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heli0s-writes · 4 years

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antisaint*

1.1k words. Erm, dirty talk, bottom!Steve-- also getting finger facefucked, and come-eating? Please stop reading if you are not 18+

The title is from this song by Chevelle 🧡

brooklyn after dark masterlist

Steve’s shield symbolizes the kind of idolatry you want to destroy some nights.

Hijack the ivory points of your lover’s brilliant star and stab him to death with it.

Well, sort of. Maybe just within an inch of his life—a quick reminder that there’s more to him than being humanity’s moral paradigm and savior. That the immeasurable world he’s sworn to can exist in smaller spaces because sometimes he forgets.

It’s fine.

He’s stubborn and righteous but you’re the perfect foil. Proven time and time again to be the only vice in Captain America’s virtuous armor, you’re so deep in his head he never quite sees you coming.

Home late from another impromptu mission, he stills at your presence in the hallway. There’s grime smudged across his cheek and his hair’s awry from his helmet.

“Take it off,” you say coolly, “Everything.”

And his spitfire mouth could argue until hell freezes over—but never with you.

Steve’s bare ass hits the bed not ten seconds later. The candlelit bedroom’s glow paints your skin like a sunset—a goddess of the most devastating kind and he turns mute at how you quickly you unravel him.

He’s transfixed by the way you move—your expression dark and smooth like an inbound storm.

You crawl into his lap. You don’t let him touch you.

“You’re not Captain America here,” you say, voice vibrating down his spine. “Not anyone’s defender here.”

“Is that right?” he stutters, feeling the blood rush straight down, dick flexing against your inner thigh. “What am I, then?”

Still stubborn, he tries it with a smirk.

You lick the slope of his neck and Steve whimpers. Nope.

“You’re nothing,” you shrug, “Other than mine.”

His breath catches in his chest, fire igniting in his belly. Your words, the spark. Your certainty, the gasoline. He’s utterly fucked.

Humanity’s moral paradigm—the pinnacle of strength, but you whittle him down to a trembling boy.

Relenting, Steve nods quietly and you reward him with a kiss. Deep and deliberate while one hand comes up to grab his jaw. Your plush lips contrast your firm hold, and he’s moaning louder than he realizes. That sharp tongue he loves so dearly slips over his, kitten licks balanced by hard sucking. His entire body could melt into the sweet cavern of your mouth.

You lift your hips, letting him spring free before angling just right. You rub against him slow, watching the way his lips part and his eyes glaze over. A few more times—with his cockhead barely catching inside your heat before he pops out—and Steve’s on the verge of losing his goddamn mind.

The pulse in his neck is jumping like a stray flare and his chest is heaving— he’s two hundred pounds of enhanced muscle atrophied under your touch.

The only thing working on him is his dick—and it’s working, alright.

Maybe it’s his job—commanding others. Maybe that’s why he loves it so much.

Maybe it’s just you. His wildest wet dream come to life—filthier than sin with a face like heaven. Loving him so damn hard it makes him stupid.

“Eyes up,” and he tries, but his lids are fluttering. “Say you’re mine, Steve. Mean it.”

“Baby,” he’s not quite sure if he’s even speaking English—or out loud—but he’d do fucking anything to get back inside you. “I’m yours, promise. Swear it —all yours.”

Your finger pushes inside his mouth, hooking over his pretty bottom lip, pressing against the soft inner flesh of his cheek. Steve holds your waist like it’s the only thing keeping him from floating away, drool sliding down his chin as you seize him roughly.

With a devilish smile, you finally sink down, bit by bit—so tight and perfect—rolling your hips. Once. Twice. Three times. Again. Again. Again.

“Yeah?” You croon, “Like that? You like being mine?”

He’s delirious, trying to balance sucking on your fingers and bucking up into your cunt, entire being on the edge of collapsing like a dying star and going supernova. Uncontrolled heat eating him up the harder you ride him, the nastier you talk. He’s whining and whimpering. Stuttering and begging for his life.

You make him powerless. Nothing more than a speck of dust drifting through the infinite vacuum of space. And, god, isn’t that something incredible.

“You’re gonna come, aren’t you, baby?” You wonder sweetly, hardly a hair out of place, completely immaculate and ethereal even as you drive him to the point of oblivion. “You’re all swollen up, Steve. Does it feel good?”

“Ah—ah— ”

“What’s that?” Your finger digs further, adding more until only your thumb and pinky curl around his jaw.

Steve gags, choking lightly and it shouldn’t make him so fucking—hot that you’re fucking his mouth, but he doesn’t care. He’s so close, just a hair-thin line away. His heartbeat is in his throat. His ears. You’ve never looked so fucking beautiful—so otherworldly. He’s a mess—he’s falling apart—you’re everything, everywhere. He could die being ruined by you and goddamn, it’d be fantastic.

Steve Rogers—Captain fucking America—babbling like an infant, obedient and useless in your arms. Fantastic.

You take your hand out of his mouth and lick your own fingers clean, bearing down on him, wet and sticky between your thighs and over both of his. The sound your ass makes hitting his legs scribes itself into every atom in his body.

“Good boy,” you whisper, “Good boys get to come, don’t they?”

“Yes—yes— I’m good, baby. I’m real good.” And this must be how the world was created: stars start colliding right in front of his eyes, wheeling off into pure white explosions. His hands are reverential—calloused palms reading your skin like sacred braille. Every word speaks of devotion.

“Okay, Steve,” you sing, “Let me feel you—give me all of it.”

With a few more frantic thrusts, offbeat rhythms of his hips and breath and Steve shatters entirely, hitting deep, spilling inside of you. He buries his face into your chest, mouth open and gasping against your skin.

His entire body shakes and quivers, and when the earth shackles itself together again, you’re all he sees.

“Fuck,” he pants, burning pink like a newborn, blinking the spots from his vision, “God.” And everything feels brand new—like he’s sloughed it all off—the shield, the uniform, the mantle.

Nothing but you and him, and the universe behind your eyes. Two bodies somehow infinite.

You remind him with your mouth to the shell of his ear, kissing his neck, his jaw, his chin. You remind him with your hand cupping his cheek, your smile like the promise of eternity.

Steve lays you down, your name a prayer overflowing from his lips. He spreads you out like an angel and tastes himself reborn between your thighs.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #smut #reader insert #marvel #fanfiction #mcu

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oikawaplssteponme · 4 years

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PROLOGUE | masterlist

pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem! reader

rating/warnings: swearing...a lot, some violence

synopsis: When UA’s hot heads, Katsuki Bakugou and you, are forced to put your hatred for each other aside and plan the third year Prom, things end up getting a little heated...

a/n: hi hi!! here’s the prologue:)) this is just setting up the story and gives insight into your quirk ;) im super excited to share this new story with you all [a little nervous too but that’s okay] ! the taglist is open so just lmk if you’d like to be added❤️ enjoy xx

———

prologue: party planers

“YOU'RE A PIECE OF SHIT!”

“WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME DUMBASS!”

“YOU HEARD ME, OR IS THAT QURIK OF YOURS CAUSING YOU TO LOSE YOUR HEARING ALREADY!?”

“WE HAVE PRACTICALLY THE SAME QUIRK YOU MORON!”

“HA YOU WISH YOU HAD MY QUIRK KATSUKI!”

“YOU LITTLE-!”

Kirishima was using all of his strength to hold Bakugou back from ripping your head off. On the other hand, Deku was dragging you away from Bakugou as you continued to yell.

“Y/N cut it out!” begged Izuku. You continued to struggle to break free from Izuku’s grip on you. He wasn’t using all his strength as to not hurt you.

“Just let me wipe that stupid smile off of his dumb face!” You yelled.

You kicked your leg back, colliding with Deku’s stomach, forcing him on the floor. Bakugou flipped Kirishima over his shoulder to shake him off as well. The two of you stood far apart, facing each other.

“One blow and you’ll be dust Katsuki,” you smirked. Bakugou licked his lips.

“Not if I get your first!”

“You wish!”

You adjusted your stance. You brought your hands up, one expelling out your body’s heat and the other starting to expel out atoms of hydrogen. Bakugou’s palms began to spark with his explosive sweat.

“Guys stop it please!” pouted Uraraka.

“Not until Katsuki here is d-”

Before you could finish, you were tied up and so was Bakugou. Mr. Aizawa pulled the both of you towards him, still tied up in his scarf.

“Office. Now.”

