#the titans of industry tremble before her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theglitterypages · 3 years

Note

Hi! I’m a new follower so i’m not quite sure if you accept requests now but if u do! i have this request that i think would be really nice!

I just read ur one shot called “behind the scenes” and i literally fell in love with it! I was thinking if you could do a sequel or part two where levi and reader talk about what he said in the interview and come to terms with their feelings for each other and then he says that they will take it slow and court reader properly.

After that, they would have like cute moments together like, she goes live on ig or such and he join and then flirts with her through the comment section 😆🥰 they have like small dates. And then when they film again for the next season, the other actors will ask what’s the deal with the both of them and Levi says he’s courting reader ><

Just a thought hehe i hope you have a great day!

Title: Behind The Scenes Part Two

Pairings: Levi x fem! Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3000

A/N: Hello darling, I'm so sorry it took me so long to respond, I've been a little busy in cleaning our house these days and I'm trying to spend less time using gadgets that's why I rarely find time to write. Anyways, I hope you'll like this one. This is not proofread so Expect many errors, I will edit this in no time. Thanks for requesting dearie💗💗💗

Read Part 1 Here

°°°°°

“Let's see each other next season! Good luck on your upcoming projects especially you Miss Marvel!” Zeke walked towards you and hugged you tight.

The whole cast just finished eating dinner, it was a dinner filled of laughter, the whole cast talked about the days on set, the silly things and other stuffs. Throughout the years of filming attack on titan, every one became each other's best friends and every time the filming are finished it's kinda sad because it will take time before you guys start filming together again.

“Goodnight everyone!”

Levi guided you towards the parking lot, his car was parked beside Eren who's now opening the door for Mikasa. “Drive straight my sister home, it's late.” Eren nodded and saluted to Levi before he climbed up the car and drove off.

Levi, on the other hand also opened the door of the car for you before he entered the car himself.

••••

“Thanks for driving me home, Lev. Do you want go inside for some tea?”

“It's fine, I don't wanna keep you up. We barely had enough time to sleep these days because of the promotions and stuffs.” Despite of saying that Levi is still standing in front of you, his eyes are full of hesitation and he kept opening his mouth just to pursed his lips together again as if holding himself back.

You are holding yourself back as well, you wanted to talk about what he said on the interview, you wanted to make things clear but you're too scared to do so.

Levi is a man who's hard to read, you wouldn't know if what he's saying is for the sake of fun or it is because he meant it.

Maybe he said that because you two are good friends, right, that's the only logical reason that popped into your mind.

You smiled fakely, trying to hide your disappointment to the fact that he's not gonna say anything, you get ready to turn your back on him to go inside your house but Levi suddenly held your hand, causing you to look back at him with wide eyes, “W-What is it?” you stammered.

“I mean it.”

“You mean what?”

Your heart is beating so fast, you're suddenly wondering it is because of Levi or it is because you have a heart problem.

Levi sighed and squeezed your hand gently as he looked into your eyes, he prepared himself a lot of times already but why is he getting afraid all the time?

He wanted to say it, say that this is more than just a friendship, that this is more than a job, that what he's doing is not a publicity stunt but he's tongue-tied. His mind went blank the moment he met your gaze, everything that he practiced before all of this has gone into the abyss.

But if he won't take a step forward, he'll always be at the same place and he wouldn't want that.

“I like you—no scratch that, I'm in love with you.”

“We had no liquor earlier so you can't be drunk. I have no times for jokes right now Lev.” you wanted to say that you like him too but what if this is just a joke? Can you afford to lose the friendship you to has?

Levi took a deep breath before he slowly nipped your chin and leaned down, his lips almost touching yours. “I know this is ridiculous but I..fell in love with you. At first I thought it was just because I'm portraying a man who's possibly in love with your character but as time passes by, I realized I'm not portraying Levi's feelings anymore.” he closed his eyes and gulped hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he do so.

“On Erwin's last day on shoot, I've realized that my remaining time with you are short and I realized that I'm not ready to let all of this end just like that.”

Flashback

“Okay so Levi you'll be choosing between Armin and Erwin, you know what to do just show us that you're heartbroken without obviously doing it and then once Samantha and Hanji came in look at Samantha with a face of relief, because in this scene Levi is glad to see her alive.” Levi nodded to the director, the make up artists put more fake bloods all over his face and when he sat nearby Erwin, the latter opened his eyes.

“Come on, man. Loosen up, the camera's not yet rolling.” Erwin smiled, Levi is a passionate actor and he gives his best in his craft, this series for example, Levi doesn't have any stunt doubles, he learned martial arts for the role and he did great portraying Levi Ackerman.

“Lights, Camera, Action!”

The scene went well and everyone cheered since this is the last day of filming for Erwin's character, Armin immediately hugged his older co-actor, Jean and Connie did the same while Mikasa and Sasha are clapping and smiling at the production team.

You and Levi are standing side by side behind Erwin, “This is sad.” you commented while Levi sighed beside you, “Imagine what my old guy feels.” Levi told you referring to his character in the series, you shrugged your shoulders and walked towards Erwin to hug him.

“You're the best, Commander Erwin.” you smiled and did the salute in the series before chuckling, “Shinzou wo Sasageyo!” you told him and the other actors heard you, everyone started doing the salute and shouted, “Shinzou wo Sasageyo!” Erwin looked around and smiled at everyone.

“Oh come on! It's not like I'm real dead, it's just my character.”

That wraps up the filming that day, while everyone was busy taking pictures with Erwin because this is his last day, Levi remained watching the whole cast from afar.

His eyes landed on you as you cry hugging Erwin, telling him that you'll miss working with him.

That was when Levi had come to realize that once this series is finished, he will never be ready to share the last moment on and off screen with you.

He's been working in this industry for a long time, not all friendships formed in work could last after a project is done, that was one of the reason why he's doing his best not to get attached especially in leading ladies but right now, for working so long with these whole cast it is inevitable to be attached to someone so similar to him yet different in other ways.

A small smile made its way across his lips as he see you laugh with the casts as you stood beside his sister.

One thing has come to his mind at that moment, he will never be ready to let you go.

End of Flashback

“I don't want to pressure you or anything. We can take it slow, I'm ready to court you properly, I haven't done any of that before but I'll do everything...let's just give it a try.”

All you could do was stare at him, blinking slowly as you tried processing everything he said, it was surprising to see him tremble like this, you can feel how cold his hands are and how his eyes are glassy because of the tears forming at the corner of his eyes.

“Well...I like you too but we'll take things slow, right? I don't want any of us to be hurt.”

“I understand—wait, what? You like me too?”

“Should I take that back?”

“No!”

You yelped with surprise when he hugged you tightly, his arms wrapped around you as he whisper sweet nothings on your ear.

“Levi it's too tight.” you giggled and he immediately pulled away, his cheeks are red so are his ears, he's cute with that blush but the way he smiled at you makes you feel like you've won the lottery, who knew you could see the Levi Cold Ackerman smile like this?

“I promise, I'll do my best.” he told you before pressing his lips on your forehead.

••••••

“Miss Y/N? Ahm the show asked if you could go live on Instagram to entertain the fans and inform them that you'll be in the Night Show.” you smiled at the staff and took the tablet in her hands since you'll be using the show's account to go live.

You started the live while your hairstylist is still fixing your hair, “As you guys can see my beloved hairstylist is not yet done fixing my hair, I will be at the Night Show! Oh my gosh I don't know what to say next, I'm just gonna read the comments.” your hairstylist laughed at your silliness and took a glance on the screen before turning her attention back to your hair.

“Okay, @ynsupremacy says she's been waiting for me to appear on the show. Oh thank you very much dearie! I've always wanted to be here too thanks for your support.”

“Oh my gosh take it easy babes, I can't read everything in just one go.”

You scrolled through the comments and sees a familiar username, “Someone deadass spammed the comment section you guys, Levi you little bastard stop spamming. Let my babies talk to me.” you narrowed your eyes at the screen before reading Levi's comment.

“I can't believe Angels go live on Instagram, says @captainlev.”

You looked back at your hairstylist after hearing her read Levi's comment, you blushed and she laughed at your reaction before shaking her head. “What? I was just reading. Nice on Captain Lev!” she smirked at the camera before looking back at you.

“I'll be back in a minute.” she said before walking out of the room.

You could still see Levi's comments but you did your best to ignore it so you could talk to your fans. “Hello @erenlegalwife happy birthday! I'm gonna tell Eren that it's his legal wife's birthday.” you chuckled. It's amusing to see their usernames, the comments are also hilarious but there are some bashers in the comments. You didn't mind them and just proceeded in interacting with your fans.

Another comment was shown but before you could even read it someone covered your eyes and you squealed, you removed their hands off your eyes and when you looked back you gasped in surprise.

“You kept on ignoring my comments, meanie.” Levi smirked as he opened his arms, asking for a hug and when you're too slow to hug him he's the one to walk towards you and hug you tight as he laughed loudly. “I scared you big time didn't I?” he teased.

You hit his back and pullled away from the hug. “God, I hate you.” it's been two months since you two confessed to each other, just like what he said, you two are taking it slow.

You guys are going out on dates from time to time yet there's no official relationship status, you didn't need the label actually, you're sure Levi wouldn't break your heart or anything, you just want to enjoy every time that you're with him.

“Okay, Levi will be joining us too but believe me I have no idea that he's a guest as well.” you told the fans as they ask you in the comment section.

“Figured I gotta surprise you, it's much better this way right?”

“You told me you're filming for that movie, big liar.”

Levi laughed and pinched your cheeks gently, “Sorry, I just want to surprise you.” he smiled sweetly and you looked away, blushing. “Pft. Never mind...” you bit your lower lip and scrolled through the comments but Levi already read something out loud.

“Ooh... @levisamlover says ‘you two look good together, just date already’ thank you for that. I also think that we look really good with each other, thanks for supporting my claim.” he smirked.

••••

“Are you sure you're fine with us just having a date at home? Well you probavly don't wanna let the press see us.” Levi asked as he wrapped jis arms around your shoulder, pulling you close to him as you two watch a movie.

“Hmm, nah the press has been seeing us two a lot but I don't care, I just want to stay close with you like this.” you told him, hugging him sideways, Levi chuckled and kissed the top of your head before feeding you some popcorn.

In the middle of the movie, Levi looked down on you just to see you asleep with a pout on your lips. He chuckled to himself and he slowly scoop you up being careful not to wake you up. He carried you towards your bedroom and he lay you down on the bed gently.

He smiled at your sleeping form before kissing your forehead. “I love you, do you know that? The day's ending yet I'm still 'ere falling in love with you again and again, deeper and deeper at every moment that passes by.” he took his phone from his pocket and took a picture of you, it became his new hobby, he's not the type to love taking pictures before but now that he has you, he wants to capture every moment.

He wants every moment to be saved, so he can go back to it every time that he misses you.

••••

“Nice job YN! Another action stunt beautifully done!”

You let out a sigh of relief when you're done filming your part, you guys are filming Eren's fight with the War Hammer Titan, along with the Survey corps fighting scene.

When you've finally done your part you immediately sat on the floor, feeling drained because of the insane stunts you had to do.

Levi was quick to hand you a bottled of water, he also naturally took his handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe your sweats, technically it is your PA's job but Levi was way faster than them.

Zeke and Reiner who just got finished their parts too, laughed at the scene because your PA was standing awkwardly as she watch Levi steal her job. “Man, I can't be the only one feeling that something changed with this two.” Zeke smirked nudging Reiner's sides, the latter hummed to agree before flicking his eyes on you and Levi.

“He's not even using his trailer anymore. He's with her all the time, Levi is acting sus.”

“Not to mention the fact that they kept on stealing glances all the time.” Hanji appeared behind the two holding her phone in her hand as she captures a photo of you and Levi laughing together. “Once we caught 'em in the act they'll spill the beans, believe me.” Armin who just finished filming also appeared holding his bottled water.

“I have a plan.” Hanji smirked deviously.

•••

“What, you're telling me to flirt with YN? Mikasa, I don't want to get killed by your brother.” Eren complained when he found out that the plan that they were thinking was getting Levi jealous so he would spill the tea.

Mikasa glared at Eren and smacked the back of his head. “Just do it, we'll be here to do something once he attempt to kill you.” Eren stared at her unbelievably before looking at his older brother. “Why don't you tell Armin to do it?” Zeke pushed his glasses up his nose before shaking his head. “Nah, Armin is like her son, Levi won't get jealous but you, a fuckboy would appear as a threat.” Zeke explained and everyone agreed.

“Man you're the one who flirts like a Seahorse.” Armin told him.

Eren narrowed his eyes, unable to understand Armin's sentence. “What do you mean by that smart-ass?” he growled.

“Seahorses flirts a lot, you're just like them.”

“I hate you all.”

Zeke got impatient of his brother's drama and he immediately pushed him towards your direction, the poor man almost landes face flat on the floor if you weren't able to grab his arm.

“Eren!” you gasped and helped him up, when Eren got up his face is pale, he smiled awkwardly and looked back at his brother to send a glare on his way before looking back at you. “You look beautiful today, YN.” he complimented.

You were taken aback by the sudden compliment so you just smiled before tapping his back, “Thanks, you look handsome today too, nice stunts by the way.” Eren looked around and he sees no traces of Levi so he loosened up a bit.

“I was just wondering if you'd like to have some coffee, there's this new coffee shop nearby and I've heard they have nice coffee.”

“Oh yes su—”

“She doesn't like coffee.”

Eren wanted to run when he heard Levi spoke behind him but he had no choice but to look at him, “Hey Lev! What's up?” Levi raised his brow to Eren, he didn't respond to him and went to your side as he glares at Eren.

“Play nice.”

“What am I? Your dog?” he whispered and you glared at him. “I'm just saying that you should act nice.” Levi crossed his arms over his chest and let out a deep breath. “I am nice.” you shook your head and massaged the bridge of your nose, there's no point in calming a jealous Levi.

“Ohohoho! I see what's happening here! Seems like sugar plum and captain grumpy is hiding somethin' eh? Spill it. What's with the possesiveness and lovey-dovey moments?”

