along and the plan had to be modified.

David didn't know if he could stretch for three mansions so he figured Matteo and him would just have to share a room. Tragic. He probably couldn't get two beds so they'd just have to share one. Even more tragic.

That was the plan, living in mansions next door, but as long as he had Matteo he could go back to sleeping in shelters where they called him ‘miss’.

Matteo was so much. David couldn’t put it into words. When he was directing he figured he could explain it in a film. It would be black and white until Matteo bursts into the frame, all flying hands and ugly jumpers and bright and colour and love and warmth and secret smiles and scrunched noses and his eyes and - David just couldn’t explain.

He let his mind wander while his body fidgeted away some of the energy that had built up while he was laying with Matteo. While his thoughts flew away trying to catalogue all of Matteo’s different smiles his body stayed firmly placed on the earth. The only thing to bring him back was Matteo muttering “oh my god” over and over again.

“What? What happened?” David snapped out of his daze, looking around, confused, for any danger. Knowing Matteo, he could’ve toasted his hand off. Instead of seeing a half cheese toastie, half human flesh monstrosity though, all he saw was Matteo laughing.

“What? Matteo? Matteo, what did you do?” David was just confused. Matteo’s eyes were crinkled and his teeth were on show. This was a new kind of smile.

“David, oh my god David, you were flossing, flossing, like a ten year old boy!” he beamed. David turned absolutely indignant in a second.

“Flossing? Flossing? Matteo, do you even know me? I was not flossing,” David seemed outraged at the accusation. That only made Matteo’s smile wider. All he could do was hold up his phone. And there on Matteo’s cracked screen was David, clear as day, flossing gently in Matteo’s kitchen.

His eyes were hooded over and he was clearly zoned out but good god could David floss. His entire body was involved. It was the kind of floss you had to practise to achieve.

“Delete it.” David knew it wouldn’t work but his first instinct was to destroy that abomination. Matteo just smiled back at him.

“As if.” He smirked. David expected the response. There was only one thing to do.

David lunged at Matteo, but Matteo was ready for it. Before David could lay a hand on him he was gone. For someone who could barely shuffle out the door ten minutes ago he was very fast.

But David was faster. He kept catching up to Matteo, nearly catching him, but Matteo knew the space better. Just when David was about to grab him he’d slip around a corner. David would get a fist full of Matteo’s jumper only for Matteo to slip his arms and head out and leave David standing with woollen cloth and building rage.

Just when David thought he finally had him, Matteo sprinted across the room and locked himself in the bathroom. David was left panting, listening to Matteo trying to gulp in air between his fits of body raking laughter.

What Matteo didn’t know though, was David had learnt somethings living in the places he had. Things such as how to pick locks, like bathroom door locks, with bobby pins, like the bobby pins you found in your boyfriend’s kitchen.

He ran to the kitchen and ran right back. Matteo hadn't been in the bathroom for more than a minute when the door swung open.

Matteo was wide eyed looking up at David from his place in the bath.

“You're so fucking cool, David,” he grinned, staring dreamily up at him. David nearly forgot how to breath for a second, which didn't make him feel too cool.

Once the bathroom door was open, it was over for Matteo. David dragged him to the sitting room and full body tackled Matteo onto the couch. After that, it was easy to wrestle the phone from Matteo’s winded, wheezing, giggly body.

“And the video is deleted!” David announced his victory to Matteo, but Matteo didn’t seem as devastated with the loss and he had hoped.

He looked up, still panting and locked eyes with David.

“As if I haven’t already sent it,” he smirked. David could just stare at him, slack jawed.

“I hate you.” David knew the words were bullshit before they even left his mouth, and so did Matteo. David tossed the phone back onto Matteo's stomach.

“I love you!” Matteo beamed up at him. Even though they were just joking and they'd said it countless times before it still made David's heart stutter as his body melt.

“I love you too, you goblin,” he smiled softly down at the boy on the couch. Matteo smiled so wide it was a shock his cheeks didn't split.

“I wasn’t even flossing, I was just swaying,” grumbled David.

“Okay babe” and suddenly the buzzing was back in his chest. He settled down on the couch next to Matteo again and wrapped his arm around Matteo's shoulders.

“Who did you even send it to?” David turned to look at Matteo, to study him. He was still looking down at his phone and he was still the most beautiful boy Matteo had ever seen.

“Just Laura and the boys.” Matteo's mouth was hungry on his before he could reply.

It never failed to amaze David. He could do this. Whenever he wanted. He could kiss this boy. And it was okay. He tangled one hand into Matteo's hair and put the other on his cheek, just because he could. He melt Matteo trying to get his breath back after all the running.

David had heard Matteo isn't before in different situations and it never got easier to control himself. Matteo was beautiful, but besides that Matteo was hot.

Before they could go any further Matteo's phone buzzed. Matteo could barely test himself away from David to check if it was important but somehow, he found the strength. David whined at the loss of contact.

The sound made Matteo want to do things to David but once he read the notification on his phone all that was out the window. Well maybe not out the window but momentarily on pause. It was a video from Laura.

He opened it and nothing, genuinely nothing, could have prepared him for what was inside.

It was a video of David, definitely taken within the last year or two, and he was dabbing. Not just one, not just two, but as many as he could fit in the 5 second clip. He was dabbing furiously, like his life depended on it. His hair was flying all over the place and he looked like a rag doll.

Matteo looked up from his phone at the boy sitting on the couch with him.