Now, not many people would ever be bold enough to stand up against Katsuki Bakugou, but not you. Ever since your first year at UA, you and Bakugou never got along. You had an attitude and an ego, and so did he. You both thought you were the best. And with such similar quirks, you had more reason to compete with each other.

Your quirk involved taking heat from your body and outside sources (such as the sun) to create an explosive result from fusing atoms together. Depending on how much power you wanted to use, you could choose between any explosive element on the Periodic Table to create this chain reaction. Your quirk was known as ‘atomic’. It did have its own setbacks though. Since you had to use your own body heat and cells, you tended to get sick pretty easily after a fight. Still, you worked hard to get your quirk where you wanted it. In a quirk test, no one stood a chance against you...well maybe except that Bakugou guy.

You were a lethal weapon to say the least. Bakugou’s own quirk used his sweat to create explosions. While yes your quirks worked differently, you both felt threatened by each other.

Having you and Katsuki in the same classes never went well. As you were both in the Hero Course, you tended to interact much more than you wanted. On days where there was open training, like today, it usually ended in a fight. And more often than not, you started it.

Unlike Bakugou, you were let in on recommendations, another thing you held over him. In your middle school, you were an exemplary student to any teacher who saw you. But the second you got in the battle field, all hell broke loose. You were a master in combat, even without your quirk. At your middle school, you were the top dog, so it was easy for you to show your dominance over your classmates. It wasn’t until meeting Katsuki Bakugou that you had your ruthless side always on display. So that sweet girl that you used to be known for, well, she took a hike.

Mr. Aizawa dragged you and Bakugou to Principal Nezu’s office, for the 4th time this week. You couldn’t break free from his forceful scarf, no matter how hard you tried. You could physically see the smoke coming from Bakugou’s ears.

“What seems to be the problem this time?” asked Principal Nezu. Mr. Aizawa gave you a nudge.

“Tell him.” You glanced over at Bakugou and then back at Principal Nezu.

“Well you see Principle Nezu...Bakugou is a little bitch.”

“YOU HAG!”

“QUIET!” ordered Aizawa. You both shut your mouths.

“Look Y/N, Bakugou, this has to stop. If you two keep disrupting class and training, I’ll have no choice but to expel you,” said Principal Nezu.

He says this every year.

“But because I believe in your potential as Pro Hero’s I won’t.” You and Bakugou let out a sigh of relief.

“But that doesn’t mean you won’t go without some sort of punishment,” he added. You weren’t surprised. You had already cleaned the dorms a million times before as a form of punishment.

“This time, Mr. Aizawa will be in charge of you two,” said Principal Nezu. Yours and Bakugou’s eyes widened. Mr. Aizawa moved to stand in front of you two.

“As you know, third years get the opportunity to attend the UA Prom. Usually students in general studies help plan it but since you two clearly need some organization and discipline, you’ll plan it this year for your classmates,” Aizawa explained. Your jaw dropped.

“You want us to plan a dance? By ourselves?” You protested.

“No way I’m doing that!” huffed Bakugou.

“Would you rather be expelled?” asked Aizawa. You both went silent.

“That’s what I thought. You’ll have a few months for planning and preparation. I would work hard on this, I’d hate for you to disappoint your classmates. If this dance goes poorly, it will be you two who will pay for it.”

You couldn’t believe it. You were no party planner, and certainly not with someone like Bakugou.

“Also, no more fighting unless during supervised pair training. If I even hear about either of you using your quirks against each other, you’ll be out of here before you can say ‘Plus Ultra’. Got it?” said Aizawa.

You both nodded, though you were beyond pissed off. Aizawa unwrapped you and Bakugo from his scarf.

“Either learn to work with each other or you can kiss your third year goodbye. Now get to your dorms.”

You and Bakugou got up and quickly left Nezu’s office. Once the door shut, you pinned Bakugou against the wall, your hand on his neck.

“What the hell-“

“Listen, if you ruin my chances at becoming a Pro Hero, I won't hesitate to blow your brains out. So we are gonna plan this stupid dance, but don’t think that means we will become all buddy-buddy. I’m still gonna be a better hero than you and show you that I have the better explosion quirk. Got it?”

Bakugou pushed you off of him, and pinned you in the same position.

“If you even think you’ll be a better Hero than me, you’re wrong. Get over yourself princess. And then go fuck yourself,” he growled. Bakugou let go of you and walked away.

In the past, you would’ve talked back, but not today. You knew Aizawa and Nezu were being serious this time. And you weren’t gonna mess up your chances of graduating. So if planning a stupid dance with your worst nightmare was what you had to do, then so be it.

•

[taglist OPEN: @vangoghpoets @vangoghmusings @bokutory @complimentaryhugsgirl ]

#willow.🌸#my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x y/n #bnha bakugou #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha katsuki x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugō #bakugou x you #mha bakugou #hot heads.🌸

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deepdisireslonging · 4 years

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In Heaven’s Eye

Dean has been sent to destroy the one being that threatens his divinity: the Reader. There’s a fight, but the one who ends up in bonds isn’t her.

Pairing: Sub Archangel!Dean x Domme Demon!Reader

Warnings/Promises: SMUT, Dom/Sub, smut in church, bondage, oral (male receiving), wax play, orgasm denial, praise, heavenly exhibitionism; sacrilege all around, alright?

Word Count: 2031

Note: A SPN fic for “The Second Fall” challenge! The challenge for this one was AU-ing characters that already deal with angels and demons. This is heavily inspired by @neversatisfiedgirlfics and her work with Father Finn, but with my own twist. It’s long. It’s filthy. I wrote it in the middle of the night and couldn’t sleep until I finished all this smut. Feedback is super appreciated. Enjoy!

Walking between the pews made your skin crawl. Well, your vessel’s skin. There had better be a damn good reason for Dean summoning you here. Being a demon at an Archangel’s beck and call was degrading enough.

The second you laid eyes on him, you knew it was going to be one of those nights.

Dean was dressed up in all his heavenly glory. Armour plated head to toe. Toned muscle covered up in battle-wear. It outshone the brilliant stained glass window behind him (ironically a human’s interpretation of him), dimed by the night’s darkness. His sword was already drawn. The primary feathers on his wings were tipped with blades sharp enough to cut atoms. Heaven had sent him here to fight.

“You know why we have to do this.” His baritone was commanding. You had to answer, or he’d annoyingly fill the air himself.

“Yes.” You crossed your arms with a smirk. “I’m your weak spot. A threat to heaven. And with that challenge bouncing around… everybody is anxious to see who will come out on… top.” You popped the last word like bubble gum. Sticky and sharp. In a blink you were standing inches from him, resting your hand on his chest. “But we both know you’re overdressed for what comes next.”

He quickly shoved you away, raising the sword to your throat. “We have to end this, Y/N. I- I can’t let this continue.” His voice dropped to a whisper not even angel radio could pick up. “They know, Y/N. Either I have to end it, or they’ll send someone. I can’t risk-”

You cut him off with a rumbling chuckle. “I can see that. But you are. Still. Wearing. Too. Much.” Spinning, you showed off your vessel’s simple clothing. “We’re unevenly matched, not that the penthouse cares. But… if you really want to get an edge… you’ll take off that shiny layer.” You licked your bottom lip, eyeing him head to toe and back. “Yes. Watching you strip might… distract me.”

Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbed. With one hand, he pulled at one buckle then another until his armour was in pieces on the floor. You let out a shuddered breath. Leave it to a Winchester to be a walking-talking electric blanket. His under tunic and trousers were plastered to his skin where the armour had been hot. You swear you could see every outline of every muscle he had.

“See something you like, sweetheart?”

In a rush of air, your back was against a cold stone pillar, and the sword was at your throat. You gasped, breathily giggling as he wavered the sharp edge against your skin. When your hips bucked forward, Dean stepped back, taking the heat with him.

“Don’t try it. I’m not falling for that trick again.”

“Why not?” You hissed and slid up and down against the pillar. “If I remember correctly, you really enjoyed it.” A growl laced your voice as your eyes flicked to black. “But if a fight is what you want, a fight is what you’ll get.”

You were a flurry of celestial bodies colliding in the hollows of the church. Pews splintered and cracked against blade and stone. The holy sacraments on the altar clanged from alternate corners in the choir loft. Angelic and demon blood mingled on the floor in large droplets. A lucky blow caught Dean on the side of his head, dropping him. His world went dark.