Levi's eyes widened for a secons before he looked away, his ears and cheeks are red. Zeke's teasing smirk tells him that the man already know something, Hanji, Mikasa and Armin's stares are also meaningful, it seems like they're pressuring him to give an answer.

Levi clicked his tongue and acted cool as he looked at his co-actors and sister.

“I'm courting her, got any problem with that? Flirt with her again and you're done, Yeager.” he held your hand and dragged you away from the group while Zeke and Eren's laughter boomed at the whole set.

“YEAGERS! QUIET!”

134 notes · View notes

ecrivant · 3 years

Text

under the yoke | porco galliard

(porco galliard x reader)

an exploration of porco’s life after the warriors leave for paradis, told through a collection of vignettes.

word count: 2.8k

He sat, crumpled, clutching a hand which bore bloodied and broken knuckles, unfeeling. His white clothes, once pristine and perpetually ironed and representative of honor and heroism and potential, were now marred by redness. Covered in the eviscerated gore and dermis which, from his forelimb, surged. The hole in his bedroom door, framed by splintered wood and dressed with remnants of that same sanguinary amalgam. The air, once tenanted by irate bellows and gesticulation, stood oppressively still. Occupied, now, only by his swallowed sobs. From the window: the muffled, revelatory sounds of the Warrior commemoration ceremony one street over; and he, in his room, washed in the quiet, aching aftermath of ebullition. Another roar, hoarse, abraded, a guttural eruption. He launched forward in an attempt to lash out, again—at the door, the wall, himself—but his legs buckled beneath him and his palms, outstretched by instinct to catch his exhausted form, scraped against the floor, leaving bloody trails in their wake. His corporeal pain, once numbed by rage, now crept along skin and burrowed into bone, and he cradled his own form, laid fetal, and wailed. A prolonged, cathartic cry which propagated another, and another, until his lungs burned, raw and void of breath, and head thrummed, and soreness and anguish within him suffused. From outside the window, a cheer; within, cries, spates of ‘why’s,’ directed at no one. The Armored Titan, squandered—his own failure from which he already imbibed such abject and indefinite nemesism. His mouth tore open in a disfigured cry; no sound emitted. A breathless, silent whine; vision blurred by tears.

Sight and sound dissolved as blood poured from his wounds, relentless. Numbness returned—he remarked from afar the peaceful exit from his own body. He was vaguely aware of his door slamming against the wall as it opened. His name, a hazy and distant vocalization, repeated, urgent. A violent shaking of his body. On his cheek, a soft touch. He maybe saw your face. Concerned, no, fearful eyes. His own voice, thick in his throat, pathetic and begging and desperate:

“Please just let me die.”

The tremors of footsteps on wood, of weak limbs. Then his brother, his mother. You. The vague feeling of being lifted to his feet, of being stripped of his clothes, of being laid on the bed. A cloth, cold on tender skin.

Marcel’s embrace.

Sleep so abnormally dreamless and pitch that he was sure he had died, pervaded by a feeling of absence.

He awoke in the darkness of night and felt he was not alone. Eyes adjusting, he saw one body in a chair next to him, another in his brother’s bed. His entirety complained, aching. A low groan escaped him. The one in the chair stirred at the sound and eyed him in the dark. He could all but see the scrutinizing gaze. A grip on his uninjured hand, squeezing. His brother’s whispered apology.

Marcel rose from his seat and roused the other, who groggily sat up and listened for a moment before rushing over to the bed. Another hand in his, this time soft and un-calloused, and timid. He, now acclimated to the dark of the room, saw your scrunched face and teary eyes and quivering lip. You bowed your head to hide them, instead bringing his hand to your forehead, still trembling. As if in mourning.

“Let him sleep.”

A gentle command, for your sake and not his. He wished for you to embrace him but could not bring himself to say it.

—

He woke to his mother’s insistence that they see Marcel off. He first thought of you.

“Mom, don’t make him go.”

He felt his brother approach his bed, slow, timid. A kiss on his temple. A whispered promise:

“I’ll be home soon.”

—

He staggered as he climbed out of bed. The bandages on his hand and forearm, the hole in the door—ugly reminders of his abortion. Weak fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Fresh blood seeped through the gauze around his knuckles, spreading over the fibrous surface like a creeping, infective redness.

He made it to the port just as the boat undocked and withdrew from the shore. He saw you in the crowd, hand excitedly waving in the air as if a flag enlivened by breeze.

He returned home and undressed himself and laid back in bed and closed his eyes just as his mother reentered the house and forthwith tended to her sleeping child’s wounds.

—

A knock at his door.

“Porco? It’s Pieck and Zeke.”

“Tell them I’m alright.”

His mother bit her lip before shutting his door again.

He did not wish to see them, though he thought of them each day. Becoming less like people and more like deformed effigies begotten from his own envious thoughts. Though a given, since the beginning, that Zeke would claim the Beast Titan, he considered that he could have inherited Cartman. A moment of clarity told him Pieck was more than deserving of her inheritance, and he flushed with guilt. The candidacy, Reiner, they had made him so spiteful.

Still, he did not wish to see them.

Another knock at the door. He repressed the annoyance that flared in his chest.

“Yes?”

He could not help the edge that slipped through.

His eyes widened when you stuck your head around the door. Eyes asking for permission to enter. He moved to make room for you on his bed, granting it. Mattress dipping as you sat. Your hands gently turned his injured arm in inspection—its gauzy covering now gone and replaced by a dusting of red-rimmed scabs and pale, white scars. The haphazard gash in his wrist nearly but a memory. The touch, gentle, nearly imperceptible. Again feeling guilty, as he had not thought of you in weeks, though you should have been the first to which he turned. Your non-affiliation with the Warriors was something he unknowingly craved. Soft fingers grazed his arm and the sillage of your scent hung in the air, calming him. He needed your touch, a same and even greater need than that night before the Warriors’ departure.

You did not speak and instead wrapped your hands around his. Heedful of his injuries. Even in the dim candlelight of the room, a ray of moonlight flooded through the window and struck his floor—an expansive stain of red, impossible to fully remove, illuminated. You gazed at him, sad, as if you pitied him. He wished he had not seen it, perhaps he was not meant to, and he asked you to leave before he could suppress his anger. He spurned your pity.

You were surprised but not hurt: instead, he was met with a melancholic look, one of understanding. As you walked out, shutting the door behind you, he wished you had been hurt—he envied your emotional control, your empathy. Hot tears spilled from his eyes, and they blurred his view of you leaving the front stoop and walking down the street, swallowed by the night.

He grabbed his pillow and hurled it at the wall. It landed with a dull thump. If he was anything like you, he could have controlled his anger and kept you with him. Spent the night in your presence. He gritted his teeth and slammed back onto the mattress, taking notice of the missing cushion. He rolled to the side and slept without it.

—

He could not say when he finally rescinded the grudge he held against Pieck and Zeke. He began talking to them again, finally caving on his self-imposed strike after realizing he was lonely, but it felt more like a return out of necessity. He was not sure he truly missed their companionship; though dulled, the spite and anger and jealousy were all still present.

At the same time, he immersed himself further into Marley’s all-encompassing military-industrial complex. Endearing himself to Magrath. Continuing his training. Helping where he could. As if to fulfill some sick, vicarious fantasy where he was a Warrior, as well, only left behind with Pieck and Zeke. The schmoozing felt insincere, dirty, yet he continued, to what end? He was worse than Reiner—a fucking ass-kisser with no goal in sight. Subconsciously aware his constant exposure to Marleyan army affairs only exacerbated and prolonged the pain of his failure.

“Why still be involved?”

He frowned at your question—a large part of him assumed you would support him, regardless. At least support him based on the fact it was somehow comforting for him, a twisted form of self-actualization. He narrowed his eyes as you continued.

“Maybe it’s better this way. You—”

You cut yourself off, hesitant. He urged you to say your piece, an edge in his voice.

“If you’re not a Warrior, you can live a long life.” With me, the implicit addendum. He ignored it, quiet long enough that you felt emboldened to continue.

“Sometimes this war, it feels so pointless.”

Faced with futility. Your extrapolated silver lining. Something repressed urged him to give in, to agree. Whether flaccid will or a desire to live with you, he could not be sure. You had always felt so nice.

Though he could not, could never, bring himself to despise you, he convinced himself to despise the words you spoke.

“What are you, a fucking pacifist now?”

You shrunk away, the vitriol in his voice, a disarming blow. To serve Eldians was his life’s purpose, and you were meant to support him indefinitely, it being in your nature. You began to speak, but he ignored it. Anger flaring. The more he thought on it, the easier you became to hate. All the years he had known you, you were nothing but a backgrounded entity. His very antithesis. Your affinity for pacifism was no surprise to him—it was very much like you to sit to the side and wish for things to happen instead of taking it upon yourself to actualize them. You moved through life without purpose, a passive body with no real substance. It was a wonder he had ever liked you at all.

“You know it should have been me. I should have been the one to go to Paradis, not Reiner.”

The hurt in your eyes urged him forward, though, in hindsight, he wondered if it was your own hurt, or hurt for him, which shone in your gaze. A sadness, pity, that he could not let go of his apparent past transgression, could not overcome his own self-hatred. Were there truly many differences between you?

He lashed out once more, another jab. A sadistic self-projection.

“How can you live a life so devoid of purpose and meaning? Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. I was meant to be a Warrior for humanity, so that’s what I’ll do. And I don’t care how I get there.”

He flinched, less at the words and more at the way some form of the truth so willingly poured from his mouth. Quiet, eerily pervasive. A surge of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Like bile. Your tears stung his throat.

“Never would humanity’s true savior be so selfish.”

You stood and turned at the heel and strode off, quickly wiping at your eyes. It was his turn to be winded by your words.

—

He slammed his fist against your front door, rapid and repeated like a heartrate. Your father answered and saw the raw desperation in his eyes and led him to your room. He opened the door and collapsed before he reached you. Spoken through choked sobs—the pain, cotton forced down his throat:

“Marcel is dead.”

Your arms were around him as if your last shared moment, at this point years ago, was not one of bitter vitriol. He, eviscerated by guilt and all but gutted on the floor before you. Your unrelenting sympathy, so willing to forgive his malignity—to think you had nothing but love to give in return for his spite. You held him unflinchingly as he disintegrated in your arms. Unafraid to shoulder the weight of his tangible unraveling. He thought of that moment years ago, alone in his room, bleeding out, a result of his own rage, and realized true pain was nothing like it. To be so utterly excavated by grief and pain that your own form has no choice but to erode into itself. His screams caught in your shirt. He bit down on the fabric, tasting blood.

He lied in your bed that night and felt nothing. Your touch, once so verily craved, was unaffecting. Still, you ran your hands along his sides and caressed the shapely variations of his form, and you pressed your lips to his neck and back, and he allowed you to straddle him and kiss his face and chest and arms and endeavor to extract his pain through your ghostly contact. He knew you felt nice, even if he himself could not tell. Your comfort reached him and dissolved on contact, yet he still indulged and met your touch with his own. Nevertheless unfeeling.

—

From you, he had never seen true anger. Though, when he told you he was to support Pieck in Paradis, he saw it—it was quiet, nothing like his violent, external fulminations. Instead, your stare held unprecedented intensity, some amalgam of rage and fear that made him instinctively flinch; and, for once, it did not seem like selfless emotion. He sadistically reveled in the way you finally felt fear for someone other than him.

He was leaving Marley with some naïve intention of returning, to be with you upon doing so. Yet, you both knew your shared life was a moot point after his inheritance of the Jaw Titan—he had betrayed you, and in some way, his own selfish wishes. He had not matured at all, forever and always a slave to his desires. To die for Marley, you informed him, and no matter how many times he countered with his ambition to save the Eldians and salvage the remnants of his past failures, he invariably, though subconsciously, acquiesced to your position. His ultimate objective: to die for a cause.

Your anger, short-lived, ephemeral, even. It gave way to such harrowing sorrow. He wondered, as he held you, if you finally allowed yourself to cry selfishly, to cry for the death of your own desires.

You kissed him, desperately. Long and sweetly brackish from tears. He laid you down his bed, the one in which years ago he lied as well, craving your embrace in the darkness, and touched fingertips to bare skin. His despairing memorization of your body. Your breathy murmurs, tearful; yourself, a numinous beauty he sought to worship. He could not elude his adoration for you, and as you made love that night, a shared intimacy so imbued with and pervaded by heartache, he knew he would die regretful. His pain and yours, fatefully pre-written. He had always been destined for stagnation, abjection, sorrow, loss—driven by some cruel divinity and jejune, self-sacrificial desire to fulfill his own doomed fate. The cruelty of fatalism.

“Come back to me,” you had whispered.

—

In his last moments, he thought of that night. He did not deserve a final thought so pleasant. He instead thought of you presently, home in Liberio, waiting for his promised return. Is this how Marcel felt, as he breathed his last breath? Did he think of his little brother to which he promised return? He all but laughed at the ironic cyclicality of life. Falco would inherit his thoughts, and his brother’s thoughts, and one day see the reality of anguish and broken promises and futile desire, perhaps on the evening of his own violent death.

—

Through his love, he also immortalized you—forcing you to live on as some perpetually degraded image and, eventually, simply an ephemeral feeling of comfort in those who would inherit his memories. He figured you would hate the thought. Part of him wished he could loose you from this eternal cycle, freeing you from his memory and thus the endless lineage of memory you would come to inhabit. Or maybe he wished for this selfishly, wanting you to be experienced by no other.

—

You would hate his last words, spoken at Reiner out of abject spite, selfish, though they were more of an assurance than anything. A closure for his younger self, whose apparent failures haunted him until this moment.

—

He wished you had not asked him to return; he wished he had not believed he would.

—

He was surprised by his own fear. As he allowed himself to be eaten, he only thought of dying. It would be too painful to think of anything else. Yet, you somehow slipped through, one final time.