“I love you so so much, but after this you're going to hate me.” David just looked confused. Matteo could barely contain himself. He flipped the phone around so David could see.

David hardly took a second to recognise the video.

“Laura!”

#skam #skam 2019 #druck #matteo florenzi #druck fic #Skam Germany #davenzi #David Druck #david schreibner #matteo x david #David (Druck)#please comment

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today-only-happens-once · 5 years

Text

With Great Power - Chapter 3

Title: With Great Power – Chapter 3

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Read On AO3

Fic Summary: Thomas Sanders is just a regular social media personality. But when he gets bit by a spider during filming one of his YouTube videos, his whole life is about to turn upside down—whether he (or the aspects of his personality) want it to or not. Platonic LAMP/CALM + Character!Thomas. Spider-Man AU (but more the concept of Spider-Man and contains no spoilers for any particular movie/comic series).

Word Count: 3503

Warnings: violence, cursing, blood, attempted kidnapping of a child, dangerous driving/passenger behavior, bruising, nausea, food mention, custody battle mention.

A/N: I didn’t expect this chapter to go the way it did. It became one of those “characters sometimes have minds of their own and I get taken for a joyride as a writer” kind of chapters. Thank you so much to @creativenostalgiastuff for looking this chapter over for me since I was extra doubtful about it. Also, if some of this gets confusing it’s 100% my fault. It got hard to put the picture and sequence in my head onto paper. Yikes.

Tags: @captain-loki-xavier @magicpanda31 @the-peculiar-bi-tch @mining-pup @band-be-boss-blog @asexual-trashbag @samathekittycat @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @theobsessor1 @always3charcoaltea @changeling-ash @logical-princey @crimsonshadow323 @flickering-raven@smokeyrutilequartz, @dontbugmeimantisocial, @soijusthavetoask, @marvelfangeek09, @vigilantvirgil, @princelogical

…

Thomas paces in front of the office building. It’s mostly overcast, the sky a flat gray color that promises rain. The office was tucked away in a more run-down section of Gainesville, which certainly helped with the affordability of the location. The wind is picking up a little and Thomas tugs the hood of his gray sweatshirt up over his head against the chilly breeze. In the back of his mind, he’s grateful he had enough sense to grab it and a scarf from the hook in the hallway on his way out of the building.

He breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth. He looks out at the parking lot, wondering briefly if maybe he could just go home. Tell Joan he wasn’t feeling well. Then again, Thomas can’t be sure they’d even believe him. Especially after he just effortlessly stopped a bookcase from falling on them with one arm. He should have listened to Patton and Logan and stayed home today.

Thomas groans under his breath and rakes a hand through his bangs to push them out of his eyes again. He stops pacing and leans back against the brick wall. Just a few minutes out here to get his heart to slow back down to a normal pace and then he’d go back inside and pretend like everything was fine. He’d at least get through filming today.

Thomas watches absently as a dark green van pulls into the mostly-empty parking lot. There’s another cold gust of air and Thomas tugs his scarf up over his nose to brace against it. The van pulls into a spot several yards away, and Thomas sees a young woman climb out of the driver’s seat.

She looks like she’s maybe only a handful of years older than Thomas, a frazzled ponytail swishing behind her as she opens one of the passenger doors. She fusses with something in the backseat that Thomas can’t see until she emerges with a toddler—big glasses and a flop of blonde hair—propped on her hip. He seems to be babbling about something to the woman, clutching onto her shirt. She says something in reply to him, then adjusts his glasses and kisses the top of his head before setting him down on the pavement. The little boy is looking up at her and grabs her hand, his babbling continuing.

Thomas smiles faintly at the sweet display. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, wanting to give the family some privacy instead of staring at them. He scrolls through Twitter for a moment, smiling as he notices a fan’s artwork of Patton making pancakes. Thomas retweets it, adding a comment of “omg I love this so much! Thank you!”.

“Hey, what are you doing here? What are--no!”

The shout from across the parking lot grabs his attention immediately. Thomas looks up and shoves his phone into his pocket. A car that Thomas hadn’t noticed pull up has parked itself beside the green van. But more concerning than that are the two large men, one of whom has the little boy’s arm in a tight grip. The other steps in front of the woman as she lunges to grab the boy.

Thomas is halfway across the parking lot before he’s even fully processed what is happening.

“You can’t take him!” The woman begs. The little boy starts screaming and thrashing, but his strength is no match for man holding onto him. The woman shoves against the man in front of her with all her strength, but he only stumbles back a step or two before he roughly shoves her into her car.

Thomas is sprinting. “Hey!” he shouts, trying to get their attention.

“You’re hurting me!” the boy’s voice is panicked.

“Hey!” Thomas yells again. This time they seem to hear him, as both men’s heads swivel up and focus on him. “Let them go!”

Both men spring into action, one of them lunging to intercept Thomas as he sprints up and the other—the one holding the boy’s arm—dragging the screaming child towards the car. Duck! Something yells in his mind and Thomas drops on instinct, feeling a fist fly over his head as he does so.

He can feel his heart pounding in his chest now for an entirely different reason. He tries to kick out blindly against the man directly in front of him, taking up his field of vision. The boy’s screaming sounds distant now to Thomas, but he can also hear the woman shouting something too. At him? At the boy? At these two men? Thomas doesn’t know.