When he awoke, he tugged terrified at the ropes around his wrists and ankles. Then you stepped into view, looming over him upside down. Most of your clothes were gone. All of his. A breath caught in his throat as you lightly dragged your nails over his arms. They were pulled back so his wrists were together, then over his head arching over the alter you laid him on. His ankles were tied to either side, keeping his lap open for you later.

“Seriously?” He grit his teeth and jolted away from your touch. “We don’t have time for this, Y/N. We have to-”

A snap of your fingers filled his mouth with cloth.

“I know, Dean.” You rested your head on your hands next to his face. “After tonight, I’ll disappear if that’s what you want. I’ve done it before.” You steeled your heart over the painful memory shining in his eyes. “But let me have tonight. One more for eternity. Deal?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeal,” he muffled through the gag.

With another snap the cloth was gone, replaced by your mouth and tongue to seal the deal. He struggled against the rope. In another forbidden meeting, he’d have his hands all over you by now. Not tonight. Tonight was yours. You ravished his mouth, dragging your nails across his chest and arms, down the tops of his thighs, leaving long red welts that made him gasp into your mouth. Dean rumbled out a “take it easy.” There would be no such mercy.

You yanked his head back by his hair. His eyes fluttered and you knew his vision was blurry around the edges with need. “I’m going to suck you off now. You can cum. Then the real fight will start. Got it?” You booped his nose after he frantically shook his head.

It was almost cruel how you straddled his chest. Your pussy was out of reach for his mouth, but you were going to be able to tease him to release with reckless abandon. And you did. Kitten licking his head quietly so you could hear him fight off making a sound. Then sloppily kissing down his length as his groans took on a higher pitch. Taking him down your throat was the best through. Dean arched off the altar, filling your mouth more and filling the church with his cry of need. Bobbing up and down, you continued to drag your nails over his thighs. He tried to hold off, he really did. Still fighting the inevitable. A few minutes later he accepted that you were in control. And filled your mouth.

He was still catching his breath when you turned around on his lap. “Y/N-” he groaned, spotting what you had in your hand.

It was a candle.

Just like that, his cock jumped, bumping the inside of your thigh. “Aw, you’re getting hard again?” You laughed. “Poor Dean… you really can’t control yourself, can you?” Biting your lip, you sat down so you could slide your dripping pussy up and down his cock. “You’ve got a demon between your legs, strapped down in a church, and for all you know your feathery friends could be watching the best porno they’ve ever seen.”

His cock twitched again.

“Oh, do you like that?” You gasped as his cockhead caught your clit. “Do you want to be seen?”

“Y/N-”

“You want to be seen giving over control to me, don’t you. It’s better this way, right? No heavenly plan to uphold. No rules to guard and defend. Just you. And me. Making sweet love in a way where you don’t have to think or be in command or have to make any hard choices.” You leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. “Just follow my lead, baby. I’ll make you feel good. Empty out that stressed mind of yours.”

With that, you raised yourself up and began to slowly sink down his length. When you were full, you let one drop of wax fall onto Dean’s stomach. He arched again with a hiss. His pelvic bone rubbed against your clit, making your mouth fall open. Then you raised up slowly. Another drop. This time you held him down, making him take the full force of the wax before you would start sinking again.

“More.”

“More of what?” You let three drops fall in rapid succession. And sank quickly to spear yourself on his cock.

Dean whined high. “Just like that. Please. Yes.”

After several passes, he was a sweaty, moaning mess. Perspiration ran in rivulets between his pecs and down his temples. More settled into his collarbone and the hollow of his throat.

“You look beautiful like this,” you hummed. You dropped another spot of wax. It landed just under his nipple. When his mouth gaped for air, you stole it away with an open-mouth kiss. “Strung out on bliss. It’s a good look for you, baby.”

Several more drops. Few more rises and falls on his cock.

“Please-” he groaned. “Y/N, please.”

“Please, what, Dean?” you cooed. “Do you need to cum?” The candle snuffed out before being dropped to the floor. That left both of your hands free to pick at the wax on his chest as you rode him faster. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

He grit his teeth, clamping his eyes shut and shivering against the need for release.

“I have to hear it, Dean. Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

His eyes fluttered open. His eyelashes were damp. “Please… I need you to cum. Need to feel you squeezing my cock like you do. Taking me like only you can. I need you. Y/N-”

You shushed him, smoothing his hair back. “Always such a giver. Heaven doesn’t deserve you.” He shivered under your gaze and touch. Waiting. You tilted your head, circling your hips. “You deserve to cum. Can you do something for me?”

“Anything. Please, just-”

You unstraddled him, forcing your knees to cooperate instead of buckling when he cried out at the loss. “Take me to the belfry.”

“Are you going to untie me first?” He weakly tugged at the ropes.

“Dean.” You crossed your arms. “They’re mortal ropes. Nothing you can’t handle.”

“I know. But are you going to untie me first?” He waited under your scrutiny.

The ropes disappeared as you snapped your fingers. You helped Dean sit up, massaging the ache out of his shoulders. “Such a good boy,” you murmured. He shivered.

“The belfry?”

“Yes.”

The slats meant to keep out the bats splintered off the steeple when you arrived. Outside a storm was brewing. You leaned against one of the open frames, looking out. And offering your open pussy to Dean. He stepped up behind you, smoothing his hand over your ass.

You looked over your shoulder at him. “Take me, Dean. Here. Where all of heaven and nature can see us.”

He filled you in a breath. Between his need and yours to finally cum, the entire steeple frame rattled with the force of your bodies colliding. He kissed and nipped at the back of your neck. You bucked into his hand as he reached for your clit.

“Mine,” you whimpered. “Mine for tonight.” You were so close. Already your toes were beginning to tighten as release was seconds away.

“No. I’m yours. And I’m not letting you go.”

The night crackled with coloured beams of light further south than normal. Their waves carried rolling angry clouds. Booming thunder wasn’t enough to cover up your screams of pleasure as you fell over the edge. Dean stuttered in his pace, following you.

A bolt of lightning raced for the steeple. By the time it hit, the two of you were gone.

Dean held you close until your legs were stable to hold you up on their own. The tree line barely hid the outline of the church as it blazed. Alarm bells went up in the town. The mortals might be able to save it.

The realization of Dean’s choice didn’t hit you until he hissed as glowing script etched across his skin.

You clicked your tongue. “I was afraid of that.”

“What?”

“You’re staying with me. This was supposed to be the last time. You broke the deal.” Smoothing back his hair, you caught his eye. “I guess you belong to me, now.”

“Oh, no.” He mused. “What will you do to me?”

You laughed, tugging him close for a kiss. “Only things that you like. Well, mostly.” You looked at the ground, biting your lip. “You fell. You actually fell for me.”

“Sweetheart,” he said, tilting your face up, “I’ve been falling for you for eons.”

***

Other “The Second Fall” Challenge fics:

Dream Control - Demon!Loki x Angel!Reader (Marvel)

Full for a Song - Angel!Elias x Demon!Reader (WWE)

Don’t Make Me Love You - Demon!Jason Todd x Angel!Reader (DC)

***

Masterlist

Forever Tags: @blondekel77 @brianaraydean @chwehansol98 @fireflyfunhousetrash @laochbaineann @ramblingsofabourbondrinker @savmontreal @shieldgirl18 @tinyelfperson @writtingrose @xladyxfatex @gold--gucciempress

Supernatural Tags: @emoryhemsworth @quixoticcat @smandrews3 @supernatural-jackles @tamtamlov @vvinch3st3r

Dean Winchester Tags: @19mmallory @akshi8278 @ashmonet @bits-n-bowz @bringmesomepie56 @castielsbecky @cookie-dough-lova @dancingalone21 @gabbyrogers094 @idontknow-canyou @its--killing--me @juanitadiann @kaemarie23 @kittenofdoomage @lauriz67 @millie67 @mrspeacem1nusone @mylostsoul28 @peaceloveandplumbots @releitable @sassy-losechester @sissysalvatore @theriumking @uzum4k1-uch1h4 @vutdidyousay @windeango67

#The Second Fall Challenge #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #sub!dean x dom!reader #angel!Dean x demon!Reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural smut #winchester x reader #winchester smut #sacrilege smut

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slytherinbarnes · 4 years

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Sub Rosa [2]

ii. earth skills

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Language, fighting, violence, allusions to past assault (nothing explicit)

Summary: You and a small group of people head into danger to look for Jasper, who may still be alive. And Bellamy reminds you that he’s a dick.

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

Morning comes quickly.