—

hey, my first request! thank you @casualityrantfun for your porco suggestion! fleshing out porco’s history was honestly so much fun; exploring side characters’ arcs may be my new favorite thing. also, i’m sorry that this probably isn’t exactly what you wanted; you asked for fluff but i can’t seem to write anything that isn’t tinged with some kind of melancholia.

anyway, thank you all so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed the piece! i kind of fell in love with porco while i wrote this, so expect some more writing for him lol. feedback and constructive criticism are always appreciated!

also also, merry christmas to those who celebrate it! and regardless, i hope everyone has a great holiday weekend! xoxo <3

taglist: @flam3bird

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan x reader #aot imagines #aot x reader #porco galliard #galliard #porco galliard x reader #porco galliard x you #porco x reader #galliard x reader #porco galliard imagine #writing!

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massensterben · 3 years

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@austerulous wanted an artic mission so she is getting an arctic mission

The bow of the ship shudders with a violence. The metal creaks and groans, bending against the heady winds. Ice cracks and splinters, sheared off by brute strength. Bertholdt draws his stiff, pelt-packed coat closer around himself to protect against the flying shards. In the churning water, where dark blue turns into gushing white, he watches the Armor at work. It’s giving their ship list with its clawing fingers, where it clings to the belly and pistons its knuckles into the chunks of ice that cage them in the solid groove.

Frost has no chance against the large body, steam beating against encroaching chill. The fog has no chance to rise before it crystallizes in the air and rains back down as glass dust. Bertholdt is fascinated by the cold, by the demonstration of heat against it. He has never been one to catch cold, the volcanic power of the Colossus ceaselessly at work in his blood, but he can feel it here. There is no way to defend against a cold like this, with its vitreous tendrils creeping under his many layers, running down the ridges of his spine. Shaved ice dusts his black hair and gets tangled in his eyelashes as he watches the industrious display.

Last night’s snow storm has fully immobilized them and to send Reiner down there, hacking away like he’s looking to restock a hotel bar, is at best a last ditch effort. Their entire route has been blocked off by ridged ice. If there won’t be a thaw, and there won’t be, then they will have to abandon the ships and continue on foot. Bertholdt’s eyes strain to stare into the white landscape, to transverse it somehow by gaze if not by ship. He wonders how anyone can live out here, live off this land, which is only cold water and endless sky. But people do. People and animals both. So preoccupied with survival, it doesn’t surprise him that nothing that thrives here has any sympathies for them.

Bertholdt tugs off his kit glove to warm his fingers on his own breath. He is not numb and shuddering as the other soldiers and while he has compassion, he also would not trade fates with them. Especially at night, when others wake with cramping muscles and frostbitten limbs, Bertholdt endures in relative comfort. His core temperature is of interest to the handful of scientists they have taken along, but they leave him alone for the most part. Dark eyes shift over to his silent, muffled up companion. She shivers with him when an impact trembles through the hull, but he couldn’t say if she has any interest in the goings-on.

Annie almost disappears in the heavy winter uniform. The fur collar up to her ears and her shoulders drawn up to conserve warmth. In his bolder moments he imagines his hand wrapped around hers, both of them in his grip, to share the heat which pounds inside of him like a steam engine, that powers him night and day. Bertholdt really is a strange pick. The power of his titan is comparable to that of the most destructive warheads ever created. He trumps any army in battle, and his human shell is no less deadly, even if on a smaller scale. He could exhale his excess energy in a bout of steam and scald the skin off any man. And he thinks of warming her hands.

“I read in the manual that the Sirenik language has over fifty words for snow,” He remarks to her, small ice crystals melting on the ridge of his nose. His breath turns to know in the air, settles like hoarfrost on the fur lining of his coat. “It’s so they can properly talk about snow drifts and black ice and all those things. Apparently the natives can tell a bad route just by the look of the snow on it. By comparison,” The young man (relatively young, he’ll be dead in three years’ time) glances over his shoulder to indicate the officer-laden bridge. “Feels a bit like the blind leading the blind, what we’re doing here.”

#who will enable me if not puffin?#;;v. may we all be so lucky #austerulous

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

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Tokyo Love Story (Part 2) Perishing Flower

The competition is starting to get pretty heated.

@rurifangirl tagging by request

Ruri Kazama broke eye contact with you and looked around, "Is Sakura-sensei not here?"

"How do you know Sakura is not here? Have we met? Maybe he's hiding among these people, but you didn't recognize him." Caesar sized up Ruri Kazama, straightening up and looking him up and down.

"I've never met Sakura-sensei, but I think he has the eyes of a lion." Ruri Kazama smiled.

"You'd better ask a lion if he agrees with your assessment." Caesar raised an eyebrow.

Ruri’s words reminded you of the moments in the elevator that took you to the basement of Genji Heavy Industries. Z’s fearsome jealousy had reminded you of a snarling lion. Just the idea of someone else touching you was enough for him to lose his patient aloofness. But you don’t remember seeing such a fortress-like possessiveness in Lu Mingfei.

"Are you looking for us or something?" Caesar asked.

"Something indeed, but, first, let's settle the grievance at hand." Ruri Kazama walked up to the angry woman and bowed deeply, "Please forgive me, but the life of an escort is not as you say. If we are really just dogs, then you who are accompanied by dogs should also feel degraded, right?"

"I.... I..." In front of this spring-like young man, she blushed rosy in embarrassment. Her stomach gurgled. She had not eaten since last night.

"It sounds like you are hungry. If you don't mind, I'll make you some food first. Let's talk about the apology afterwards, okay?"

"I'm so impressed! I've been to the bar where you appeared in Osaka! Can I have a card later?" The woman was flattered as he gently ushered her away.

Even though he wasn’t speaking to you or giving you any direct attention, his honeyed words to Caesar, his positive comments about Lu Mingfei, and his quiet but firm defense of Chu Zihang calmed your irritation and you felt your assessment of him increase significantly. Who wouldn’t appreciate a man who treated your found family with dignity?

Whale followed Ruri Kazama and the other lady to the kitchen and, just like that, the tension in the room melted away. People milled about and started talking, except for your four suitors who looked like they felt at a loss. The Takamagahara was supposed to be closing, but they didn’t want to leave you with the Titan of the Male Escort world. They want to at least keep up the appearance of competition even though they felt completely outmatched.

“You can put me down…” You tell Chu Zihang.

“Your wounds will show.” He murmured.

You turned to the four men and opened your mouth and, with great effort to use your broken voice, you squeaked. “Can I borrow someone’s jacket? I’m sorry to ask this.”

In a flash, all four of them rushed to you with their warm and inviting coats, holding them out with pleading eyes even though you sure you smelled like a sewer full of rotten fish.

In the end, you picked Chance’s puffy coat. You liked that he had the nerve to laugh in this situation when you came in. He never took the situation all that seriously. You valued a sense of humor in a moment like that. Chance looked genuinely surprised. A bright smile appears on his face.

You take the jacket and Chu Zihang sets you down and helps you into it. You grace them all with a smile, flinching at the disappointment and rivalry of the men around you. The emotions among the three whose jackets you snubbed were running high in the presence of Ruri Kazama and it was a little embarrassing. You hurry over to the Takamagahara’s fancy bar, where he was cooking breakfast for the woman who had assaulted Chu Zihang.

Ruri Kazama skillfully turned on the induction cooker and kettle and poured the milk and cocoa powder into the blender while frying the eggs. He found half of a fresh pine mushroom and two shiitake mushrooms in the fridge, diced them, and spread them on top of the eggs. The golden noodles were poured into a bowl. Ruri Kazama seasoned them with fish sauce and scallions. The pine mushroom omelette was spread on the noodles, and the hot cocoa was ready. Less than ten minutes later, breakfast was presented on a tray and brought to the lady.

"The ingredients are not quite complete, so please bear with me." Ruri Kazama said apologetically.

The lady took a bite of the omelette and her lip trembled. For a brief moment, you understand that deep down, she was so miserable and incredibly lonely, that she would spend thousands on her selfish desire for Chu Zihang, but would shed tears over a simple breakfast served up with a tender heart. You feel an uneasy movement in your chest. Why was he making you feel sorry for this woman when you wanted to kill her mercilessly just a few minutes ago?

Then you remembered the female deadpool, whose claw now hung on your belt. You felt something towards that mindless creature before you shot it. You huff, smiling dryly. You never thought of yourself as a sentimental person, but you weren't completely devoid of compassion. You felt sorry for that monster. Why not this one?

Ruri now approaches you, wiping his pale delicate hands with a warm, moist towel. In the morning light, the side of his face has a sparkling sheen of sweat. His skin seems to be as fine as rice paper.

“It is said that the flowers that bloom in Siberia are the most beautiful.” Ruri’s silken voice was very soft next to you, and the men gathered in the hall strained to hear what he was saying.

“They don’t last very long though.” Your words were also very quiet, but rough, like a scratched up vinyl record, as your voice was still paralyzed from fighting in the fire. Your tired, pessimistic response might have shocked those who could hear it, especially coming from a young beautiful girl. Such words are more appropriate for an old and weary woman. Ruri Kazama was supposed to be famous, but you didn’t know him. Without that clout of reputation, his line was cheap when placed against the background of your dark reality. And at this moment, you weren’t going to mince words with him. Tired and sore, you were at your most vulnerable but also at your most unforgiving.

Ruri, however, nodded once in confirmation, his voice lowered even more. “Indeed. Further… the line between full bloom and decay is impossible to see.”

Within your heart, something stirs again. It’s not love or compassion, but a deep ache, a sorrow that nestled there. It tightened like a string around your throat. You couldn’t deny the truth of these words. You were young, like a blooming flower, but death followed you so close it breathed down the back of your neck. Each day could be your last.

Ruri’s voice stayed gentle and kind. “But don’t be sad, Main Character. Now is your time to shine in the sun and dance with the other flowers. Look around you. The most handsome men in Tokyo are bowing at your feet. You have dined with the most powerful men of Japan. Do you know why?”

Even if you hadn’t lost your voice, you’re so choked up that you can only speak in a hoarse whisper. “Why?”

“Because it’s these small, ephemeral blooms that men will travel hundreds of thousands of miles to see… and it’s women like you, perishing flowers in full bloom, that men desire the most.” He then takes the bouquet of tulips from the bar counter and offers them to you.

Such poetry, wit, and charm were enough to make Caesar annoyed. Not only was there a super hybrid that surpassed him, but a male escort with more appeal than him! Ruri Kazama’s winsome words were affecting some of the men in the crowd who blinked, misty eyed, and turned away to pretend to wipe away a bit of dust.

You let out a soft sigh and look at the bouquet of tulips. They seemed to be bought from a convenience store. Chu Zihang was right. This wasn’t about physical beauty, popularity or riches. He could tempt you with a simple suit and cheap flowers because your heart stirred at his words. He pulled up the emotions from deep inside like a skilled fisherman. He was unlike the other men who were gaudy, energetic. With practiced ease, he opened your heart, no alcohol required.

You looked back up at him. He had a knowing look in his eyes. At that look, the sorrow faded and something else turned over in your soul, as though you were sitting at a card table and you flipped the cards over in a game of Blackjack! You take a breath and lift yourself up a little straighter. “Perishing flower? Do you think I’m perishing? Mr. Kazama, you are mistaken.”

A loud gasp rippled through the room. Had you met the night before the raid at Genji Heavy Industries, there was no doubt that you would have fallen sobbing into his arms and given him a star heart. You’re not sure where he got his information from. It would have been accurate. Yesterday, you were perishing. You were not only hunted by death, but you had been actively seeking it.

But that changed. You had to live. For Caesar, for Renata, for Z… for yourself. With your melancholic response, you’d baited him, even if it wasn’t intentional, into revealing that he was no Caesar Gattuso. His heart was like how your heart had been, seeing the decay even as he bloomed.

“If you’re seeking a star-heart from me, then it's too late. The Takamagahara is closed. However, you’ll have another opportunity tonight. I’ve not given anyone a star-heart ticket, so you’re still in the running.”

Ruri Kazama’s eyes fell, realizing that, like the suitors before him, he too had lost this round. His smile remained frozen on his face for a moment, but then he retracted his flower bouquet, silently accepting his loss.

As Ruri moved back around the bar, the entire room was stunned and frozen with shock. The large woman’s fork clattered to the plate and she stared open-mouthed at you. Never in six years had any woman refused Ruri Kazama! Quick to jump on an opportunity, the woman reached for Ruri as he passed. “It’s alright, Master Kazama. You don’t have to pay attention to …”

Ruri Kazama pressed a finger to her puffy lips and smiled. “If I won on the first day, it wouldn't be much of a show, would it?”

The woman nodded briefly, her eyes following him as he moved away. Then she glared at you and took another bite of her omelette, turning up her nose. “Hmph!”

Caesar's face was full of black lines, looking all the world like a jealous and protective older brother. Ruri approached him, humbly nodding his head.

"Having heard of the grace of three fellow masters, BasaraKing, Ukyo Tachibana and Sakura, and, with a desire in my heart to get to know the Main Character, I came here to invite you to watch my Kabuki performance tomorrow night." Ruri Kazama held the tulip bouquet in his hand to Caesar.

Caesar looked into the bouquet before taking it. From inside of it, he removed four envelopes. After examining them for a moment, his whole body tensed and he gave Ruri Kazama a sharp glare. Ruri Kazama leaned forward and whispered something in Caesar’s ear.

"I look forward to seeing all four of you at the show." Ruri Kazama raised his voice and bowed deeply in farewell. He turned toward the door as a black Rolls-Royce sedan gilded noiselessly up to the curb and the driver pulled the door open for him.

"There's a call for BasaraKing. It sounds like Sakura," Fujiwara Kansuke said, holding a cellphone.

You sit up straight abruptly and gasp at the pain that shoots through your back.

Caesar took the phone, "It's me. You're actually not dead?"

Chu Zihang lightly touched your shoulder. “Lu Mingfei is probably alright. Let’s go. I’ll prepare a bath and let you rest.”

In the elevator, Chu Zihang stood next to you. His pale face was turned technicolor by the gaudy lights of the car. “I really thought that you would accept the bouquet. You seemed to react to Ruri Kazama.”