Thomas feels a foot connect hard in his stomach and coughs, gritting his teeth. “He’s just a kid—” Thomas tries to implore, but cuts himself off as he narrowly dodges something flying towards his jaw.

He blows out a hard breath. He blinks quickly, his senses flooding with a suddenly alarming clarity. The woman is trying to beat the man dragging the boy away, the boy still thrashing to get his arm free. It’s all Thomas has time to process before the first man growls in the back of his throat and charges Thomas.

He’s moving… slower than Thomas would have expected. He dives out of the way, kicking a leg out to trip him as the man stumbles past him. He trips face first into the pavement. Thomas doesn’t wait to see if he gets up. He can still hear the yelling distantly through the blood rushing in his ears.

Thomas watches the man a few yards away deliver a sharp elbow to the woman’s face. Thomas rushes up behind her, catching her from behind as she stumbles back. Thomas gently nudges her forward to help her regain her balance.

“You okay?” he asks, panting.

The woman is holding her nose, blood seeping through her fingers. She turns angry, desperate green eyes onto Thomas and shakes her head. “He’s taking my baby! I think he’s taking him to John and--” she pales even further.

“John?” Thomas asks, confused. The woman’s explanation is cut off by the slamming of a car door. Thomas looks over in time to see the boy clamoring over to the window, slamming his small fists against it as he screams his head off. He looks scared. He’s screaming for his mom.

Thomas reacts.

He reaches the car at the same time the man dives into the driver’s seat and slams it into drive. Tires scream against the pavement, the smell of burnt rubber stings Thomas’s nostrils. He lunges for the rear passenger side door handle just as the car peels forward. But his hand makes contact. And it’s all Thomas really needs.

He yelps as his hand sticks to the car door and he gets pulled along towards the parking lot exit, his feet sliding and scraping against the pavement. Thomas grits his teeth and does his best to kick himself up onto the car. He manages to get one foot up on the trunk of the car, and with another try, he gets the other leg up too.

He releases a fast breath. He glances down long enough to see the road burn had scraped a hold down the side of his jeans he’d been wearing, but he doesn’t feel any pain from it. He has bigger things to worry about right now anyway.

Thomas has one hand still on the back door of the sedan, kneeling on the trunk of the car. The little boy in the back seat is turned around and stares at him through the rear windshield with wide, awed eyes. Thomas tries to flash him a quick reassuring smile before he realizes that his scarf is still covering half of his face.

The wind as the car speeds out of the parking lot whips at the strands of Thomas’s hair peeking out from under the gray hoodie. Thomas pulls his hand off the door, a flash of gratefulness flooding him when he’s able to do so instead of staying stuck. He stays low to the car as he shifts to steady his balance on the trunk, leaned up against the rear windshield.

Thomas locks eyes with the driver through the rearview mirror seconds before the car swerves, fishtailing out of the parking lot. Thomas feels the shift and braces against it. His feet on the car and his hands against the back windshield keeps him from sliding off the car.

Thomas sees the flash of surprise quickly overcome by frustration as the driver accelerates down the road away from the building. Thomas’s eyes start to water against the sting of the wind. He blinks to clear them.

The boy is still staring at him. His screaming has stopped. Get him out, get him out, get him out. It’s the only thing Thomas can think about right now. If he could get him out while the driver is occupied, even better.

Thomas locks gazes with the young boy, then looks pointedly towards the door on the left. The boy frowns in confusion for a second, following Thomas’s gaze, before his eyes widen in understanding. He nods quickly, scrambling over to the door.

Thomas’s heart is in his throat, choking his air a bit. He stays low to the car and shifts over slightly. The car swerves dangerously again but Thomas stays latched onto it. He sees the driver slam an angry hand against the wheel.

He gets a hand free at the same time he sees the boy pull the lock on the door Thomas had pointed him to. The driver shouts something Thomas can’t make out. The boy kicks the door open and scrambles out.

Thomas lunges to catch him as he tumbles out the door, his knees sticking to the car as he throws himself over to catch the kid. He wraps his free arm around the boy’s midsection, barely managing to keep him from faceplanting into the pavement whizzing underneath them.

“I got ya,” Thomas grunts. He feels the car lurch as the driver slams on the breaks. Tires scream against the pavement again. Thomas hoists the kid up—he really weighs almost nothing—and presses low to the car as the young boy scrambles to climb into his back. “Don’t let go!” Thomas urges him.

“Okay!” the boy yells in his ear. Thomas coughs slightly as the boy’s grip around his neck tightens.

God, please don’t stick, Thomas thinks as the car surges to a stop in the middle of the road. He pushes up and jumps off the car. The brief moment of sheer relief that floods him when Thomas doesn’t stick to the vehicle is short lived as he trips when his feet hit the pavement. The boy on his back is surprisingly light to Thomas, but it’s still enough weight to throw off his balance a bit.

Thomas hears the sound of the car door opening and he swivels to face the car as the driver climbs out. Thomas holds out an arm as he hears the boy gasp, tighten his grip, and press his face into Thomas’s neck.

“Whoa,” Thomas says to the driver, facing him to place himself between the driver and the little boy. Thomas starts backing up out of the main road towards the sidewalk. “He’s just a kid, man.” He risks a brief moment to glance around. The road is a two lane main street, with local shops and businesses lining both sides. Cars from both directions have come to a full stop. Patrons and shop owners have started to file out onto the sidewalks, staring at the altercation.