Sleeping in a tree is uncomfortable, and the fear of falling leaves you restless and unable to sleep. As soon as the light breaks the horizon, you climb down from your lookout and venture past the makeshift camp, into the woods. You spend a long time watching the sun rise higher in the sky, thinking about your life and what led you here.

It doesn’t take long for the sound of rowdy teenagers to reach you, and you decide to head back to camp to wait for Clarke and the arrival of food. Your stomach growls in agreement and you shake your head before standing from the fallen log and pointing yourself in the direction of camp. You’re only a few minutes out when you hear a twig snap behind you. You turn quickly, eyes scanning the forest for the source of the noise. Finding nothing, you continue on, more alert than before.

You stop again when you hear another branch break and you whip your head around, watching and listening. You swear you hear footsteps running through the woods, and you begin to panic. You take off running towards the camp, head still searching for the source of the noise. You sigh a little when you hear the growing sound of the delinquents, but you keep running until you accidentally collide with someone.

The impact sends you flying to the ground, and you land on your back with a groan. You lie there, looking up at the sun filtering through the trees, when a voice asks, “Hey, are you okay?”

A figure moves into your vision and blocks out the sun, and you start to reply until you see his face.

Wells.

He holds out a hand to help you up, but you swipe it away and quickly stand. You both watch each other, and he quietly says your name. You shake your head, already cutting him off. “Whatever you’re about to say, I don’t want to hear it. You’re the reason my dad is dead.” You practically spit the last word at him.

His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Did you not hear me? He’s DEAD because of you! Gone. Floated.” Tears well up in your eyes, “I never got to say goodbye.”

He steps towards you, and you look up at him in anger, swallowing back your tears. “Just stay away from me, Wells. Me and Clarke.”

You turn and head into the camp, not stopping until you reach the dropship. You pull the makeshift door to the side, ready to check on your collected water, before coming face to face with a naked Bellamy Blake.

You freeze in shock, eyes scanning his body, before coming to land on his face. He smirks at you. “Enjoying the view, princess?”

You give him a look of disgust, “The exact opposite actually.”

He pulls on his pants, letting out a short laugh. “Really? Because it looked like-”

“I don’t care what you think it looked like. I was just coming in here to check on something.” For the first time, you see a girl behind him getting dressed, and your brows lift in disbelief. “And now I’m leaving.”

You turn and scurry out of the dropship, before colliding straight into Wells, who is mid argument with Atom. You manage to catch yourself from falling this time, but you roll your eyes. “Seriously? Are you everywhere?”

Bellamy comes out of the dropship, still shirtless, and eyes Wells and the pile of clothes in his hands. “This is home now. Your father's rules no longer apply.” He snatches the clothes from his hands, and Wells lunges at Bellamy, only to be stopped by Atom. Bellamy motions for Atom to let him go. “You want it back? Take it.”

Bellamy and Wells stand in place, eyes locked, tension filling the air. Wells breaks first, and turns to toss the rest of the clothes, which are immediately grabbed by a group of teenagers. Wells turns back to Bellamy, “Is this what you want? Chaos?”

Bellamy smirks, “What's wrong with a little chaos?”

He starts to pull on his shirt when a scream rings out through the camp. You all take off running towards it, and find Murphy holding a girl over the fire. “Bellamy. Check it out. We want the Ark to think that the ground is killing us, right? Figure it'll look better if we suffer a little bit first.”

Wells runs towards Murphy and pushes her off the girl, “Let her go!” He turns back to Bellamy, eyes pleading. “You can stop this.”

“Stop this?” Bellamy smirks, eyes flitting to the side, where Murphy is getting up and running towards Wells. “I'm just getting started.”

Murphy’s fist connects with Wells' face, sending him to the side. Wells recovers quickly and starts to fight back, both boys evenly matched in terms of skill. Finally, Wells manages to get the upper hand, and he delivers a final blow to Murphy before standing and walking back towards Bellamy. “Don't you see you can't control this?”

You watch as Murphy rolls over, pulling a makeshift knife out of his pocket. You look over at Bellamy, wondering what he’s going to do. As Murphy bears down on Wells, Bellamy steps forward, stopping him. “Wait!”

Your brows lift in surprise, and you watch as he looks between the two boys. After a second, he holds up his own makeshift blade for Wells. “Fair fight.”

You shake your head as he steps back, stopping at your side. You mutter, “You can’t be serious.”

Bellamy turns to you, away from the fighting boys. “Something wrong?”

“You’re really gonna let them pick each other off?”

He tips his head to the side, appraising you. “I thought you didn’t like Wells. Heard he was the reason your dad got floated.”

You flinch, the pain from your father’s fate affecting you just as much today as it did when you first found out. You reach up and touch your necklace, Bellamy’s eyes watching the movement. You shake yourself out of your thoughts, and glance over at the pair before looking back to Bellamy. “I don’t give a shit about Wells, or whether he lives or dies.” You watch as Wells grabs Murphy in a chokehold, and you turn and give Bellamy the same appraising side eye. “I’m just wondering, how long until Murphy gets tired of taking orders?”

Before he can answer you, your twin’s voice cuts through the crowd. “Wells! Let him go!”

She jogs into the clearing, the rest of the group right behind her, as Wells releases Murphy and pushes him away. Murphy spins around and lunges at him, only for Bellamy to step in and hold him back. “Enough, Murphy.” As Monty guides a limping Octavia into the clearing, Bellamy runs to check on her.

It takes only a second for you both to realize something is missing. “Where's the food?”

“We didn't make it to Mount Weather.”

You step closer to them, “What the hell happened out there?”

Clarke turns to look at you, gaze serious. “We were attacked.”

“Attacked? By what?”

Finn’s voice answers first, “Not what. Who. It turns out, when the last man from the ground died on the Ark, he wasn't the last Grounder.”

“It's true. Everything we thought we knew about the ground is wrong.” Clarke looks around at the group of people closest to her. “There are people here, survivors. The good news is, that means we can survive. Radiation won't kill us.”

“Yeah, the bad news is the Grounders will.”

Wells looks around at the group in confusion. “Where's the kid with the goggles?”

“Jasper was hit. They took him.” Clarke's eyes fall to his arm. “Where’s your wristband?”

He cuts his eyes to Bellamy. “Ask him.”

“How many?”

Murphy answers, proud. “Twenty-four and counting.”

She shakes her head. “You idiots. Life support on the Ark is failing. That's why they brought us down here. They need to know the ground is survivable again, and we need their help against whoever is out there. If you take off your wristbands, you're not just killing them. You're killing us!”

Bellamy glares at Clarke, and steps closer to the other delinquents. “We're stronger than you think. Don't listen to her. She's one of the privileged. If they come down, she'll have it good. How many of you can say the same? We can take care of ourselves. That wristband on your arm? It makes you a prisoner. We are not prisoners anymore! They say they'll forgive your crimes. I say you're not criminals! You're fighters, survivors! The Grounders should worry about us!”

The others yell in agreement, and you shake your head at their ignorance. Clarke must feel the same, because she stalks off, Monty hot on her heels. You watch them go, before glancing at Octavia, and the fresh blood on her leg. Getting an idea, you run to the dropship and grab some of your water, along with one of the seatbelts and a discarded shirt. You go and search for Octavia, finding her sitting on a ledge, letting Bellamy inspect her cut. You smile at her as you approach, and she returns it. “Why’d you run off yesterday? I thought we were going to get into trouble together.”

You glance at Bellamy and back at her, “‘Other sibling’ stuff.” She nods in understanding. “Looks like you got into enough trouble without me though. I got some stuff for your leg, can I take a look?”

She nods, and Bellamy gives you room to look at the wound. You tear the shirt into pieces and dip it into the water before looking up at her, “This is probably gonna hurt.”

You wipe the blood from the bite, and Octavia lets out a groan. You clean it up and look at it closely. “Good news is, it’s not deep.”

You take another piece of the shirt and lay it on top of the cut, before glancing at Bellamy. “Hold this here for me?”

“Yeah.” He reaches for the cloth, fingers brushing yours in the process, causing you to flinch. Subtly, he shifts his focus, his eyes settling onto you. You grab the seat belt and secure the fabric over the wound, as Bellamy looks up and scolds Octavia. “You could have been killed.”

Clarke speaks up behind you, and you turn to watch her approach. “She would have been if Jasper didn't jump in to pull her out.”

Octavia checks the bandage, and starts to stand.“You guys leaving? I'm coming, too.”