“He’s something special, that’s for sure.” You pulled the jacket over your shoulder, feeling cold after coming in from the rain. “Were you moved by his words?”

“I was more moved by yours.”

You tilt your head up at Chu Zihang, smirking, “A… sou-ka?” was a phrase you’d heard frequently and picked up. “You’re not competing though.”

Chu Zihang had just put the fire under the big barrel and filled it when Caesar knocked. He stepped out of the room for a moment and shut the sliding door. They were speaking quietly to each other for a minute or so, but you couldn’t make out what they were saying. Chu Zihang moved back to the door but didn’t open it. “Lu M… I mean Sakura needs someone to pick him up. We’ll be back soon.”

“Stay out of trouble.” You slip out of your body suit as slowly and carefully as you can. Dry blood still fell from the skintight suit in chunks. Your soft, supple pale skin is contoured with years worth of cultivated muscle and scars, but your curves are still quite feminine. You were no wraithlike beauty. Your looks could be more comparable to a tigress. Your own smell hits as you sink into the warm water of the barrel, down to your neck. Before long, all the tension and pain in your body started to melt away and you sighed, your dark hair spreading into the water.

After about ten minutes, you hear a slow soft clap. You open your eyes. “Z… Hentai.”

“You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before. I want to congratulate you on facing the Dragon of all Men and easily routing him. You are truly a dragon slayer.” You turn your head. He was leaning against the wall in a leather jacket and pants, looking like he had ridden in a motorcycle here. He picked up the Deadpool claw and was tapping it against his black serrated army knife and making kissing noises.

“You wanna explain why you almost got us all killed?” You ask, eyes narrowing.

“What are you talking about?” He lowered the knives to look at you directly.

“You know what I’m talking about! I came this close to dying!”

“I didn’t ‘almost get you killed’. Those things had to die, and I showed you how to kill them! And you had fun, didn’t you?”

You turn away from him and let out a breath, settling deep into the water. “Yeah. I have to admit, you got me good with that laser pointer strat. But we almost died, Z.”

Z strolled in front of you again, sheathing his weapon and tapping the deadpool claw in his palm. “Plus you came away with this lovely souvenir. You know these are the sort of things legendary weapons are made out of.” He holds up the claw to the light. “But this is just a raw bone… it’s a bit vulgar to just be carrying around something like this. I should dress up properly, for a lady such as yourself.”

“Z…” You sigh. “When are you going to let me know what’s going on?”

“That time is coming soon. Very soon. The Kabuki performance will explain a lot to you. So play close attention, girl. There will be a test later.” He sets the claw down on a table and picks up his cell phone.

"I can't even ask one question?"

"You can ask one." He was texting and not looking at you.

"What is your relationship with Lu Mingfei?"

He answered quickly, much to your surprise. "He's my older brother. He doesn't like me much, so don't tell him I talk to you." He put the cell phone in his pocket. “In the meantime, I have to warn you not to fall in love with Ruri Kazama.”

“It’s okay… I don’t think I can fall in love with anyone anyway.”

“Not even me?” He looked up, his yellow eyes widening.

You gather your knees to your chest. You grumble, your heart sinking when you remember your kiss with him in the elevator. “When I told you I thought I loved you, you mocked me. You said I didn’t know what love was. You don’t even believe in it.”

“I never said I didn’t believe in it. I said I was curious. Everyone our age gets curious, right?”

You looked up at him, searching his face with anxious confusion. He looked at you seriously, like he was annoyed about something. Your heartbeats faster under that golden gaze. Was he saying he did feel something for you? Or that he wanted to?

Z was quietly turning the claw in his hands while you watched him. “It’s tiring replaying the same old story. I think I’ll join the game.”

He set the claw down, having made a decision. He approached you. “Sleep well, you’ll need your strength tomorrow.” He leaned over and gave you a little kiss on the top of the head. He took a step out of your peripheral vision. When you looked to follow his movement, he had already vanished.

In the server room of the Takamagahara, the computer array controlling the game statistics for the MC Romance Competition lit up on its own. The machine beeped and made little scratching noises. The roster of contenders for the heart of the Main Character was edited to include one more space. Next to Ruri Kazama’s name and picture was another picture, but it was just a human shaped shadow. Underneath the shadow was a single letter.

#Dragon Raja

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littlemsstark3000 · 5 years

Text

Whatever It Takes

Avengers: Endgame - IronWidow fix

Something happened.

Tony knew it. He figured it out through the empty space beside him, the discarded pillows, his bare body under the sheets, and her scent mixed with the vodka which they shared.

Natasha was there. And she was gone before he woke up.

He shut his eyes again. Scenes from the previous night started replaying in his mind. They had more than enough liquor but they were not drunk, he was sure of that. He was aware of what was happening from the time he leaned dangerously closer towards her and planted a chaste kiss on the corner of her lips. If she tried to stop him, he would have backed off. She did not.

He groaned, mind blurred of what to do next.

Was he supposed to call or message her? Check where she was? Ask why she just left? Say he was sorry?

But he wasn't a bit sorry for what happened. He wanted it... since when, only heaven knew. The question was if she wanted it the same way, or she has regretted it the moment she woke up and realized what they have done.

Eight months ago, they lost to Thanos. He snapped and gone was 50% of the living, including the closest people to him and to her. Peter was dusted in his arms in Titan. Clint lost his whole family, which eventually led to Natasha losing her bestfriend in him also.

When Tony was rescued in space by Nebula and Captain Marvel, he returned to a very quiet compound. Natasha, Steve, Bruce and Thor were the only ones left there. Rhodey and Pepper came the soonest they got the word about his return. They arrived as he lay in the med bay with the only female Avenger left watching over him.

The reunion was a lull before the storm that was his confrontation with Steve. The pain, the betrayal, the anger he harbored in his chest for their Cap since Siberia made him snap, too. What remained of his belief that they could avenge for the earth when they could not protect it - dusted. That night, Natasha went to his room and apologized for the hurt that she also caused him. He has long forgiven and understood her, and he let her stay until he slept.

The next day, he learned that the team has traced Thanos and attacked him to retrieve the infinity stones, in high hopes that they could still revert what happened. They did not get them... not even one.

Days later, Tony got well and chose to move on, opting to live alone this time in a lakehouse far from the city. He worked for Stark Industries, his own company still managed by Pepper, remotely. He enjoyed a more private life.

Among the then-Avengers, it was only with Natasha that he communicated. Bruce and Thor disappeared to somewhere he did not mind knowing about. They needed to rest, too. Steve stayed behind but opted to lie-low from being a supersoldier. While she, keeping herself together, continued to do work and organized a new team which could look after what was left of the world. With much respect for her choice, he made it clear that even if they were already far from being teammates, he was just a stone throw away especially for her, always.

And it was because of that mutual understanding that Natasha knocked on his door last night and broke down after a few glasses. Both of them were still grieving for their losses, no matter how hard they hid it. Both of them were still looking for answers even if it looked like they have moved on. Both of them, at the back of their minds, were still hoping that they could bring everyone else back.

Vulnerable, they succumbed to the temporary aid which they could get from each other on his bed. It wasn't hurried, but every touch, every move, every moan was desperate to satisfy their need for comfort. Once was not enough. They gave in again. And again...

Tony cleared his head with a cold shower then decided to go to her at the compound. He did not know what to say; he just had to see her first.

Natasha sat on her work desk, going through whatever she was doing on her laptop, when he entered her office.

"Tash," he stood before her table.

"What's up, Stark?" She did not even look up to him.

It felt like a kick on his gut. "So we're back to surnames only. That's cool," he replied with pure sarcasm.

"If you're here to talk about what happened, you shouldn't have bothered."

"Why not?"

She chuckled. "We're two consenting adults. It's done and over."

He followed her with confused stare and rising irritation as she walked to the side table and made a sandwich.

"What the fuck did you just say?"

Natasha raised her eyebrows to him. "Why? Oh don't act too modest on me. That's the least I will expect, especially from you."

His fists balled inside his pockets, he filled his lungs with much-needed air. "I'm not here to say I am sorry for what happened because really, I am not."

"Then? Don't tell me you worry about me getting..." She paused but he got it. "You know that's impossible."

"Natasha -"

"I'm not gonna run after you because of what happened, Stark. It was just good sex."

His face heated up and his teeth clenched so tight that it already hurt - whichever hurt more, his jaw or his heart, he didn't care. Before he could do something he would regret more, he turned to leave immediately, shutting the door loudly behind him... missing to catch Natasha's rattled expression, trembling lips and teary eyes.

That was the last time they saw each other.

*****

Four years later, Natasha appeared at his doorstep again - this time, with Steve and Scott Lang, presenting a possible way to get back what they lost to Thanos.

Quantum realm. Time heist.

"The stones are in the past. We can go back. We can get them," Steve said.

"We can snap our own fingers. We can bring everybody back," she added.

"Or screw it up worse than he already has, right?" he quickly countered, eyes bore into green ones.

His two other guests tried to justify some more, but each argument, he had an answer to.

Finally, Natasha spoke again. "Tony, we have to take a stand."

Great, she just called him by his first name again, reminding him of the good relationship they shattered with one steamy night followed by a more heated encounter.

"We did stand. And yet, here we are," he couldn't help being straightforward.

She turned her head, looking away.

He sighed. "I wish you'd come here to ask me something else. Anything else."

Natasha never looked at him again until the three of them left. His chest tightened even if it was him who declined their proposal. He knew he hurt her by crushing her hope. But he was actually scared to try again and fail. There was a bit of probability that they might do it right but he could not risk, could he? It would be too painful, if they would be lucky to even live after, that is.

When he lied down that night, in the same room where they spent that one night together, Tony still could not rest his case. He remembered Peter. He remembered Clint's lovely family. He thought about Natasha... and how she would have looked happier if he said yes to their idea that afternoon.

Those thoughts and the tiny bit of probability pulled him up from his bed to his little workshop.

*****

He made it work and they did it. They, the Avengers, won this time around.

After they collected the infinity stones from the past, with Clint's inevitable sacrifice in Vormir, and despite the accident that brought Thanos and his troop to the present, they managed to pull through in the battle. Bruce as the Hulk snapped with the gauntlet that Tony made and the bad guys turned to dust.

They lost two heroes in one day... but the ones who have returned, together with the four Avengers left, swore to their gravestone that the earth, with their loved ones in it, would be protected again at all cost.

Steve went back to the past to return the stones in their respective places. But he did not come back. They should have figured it out when he said goodbye to Bucky and left his shield to Sam before he stepped into the time heist.

Thor, sober and with renewed determination after he has spoken with Almother, led the New Asgard with Valkyrie.

Tony and Natasha promised to keep the rest of their team together whatever it takes. But it had to start by fixing what was between the two of them...

Like the night of Tony's return from space five years ago, she went up to him. He was awakened by movement on the bed in his room in the compound. The next thing he realized, the redhead was snuggled up on him, her arms around his neck, hands clasped on his nape.

"Tash..." He called her name softly and kissed her hair.

"Thank you, Tony."

Natasha looked up to him, and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he caught her eyes shiny with tears.

"I don't and won't ever take full credit of our win, if that's what you are thankful for," he smiled as he wiped her eyes with his thumb.

She shook her head. "I thank you for trying one more time. It wasn't a simple decision, I know. You've left this life behind for a more peaceful one and moved on," she caressed his cheek. "Now you're back here with us."

Tony shifted their positions so he was half hovering comfortably over her.

"When I was trying to figure out how we could pull off that quote-unquote time heist, you know what was on my mind?"

"What?"

"Oh, it wasn't a what but a who," he tapped his point finger on the tip of her nose. "You."

"Tony..."

"I haven't said it yet but I really like it better when you call me by my first name."

She sighed. "I'm serious."

"Same here. So serious about you that I risked screwing up reality."

She fell silent as she just stared into his eyes.

"Guess that's another way of saying I love you, Natasha. I've always cared so much about you... Damn it, I can't even stay mad at you for 24 hours straight."

"I'm not good with words, Tony."

"Not a problem."

His hand trailed from her side to her hips to the small of her back and pulled her closer to him, the same time that Natasha lifted her face to meet his lips that instantly opened up to hers.

That one night long time ago was never enough. They gave in again. And again. And again.

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thedistantstorm · 5 years

Text

Keep On Rising (Until the Sky Knows Your Name) 01

A story about how an orphaned Amanda Holliday comes to belong in the Last Safe City and the family she finds along the way.

(Or, the story of how Commander Zavala finds himself responsible for one Amanda Holliday.)

"The poor dear is in her bunk," The matron says with a sad smile. "We've considered moving her to one of our rooms for the time being," She continues, handing him a mug of tea. It's far too strong for his tastes, but he is certain the caretakers here need the added fortitude. He sips at it politely, trying not to grimace at the taste. "Barely comes out for meals, only when someone forces her - and she hides half of what we give her." She frowns. "Every sound she hears makes her jump. Miss Evanliegh found her under her bed after a nightmare, whimpering about Fallen-" She notices he's made a bit of a dent in his tea, pulls the mug from his hand with a surprising amount of force, and tops it off before he can stop her. "Commander, it's probably best if you didn't visit with her."

Zavala nods, trusting her expertise. It's his only free day this cycle. Like his peers, he too had activities - civic duties - he saw to in his downtime. Some, like Cayde, chose a preorganized activity to oversee - he's made it a point to ruin any and all pick-up sports in the city as of late. Meanwhile, Zavala prefers spending his time in the City's many orphanages.

But not just any of them. He focuses on the ones not backed by factions or philanthropists. The ones that children get sent to when they turn up in the Last Safe City unclaimed, when they turn up on the streets without any ties to a community or place. The latter is far more common: the number of refugees has declined in recent years, and the number of orphaned children is very slight. In fact, it's been nearly a century since an orphaned child had made it to the City from beyond the walls. Most of the children here were born on the streets in the slums, found by kind-hearted people ill-equipped to take care of them.

He nods, only half listening to the matron's babbling. Karena, the head housemother, was clearly moved by this child's misfortune. "....they found was toppled over miles away… that she'd walked so far was quite remarkable."