Shit, Thomas thinks, and he tugs the scarf a little further up his face. Several people have started—or were already—filming and taking pictures with their phone. In some ways, Thomas knows it’s a good thing. Because the driver has noticed too, and he hasn’t moved any closer to them.

The driver seems to follow Thomas’s gaze around to the increasingly thickening crowd around them and pales. He shoots a sharp glare at Thomas. Thomas instinctively wraps an arm back around towards the kid to protect him before the man ducks back into the driver’s seat. He tears down the road.

Thomas watches the car for a moment as it races around a right turn and disappears. He can hear people murmuring, and he hopes that at least one of them caught the license plate. He had forgotten to check.

“Is he gone?” the boy asks in a small voice, pulling Thomas out of his thoughts. Thomas drops a little so the boy’s sneakers are firmly on the ground before he gently pries his small hands off from around his neck.

Thomas turns to him and gives him a small smile—seconds before he remembers half of his face is still hidden from the scarf. “Yeah,” Thomas tells him. “He’s gone. You okay?”

The boy nods, but Thomas can see him rubbing his arm—the same one that had been grabbed in the parking lot—and bruises already peeking out from under the sleeve of his green Ninja Turtles shirt. Thomas’s stomach rolls a little, but he tries to distract the boy from it.

“What’s your name?”

“It’s, um.” The boy rubs at his eyes under his glasses, knocking them slightly askew on his nose. “Um. Mommy calls me Mikey because. Um.” He looks down at his shirt and points to the turtle with the orange eye mask.

Thomas smiles again. “Is Michaelangelo your favorite?”

The boy’s eyes light up a little—Thomas can still see tears in the corner of them—behind his glasses. “Yeah! He’s the best.” He peers a little closer at Thomas. “Do you have a favorite Ninja Turtle?” He glances at Thomas’s sweatshirt before he can answer and tilts his head a little. “Oh. You have a spider on your shirt. Do you like spiders more than turtles?”

Taken aback, Thomas glances down. Sure enough, there’s a small white spider on the left side of his hoodie. It was part of the branding. Ironic choice of sweatshirt today, Thomas, he thinks wryly to himself.

He’s about to answer when a flash of camera light makes him suddenly very aware that there is still a crowd surrounding them, pressing increasingly closer.

“What’s going on here?” says a booming voice. Thomas’s head jolts up and he sees a police officer breaking through the crowd with the woman from the parking lot.

For a reason he can’t entirely place, Thomas is suddenly overcome with the understanding that he has to get away, and he has to get away now. He knows he should maybe stay and answer questions—Thomas didn’t do anything wrong, and he’d do it all again if given the chance—but he’s suddenly extremely aware that they will ask questions he can’t answer.

I’m sorry, you just… stuck to the car? Thomas can’t explain it to them. And he really doesn’t want the public attention as some sort of freak of nature.

Questions that might be dangerous to him, depending on how they react. After all, dozens of people saw him riding on the back of the car and catch a kid as he fell out the door of a moving vehicle.

“Mom!” the boy shouts when he sees the woman, and he breaks from Thomas and barrels towards her. She’s sobbing as she kneels down on the ground and grabs Mikey in her arms, pressing kisses to his head and checking him over.

The police officer stops to watch them, and Thomas uses the distraction to duck back into the alley a few feet to the left.

He starts running.

…

Hot water rains down against his back as Thomas stands in the shower a few hours later.

He hears his phone buzz on the counter, and he knows it’s probably another text from Joan. Thomas had made his way back to the parking lot, jumped in his car, and drove home. He’d barely remembered to send a text to Joan with a quick, Hey I got really sick all of a sudden and didn’t want to get you sick so I went home. Super sorry. :( before he’d started the car. Maybe would Joan would buy it or maybe they wouldn’t. Thomas feels like he’s running on autopilot. The events of the last fifteen minutes flashed behind his eyes the entire drive home.

Joan had told him not to worry about it, texting him that they’d drop by later to check in and they’d take care of filming what they could. I’ll get Camden to come help. Just focus on getting better, dude. Thomas couldn’t explain why that made his stomach twist.

The steam and heat from the shower is a welcomed reprieve from the biting cold that had seeped into his muscles after the whole incident with the car. Thomas doesn’t know how long he’d been standing under the hot spray but it was also helping with the tightness between his shoulder-blades. He didn’t want to get out. These three walls and curtain made a comfortable safe haven from everything Thomas knew he’d have to confront and deal with and he didn’t feel ready. He didn’t feel ready for any of it.

He’d never liked change. Nobody does, he reminds himself. But he’d even made a YouTube video about how he hated change, and how it hard it could be for him. And Logan had told him once, there’s change you can control, and change you cannot control. And the whole point of the video had been about taking advantage of the change you can control to make the change you cannot control more bearable.

Thomas sighs and shuts off the water. He’d tried that today. He’d tried being normal despite the weird change his body seemed to be going through and it ended up with Thomas intervening on an attempted kidnapping and then running from the police so he wouldn’t have to answer questions.

What was he supposed to do when “normal” may not be an option anymore? When it feels like everything—everything—is going to be changing whether he wants it to or not?

Thomas grabs the folded towel off the counter and dries off, rubbing it through his hair after he pulls on pajamas. It’s late afternoon, but Thomas doesn’t plan to be going anywhere else today.