Bellamy grabs her shoulder and pushes her back down, “No, no. No way. Not again.”

“He's right. Your leg's just gonna slow us down.” Her gaze shifts to Bellamy, “I'm here for you.”

Your brows raise in surprise and Wells protests behind her. “Clarke, what are you doing?”

“I hear you have a gun.” He looks down and lifts the edge of his shirt to reveal the gun in his waistband. Your mind flashes back to last night. “Good. Follow me.” She starts walking only to be stopped by Bellamy’s next question.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you want them to follow you, and right now, they're thinking only one of us is scared.”

As she walks off, you turn to Octavia. “I’ll go and get into trouble for the both of us this time. Deal?”

She sighs and then smiles, “Deal.”

You jog off to catch up with Clarke, who turns as you approach. Wells runs ahead to give you a minute. “I’m coming too.”

“Fine. But you better keep up.”

You let out a snort, “Easy, I was always the better twin.”

You both look at each other and she rolls her eyes. “You wish.”

She gives you one last look and jogs to catch up with Wells. You look back when you hear footsteps behind you, and you lock eyes with Bellamy and Murphy. You turn to watch where you’re going and let out a sigh. This should be fun.

You keep your eyes on Clarke and Wells ahead of you, following their footsteps as they move through the woods. Bellamy jogs to catch up to them, and Murphy keeps close by his side. “Hey, hold up. What's the rush?” Bellamy punctuates the question with a shrug, gun in hand. “You don't survive a spear through the heart.”

The group stops in a clearing, and Wells glares at Bellamy. “Put the gun away, Bellamy.”

Murphy steps forward in defense of his leader. “Well, why don't you do something about it, huh?”

Clarke ignores them both, looking at you and Bellamy as she catches you up. “Jasper screamed when they moved him. If the spear struck his heart, he'd have died instantly. It doesn't mean we have time to waste.”

Bellamy lunges forward and grabs her wrist, “As soon as you take this wristband off, we can go.”

You step up instantly, pulling Clarke’s arm free of his grip, and putting yourself between them. “Don’t touch her.”

Clarke steps from behind you and glares at Bellamy, “The only way the Ark is gonna think we’re dead, is if we’re actually dead. Got it?”

Bellamy looks between you both with a smirk, but his response is cut off by approaching footsteps. “You call this a rescue party? Got to split up, cover more ground. Clarke, come with me.”

Clarke steps closer to Finn, and they split off from the group, taking the high ground. Bellamy storms off in the direction the group was originally heading in, and Murphy follows. You veer off to the right and search the land close to the river. Wells seems to hesitate, unsure where to go, before finally following Bellamy at a distance.

Most of the search is spent in silence, as everyone keeps an eye out for any sign of Jasper. Every now and then you hear the faint whisper of conversation from Finn and Clarke, until eventually they put so much distance between you that everything goes silent again. As your eyes scan the river’s edge and surrounding trees, you’re surprised to hear bits and pieces of the hushed conversation between Bellamy and Wells.

“...more in common than meets the eye, huh?”

Wells deadpans, “We have nothing in common.”

You follow the line of the river, the sound of running water growing louder. Bellamy’s voice gets lost in the din of a waterfall. “Finn around, Clarke doesn't even see you. It's like you're not even here.”

You stop at the edge of the waterfall, admiring the view. It’s a small fall, not very powerful, and it drains into a small swimming hole. It’s framed by a semi circle of trees, dense enough to conceal anyone swimming in the water from someone lurking in the woods.

You move away from the water’s edge, skeptical of the drop, given your inability to swim. As you get deeper into the trees, a twig snaps somewhere behind you. Your mind instantly flashes back to earlier that morning, and then to Clarke’s warning of not being alone. You start to walk faster, looking for any sign of Clarke and the others. When you hear more movement behind you, you break into a run, tearing through the trees in search of a familiar face.

Finally, you spot Bellamy up ahead, and you’re surprised to find relief flow through you at the sight of him. You slow as you near him, and he turns at your approach. He ignores you panting for breath, his eyes instead traveling to the moon that sits along your collarbone. There’s nothing fancy about it, just a small silver moon secured to a chain. “Was that from him?” You turn slightly to meet his eyes, and he adds, “Your dad?”

You say nothing, choosing instead to continue through the woods in silence. He goes for a different approach. “You know, I don’t get your attachment to that bracelet. What has the Ark ever done for you?”

“Isn’t this the same speech you gave Wells last night before you ambushed him?” You give him a look of annoyance. “Is Murphy about to jump out of the bushes and take my hand off?”

“No. Not yet anyways.”

Before you can answer, you burst through the trees, into a clearing, where Clarke and Finn are pointing at something on the ground, showing Wells what they found. Murphy is standing nearby, uninterested. You run over to them and Clarke looks up at you as you approach. “Where have you been? We found a trail of blood, and we think it’s Jasper’s.”

“Trail of blood, huh? Let’s see where it takes us.”

She and Finn stand, and start to follow the trail, and you fall in line behind them, with the others right behind you.

“Hey, how do we know this is the right way?”

You look back at Murphy and shrug, and Bellamy smirks. “We don't. Spacewalker thinks he's a tracker.”

Wells turns to look at Bellamy. “It's called a cutting sign. Fourth-year earth skills. He's good.”

Finn turns back to the group, slightly exasperated. “You want to keep it down or should I paint a target on your backs?”

He stops and studies a branch, and Bellamy slides up next to Wells. “See? You're invisible.”

As Finn bends down and inspects a puddle of blood, a moan cuts through the trees and reaches the group. Everyone looks around, confused.

“What the hell was that?”

Clarke glances at Bellamy, “Now would be a good time to take out that gun.”

He pulls it from his waistband as another groan reaches you, and Finn takes off running. Everyone follows behind him in a line, Clarke, then you, Wells, Bellamy, and Murphy. He comes to a stop in a clearing, and as you step past the trees, your eyes land on Jasper, strung up in a tree.

“Jasper. Oh, my God.”

Clarke jogs into the clearing, eyes locked on Jasper, and you follow right behind her. Bellamy looks up at the tree as he follows you into the clearing, “What the hell is this?”

As Clarke nears the base of the tree, you hear a cracking sound. Your eyes dart towards her and you watch as she starts to fall, legs already disappearing into a large hole. You lunge forward and grab her arm, both of your hands locking around each other’s wrists as you hit the ground. Clarke’s weight starts to pull you towards her, over the edge of the hole, inch by inch. Behind you, you hear Finn and Wells yelling in a panic, “Get them up! Pull them up! Pull them up! Get them!”

You reach out and grab Clarke’s other wrist and she grabs yours, both of your eyes filled with panic. You watch the pit of spikes move closer and closer to impaling your twin, just as a hand closes around your ankle and stops your sliding. Seconds later, a collection of arms grabs Clarke and hoists her over the side, onto the safety of solid ground.

She lands in a heap beside you, and you sit up and meet her eyes, breath heaving in panic as the reality of what almost happened starts to set in. Finn kneels beside Clarke, checking on her, and she turns away. You glance at the figure near your ankles, surprised to find Bellamy there. You nod in thanks, and he nods once in return. Finn helps you and Clarke to your feet, and Clarke immediately turns back to Jasper. “We need to get him down.”

Finn moves closer to the tree, “I'll climb up there and cut the vines.”

Wells starts to follow, “Yeah, yeah, I'm with you.”

Finn turns quickly, “No. Stay with them.” He turns to look at Murphy, “You. Let's go.”

“There's a poultice on his wound.”

Wells furrows his brows in confusion, “Medicine? Why would they save his life just to string him up as live bait?”

Bellamy glances down at the pit of spears and back up at Jasper, “Maybe what they're trying to catch likes its dinner to be breathing.”

“Maybe what they're trying to catch is us.”

You all look around in fear, eyes scanning the trees and brush for any sign of life, as Murphy and Finn work quickly to get Jasper down. You all watch as they free the vines securing him, only pausing when a low growl comes from beneath the brush.

You whip your head towards the sound, “What the hell was that?”

Bellamy steps back, away from the tree, fear in his voice. “Grounders?”

The growling grows louder, and you watch as Clarke tenses up. You follow her eyes and let out a quiet gasp when you see the black panther loom into view. Clarke backs up and yells out, “Bellamy, gun!”