The mug stops halfway to his mouth. "What?"

"Didn't you know?" She turns back to the kettle on the counter, but she rinses it out instead of pouring him more. He says a silent prayer of thanks to the Traveler. "She was the only one of her group to survive. One of your fireteams found the convoy miles back. Looks like they'd been without food for some time, probably fed the girl whatever they could. Never would've stood a chance against the Fallen, rest their souls…" She tsks.

The Commander pushes back his mug and looks to the red and white blanket folded up beside him, patting it once with a firm hand. There is a gravity to his downturned gaze. "It would be for the best if you gave this to her," He admits. "If there is anything I can do…"

"Oh, no, never you mind, Commander." She waves a hand, giving him a gentle smile. "She'll be alright. It just takes a gentle touch."

The children are always happy to see him. Places like these don't often get visitors, especially not the kind that don't require them to market themselves to a prospective adopter. They get to run and holler and simply be, some choosing to follow him around like lost ducklings, others content to wave in a greeting and carry on independently.

Of course, of all the times he's come here, the biggest event of the day is always supper. Even the most standoffish of children fight to sit beside him at the table. Today is no exception.

So, instead of sitting in one place for the duration of the meal, he moves around, making sure to spend time with each of them. Most of the time it involves mild babysitting, making sure no one is stealing anyone else's desert or lobbing unwanted vegetables at their dorm-mates when they think he isn't looking.

If he's to be honest, it's hardly different from Consensus meetings. And the company is far more tolerable, for the most part.

When he's almost to the end of the table, toward the end of the meal, there is a sound, a thump above them like something's fallen to the floor, a muffled scream. Then, more footsteps, like a herd of elephants descending the stairs. One of the caretakers, a man who had been off in the kitchen, sets after them, already yelling.

"We were looking for Hilda," One of the boys responds, defensive without being prompted. "We didn't know she was in there."

The housefather puts both hands on his hips. "You didn't know," He says with a shake of his head. "She's been in the same room since she's got here, and you all visited Hilda in the infirmary this morning." He sighs. "Karena is with her now. She won't like it when I tell her about this."

The three boys pale. The housefather turns them around, ushering them towards the kitchen. "I was going to bring her dinner," He sighs, "But it will have to wait. The three of you will sit with me in the kitchen until the head matron returns. We will be having a discussion about this."

A chorus of downtrodden groans meets him in reply, but the caretaker does not relent. Instances like this were quite common in places like this. Among children in general, really.

The Commander rises from his current seat at the end of the table when the meal recommences, the children quick to discuss the boys' impending punishment and their disdain of the new girl who gets every meal brought up to her. He strides from the dining area to the industrial kitchen, fixing the unruly children with a look he'd too often given a wayward Hunter.

The housefather turns to him immediately, looking a bit surprised to see him there. "Commander, do you need something?"

"You said you were planning on bringing her a meal?"

"I was, but I doubt she'll eat now," He too gives a withering glare toward the children. "It's alright. I'll take her up something a bit later." He rubs the back of his head. "We usually leave it on the dresser. She, uh, doesn't really engage with us."

One of the children sitting at the kitchen counter comments loudly, “Even Miss Karena is fed up with it. I heard her! And she’s been doing this for a million billion years!"

The smooth baritone of the Commander cuts through the exasperated commentary. "I don't mind.”

“Well, she hasn’t eaten all day, that I know of.” The man turns back to the counter, producing a plate with a cover to keep it warm. “If you really don’t-”

“Of course not.”

“Second floor. Third door, on the right,” He hands the Titan the plate on a tray, with a juice-box and cutlery. “Don’t be surprised if you frighten her. It’s not you, she’s just-”

He nods, solemn. “Karena told me.”

“You have my thanks.” With that sorted, the worker regards his charges. “These three will have to wait for their assignment from Miss Karena. Since our new addition is feeling a bit shy, I think we’ll be writing our apologies, wouldn’t you say?”

Their childish grumbling is loud enough for him to hear all the way up the stairs.

He makes sure to step both lightly but not silently as he approaches the room. With the back of his index and middle fingers, he raps his knuckles gently against the door. After a moment of balancing the tray in a single hand, long enough to hear the sound of rustling on the other side of the door, he edges it open just a small amount.

At this point he realizes that he does not know the child's name. Not that it matters. He steps into the room, leading with the tray. The orphanage has nearly identical rooms for all it's inhabitants. Bunk beds in one corner of the room and twin dressers against the opposite wall. One half of the room is decorated in a child's drawings: some taped to the ceiling and walls by the top bunk. One dresser has a small pile of books and a few plush animals on it.

It doesn't take much to recognize that the more lived-in part of the room belongs to the girl in the infirmary. He sets down the tray atop the empty dresser, casually wondering aloud if she'll be able to reach it.

He goes unanswered. The lower bed she occupies creaks - it's very old - as the child presses herself back against the far corner, all but wedged against the wall in a trembling heap of blankets. He notes with a small sense of pride that the one he'd made - the one he gave to every child upon their arrival - is on top, little fingers threaded between the stitches.

Beach-glass eyes, a kind of green similar to a stormy sea, watch him in wary resignation. When he turns toward her, tray still in his hands, she whimpers and draws the covers around herself further, pressing herself against the corner where the frame meets the wall.

"It's alright," He murmurs, careful not to make eye contact, lest he scare her more. "I just wanted to make sure you could reach your supper."

Against her will, her stomach gurgles loudly. She flushes but doesn't make a move for the tray.

Zavala does his best not to sigh, instead lifting the lid designed to keep the plate hot, moving it away. At first he's surprised about the small portion she's been given, but remembers what the matron had said, about her party suffering from starvation. Though she has the blankets pulled up to her face, he can see the dark circles under her eyes, the gaunt lines of a child who knows hunger far too intimately. It makes his chest ache with an overwhelming sadness.

He reaches for the small juicebox next, looking away, pretending to be disinterested.

She reaches out, snatching the small dinner roll next to a tiny helping of stew, pulling it into her chest, into the relative safety of her nest of blankets. Wide, fearful eyes meet his when he looks back, blinking in surprise, as if his incredible sense of awareness hadn't allowed him to witness the whole thing.

The child blinks back blankly. Panic, an array of mixed fight-or-flight synapses all firing at once... a paralyzing terror is etched into her very being. Though she trembles with it, she does not cry. He smiles at her, a small thing, mostly with his eyes, taking a knee beside the far edge of the bed.

"It's alright to be afraid," Zavala intones, very gently. "This is all very new. There are so many dangers, outside the walls-" She makes a squeak and the Commander immediately shifts gears, "But you are here now. You will be safe in this City. I promise."

She squeezes her eyes shut at that, shaking her head in a tiny negative.

"No?"

For the first time in a long time, his words bring no comfort. None of his attempts to soothe her work, and her dinner is long since gone cold when he takes his leave (though he can tell by her distrust, she won't touch it). It physically pains him to shut the door behind him, to hear the child finally sob brokenly to herself, muffled by blankets, unable to be consoled for anything.

The matron pats his shoulder when she walks him out. "You have a kind heart, Commander. Don't take it too personally. She'll come around."

He doesn't make it back to the orphanage until the fall. It's been nearly three months since his previous visit, and the children are beside themselves, vying for his attention. Three of them have been adopted, another two have gone off, applying for their own housing now that they've grown old enough to secure jobs.

The entire time, he watches for a hint of the little girl from his previous visit. The child had weighed heavily on his mind, even months later. He'd looked into what happened, read the report from the Fireteam that happened on the little girl miles from the overturned vehicle ransacked by the Fallen. Things like these always hit close to home, for reasons he never quite fathomed.

Much later in the day, following an early supper (and the usual carrying on that came with it), he catches sight of a shadow on the staircase that leads to the dormitories. He's reading a book to several of the youngest children, all of whom fight over who gets to turn the page for him. When he looks back again, it's gone.

He says his goodbyes to the houseparents, thanking them, as always, for their dedication to providing a healthy environment for the children. He almost doesn't recognize her, fidgeting slightly, fingers curled around the trim of the door frame.

The caretakers look surprised, all of them watching her carefully. Karena dutifully crouches down half way, looking at her maternally.

"Yes dear, what is it?"

Those eyes find him instead of answering. In the light, he can see how they're almost as blue as they are green. She looks nervous, but not terrified. "I jus'," The girl steps into the room, carefully, making a complete sweep of it with her eyes to assess for danger before continuing. "Jus’ wanted ta' say thank you," She drawls. Her cheeks turn pink, highlighting a sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. "Fer' the blanket."

Karena keeps the surprise from her face, but her cohorts are not nearly as reserved.

He turns slowly toward her and crouches down so that he's only a little taller than she is. "You are very welcome…" He tilts his head, still, after all this time, not knowing her name. It had never made it into the strike reports.

"Amanda," She whispers bashfully. "Amanda Holliday."

The smile he gives her makes her gasp, his bright irises almost twinkling as he regards her. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I am Zavala."

She toes the edges between floorboards with a worn boot. "They say yer in charge ‘round here. ‘N the City," She finishes, between nervous and maybe awed.

He chuckles. "Is that so?"

Amanda nods, looking down.

Despite flinching, she doesn't shrink back when he puts a hand on her head, ruffling her blonde hair. "Next time I come by, I hope you'll visit with me."

"I c'n do that," She whispers.

His voice is warm, and when he withdraws she looks up, almost conflicted. Upset that he'd withdrawn contact. "Good," He tells her. "I look forward to it."

#destiny fanfiction #shipwright september #amanda holliday #commander zavala #zavala is tower dad #prepare for feels

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come-back-home-i-need-you · 5 years

Text

something bad happened (and it’s all my fault)

Chapter One is here! We shed tears, spilled blood, sweated day in and day out to make this for you. (what I’m trying to say is, we took a while to make it, and it was kinda strenuous - especially all the rounds of editing) Enjoy!

VIDEO LOG #1 -- START

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “Does... does this work now? O- okay the light’s on, I’m sure that means, uh, something.”

The helmet’s vacant eyes flicker. Peter’s face comes into view. He looks confused, and sad. His skin is sagging, dark circles under his eyes.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “Testing? Testing, can you hear me?”

Peter taps at the screen, jostling it. His hands are shaking, trembling when them come into view of the camera. He squints when the light shines directly into his eyes and sighs, holding back the urge to cough.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “Actually... that doesn't make a difference, does it?”

Nervously, he clears his throat. The noise sounds almost painful. His throat is sore, and the angry black and yellow bruises along his jaw and neck show up on the footage as clear as day.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “A-Anyways. If this works... I’m Spider-Man, real name Peter Parker, and I’m 15-years-old. I’m doing a vlog using… Mr. Stark’s helmet… and… well...”

Peter wrings his hands, actually coughing this time. He sniffs, trying to keep his voice level. It breaks anyways.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “Something... something bad just happened.”

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “Something really, really bad just happened…”

Peter starts tearing up. He’s stuttering, almost like he’s scared of his own voice.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “I- I think… from what Mr. Stark said… I think Thanos, he got all 6 infinity stones… and then… then he snapped his fingers and half the world disappeared...”

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “And…”

He pauses. His image is still for a few seconds, the only sound being his sniffling and the faint hum of the camera as it works.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “Nearly everyone is gone…”

A tear leaks out, a track of silver tracing a path through the dirt and blood still smudged along his hollow cheeks. The spiderling blinks a few times, spilling more tears that he angrily wipes away.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “P- Peter Quill… he’s dead...”

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “Drax…”

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “Dr. Strange…”

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “Mantis, too...”

At the last name, Peter chokes up. More tears roll down his face, too many to stop, splattering onto the cold hard floor of the ship. They start to pool as he struggles with what he’s about to say.

It’s a long while before he speaks again. His voice cracks, shatters like fine glass.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “A-and… Mr. - Mr. Stark… he… he’s gone…”

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “I-I’m… I’m sorry…”

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “Dad…”

The name slips from Peter’s throat, but he doesn’t make an effort to correct it. He’s sobbing now, tears flowing like waterfalls from his eyes, curled up and crying wholeheartedly right in front of Tony’s vacant helmet.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “I’m… I’m so sorry… so, so sorry…”

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “I couldn’t save you...”

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “And… a-and I didn’t get it- didn’t get the- the gauntlet off…”

He hiccups, shoulders weak. His arms wrap around his middle, failing to calm himself. He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, nearly gagging as the taste of dry ash settles on his tongue. He swallows.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “And I… and I’m so sorry. I di-didn’t want you to g-go… I swear.”

He takes a deep breath again, curling up tighter.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “Or anyone else...I didn’t want-want anyone to go.”

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “I’m sorry…”

He curls up, head between his knees. He sobs. After a while, they grow into low wails, as if he could somehow call his surrogate father back from the dead with his voice alone.

But he can’t.

He can’t reverse this.

Mr. Stark is dead.

Forever.

And there is nothing he can do.

Peter presses his hands on the floor, hunching forward, shuddering, screaming. What came out of his mouth needed no explanation.

He howls his heart out, screaming himself hoarse, screaming of pain, of anguish, of all that he had lost. Wails came bursting out from his mouth as all of his emotions culminated into nothing but pure despair, growing like a tumor within his heart.

The empty eyes of Mr. Stark’s helmet stare at him, emotionless. The shapes around him are blurred until dirty gold and red bleed together. It looks too much like the unforgiving sky of Titan, where his entire life blew away like dust in the wind.

Then Nebula runs in. Panic strains her face, her eyes unnaturally wide.

UNKNOWN [FRIENDLY]: “Peter- Peter are you okay?!”

Peter, blinks stunned. He stops crying, tears staining his face.

UNKNOWN [FRIENDLY]: “I… I thought… oh, gods...”

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “H-Hey Nebula.”

A pause, both Peter and Nebula staring at each other with deep frowns.

NEBULA [IDENTIFIED]: “ Are you okay”’

Peter sniffles, wiping away a tear stain from his cheek.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “...No.”

NEBULA: “I know. I-I am not okay either..”