He flips on the television for background noise as he pads over to the kitchen to preheat the oven. He’d forgotten that the last thing he’d been watching was the news yesterday, and Thomas nearly drops his box of frozen mozzarella sticks when he sees Mikey’s face on the screen. The headline blow reads LOCAL STRANGER SAVES BOY FROM KIDNAPPING OVER CUSTODY BATTLE.

Thomas freezes as the familiar little blonde-haired boy is speaking into the news anchor’s microphone. “—an’-and he caught me and pulled me up and then he jumped off and didn’t let the bad guy get me. And then he asked me about my name and we talked about Ninja Turtles.”

Despite himself, Thomas smiles a little. The news anchor laughs lightly as the camera zooms out to show both her and Mikey. “Do you have a message for this mystery stranger?”

Mikey seems to think about it for a moment, then grabs the microphone from the news anchor and holds it in both of his hands. “Thanks for saving me, Mr. Spider-Man.”

Thomas can’t help the surprised laugh that bubbles up his chest. Spider-Man? Thomas wonders at the same time he hears the news anchor, her voice barely picked up from the mic that the boy is holding, asks the same question.

Mikey nods. “I call him that because he didn’t tell me his name but he was wearing a spider and I think he likes spiders more than Ninja Turtles but that’s okay because he saved me.”

Thomas feels his chest squeeze with an unexpected affection even as his vision blurs in the corners a little. Thomas wipes at his eyes, surprised a little at the surge of emotion that expands in his chest.

“Well,” the news anchor says with a smile as she takes the mic back, “You heard it here first. Local “Spider-Man” is at least one kid’s hero tonight. Back to you, Bill.”

Mikey’s words echo in Thomas’s mind as the news switches to talking about the weather. He saved me.

#sanders sides #platonic lamp/calm #sanders sides fanfiction #fictional!thomas #spider-man au #tw violence #tw bruising #tw kidnapping #tw custody battle #tw cursing #with great power #wgp fic #wgp #super extra nervous about people's thoughts on this chapter #i hope its okay!

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smaiwriteblr · 5 years

Text

My Demons

Do it. It’s in your nature.

I hear it like a mantra in the back of my mind and for a split second, the world melts away, leaving only the red haze that encroaches on the edges of my vision. The urge is so strong my muscles contract out of habit; my own body urges me on, like this is just another normal night. I guess—in a way—it is. It’s always the same old thing. Stay alive. Survive.

The wind is cold against my skin, but I lean into it, sighing like it’s a security blanket that keeps the monsters away. Who am I kidding? I am the monster. I was born this way. The air is silent; the only sign of life is the chirping of crickets off in the distance. It’s the same every time and the tedious existence I live only makes the primal instincts I try to keep at bay that much stronger. Why am I doing this? Because you need to survive. But why do I need to survive? I’ve asked myself that so many times before, yet the answer eludes me like smoke on the wind. Close enough for me to see, but just out of reach.

Fate can kiss my ass.

A low growl sounds from behind me and my entire body goes stiff. It sounds impatient but I can’t bring myself to turn around and face him. Hurry up. I can hear it in my head but all I want to do is turn and run. What did this couple ever do to me? Absolutely fucking nothing, that’s what. The growl tickles the hairs on the back of my neck, and I clench my fists.

“Why?” My voice comes out little more than a whisper and even I can hear the fear laced in it. There is a soft rustling before his voice sounds at my side, devoid of any emotion as always.

“Because this is who you are.” Bullshit. Tell me the real reason.

“This isn’t who I want to be.” I want to live a normal life. Go to college, get married for love instead of for the good of the pack.

“This is who I raised you to be.” There is no arguing with him. My father was a lot of things—a bastard being one of them—but he’s never made me do anything that didn’t benefit my future. These monthly hunts are the bane of my existence and he knows it. It’s for the good of the pack he says, like a song stuck on repeat. It’s always the same thing with him.

“I don’t want to lead the pack.” He growls again and I jump.

“You will do this.” His command sinks into my mind like a poison and I take a step forward out of instinct, the beast in me unable to resist a direct order from my Alpha.

“Fine.” I all but spit the words and take a deep breath in. The heat washes over me in waves of molten energy and, like always, I let a whimper escape me.

“If you didn’t fight it, it wouldn’t hurt.” He says matter of fact and I growl at him. No shit, Sherlock.

It never changes. The heat, the searing pain that singes my every nerve ending, swallows me and I’m drowning in it. My knees buckle, my teeth clench as I struggle to get a grip on myself. Deep breaths, you can do this. Swallow your pride and fucking get it over with. Its unbearable now, as the magic that I so desperately try to fight takes hold, and I can feel my body change. It’s agony. Shear unadulterated, white hot agony that rips through me like a current before tapering off and I’m left panting.

“I didn’t give birth to a Beta. I gave birth to you, my successor. Get up.” His words are a command I can’t disobey even when he stands before human. His stature, his aura, his scent. They’re overwhelming. His very presence makes me want to submit to him. I’m on my feet in a heartbeat, my nose coming to nuzzle his outstretched hand. Good girl. I can almost hear his barb through the way he rubs my chin before gently shoving me towards the tent. Now go. This is who you are.

I let out a light whimper and his hand fists in the scruff of my neck. I can feel his disappointment like a slap to the face and for the briefest of seconds—for a single heartbeat—I stiffen beneath him and let a growl escape me. Not an ‘I’m sorry father’, not even an ‘I hate it when you grab me like this.’ No, the rumble that rips its way up my throat is violent, seething hatred. A warning to him that if he so much as twitches, I’ll rip his fucking throat out, and I swear I can see sweat break out across his brow. His body reeks of fear for the first time in my entire twenty-three years.