You look over at Bellamy, as he pats his waistband, no gun in sight. Before he can question it, a shot rings out, and you all turn towards the sound, shocked to find Wells pointing the gun at the panther and firing. One of the bullets catches it in the thigh, and it leaps into the bushes surrounding the clearing. You and Bellamy step back as it runs around you, growling and snarling as it moves through the bushes, before everything stills for a split second.

Then with a loud growl, the panther leaps from the bushes behind you. You turn just in time to see it flying towards you, inches from your face before it drops to the ground, dead.

Your mouth drops open, in shock, and you turn and look at Clarke, then Wells. Bellamy does the same, breath coming out in pants. “Now she sees you.”

You all stand in shocked silence a few more minutes, before Clarke once again takes charge. “Wells, get the parachute out of your pack.”

He reaches in his pack and pulls the parachute out, before handing it to her. She tosses it to you, “Help Bellamy bag up the panther so we can carry it back for food.”

You nod, and she turns back to Wells. “Looks like they almost got Jasper freed. We should help them down.”

They move closer to the tree and you turn back to the panther, stepping closer to it. Bellamy eyes it with skepticism, “Is it dead?”

You nudge it with the toe of your boot, and it doesn’t move. “Looks like it. If you’ll lift the head, I can slide the parachute under the body.”

He steps forward and lifts the top half of the animal, giving you enough space to slide the parachute under the body. You then repeat the action with the lower half, before twisting the ends to close it off, securing the animal inside. Minutes later, Finn and Wells come walking over, Jasper held between them. Clarke steps up beside them, “We don’t have time to waste, let’s go.”

She leads the way, and the rescue team follows, followed by Bellamy and Murphy, leaving you to bring up the rear.

The walk back to camp is silent, as everyone processes the day’s events, and the near death experiences. The sun sets quickly, long before you are near camp, and the darkness welcomes a whole host of terrifying sounds and shadows. The moonlight shines through the trees, nearly full, and providing the only light to guide you home.

You reach the camp when the moon is directly overhead, welcomed by a crew of anxious teenagers. Clarke, Finn, and Wells take Jasper straight inside of the dropship, and you watch as Bellamy and Murphy drop the panther near the fire.

“Who's hungry?”

The delinquents let out a celebratory yell, cheering Bellamy on for providing the one thing you all desperately wanted. Octavia hugs him, a smile on both their faces, and you are suddenly reminded of Clarke, and the distance between you. You turn away from the scene and head into your tree, immediately looking up and connecting the stars in the sky, forming constellations.

They make quick work of preparing dinner, and soon the smell of cooked meat reaches you in your place in the trees. You climb down, eyes falling to the line of people near the fire. You watch as someone steps up and offers their arm, before their wristband is pried off in exchange for food. You shake your head at the sight, and turn towards the dropship, deciding to look for Clarke, finding her lost in conversation with Finn. You freeze in place, as Finn walks towards the fire and reaches for two pieces of meat. Murphy steps towards him, trying to stop him. “Whoa, whoa. Wait, wait, wait. What, you think you play by different rules?”

Finn shrugs, “I thought there were no rules.”

They stare at each other for a minute before Finn turns, smiling at Clarke. You start to walk towards them, to join them, before she follows him into the woods, leaving you alone. You move back towards the fire, deciding to grab your share and take it to your spot. As you reach the fire, you watch as another teenager tries to mimic Finn, moving towards the meat, wristband still firmly clasped around his wrist. Bellamy steps towards him and grabs his wrist, before pulling back and landing a punch on the kid’s jaw. He turns and sees you standing there, and you keep your eyes locked on his as you reach forward, grab a stick of meat and take a bite. You give him a small nod before turning and walking away. Bellamy runs after you, “Hey! No food without a wristband.”

You glance over your shoulder as he approaches, but keep walking back to your tree. He grabs your arm and spins you around, “I’m talking to you.”

You pull your arm from his grip and take another bite, “Yeah, I heard you. But I told you yesterday, I’m not giving you my wristband.”

He snatches the meat from your hands, “Then you don’t eat.”

You lunge for the food, “Screw you, Bellamy. Give it back.”

He pulls the food away from you, lifting it higher. “Not without your wristband.”

You step closer, reaching for the food. “Bellamy, seriously.”

He smirks down at you, “That’s the deal.” You jump towards your dinner, missing it by centimeters, and Bellamy lets out a small laugh. “Shumway said you didn’t know a good deal when you saw it. Guess he was right.”

You step back, as if he slapped you. Tears threaten to fall from your eyes, but you push them back down, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “You’re an asshole.”

You turn and walk away, careful to keep your shoulders back and head high, until you reach your tree and climb into it. As soon as you are hidden from the eyes of the camp, you allow yourself to cry, the pain from the last couple of years spilling over. Quiet sobs wrack your body as you relive that first day with Shumway, and every day since. The tears turn to anger as you wish him nothing but pain and suffering, because it’s the only thing he deserves. Soon, the tears slow and the sobs stop, and you lean back against the trunk of the tree, suddenly exhausted. Your eyes instinctively find the moon, surrounded by stars, and you wish for nothing more than to get lost in the sky. A new constellation to join the stars, born from suffering, forever immortalized by your tragic history. You fall asleep mapping the stars, looking for the faint pattern for constellation 89, the invisible la lune.

next chapter

#the 100 season 7 #the 100 s7 #the 100 trailer #the 100 season 7 trailer #bellamy blake #bellamy blake fanfiction #the 100 fanfiction

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writing-the-end · 4 years

Text

Exodus- Part 4

Previous Chapter

An Edolas Hermit Story (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

Impulse has escaped the city, avoided the leaders, but now he’s lost in a world he knows nothing about. And no matter how far he goes, it’s never far enough to stop the feeling of being watched

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LET”s try this again shall we?. Yada yada nods to other games, easter eggs and inspiration.

But still! CHECK OUT RED HIS WORK IS AMAZING AND HE”S THE FUCKING GENIUS THAT CAME UP WITH THIS. I just put words to paper. Sometimes I do it well.

Warning: This story contains general dark elements and language

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The hours stretch into days, the sun rising and setting without a clock to tell Impulse when the nights are looming and retreating. He seemed to have lost Xisuma and Cub a while back, but that doesn’t stop him from running. He can’t put enough distance between them and himself. He can’t put enough distance between the city and himself.

But he knows that with each step away from the bonds of Hermitland, it’s also a step away from the bonds of friendship. Leaving behind Tango and Zed, being forced to continue without them has been some of the worst thoughts that haunt his mind. Are they okay? Were they seen? Does Cub know who they are? Will they be able to escape some other way? Join him beyond the walls? Questions haunt Impulse in the day, and nightmares run wild at night. Nightmares of what horrible experiences they may have to endure, experiences like he went through. Being caught, interrogated, put through rehabilitation. Or worse.

The worst nightmares aren’t ones of himself being hurt, or his friends being caught. It’s of them forgetting him. Moving on with their lives, giving up on their shared dreams of freedom. Of the classes they’d taken together, the long evenings studying for engineering exams, cool nights on rooftops dreaming of a world beyond the walls. No memory, no recollection of Impulse. No one left to remember, to care about a poor boy with big dreams to help people.

As Impulse travels through the birch forest, he’s learned not to trust anything. The eyes of the trees, the whispers of the leaves all betray him. The squeaks and howls of animals are distant voices, carrying the message of his location to unwanted ears. Even the sticks on the ground, the grass are traps in disguise. Ensnaring the city boy and making his paranoia grow. Everything is out to get him. Just like in Hermitland. No, because of Hermitland. It’s all a part of the bigger conspiracy.

If Tango and Zed were here, they’d be able to quell his fears. Prove to his mind and all it’s wayward conclusions that it’s just coincidence. Tango’s skepticism and caution would point out the flaws of Impulse’s fears, the coincidences that break the story. And Zed would have filled in what was left with optimism, truth and guidance to ease away the sharp worries.

But it’s just Impulse. Alone in the wild, alone in the world. Is there anyone beyond the walls, or is he the only soul out here? Impulse isn’t sure if he could take living alone, like some hermit out here in a forest full of eyes. Full of things waiting to hurt him, waiting to rat him out to things that only want to do him harm. People that only want to do him harm.

Impulse trips, crashing into the ground. Clumps of grass and dirt stick to his sweaty face, and he spits a leaf out from between his teeth. He twists, looking to see what brought him to his knees. Sunlight filtering through the trees glistens off two metal buttons, blinding Impulse as he stands in the reflected illumination. Impulse creeps closer, looking at what he caught his foot on.