Peter takes a breath, wiping his tears and trying to get a hold of himself. He swallows again, tries to get his dry throat to work properly.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “The person who you said, uh, died. Is she… was she your friend?”

Nebula takes longer than normal to answer. She swallows.

NEBULA: “No,” she says brusquely. “She… she was my sister.”

Peter stills. His chest tightens and he coughs again. Waits a few seconds before speaking, looking up at the alien with eyes shining in shared grief.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “Oh, I- I’m sorry a- about that. Her name was- was Gamora, I think?”

He pauses after Nebula’s nod and blinks a few more tears out before continuing.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “I’ve lost family too.”

NEBULA: “He seemed like a good father.”

Nebula says this quietly, something like envy coloring her tone. She stands at the doorway awkwardly, like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Peter opens his mouth to refute the words, but stops. Didn't he just call Mr. Stark 'dad’? And it is the truth.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “Yeah, he really was,” he whispers instead.

NEBULA: “Smart, too,” she adds on.

NEBULA: “If he was able to make that..”

She gestures vaguely to the helmet, it’s prone form still washing Peter’s pale face in blue light.

NEBULA: “What are you doing with it, anyways?”

Peter shifts, attention turned to the recording. His eyes are dark pools, reflecting the glow around him.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “Um, hopefully, it’s sending everything it sees back to Earth, Miss Nebula.”

She frowns, artificial brow furrowing.

NEBULA: “Why would you want to contact Terra?”

She says the name almost with incredulousness, skeptical. Peter knows she probably isn’t trying to be rude, but it stings a bit anyways.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “There are, uh, people that Mr. Stark knows–knew–on Ear- uh, Terra.”

NEBULA: “Well, they better get here quick, we don’t have a lot of fuel left in this thing.”

The alien crosses her arms, tapping her foot. She waits a bit, watching him carefully. After a moment, she leaves to the cockpit.

The thoughts are still swimming in Peter’s head, inky, negative ones that weigh down his mind. They’re slow, they’re not supposed to be so slow.

Suddenly, his eyes go wide. His breath hitches.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “Oh, oh god– no… Aunt May… Ned…”

A desperate, animalistic sound worms its way from out of his throat. Vaguely, he can see Nebula duck back inside, her blue form almost invisible in the darkness.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “Th-this is all my fault!”

He chokes, his shaking picking up speed.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “I… I’m sorry…”

Nebula tentatively reaches over. Her hands wrap around Peter as she embraces him in a soft hug. They stay like this for a second, before Peter looks up at her.

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “Thank you...”

Nebula’s eyes soften as she smiles a rare, comforting smile. Her grip tightens around him and Peter allows himself to lean into the comfort, wishing more than anything for it to be the familiar warmth of his mentor instead.

NEBULA: “We’re gonna be fine. Okay?”

IRONSPIDER_MK23: “...Okay.”

Nebula smiles, then reaches over and presses a button. The screen stutters a bit and blinks a few times before going black.

VIDEO LOG #1 -- END

_______________________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, on Earth...

Pepper had gotten an email.

This, in itself, was pretty normal, she was the CEO of Stark Industries after all, but this one was strange. It came from a dead person. She scanned over the message, her heart in her throat.

Hello, Ms. Potts, I don’t know if you remember me, my name is Agent Phil Coulson. I know you were told I was dead, and I was, but I came back. I now have a team of agents who I think you would like. They can help you find your fiancé. If you would like to get in touch, you can call this number. +1 (800) 522 -9874.

This email will be promptly deleted once I know that you’ve read it. Congratulations on the wedding by the way!

Thank you, Agent Phillip J. Coulson, S.H.I.E.L.D.

Maybe if the current situation had been any less dire, Pepper would first have felt furious at another lie. She knew how much Phil's death had affected Tony.

But now, alone and dead on her feet from organising relief efforts, and her fiancé still missing, with no indication of whether he was still alive--no, don't think about it, don't think like that, he'll be back, he has to be--, she was desperate for help.

Pepper was about to respond when her phone rang. She fully intended to let it go to voicemail until she saw who the caller was: May Parker. She had grown closer to Spider-Man’s Aunt in the past few months, and they often hung out, but Pepper doubted she was calling to schedule a girls’ night.

She quickly picked up the phone, and before she could get a word out, May began to speak frantically.

“I can’t find Peter! Please tell me he isn’t on that spaceship! I called Tony but he didn’t answer, but I’m assuming there’s no service in space? I am so sorry by the way, and I know I’m rambling but I’ve been searching for Peter and with everything going on, I--”

As May continued speaking, Pepper was already pulling up the tracker on the Spider-Man suit. When she saw it was out of range, she quickly grew more worried, her frown deeping. When she noticed that Tony had released the Iron Spider suit,her suspicions were confirmed.

“May?” Pepper interrupts. “I’m afraid Peter’s with Tony in space. I’ll send Happy to pick you up and bring you here. I’m so sorry.”

“No. Oh God, no. Not Peter. Not my baby, please, he can’t be- he can’t!”

“May, love, I am so sorry. We will get him back, we’ll get both of them back. I promise. I have to go now. I’ll see you when you get here.”

“He’s just a kid. He’s too young to be fighting off in space, he was supposed to be going on a field trip to a museum, not to fight aliens.” May sobs, the line crackling.

“I really have to go, I’m so sorry, May.” Pepper felt awful hanging up on her clearly distressed friend, but she was stressed out herself and she had to reply to Agent Coulson if she wanted a chance to get their boys back.

Pepper wasn’t sure how to respond over email, so she decided to just call the number. The phone rings and with each tone, Pepper feels more and more confused and anxious. Finally, on the last ring, the line is picked up.

“Hello? This is Pepper Potts, is this Phil Coulson?” She cringed at those words, she hadn’t said that name in years.

Phil waits for a few seconds before speaking. His voice is soft. “This is him. I’m so sorry about Tony, but we can find him, yeah?”

Pepper nodded slowly. “Yes, we can. Do you know where the other Avengers are?”

“Not for sure,” Phil replied. “Fury and Hill knew, probably, but I can't contact them either. I’m assuming that they're gone as well.”

Pepper grits her teeth, almost envied the detachment in his words, even though she was sure he must be hurting too. “I can try getting a lock on War Machine. I'll get back to you when I have something.”

They exchanged good-byes and she hung up. The click has never sound quite as final before. Pepper sighs.

“Friday?” she called. “Any news on Tony?”

“Negative, Miss Potts. I have no connection to either Boss or Karen.”

She took a deep breath. He'll be back, they're both fine, they'll come back.

“Track Rhodey's armor and find Steve Rogers and his team.” She ordered. “We're going to need all hands on deck if we're going to get anything done.”

It’s a few hours later that she finally glances up from her computer, her fingers aching from countless emails and reports. Squinting against the dryness clouding her eyes, the CEO cracks her neck, glancing up the at ceiling as she stands.

“Friday, what time is it?”

“It’s 4:01am, ma’am.”

“Really? When am I supposed to meet up with Phil?”

“5:00am, ma’am.”

“Alright. Thanks Fri.”

Pepper sighed. All she wanted to do was sleep, curl up in a ball and pretend this was all a nightmare. But, at the same time, she didn’t really want to sleep. Sometimes nightmares are even worse than reality, if such a thing is really possible right now. Flicking on the hall light, the woman makes her way toward the living room.

“Oh, Fri? Any news on Rhodey?” She calls.

“Yes, ma’am. He’s in Wakanda."

#chapter #come back home #i need you #come back home (i need you)#cbhiny #cbh (iny)

43 notes · View notes

plane-lord · 5 years

Text

32 Days Since Titan

So, here’s the finished fic I was working on before I saw Endgame. I’ve done a little tweaking, but it’s canon compliant. Still working through my feelings, this helped a little...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18601774

Thirty Two Days...

It’s been thirty-two days since Titan. Nine since Tony Stark returned to Earth, and the Avengers compound, half dead, starving, and dangerously dehydrated. Three days since he was released from medical. He isn’t up to full strength yet, and tires easily; which is how he’s found himself waking up from yet another nightmare, this time on his sofa. Part of him wants to blame Pepper, for being so blunt and telling him he needs to face his feelings, honor Peter, not hide the memory of him away.

Leave it to Pepper, to hit him with the hard truth — Lord knows she’s the only one he will listen to, even though he won’t always admit it. Ever since he’s returned to some semblance of health, he’s been trying to “forget” the kid, well avoid really, he doesn’t think he can ever forget. He hasn’t returned to his lab, because he knows he’d see the last thing he and Peter were working on — the kid’s unfinished project spread across his designated table.

Tony is desperately trying to hold on to what he does have left — Pepper, Rhodey, the remaining Avengers — though he’s kept the latter at a safe distance, not interacting with them much after their brief reunion. He thinks maybe if he focuses on the things he does have, he’ll be able to have a life, make things better for the people who are left.

Tonight though... well, Pepper, aided by a couple glasses of wine, managed to get Tony to talk. He told her every horrid detail. Fessed up to his feelings of total inadequacy, how he was so desperate to hold on to what he did have left — her, Rhodey, Happy — that he didn’t dare think about how he might fix things, bring them all back. He didn’t think he had it in him to face another loss, another failure — because losing again might mean losing Pepper and he couldn’t do that. Ever.

Tony pushes himself into a seated position, elbows on his knees, head in hands, and tries to catch his breath. God he was getting sick of this — Peter (and Thanos) haunting his dreams. He must have fallen asleep soon after Pepper left him to stew in his thoughts.

It was a variation of the same nightmare that has been haunting him since he left that god forsaken, hell hole of a planet, with Nebula. This time they were at Peter’s graduation party. They were all having a good time, Pepper with their future baby. May, Happy, everyone there bursting with pride for Peter and celebrating the momentous occasion. And then like every nightmare since that day on Titan Tony hears a quiet, “Mr. Stark…” When he turns to find Peter, he watches helplessly as every single person disintegrates, turning to dust. The plates of food and drinks fall, the sounds of shattering porcelain and glass echoing as they hit the floor, mixing with the dust — leaving Tony alone and screaming in horror.

Tony squeezes his eyes shut, “It’s just a dream. Just a dream.” He says it out loud to reassure himself, trying to get his breathing under control, trying to stave off a panic attack. He hates this. With a trembling hand, he wipes the sweat from his forehead and stands up. He needs a drink.

The wine glasses and bottle from earlier are on the counter, where Pepper left them. It’s not quite the potency he needs, but there’s still some Malbec left in the bottle. He pours himself half a glass and downs it quickly.

After a few minutes, when the tremors in his hands lessen — he decides to start cleaning up the kitchen, to give himself something else to think about. Tony’s focus on the mundane task slowly work to calm him. He takes his time washing the stemware and cheese plates. He is careful and precise as he dries each dish, before putting them away. He throws away the empty wine bottle and wipes down the counter, just like he'd seen Pepper do. Satisfied with the now spotless kitchen he notices the wine opener still sitting out. He opens several drawers, trying to remember where it’s supposed to go. He really wishes Pepper would stop rearranging the kitchen, he can never find anything.

Opening the third drawer, which he quickly realizes is a junk/mail drawer he spots a rectangular object. He pulls out a black 5x7 picture frame and flips it over. His grip tightens and his eyes get a little cloudy when he sees the photo of him and Peter, each throwing up bunny ears behind the other’s head.

Tony remembers the day clearly, nearly eight months ago...

———

Sometime in early August 2017

Tony’s phone dings several times in a row, notifying him of incoming text messages. He picks it up with a scowl, there is only one person that would blow up his phone this early in the morning. “I’m beginning to regret giving the kid my number.” He grumbles to Pepper, who's sitting in the stool next to him at their kitchen island. “I haven’t even finished my first cup of coffee.”

Pepper rolls her eyes, as she finishes her last bite of yogurt, “Oh please, you love the attention.”

“I do not,” He scoffs. Opening the phone he scrolls through the texts. “Pepper, this kid — he wants to know what I’m wearing!”

Pepper laughs and stands up, picking up her bowl. She pauses on the way to the sink to kiss him on the cheek, “So, tell him. He’s just excited, Tony. Today is a big deal for our interns. I thought you were all about encouraging young minds.”

“Uh, yeah, in the abstract, hands off, pat on the back, move along sense. Not this, teenage — tell me what you’re wearing to the dance — nonsense.”

“Oh stop being such a grump and just tell him. He adores you, Tony. Peter’s just nervous and wants to make a good impression.”

And God did that statement terrify him. Tony Stark was not meant to be a role-model or adored — especially by young, impressionable teenage minds. He was a fuck-up of monumental proportions and he was certainly not cut out for this. He was fumbling through this mentorship and terrified of messing up.

“Fine. I’ll tell him, but know that I am doing so under extreme duress.”

Pepper poured herself another cup off coffee, ignoring his dramatics, she says sweetly, “Yes, dear, whatever you say.”

Tony shoots her a disapproving glare, letting her know he does not appreciate her sass. He types out a quick text.

A black cotton t-shirt and gray sweat pants. You?

A few seconds pass, before Peter’s reply comes through. Hahaha… I MEAN for the luncheon today!

Tony taps out a reply, a mischievous smile on his face. God, he loves teasing this kid. Oooh…dress is formal. I’m wearing a tux.

Uhh, would you believe my tux is still at the cleaners? ? 😳😳😳

Oh well, guess you’ll have to skip it then. Very strict dress code. NO EXCEPTIONS.

The reply from Peter is immediate, Dang, guess I’ll let Aunt May know… she’s going to be so disappointed. 😿

Oh? Don’t want to disappoint Aunt Hottie. Guess we can make an exception, this once... Dress is business casual. I’m wearing jeans, T-shirt, blazer.

Haha, thanks Mr. Stark! I think I can pull something like that together. Happy is picking us up? 10:30?

Yup. See you soon. Tony replies.

Clicking the screen off he sets the phone on the counter and looks to Pepper, who is putting the dishes in the washer. “How long does this thing last, again?”

“I think a couple hours. I usually only stay to finish lunch, which is longer than your usual 30 minute drop-in, slash meet and greet.”