“Show me the Alpha I’ve raised you to be.” Is that pride I hear?

I huff and he releases me, stepping back to smirk. Yeah, that’s pride. I’m so aggravated at the arrogant look on his face I growl again.

His silent retreat tells me more than any word he could utter. Hurry up.

I don’t want to do this. Everything in my heart is telling me to make a run for it, to turn tale and get the fuck out of here. Freedom is out there somewhere. Sadly, it wasn’t waiting for me, and I resign myself to the order. Do it. It’s in your nature.

I pad silently to the tent, which is quiet now and filled with the rhythm of even breathing. They’re asleep, and part of me is grateful. The faster I get this over with, the sooner I can leave.

The violent growl that shatters the silence makes my hackles stand on end. It’s power and authority personified; my heart races at its sound. I should have known he wouldn’t let me get off that easily. Fucking bastard. I crouch slightly, straining my ears as the two bodies jump and scramble from their tent. Seconds later, the sound of a shotgun being cocked has me moving. Out of fear, out of anger; out of excitement. I move swiftly, knocking into the man with enough force to send him sprawling to the ground and he grunts, the gun flying from his hand in the process. The woman screams and takes off, but my eyes are on the man, the feint scent of urine touching the air. He fucking pissed himself.

His eyes meet mine and there, beneath the fear, beneath the absolute horror, lies the acceptance. I lunge a breath later and my teeth sink into the soft flesh of his throat. The metallic taste rushes into my mouth and I can’t help the rumble that erupts from within me. It’s bliss. Sheer ecstasy. He struggles for what seems like an eternity before his body falls limps and I relax only momentarily before I’m blindsided. I hit the ground hard and growl slightly before weight is on me and hot breath is at my throat. My father—my Alpha—growling; telling me to forget him and go after the woman. His weight is gone as swiftly as it hit me and I’m up and running, my nose following the stench of fear, leading me to my prey.

She’s fast for a human, but I catch up in moments, my form breaking from the trees a second too late. Something slams into my head and I feel pain explode and a heartbeat later, a wet dribble of blood. I stumble and hit a tree, stunned for a moment before labored breathing meets my ears. She’s not just fast, she’s a fighter. I’m overtaken by anger now, red obscuring my vision as I regain my balance.

She’s trembling; her knuckles white as she grips the pipe like her life depends on it. Her eyes are wide, shinning with terror but the way her lip is curled up into a snarl has my hackles raising. She’s not going down without a fight. Part of me hates that this must be dragged out, but the other part—the primal, animalistic part of me that currently had control—loved the thrill of the chase she represented. A hunt wasn’t a hunt if the prey rolled over for me.

I take a step forward and huff, noting how her body tenses at the sound before she swings again. Her movements are sporadic, panicked even, and easily avoidable. Run. Run as fast as you can. As if she can hear my thoughts, she turns on her heel and sprints off into the woods and my every sense is attuned to her. Her scent, her sound, her very existence. She is mine.

Do it. It’s in your nature. The mantra repeats, driving me forward like a puppet on a string. This is who you are. I lunge, my paws hitting her square in the back and rocketing her into the ground. She screams and the air rushes from her lungs when my weight settles on top of her. This is it. Finish her. You know you want to.

I waste no time ripping into her throat, savoring the sweat taste as it flows through me like it’s giving me life. She screams the entire time, her last dying breath wasted on noise that not only wouldn’t save her, but hurt my ears in the process. It’s over all too soon and I step back and let a howl rip its way up my throat. Yes, the voice says proudly. Let the entire world know of your victory here tonight. The howl within me is long, powerful. The howl within me is the howl of an Alpha.

“Good girl.” My father is proud as he walks up, placing a hand on my head as the sound tapers off. “This is who I raised you to be.”

“Let’s get back.” His words—his order—grate on my ears like nails on a chalk board and I can’t control when my stomach flips and I’m expelling the blood and tissue I was relishing in only moments before. When there is nothing left in me, I stumble to my feet and he tosses me clothes.

This is who I am. This is what I was born to do. I can’t fight my instincts. I can only obey them.

I can only bend for so long before I finally break, and give in. To my birthright, to my fate.

To my demons.

#free writing #writeblr #original work #smaiwrites #My Demons #supernatural #werewolves

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septic-dr-schneep · 6 years

Note

Could you write a fic about Bing or Google learning that (about not being able to go in water)?

Yeeep, I was already planning to! Here you go!

MP Fanfiction - Testing The Waters

Everything had happened quickly, as all accidents did. When Bing sawGoogle slip quietly out of Egos Incorporated, his insatiable curiosity hadsparked. Bing had only been manifested a short time ago, but he had seen enoughto know that the older Ego wasn’t particularly stealthy on a normal day, soperhaps this was abnormal. None ofthe others had seen him leave, so, being the go-getter that he was, Bing hadflipped his skateboard onto its wheels with the toe of his shoe and followed.

By his standards, he was being an absolute ninja—walking like an animal, flowing with the terrain, controllinghis breathing and whirring, all the tips Wikihow could supply him with. Evenso, he had only been following Google for about fifteen minutes before theblue-clad android turned on his heel and snarledat him, bared teeth and all. Bing yelped out a sharp, censored curse,scrambling to backpedal.