It’s a doll, a little rag doll not dissimilar from the toys he grew up with. Metal buttons for eyes, tattered fabric skin and clothes. A plant has grown from it’s chest, the stuffing within long ago stolen by birds and beasts. His foot was caught in the cavity that remains, nearly ripping the toy to shreds.

Impulse turns his gaze to his surroundings. Trees grow from sharp rises, cliff faces of moss and lichen. No, not hills and cliffs. Homes. Lampposts overgrown with vines, flowers blooming from where lights used to shine down. Rusted iron support beams have fallen apart, tied to the ground by roots and grass. Crumbled stones and structures lay in heaping mounds, cairns of a time long past. Impulse digs the heel of his boot through the grass, and finds concrete beneath the thin layer of dirt.

He also sees black marks on the stone walls, wooden posts charred and piles of ash tucked in the corners of homes. This must’ve been from a time before Hermitland, before the wall.

This village was burned in the war with the nether. After all the lies he’s been fed, Impulse was starting to doubt the existence of such an event. But nothing else could explain damage like this. This is more firepower than any overworld army could do. This is why Hermitland was built. What Xisuma, Cub, and Doc were trying to protect the city and it’s people from.

Utter ruin, total annihilation. But the line between defense and deception is so very thin, so easy to cross without ever realizing. Impulse feels the wind brush past his cheeks, his breath huffing as he stays still for just a minute. Between the broken windows and collapsed doors, he swears he can hear the voices of people long forgotten. The daily life of this village, long lost.

Impulse can’t help his curiosity. He needs to know more, about the people of this place and how it came to ruin. He feels it’s only fair. Most of the buildings are missing roofs, left to the devices of the elements. Plants have grown over what animals haven’t taken, reclaiming the village in nature’s name. Bringing life back to a town that was once dead. Impulse clambers into one building that still has most of it’s roof, though heavily charred. The forces of nature have been kept at bay more so in this room than the rest of the village.

It’s a library. Or, it was a library. Most of the books are gone, and the shelves have collapsed into blackened rubble. Impulse picks his way through, picking up whatever books remain. A recipe book, delicious and colorful meals making his stomach growl and ache. He hasn’t eaten in days. A manual on how to play some sort of tabletop game. Best played with three or more people.

One book does catch Impulse’s eye. It’s a thick tome, the leather binding and yellow pages charred by the fire that had swept through the library. Portals to Other Dimensions: 3rd Edition. Impulse raises an eyebrow, and carefully flips through the pages within. They nearly crumble at his touch, but he’s able to make sense of what he’s reading.

There may not be a way for him to get as far away from Hermitland in this dimension...but what about other dimensions? Or even other worlds? Anywhere is better than here. There’s nothing left for him here. The nether dimension is absolutely a no, but the book does mention something about another dimension. It’s vague, but something about a place full of lost things. Isn’t Impulse a lost thing?

He flips the page, but the paper disintegrates before he can read on how to get to this End dimension. The next page says something about stone and brick. Is that how he gets to the End? He can build a portal to a different dimension, just by scrounging up stone from the ruins of this city. He can escape to the End, far away from everything the Overworld and the nether has ever done to hurt him. Make a new life in this strange new dimension, no matter how harsh it is.

So Impulse begins to build. Tossing off his tattered buttonup, and tightening the bandage around his burns, he gathers stone and stone brick. He organizes the heavy material into an arrangement as close as he can mimic to what he hopes is the End portal. He doesn’t know what it looks like, but the book says that nether portals are six by nine meters of obsidian. If stone bricks have something to do with the end portal, then it’s reasonable for him to assume that it’ll be in a similar arrangement.

The sun sets on the ruined city and ruined boy, but Impulse doesn’t stop. His pace becomes feverish, to the point that he actually puts his broken clock to the side so he can work without worry of breaking it more. It sits next to the open book, catching the moonlight. Impulse refuses to stop. No amount of hunger, fatigue, or pain will stop him now. He’s run so far, but not far enough. There’s still a chance he could be found in the Overworld. He needs to go beyond.

Impulse scrambles up the lopsided portal frame, pushing his dirty, windswept hair out of his eyes as he places the keystone at the peak of the portal. One stone brick portal, which hopefully will take Impulse to the End. Impulse steps back, admiring his handiwork, and feeling his entire body screaming for him to stop. To rest, to eat, to heal.

But his fear, his paranoia tell him to keep going. He swears he can hear voices in the distant, whispering among the leaves of the trees. People are close, or at least he can swear they are. People who want to harm Impulse. He rushes to pull out his flint and steel, not even taking the time to test the striker before sparking the portal. The rift opening nearly throws him off his feet, red swirls and sparks drifting free of the portal frame.

He did it. He opened a portal. Hopefully, a portal to the End. Impulse grabs his clock, and steps up to the portal. In the distance of the birch forest, beyond the ever present eyes surrounding him, he can hear something howling. He doesn’t hesitate.

Impulse leaps through the portal. His mind and body feels distorted, like he’s going to throw up. Like everything and nothing is happening to him. He exists, yet he doesn’t. Every atom of his being colliding and condensing. Until he’s out the other side.

He stumbles forward, catching his weight on a sapling. But the young tree can’t handle the weight of the young man, and snaps. For the second time today, Impulse goes crashing to the dirt. But this time, he leaps back to his feet, ignoring the dirt and grass. His feet drag against the ground, body tired from running, low on energy. He’s running on empty, nearly burned out. Not enough to stop him from breaking his own portal.

Impulse rips the stone portal apart, rock after rock tossed in all directions around him. The frame collapses under its weight, severing the connection between the birch forest and wherever he is now. He doesn’t care- he’s gone, in a completely different place than Hermitland. Somewhere Xisuma can’t get him. Somewhere no one...not even his best friends...could ever find him. It’s all gone, all the bad. But so is all the good.

Days of running, without food and fighting through the painful cuts and bruises all over his body finally catches Impulse. He barely has enough forethought to step away from the rubble before his knees give out from under him.

He’s gone before his head hits the ground.

#edolas impulse #impulsesv #hermitcraft impulse #hermitcraft au #edolas au #edolas #dystopia au #dystopia hermits #second time's the charm?#i hope

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frunbuns · 4 years

Text

Why Would you do That?

Peter doesn’t make it home.

Read on Ao3

Miles doesn’t understand. Peter is an idiot. A whole big ass idiot. He shouldn’t have stayed. Why didn’t he go?

“Why did you do that?!”

Peter shrugs. He looks exhausted and worn out. He doesn’t seem scared. Not even after what Dock Ock had said at the Alchemax lab earlier. Miles can only imagine what it’s like to have the atoms in your body torn apart and stitched together like that. It looks very painful and he doesn’t envy the other spider-people.

“You’re so stupid, y'know!”

Peter chuckles. “Heard that before,” He says as he continues walking down the street. Miles following close behind.

“You should’ve just gone! I had it under controll!”

“What’s done is done, Miles. There’s no changing that!” Peter says, starting to sound slightly irritated.

Miles stops walking. “What about MJ?” He asks, causing Peter to stop abruptly. He visibly stiffens at the sound of MJ. “Didn’t you say wanted kids?”

Peter sighs, deflated, shoulders sagging. “It’s too late for that now.”

Miles swallows the urge to cry. “I don’t want you to die,” He says, voice cracking.

Peter turns around, and for the first time since they left the collider, he looks at Miles. He looks at him with sad eyes and a frown. “I’m sorry, kid,” He says as Miles wraps his arms around the older man. He hasn’t known Peter for long, but he’s grown quite attatched to him.

Peter pats his back as the teen sobs, soaking his suit in wet, salty tears.

“It’s okay.”

Miles embrace tightens.

Luckily there aren’t many people around right now. It is in the middle if the night, after all. He imagines this is quite a scene to witness.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Find somewhere quiet and out of the way and just wait, I guess.”

There’s a moment of silence as Miles thinks before he lets go of Peter and looks up at him. Bruised and beaten, but at the moment, very much alive. “We could go home to my place?” He suggests.

Peter grimaces. “What?”

“My mom probably won’t mind,” Miles says. “My dad might, but we can probably convince him–”

Peter sighs. “I can’t do that, Miles.”

“–and I don’t want you to be alone.”

Peter looks at him for a moment, dumbfounded. Miles sniffs quietly.

“Oh…”

Miles’ phone rings. He takes it out of the pocket in his suit. “Sorry, I have to pick this up. It’s my dad.”