“Okay. Maybe I’ll stay for lunch, too. You know, inspire and encourage those bright young minds.”

“They’ll love that, Tony. Everyone is always so excited when you make an appearance. And it's a really good group of kids.”

Pepper walks around the counter and wraps her arms around his shoulders, pressing a soft kiss to his right temple, she says, “I’ll see you in a couple hours. Don’t be late.”

“Uhh, I’m never late!”

“Hmm, I literally have documented hundreds of missed appointments, engagements, and appearances over the last twenty years that say otherwise, but sure, Hon, you’re never late.” Pepper pats him fondly on the back and leans over to pick up her purse sitting on an empty barstool. As she makes her way to the door, she says, “FRIDAY, remind Mr. Stark to be out the door by eleven. Luncheon starts at noon.”

The AI responds with an obedient, “Yes, Miss Potts, I’ll make sure boss doesn’t forget.”

“That’s so not necessary — I can tell time!” Tony yells in protest, to her retreating back.

“See you in a few hours.” Pepper replies, as the doors to the penthouse elevator doors close.

“FRIDAY, remind me to get ready at 9:45.”

"Yes, boss."

The luncheon is held at Stark Industries offices in Mid-town Manhattan. For once, Tony is ten minutes early. When he saunters into Pepper's office, to escort her downstairs — he makes sure to point this fact out to her.

High School and College-age interns from every applicable department, and two of their guests, are treated to a catered lunch, presented with certificates of participation. The more outstanding interns of each department are recognized with their own official Stark Internship plaques. The afternoon also includes a quick meet and greet with CTO Tony Stark and CEO Pepper Potts, both of whom give a short speech to the attendees and present the awards.

Tony is just a little pleased to see Peter is given special recognition by the Science and Technologies Department. He had decided that Peter should officially join the high school summer internship program, get the kid some real world experience to add to his college applications. Somewhat to his surprise, the kid had jumped at the chance, offering little protest to the proposal, even though it might take away some time from his patrols. Maybe it was because Peter knew that Spider-man is never going to pay the bills, and perhaps, he really did take Tony’s advice to heart.

Tony tried his best not to show favoritism and mostly left Peter under the tutelage of the department’s internship program head. He would never admit to anyone, that he may have, discreetly, checked up on him multiple times a month. And he can’t say he didn’t, occasionally, pull him away for some ‘special assignments’ in his private lab — days spent working on their own projects and consuming copious amounts of pizza. And maybe, just maybe, he brags a little to Pepper when he reads a glowing review from Peter’s supervisor. Yeah, he’s man enough to admit — the kid is doing him proud.

The luncheon passes without a hitch. The awards are handed out, photos are snapped, and Tony gives his off the cuff speech, a mixture of humor and inspiration for the future. Pepper gives her brief introduction and a message about how important Stark Industries views the Internship programs and all their young bright minds. Most years Tony ducks out after the speech and certificate presentations, but this time he stays for lunch, while Pepper takes the opportunity to get back to her office.

Tony assembles a plate of food and makes his way to where he sees Peter sitting with his Aunt, and to his surprise, Happy, plus a couple interns and their parents. He tries to ignore the shocked faces of the other interns when he approaches the table, “This seat taken?”

Peter raises his eyebrows in surprise, “Uh, yeah. I mean, no, all yours, Mr. Stark. I mean, of course it is because you own them—”

Peter stops his nervous rambling at the pointed look Tony sends him. He wonders if the kid will ever not be nervous around him. He sets down his plate and sits in the empty chair next to Peter. He is mildly amused to see Peter wearing a corduroy sport coat, jeans, and a black t-shirt, nearly matching Tony’s own sartorial choices. He says a quick hello to everyone at the table and tries to give them his attention. He’ll never admit he relishes just sitting next to the kid and spending a little more time with him, sharing this day, celebrating his accomplishment.

The longer he sits the more relaxed Peter gets, even cracking a few jokes at Tony’s expense. Something he never would have done a few months ago. He doesn’t miss the way some of the parents, and teens, at the table look between the two of them, surprised by their easy banter and familiarity.

Lunch soon finished, Tony lingers for a little longer — taking more pictures with the interns and their familes. It’s well into mid-afternoon, when he tries to make his exit. He and Pepper have dinner reservations and he needs to get some work done before then.

Before he goes, May Parker pulls him aside. “Tony, would you mind me getting a picture of you and Peter, before you go?”

“Anything, for you Mrs. Parker.” Tony replies, giving her his most charming smile.

Handing his own phone to Happy, who for some reason, which he’ll have to investigate later, is still hanging around, he says, “Take a couple for me too, Hap.”

Tony throws an arm around Peter, who has his award in hand -- at May's insistence -- and pulls him in close. They smile and take multiple pictures with the award, both getting increasingly irreverent, much to May’s amused frustration. Peter even tries to sneak bunny ears — “Bunny ears? Wow, you are a nerd!” Tony teases, while throwing up two fingers behind Peter.

When Tony does finally leave, he is all smiles, with an extra swagger in his step. He’s not sure when spending time with the kid became so important to him and he’s a little frightened by the implications.

The sound of bare feet on the hardwood floor, pulls him out of his memories. He looks up to see Pepper wrapped in her robe, her hair askew from sleep — it’s nearly one in the morning, way past her usual bedtime.

“Tony? Are you coming to bed?“ Pepper asks worriedly from the threshold of the living room. She hesitates when she sees him and steps forward cautiously, into the kitchen. “Hey, you okay?”

He watches her walk toward him, feeling lost and overwhelmed with sadness. He thought he could move on, he told himself he could, but he knows now that he was lying to himself. This isn’t something he can just shove in a drawer, like the picture. He loved that kid and no amount of denial will lessen the pain he feels over his loss.

“Hey…” Pepper’s hand is on his cheek, wiping something wet from under his eye. She takes the picture from his hands and wraps one arm around his waist, holding it for both of them to see. “I forgot about this… It arrived the day you left. There was a card…”

She reaches into the drawer and pulls out a bright red envelope addressed to “Mr. Tony Stark”. She hands it to him, the envelope already open.

He opens the card and sees Peter’s sloppy scrawl:

Dear Mr. Stark, Thank you for everything you do for me. The Stark Internship made my summer and I cannot express how grateful I am for the opportunity. I know how "excited" you were to come to the luncheon and I thought you should have something to remember it by. Sincerely your biggest fan, Peter

The card blurs and Tony tries to blink away the threatening tears. He drops the card beside the photo and pulls Pepper into a tight hug, burying his face into her shoulder. “I miss him,” he whispers. “He was such a good kid... and I didn't, couldn't —“

Pepper runs a soothing hand down his back, feeling the outline of his ribs, he's still so skinny. “I know. You did everything you could, Tony. I know that, he knew it… and he knew how much you cared for him. Believe me, he did.”

And Tony does know it. He could see it in the way the kid looked at him, the glint of awe in his eyes, that always made him a little uncomfortable because he didn’t know what to do with that kind of admiration. It kills him a little more to know he may never see that look again. He lets the tears fall freely this time, wrapping both arms around Pepper, holding her closer, clinging to one person he still has left…

Epilogue

The next morning he wakes up to find Pepper already gone from their bed. After his momentary panic, he remembers she had several meetings planned for the first half of the day. He stumbles groggily into the kitchen, seeking espresso and a bite to eat — he’s still feeling as tired and worn as he did the night before.

He’s well into his first cup of espresso, and the breakfast smoothie Pepper left in the refrigerator, when he sees it. The picture of him and Peter is propped up on the counter, next to one of him and Pepper. He’s tempted to put back in the drawer, but he tries to recall what Pepper said, about remembering and honoring. Moving on, but not forgetting because Peter Parker is not to be forgotten. Peter Park is loved.

THE END

#tony stark #pepper potts #pepperony #spider son #fanfic #avengers: endgame #Endgame spoilers #avengers 4 spoilers #peter parker

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egoteric · 5 years

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( @starhk / plotted )

Years have passed. Too many. Morgan’s growing up, he and Pepper celebrated their tenth anniversary, then their fifteenth. Things have improved for him. The pain isn’t as bad as it once was, his mobility has improved as years have gone by. He’s come to terms with the fact that things will never be quite the same and settled into a new NORMAL. But there are some things that have stayed, some things that will never change. He still has nightmares, to a lesser degree than he did but they still happen.

Trauma doesn’t disappear and it certainly hasn’t for him, though he is genuinely happy with his life, with his family. It’s why he makes sure not to let that slip to his daughter if he can help it. She doesn’t need to KNOW, it’s not her burden to carry. It’s his. And he has Pepper to help him bear it. But this weekend she’s off at a conference for Stark Industries doing what she does best and he’s home with Morgan.

It’s not unusual for him to sleep restlessly but it’s always worse when Pepper isn’t by his side in bed. Thanos still haunts him some nights. He can still feel the titan battering down on him, feel the sharp pain in his abdomen where it’s now marred by a thin white scar, feel his own blood on his hands mixed with the dust that used to be Peter. But it’s not this time, it’s Morgan, it’s his daughter in his arms crumbling away. And then he’s grappling with the titan again, infinity stones fusing with his armor, burning PAIN flooding his arm, up his neck, down his torso. When he wakes with a loud sob, the memory of the pain still throbs through his body, keep him paralyzed for a moment before he’s scrambling to get up.

His feet hit the ground and he pushes himself up, forgetting about his leg just long enough that he’s not balanced. He STUMBLES, right leg buckling underneath him, and crumples to the ground. His good arm trembles as he tries to right himself, eyes wide and panicked. His head is spinning, mind still struggling to pull itself from the nightmare.

#starhk #* i've been up to my neck in pleasure. up to my neck in pain. — au verse I.#tw: nightmares #tw: ptsd #[ she can either come in in time to see him fall or after? up to you? ]

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psychi-artist · 6 years

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Thomas Cole: Eden to Empire

The National Gallery, London Until October 7th

Currently on at the National Gallery in London is Thomas Cole’s exquisite exhibition, ‘Eden to Empire’. The exhibition includes over 50 works, including Cole’s iconic painting cycle, ‘The Course of Empire’ and the stunning master piece - which has never before been seen in the UK - ‘View from Mount Holyoke, Northampton, Massachusetts, after a Thunderstorm - The Oxbow’. Also featured are paintings by various British artists with whom Cole was personally acquainted, as well as paintings by those who influenced him most, including Joseph Mallord William Turner and John Constable.

Cole was a self taught English-born American painter known for his landscapes and history paintings He is one of the major 19th century American painters, and was the founder of the Hudson River School. He is known for his beautifully romantic portrayal of American wilderness, that was largely still unspoiled in his time.

The main focal point of this exhibition is Cole’s phenomenal painting cycle, ‘The Course of Empire’, a series of paintings that explore Cole’s significant distaste for manmade destruction on nature. The series begins with ‘The Course of Empire: The Savage State’ (around 1834), which shows an incredibly beautiful scene of greenery and blooming life of plants and natures pure untouched beauty. In the foreground stands a man with a bow, while new England/Native American style tents are situated by a river near a collection of canoes - signifying the start of colonisation. The camp is set up in a circle, representing the start of where a temple will later be built in arcadian state. In the background a mountain towers over the scene. This mountain can be seen in each painting throughout the series, representing a natural stability. The mountain towers over the landscape, as nature watches and waits to take control.

‘The Course of Empire: The Arcadian or Pastoral State’ shows a gradual takeover by man and the arts as children are seen drawing on the roads while a man plays the pipes. Soldiers seen in the painting portend future violence, and giant tree stumps foreshadow the environmental costs of progress. Where the circle of tents were once situated now stands the beginnings of a circular temple, indicating the beginning of the architectural takeover.

Viewers are then left astounded as the next part of the series, ‘The Course of Empire: The Consummation of Empire’ shows the same landscape, however aside from the mountain in the background it is virtually unrecognisable. Buildings cover the entire surface of the land, while bridges streak across the rivers. An Emperor is seen making his way across a bridge, an elephant marching in front of him - presumably this was Cole’s dig at the British for their colonisation of India. African slaves are being dragged along the bridge, followed by looted treasures from their homeland. Cole’s use of stunning colours, perfectly capture the essence of life and light; water and sky appear woven together seamlessly and appear as though glistening. The end result of this painting shows a gorgeous landscape and wildlife community completely taken over by civilisation.

Mankind is fighting. Luxuries are debased. The once cream roads of the city run red as innocents are butchered in the streets. ‘The Course of Empire: Destruction’. The inevitable has happened as mankind turns on itself, once again destroying the surroundings in the process. The majority of the city is aflame, a scenario which could possibly have been inspired by Cole’s childhood memories of arson and fire. While women and children are lying injured a gladiator statue towers over the city, his head lies broken on the floor beside him as he failed to protect his city and its inhabitants. Viewers may find the stance of the gladiator familiar as he is posed in the same position as the hunter from ‘The Savage State’, a pose which was inspired by the Borghese gladiator. ‘Destruction’ shows all the achievements of civilisation destroyed.

After turning on itself and running itself into the ground, civilisation ceases to exist and nature begins to reclaim the earth. ‘The Course of Empire: Desolation’ shows the effects from mankind beginning to heal. The art and architecture created by mankind is resolving into nature. The earth is starting fresh while the mountain remains standing tall in the background; it watched and it waited and eventually was able to reclaim its home. Cole adds a slight touch of humour to ‘Desolation’ with a barely visible face in the moon, who winks out at viewers.

With various times of the day as settings for each painting ‘The Course of Empire’ takes viewers on a journey that shows mankind will inevitably lead to destruction, and at the end nature will always be there to take back what it’s owed. Cole created this series of works as a warning to modern America regarding it’s greed. A warning which was, unfortunately, not heeded.

With his works Cole continued to reject government expansion policies. He constantly tried to to express his views to Americans to minimalize industrial progress taking over America’s beautiful, natural wildlife. One of his most famous paintings, ‘The Oxbow’ was an attempt to speak to America, while ‘Course of Empire’ was a message to the then president, who was interested in building bigger and better, solely focused on greed and possessions, not the American landscape.