“Are you finished making a fool of yourself yet?” Google spat, bristlingwith a threatening whirr and staring down his nose at Bing, who scuffed hisfree foot against the pavement and jammed his hands into his pockets.

“Well, are you?” he shot back. It wasn’t the best comeback he’d ever had,but he had to stick with it. “Sneakin’ out of Egos Inc. like you’re goin’ allstealth mode—it didn’t work, by the way—and I followed you for a good longwhile before you noticed!”

“I heard you the second you closed the door behind you. Even if you hadmanaged to close it without my notice, the wheels of your skateboard gave you away,” Google deadpanned, his voice drippingderision.

“…Oh.” After a moment of awkward silence, Bing perked up, pushing hissunglasses higher up his nose as he noticed where they were. “Would you look atthat? Come here, old bot, and I’ll show you what my radical board is good for!” With that, he had picked up hisskateboard and was dragging Google by the collar toward the gate leading into thepark. The only way he managed to wrangle Google inside was because he had takenhim by surprise, but judging by the swipe at his arm, which Bing narrowlydodged, he released him just in time to avoid a few broken fingers.

“What are you doing?” Google demanded as Bing strode proudly toward thepond.

“I’ll bet ya I can get up the speed to hop the pond on the first try!” heannounced, to which Google shifted his weight back, looking thoroughlyunimpressed.

“I’ll bet that you’ll hit a cleft in the ground, fall, and break yourneck before you get there,” he huffed. “I don’t have time to indulge you andyour stunts.” As he spun to leave, Bing’s smirk fled and he tossed hisskateboard onto the ground.

“I’ll prove you wrong! If I do it, you tell me what kind of mission you’redoing on the D.L.! If I can’t clear it, well, I’ll go home and I won’t keepriding you.” Google ignored him as he moved back toward the gate, so Bingscowled further, doubling his fists. “What’s wrong, Rusty? You scared of a bet?!”

That stopped him dead in his tracks. He stood motionless for severalseconds, trembled slightly—no doubt in rage—and then lifted his head. When hepivoted and reapproached, his face was an expressionless mask, but hisnaturally brown eyes were burning with blue. He said nothing as he shoulderedpast Bing, kicking the skateboard to the side in the process, before plantinghimself by the edge of the pond.

“Well?” he snapped, gesturing expectantly at the surface of the water,which sparkled and danced in the sunlight. “I’m waiting.”

“Don’t get your gears in a crunch.” That said, Bing readjusted hisskateboard, planting his foot squarely and leaning back on his other heel,squinting at the water, trying to gauge just how much power he had to put intohis jump. He wasn’t the best at math, but he figured the same amount of push heput into getting halfway down the stairs would be enough!

Google was tapping his foot now, Bing noted, eyes narrowing further, hiscore tightening in his chest.

This was going to be easy—just a simple jump. If he was feeling sassymid-jump, maybe he’d put a little flip into the board, just to rub it in Google’sface that much more. He was gonna show him. He was gonna humiliate him. Themental image of the shock on Google’s face when he cleared the pond was so, so sweet. Bing craved it, now morethan ever.

He could feel the power at his disposal as soon as he pushed off; it wasgoing to be more than enough. He could already feel the elation, the pride, thevalidation, the reward—

As soon as the board’s front wheels left the ground, however, an irongrip snagged Bing’s arm, hauling him out of the air and sending him flying theopposite direction. He hit the grass with a startled grunt and rolled a fewfeet, lying stunned for a moment before pushing upright and staring indisbelief up at Google, who stood holding up his skateboard by two fingers. Hewaved it tauntingly.

“What the…? You—!” Bing’s next several words were censored by his SafeSearch as he scrambled furiously to his feet. “What’s your problem?! That was a perfect shot!”

“I guess not,” Google sighed, feigning sympathy, but the size of his grinbetrayed it. “And since the bet was that you clear the pond on the first try—and you didn’t—I guess youhave to slink on home. You never said I couldn’t interfere. Now let me get onwith my work. You should work on yourjumps.” That said, he set the skateboard down and idly nudged it with his foot.Bing watched, openmouthed, as it rolled slowly over to him, and then glanced upat Google, who was walking back toward the path without a care in the world.

No.

Hands found board, feet found purchase, arms found air, and he swung ashard as he could, screaming something unintelligible. The crack as the skateboardconnected with Google’s head was much louder to his ears but even that wasdrowned out as the older Ego was thrown back and splashed thunderously into thepond.

As soon as he struck, Google sparked, contorted and screamed—a horrifying,garbled, high-pitched wail of agony that Bing never wanted to hear again. Hestumbled back as Google flailed and floundered, electricity spewing out of hischest for several long seconds. As it died down, so did his struggle, hisscrambling slowing to defective twitches and his screams petering out into alow, crackling whine. Even that fell silent after another few moments and therehe lay, stiff and smoking.

No…

No, no, no, no—

The skateboard, the deadly weapon, fell with a clatter, completelyabandoned as Bing sprinted to the edge of the pond, gasping as he leaned toreach out and then flinched back. The water—if he reached in—Wait—The tip ofGoogle’s shoe was just poking up out of the perilous pool. Thinking fast, Bingsnatched at it as best he could, dragging Google’s dripping leg up with it assoon as he latched on properly. The rest of his waterlogged frame followed andit was only when he was lying unconscious on the shore that Bing felt free topanic.