‘Titans Goblet’ 1833, humours the idea that the Earth was inhabited by giants. This was possibly inspired by Turners ‘Ulysses deriding Polyphemus’. The painting shows a ginormous goblet, in the centre of vast amounts of greenery, taken over by nature. On the rim of the goblet tiny buildings and aqueduct ruins are visible.

In ‘View on the Catskill - Early Autumn’ 1836-37, Cole wanted to capture the beauty before a railway took over. In the scene a mother can be seen bringing flowers to her baby, a hunter returns home, and in the background a farmer can be seen chasing his horses in huge, luscious fields. The stunning scene is swept away in ‘River on Catskill’ as smoke is seen spewing from a locomotive that poisons the wildlife as it crashes through the land. No more happy scenes of parents and their children or animals roaming. ‘River on Catskill’ most certainly contains a more ominous feel, that leaves viewers with trembling goosebumps when they recall the delicate beauty they saw in ‘View on the Catskill’ that has now perished. A man with an axe is shown surrounded by tree stumps. He is the destroyer of nature. The entire painting is incredibly sorrowful, and it is truly a sad sight to see the difference and the changing of brilliant scenes of nature. Viewers will feel a sense of loss and mourning that spills out of the painting.

‘The Oxbow’ simultaneously shows both sides of nature. The right side of the painting shows light in the pale harmonious sky, with luscious green grass and fields spanning across further than the eye can see. Nature and wildlife thrive everywhere; the river snapping through the fields, delivering life. On the left side of the painting, a painter is shown capturing the beautiful scene before him. Behind him the death of nature creeps up. Trees have been cutdown and are left to die. Darker paint tones have been used to portray the dark, cloudy sky that looms over the right side of the painting like a poisonous, destructive wave.

Cole left behind a brilliant legacy as he founded the first national school of landscape art in America, ‘The Hudson River School’. While Cole’s technique and aesthetic had a lasting impact, his responsibilities to societies attitude towards landscape became lost. Artists increasingly championed the theory that national expansion was their God given right - the very antithesis of Cole’s beliefs.

One student who stood by Cole’s beliefs was Frederick Edwin Church. Church was a student at The Hudson River School and one of his most beautiful paintings, featured at this exhibition, is ‘Above the Clouds at Sunrise’ 1849. The use of light and colour is exceptionally stunning with an unusual usage of pink, a colour not commonly seen in landscape paintings, contrasting perfectly with the typical greenery. In the painting nature is thriving and viewers can not see what is hidden beneath the cloud. Viewers can not see what man is possibly doing to the land below - ignorance is bliss.

‘Eden to Empire’ is a rare chance to see Cole’s epic works; allowing viewers to observe the rise and fall of empires and lose themselves in the American wilderness.

#Thomas Cole #Eden to Empire #National Gallery #art #nature #fine art #artcurrent #love #beautiful #painting #America #wildlife #Hudson #Catskill

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phoenixtakaramono · 6 years

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Finders Keepers ch5 Sneak Peek

It was an unspoken fact that history was written by its victors and its sufferers. It culminates in a selective retelling of events that is passed down via the education systems located throughout the galaxies.

During the time of the Last Corporate War—with the survivors being Anshin, Atlas, Dahl, Hyperion, Jakobs, Maliwan, Pangolin, S&S Munitions, Tediore, Vladof, and other megacorporations—only one emerged to stand at the forefront of innovation. With the fortunate excavation on the planet Promethea, Atlas Corporation had reverse-engineered the alien Eridian technology to give themselves an edge over their competitors.

With the discovery came a new line of machines, starships, and weaponry that were to be manufactured, as well as the earlier prototypes of the digistruct technology. Eventually all that led to the colonization of the planet Pandora and a monopoly of the interplanetary scale, allowing Atlas control over a significant portion of the market for goods and services. Their success had spurred on other megacorporations to explore other frontier planets in search of more alien technology and similar resources.

Yet of the numerous planets that made up the solar system, only a few of them were well-known intergalactically.

Many knew Aquator to be a scenic tourist hotspot with its many small islands to vacation on.

Athenas was known to be a planet governed by the Order of the Impending Storm—a religious monastic sect whose influence reached all aspects of their civilization.

Dionysus was a party planet, known for visitors’ drunken escapees and the tourist tagline “what happens in Dionysus, stays in Dionysus.”

Hermes was a planet with a thin atmosphere that was rich in helium, orbiting around a giant blue star instead of the sun.

Pandora was one of the frontier planets, recently colonized by Atlas—and other megacorporations like Dahl and Hyperion—as a research test site and as a settlement.

The last was Promethea, an environment of harsh extraterrestrial living conditions because of the excessive mining, rapid industrialization, martial law, and the like.

Planets like Artemis, Demophon, Eden-5, Eden-6, Eden-7, Epitah, Eunomia, Grophic IV, Hephaestus, Hera, Hestias, Hieronymous, Honus 4651, Isolus, Menoetius, Tantalus, Themis, and Thrace had their own reputations, but they were universally regarded to be on the same respectable level as the old planetary system.

Modeled after Earth, all of the Edens founded were known to be settlements of research, boasting of academic excellence, selectivity in admissions, and social elitism. Only the brightest—or the wealthy—were allowed citizenship or temporary student visas, to learn at the competing prestigious institutions and to increase their prospects of being hired by a megacorporation. Largely peaceful, the citizens of these planets were accustomed to a life of high-tech luxuries.

And unlike Eden-5 whose reputation was overshadowed by their corrupt police force, Eden-7 had some of the largest university financial endowments which allowed for many resources for their academic programs and research endeavors.

Bordering the main hub of the city was a tall building. Not quite a skyscraper, the architecture resembled that of an industrial hangar that had been elongated to touch the skies.

Pulling into the nearest available parking spot, a well-dressed long-limbed man emerged from a black vehicle. His hair seemed to have a burnished bronze luster from the sun.

Smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles in his suit and anxiously adjusting his tie, he walked around to the passenger side to retrieve a clunky robotic prototype. Pressing the ON/OFF button, he waited for it to finish activation.

Snatching the laptop briefcase in the meanwhile, he murmured to the floating device, “Alright, it’s our moment to shine, Dumpy.” Closing the door with a nudge of his hip, he pocketed the key fob after hearing the car beep. “We got this in the bag.” He smacked the briefcase. “Confidence is the key.”

A deep, synthetic baritone—the voice package belonged to the deceased actor James Earl Jones—replied in the affirmative.

Deliberately tilting his chin up, Rhys left the parking with Dumpy whirring in the air quietly beside him. Not once did he allow himself to look down at his feet or to avoid eye contact.

At this time, even with the employees retiring for the night, it seemed the world was at its usual and undisturbed.

The uniforms that Atlas personnel wore was a curious mix of business and military dress code, which was what distinguished one from the other. Red accents were intermingled in a mostly dark or neutral color palette.

Cyborgs—humans having undergone cybernetic enhancement surgery such as bionic limbs or microchip implants—and androids were virtually indistinguishable. A usual sight, they shambled along with the rest of the unaugmented humans.

Soon, Rhys spotted an interesting individual among the crowd that wound around a giant statue. The first thought that came to his head was the word “white;” her hair and skin were bleached of all color, like a ghost.

The woman was dressed in a furred-collar military vest worn over a black T- shirt that exposed her midriff. Leather trousers hugged her figure, as well as her knee-high boots. Even as she marched her back was ramrod-straight, like a sword forged of steel. Likely due to the leather material of the long opera-length gloves she wore, they reminded Rhys of the black rubber gloves that a butcher would use instead of a fashionable evening accessory.

There was even a large Bowie knife strapped to the belt and a gun holster. Since the sight of her didn’t cause anyone alarm, he could only assume that she was authorized to carry weapons in plain sight.

She drew several stares from passersby, which Rhys suspected wasn’t only for her distinguishing features.

He narrowed his eyes. There was the smallest sense of recognition, although it escaped his memory of how and where he has seen her before. As they traveled, the waning sun could be seen through the openings placed strategically throughout the compound. A gradience of crimsons, oranges, and golds was suffused over the rigid gunmetal grays.

The building was once a product of its times—an outdated corporate steel-and-glass facade—before the property on the real estate market had been purchased by the CEO. During the initial remodeling phase, the exposed foundation and rusted structure made it appear like a skeleton with its flesh peeled off.

The soles of his shoes were clacking against the industrial-sized plates as Rhys craned his neck, spotting the Atlas logo affixed overhead. Neon yellow LED tubing was installed throughout the architecture.

The crowd had thinned at the entrance, where the woman was headed toward. By this time, the premises was mostly deserted.

That illusion of calm was shattered when the woman jerked to a sudden halt.

A split second later, she evaded the gunshots by pitching her body into a barrel roll. Scorched dents were left in the metal where she once stood.

Slamming her hand and feet onto the ground, the woman regained balance. She had already been in mid-motion of reaching into her holster, but she froze up at the sight of the two guns trained on her.

A spear of ice pierced Rhys from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.

Hastily retreating a few steps back, he felt his back collide roughly against the pedestal of the Greek titan Atlas. Looming overhead, the statue was hoisting a massive sphere meant to represent Earth.

“Don’t let them see you,” he hissed, snatching Dumpy from midair. Sweat was adhering his dress shirt to his skin. He leaned slightly forward, ignoring the simulated heavy breathing from the robot’s voice modulator. “Let me see what you see. Enhance.”

Much like a video recorder, Dumpy was recording the situation live. The zoom function allowed Rhys to see a close-up of the two armed assailants who had trodden forth. They’d worn nondescript clothing meant to blend in and catch their target off-guard. If it hadn’t been for their faces, he wouldn’t have been able to ascertain the gender from just their builds alone.

Rhys wasn’t much of an expert on firearms—his knowledge of guns was limited to movies and video games—but the make and model appeared vintage, likely contraband. Guns made on Earth were considered outdated and weak compared to the advanced arms mass-produced by megacorporations today.

Rhys was too far to hear the quieter words being exchanged, but the volume of the shouting was clearly agitated. They were yelling at her to drop her gun and to kick it away.

This did not seem like a drill.

Only the three individuals were found up ahead. With no one else emerging from the sliding doors, it seemed the building had gone under lockdown. Security cameras were pointed down at the scene.

The inactivity was making him restless. “What’s taking so long?” he demanded. “Why isn’t anyone doing anything?”

“It is likely the result of the bystander effect and other causes,” Dumpy commented in its deep, measured intonation. “Do you want me to call the authorities? It is prudent to reduce fatal casualties.”

The robot’s unaffected droning had managed to steady his nerves somewhat, helping him regain a semblance of self-control. Rhys worried his lower lip.

The sun was slowly falling below the horizon, and darkness threatened to swallow the world.

Waiting for the police to arrive might be a risk that he wasn’t certain the lady could afford to have. On the other hand, he would likely be gunned down the instant that he called attention to himself; running was not ideal.

He had to create a distraction.

“No.” Rhys sank down into a crouch. His hands were trembling. “We’re going to do one better.”

Managing to enter the correct numeric sequence into the holographic lock, he snapped the briefcase open and disengaged the laptop from Sleep mode. His fingers fumbled across the keyboard, entering the lengthy password.

Forcing his fear back, he whispered, “I’m going to disable the lights. It’ll give you a narrow window before the backup generator starts. I’ll need you to activate your defense matrix and take out those two guys. Don’t overdo the voltage.” He glanced up. “Do you think we can pull that off?”

Processing the command, Dumpy calculated the plan’s estimated percentage of success aloud. It also warned that what Rhys was doing was illegal.

“Well, we’re going to try.” Every movement was essentially muscle memory, like a choreographed dance. Brown eyes darted across the screen. “Good thing I still have remote access to the server. This is child’s play. ...Sorry, buddy. You’re gonna be the hero. I believe in you.”

The sun had set completely, with only the artificial lights illuminating the compound. Switching off the electricity supply a few precious minutes later, they were plunged into absolute darkness.

For a few seconds, he could make out nothing but dark lumps—silhouettes who were startled by the abrupt power outage. There was not much time. Motioning rapidly, Rhys hissed under his breath, “Go, go, go!”

He was crossing his fingers.

For a moment, the shape of Dumpy could be seen hovering over one of the men.

There was an unnatural humming, before white-blue light abruptly burst into vision, temporarily igniting the night. The man’s limbs were flailing as though a live wire had been attached to each of his nerves, his body convulsing like a rag doll as the violent electrical current pulsed through him. Not a moment too soon, the tased man collapsed, paralyzed, and his partner shouted his name.

Like machine fire, shots were unloaded blindly at the crackling light. They sounded like fireworks going off, with missed bullets shaking the entire building structure.

Despite Dumpy’s best attempts at evasion—dodging, flying like an erratic pendulum—sparks could be seen when bullets struck sheet metal.

Rhys’ heart plummeted. To his horror, even with the bulletproof design, the robot was soon spiraling out of control. Crashing into the ground like a small meteor, upon impact its emotionless “ow, ow, ow” distorted in volume, becoming an unintelligible screech.

“Nooo! Dumpy!”

“Atlas will never fall!” The voice was female and vaguely familiar; it had come slicing through the shadows as sharp as a knife.

In the distraction, semi-translucent wings, reminding Rhys of crackling electricity, unfurled from the lithe woman’s back like a butterfly from a cocoon. Half of her body was glowing, where the Siren birthmarks were.

It was over in a second.

By the time the man whirled on his feet, a dime-sized hole had been left between his eyes, revealing liquefied brain matter. The woman could be seen standing upright, the barrel of her customized pearlescent revolver smoking slightly from the discharged elemental round. Her finger only left the trigger when the assailant fell.

Nobody in this place moved a muscle, and it was so quiet that even the sound of their breathing could be heard.

(Ch 1-4 of the scifi AU Finders Keepers can be found on AO3! Ch5 is currently in progress.)

#rhys the company man #rhack #tales from the borderlands #commandant steele #scifi #siren #dumpy #finders keepers #sneak peek #phoenixtakaramono #flashback #I am out of practice with action sequences #not the full scene but the majority #worldbuilding

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