“Google—Google, I didn’t mean to—oh, man, oh, man, what’ve I—? Oh, man—”Gripping Google’s shoulders, he shook him a little, pleading nervously, “C-C’mon,wake up, you gotta—” What was it they always did on the shows? Check for apulse… Gnawing frantically on his lower lip, Bing pulled on Google’s soppingwet shirt, sliding a few tentative fingers under it toward his core, probing.

What if I’vekilled him?! I didn’t mean to kill him—If Dark finds out I’ve killed him, he’lltear my head off without a second thought! The Host will erase me from history!A sudden spark sent a jolt up his arm, startling him out of his agonizingthoughts, and he didn’t waste any more time, shoving his hand into the rim ofGoogle’s core, hooking his fingers on the wiring. His skin tingled as soon ashe made contact and then he could sense it: electricity.

“There’s still time!” he burst out, glancing up at Google’s pale facewith a near-sob of relief. Instinctively he brushed at the wet strands of hair,hissing through his teeth as he saw the sizeable gash his skateboard had madein Google’s forehead. “You’re good, you’re gonna be fine—the doc can fix you! Ijust gotta get ya there! S-Sorry—” Scooping Google into his arms, gritting histeeth against the dead weight, he ran.

“The, uh, the old fart’s gonna be okay, right, doc?” Bing ventured as Dr.Iplier emerged from his lab. “You were in there for a century and a half…”

“You didn’t expect me to rush, did you?” Dr. Iplier huffed. “He wasdying. Frankly, I’m surprised he didn’t die as soon as he hit the water. If hewas anyone else, even any of the duplicate Googles, I’m pretty certain he would’veFaded right in front of you.”

Something distinctly uncomfortable tightened in Bing’s throat and hischest. He swallowed around it and took a deep breath. “But he’s gonna be up andat ’em soon?”

“Once his self-repair systems can work on their own again, yes. You cango see for yourself, if you’d like,” the doctor offered, nodding toward thedoor.

Facing Google was frankly the last thing he wanted to do, but Bing hadpride to account for. He had to act guiltless. After all, he’d told Dr. Iplierthat Google had tripped into the water, not that he’d been pushed, so…no onehad to know about his guilt. If he avoided Google because of it, though, he wassure to tattle to Dark as soon as he was back on his feet. If he visited him,however, Google may keep it between them and treat it like another privatereason to hate him.

“Are you going or staying?” Dr. Iplier prompted, recapturing hisattention.

“Uhh, staying,” he blurted out, rising. “Thanks, doc. You’re the man.”With that, he pushed the door open, shuffling slowly toward the medical bed. Onthe bedside table, he could see Google’s glasses, the frames warped and thelenses cracked, and something about it made his stomach turn. Even so, his eyescouldn’t resist drifting to the glasses’ owner. He expected Google to open hiseyes and look at him, his gaze filled with loathing and fury, but they stayedclosed.

He looked…vulnerable like this,Bing realized in disbelief, moving around the bed and sinking onto the edge ofthe nearby stool. His face was still unnaturally pale and the circuitry visiblethrough the gash in his forehead flickered faintly, working to repair thedamage from within. Now that he was paying attention, Bing could see the dentingalong his forehead and jawline, leading to his parted lips and the thin tube betweenthem, draining excess water out of his throat and into a bag.

Did the doc actuallyuse a catheter on his throat? Bingwondered, a weak laugh finding its way out of his own throat, but it diedhalfway. There were drains plugged into his core too, the places Bing himselfhad searched for any sign of life. His hands tightened between his knees.

“You owe me big time, y’know that?” he muttered. “I could’ve…I could’vejust let you die. Fade. Right in front of me. I bet you would’ve if it’d been me, right, man?” His thoughts turnedback to the moment when Google grabbed his arm, wrenching him away from thewater. But that had been to humiliate him, hadn’t it? He’d done that just to “interfere”…hadn’the? What if he hadn’t?

Google was pompous and sadistic and selfish. He hadn’t done it to save him! He did it because…he wanted tokill Bing himself, on his own terms and timeline. He wouldn’t let him die tohis own stunt.

But didn’t that mean he had savedhim, even if it was for the wrong reasons?

“Why do you have to be such a—? Ugh, I hate you…” Running a handfrustratedly through his hair, Bing glanced down at the floor and then back atGoogle. “I hate you,” he repeated, more slowly…testingly.

“I hate you.”

How did it feel, saying it to his face?

“I hate you. I hate you.”

The more he repeated it…the better it felt. He sat up straighter, lookingGoogle up and down.

“I hate you.”

He wasn’t so tough.

“I hate you.”

A little water had stopped the big, bad Google dead. He would’ve diedright there.

“I hate you.”

He remembered Google’s smile as he taunted him, waving his skateboard. Hehad left his skateboard behind for him! The anger returned then, stirringkeenly in his chest.

“I hate you. I hate you.”

The anger felt…good. Refreshing. Really, really good, he realized, a surprised smile tugging at his lips. Isthis how Google felt towards him all the time?

Why hadn’t he let himself feel this sooner?

“I—hate—you, Google,” he hissed,leaning in close, elated by the fact that Google couldn’t do anything to pushhim back. “So…so…much.”

#youtube #markiplier #googleplier #bingiplier #dr iplier #fanfiction #youtube fanfiction #fanart #youtube fanart #fanfiction counts as art #violence #major character injury #whump #well okay then #that ended more ominously than i thought it would #answered ask #Anonymous

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