—

“Mom?”

“Miles? Miles, how are you?”

Miles waves awkwatdly at his mother, stil clad in his Spider-man suit. “Hi,” He says, smiling innocently. “Has dad come home yet?” He asks.

Rio shakes her head. “No. Not yet. Why?”

“Do you think, uh, that my friend Peter can come in?” He asks, taking a step aside to let Peter into her field of vision. He’s also still wearing his suit.

Rio’s eyebrows furrow as Peter does a small wave at her. “Hello.”

She squints at him, studying his face until his body distorts into weird shapes and colors in front of her. Her eyes widen in shock, Peter’s moans of displeasure barely audible over the sound of the glitching. When it stops, Peter grips the railing as if he’s going to fall over, breathing shallowly.

Rio gapes for a second. “Of course, come in!” She says, carefully guiding the strange man into her home.

“That was unpleasant…” Peter mumbles as Rio closes the door.

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” She asks.

“He’s not from around here,” Miles says.

“What?”

“An alternate dimension,” Miles explains to her. “And he missed his ticket home so can he please just stay here for a while?”

Rio looks down at her son. At his smile, that she now sees is a sad, forced one.

“It’s okay, I can just go–”

“What is going on?” She asks, looking between the two of them.

“Peter–” Miles looks down at his feet before looking up at her again. “Peter is gonna die. And he’s going to be in a lot of pain, and I don’t want him to be alone. I promise I’ll explain everything and you can ground me until college, just please let him stay.”

Rio sighs, running a hand down her face. What a fucking shitshow these last few days have been.

“Peter,” She says. He perks up at the sound of his name being spoken. “Would you care for some tea? A cup coffee?”

“Coffee would be great,” He responds.

“Great. Follow me,” She says, leading them into the house. “I just have to call my husband.”

—

Miles’ mom, Peter thinks, is really nice. She reminds him of aunt May and her endless hospitality. God, he misses her.

“Oh mi,” She says, sighing. “I’m sorry.”

She looks at Miles understandingly. Peter feels bad for the kid. Just lost his uncle and has to deal with this shit.

“Unbelievable.”

Miles’ dad on the other hand, slightly, just slightly, terrifys him. He understandingly wasn’t very happy about finding Spider-Man, who’s supposed to be dead, in his home. He had however been kind kind after they had managed to explain the situation.

“Yeah,” Miles, who bad changed into a set of normal clothes, suit hung over the back of a chair, says, staring into his cup of tea. “It’s been a rough couple of days to say the least.”

Peter still wore his. He doesn’t have any change. Not that it really matters anyway. He’s not going to need it soon.

Peter chuckles, dryly, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You could say that.”

Jefferson chuckles too, but there isn’t really anything funny about it. They all know that. He supposes that’s what they have in common.

“How,” Jefferson hesitate for a moment. Unsure of how to ask. “How long do you have left?”

Peter shrugs. “I don’t know. Can’t be too long now.”

Suddenly, Peter gasps as sharp pain takes over his whole body. The others can only watch in horror. He manages to knock over his cup in the process, lukewarm coffee spilling onto the table. Miraculously nothing gets on his suit. He grips the table and the back of his chair as he blinks. He swears it gets worse every time.

Miles’ hands hower over him, unsure of what he can do for him. “Are you okay?”

He takes a couple of steadying breaths, willing his heart to slow its rapid beating. Rio rushes to get something to clean up the mess with.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, Peter. It’s not your fault.”

Rio finishes whiping the table and throws the coffee stained paper towels in the trash.

“Would you maybe like to lay down, Peter?” She asks, sounding concerned.

Peter nods. Normally he wouldn’t just accept an offer like that. Escpecially not from people he didn’t know, but he really feels like shit right now and there’s nothing more he’d like.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

He gets up on shaky legs and slowly makes his way into the livingroom, towards the couch, Miles holding a comforting hand on his back.

Peter doesn’t deserve this. He really doesn’t. Miles’ family have been way too kind to him and they don’t even know him. Miles will become a great Spider-Man, he’s sure.

If that’s the one good thing he leaves behind he’s happy with it. Miles will be in good hands with May, his parents and the other spider-people if they ever figure out how to travel between the dimensions. He just wishes he could be around to witness it. Even if he hasn’t been the best teacher.

“You’ve all been too kind to be,"Peter says. "Really–”

“Nonsense, you saved our lives. This is the least we could do for you.”

“I apreciate the gesture. I–”

Miles yelps as Peter crumbles to the ground, wondering if it really can get worse than this. Can’t it just kill him now instead of prolonging his suffering like this. Better to just get it done with, right?

“Peter!”

“I think–” Peter lays there for a while, wheezing. “I think I’m just gonna lay here for a while if you don’t mind.”

And Peter does stay on the floor for the rest of the night. They stay up with him. Keeping him company as the glitching gets progressivly worse, catching him off guard each time and reducing him to a near whimpering mess.

What’s dignity when you’re literally dying anyway?

He’s learned quite a bit about the family. Rio works at a hospital. Where, he can’t remember, but it’s somewhere in Brooklyn. Jefferson works in the NYPD. Or PDNY as it’s called in this dimension. And Miles likes doing street-art, but he’s not really allowed.

In turn, Peter has told them his entire life story. From his parents, Ben, getting his powers, MJ, villains he’s fought and he might’ve even mentioned Flash at some point.

Might as well, right?

It’s not until the wee hours of the morning that it finally happens. Peter’s not sure what the time is, but he’s pretty sure the sun is about to come up. He feels bad for keeping them up like this.

It starts small, lile a small zap, and he thinks that’s it, but then it comes back, stronger and longer until it’s going full force. All he sees and feels is white hot pain. It’s worse than anything he’s ever experienced, and he broke his back once. He’s vaugely aware of his high pitched screaming.

He hopes MJ is doing okay at least. She deserves nothing but the best. Hopefully she won’t miss him.

Miles turns away, face hidden in the fabric of his mother’s clothes, squeezing his eyes shut. She holds him tight.

And then it stops. But Peter isn’t there anymore. Like he was never there. Leaving the family to mourn a hero that this dimension never knew they had and a hero who’s dimension will never see him again.

“I love you! I’m so proud of you!”

It gets eerily quiet then. Miles clutches the fabric of Rio’s shirt, sobbing loudly.

“Wait, do I want kids?”

It just wasn’t fair. Peter didn’t deserve that. He was supposed to go home to his dimension and finally start taking care of himself. Then he’d talk to MJ and they’d get back together and have kids. Or something like that. Miles liked to imagine so at least.

What was he going to say to the others if he ever got to meet them again? Surely that would happen. Peni is from the future and she’s like crazy smart. If none of the others did she definitley would.

Miles doesn’t to to school that day. His parents also stay home and they spend the entire day mostly just sleeping. He doesn’t feel like doing anything else.

#mine #fics #my fics #marvel #peter b parker #rio morales #jefferson davis #into the spider verse #spiderman #spiderman into the verse #miles Morales & Peter b Parker

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lovehugsandcandy · 4 years

Text

King-Sized Bed: Part 2 (n*fw, Colt x MC)

A/N: Happy Birthday, Des @desireepow-1986 If Ellie saves Colt from his nightmares, you know he does the same for her.

Length: ~1250 words

Rating: N*FW (Swearing. Nightmares. Sex.)

She awakens with a gasp, chest heaving, and sits up, frantic, parched throat choking around smoky that won’t make its way into her lungs.

“El?” The voice comes from her left, more sleepy slur than actual speech, but a sob leaves her mouth regardless as she lunges, somewhere between diving and collapsing, to land on top of him. Her arms grab hold, hard, nails digging into his bare sides as her nose burrows into his neck, rough and desperate. She would heed the quiet gasp of pain if she didn’t need him close as humanly possible.

“Ellie?” He sounds more awake now, confused but clear. She still can’t answer. She’s shaking, can hear her teeth clattering and feel her bones knocking against his, but she can’t stop the tremors. The air that is entering her lungs is still acrid, smoke and gasoline still burning the inside of her nose, the back of her throat, even as she tries to take heaping breaths at the skin between his neck and shoulder, right where leather and sandalwood and deep comfort usually reside.

“Ellie? Ellie, what is it?” Alarm is seeping into his voice. His fingers dig rough indents on her hips, up her spine, moving her hair from her face as if to check for injuries. Unfortunately, the wounds they both have are invisible, pain not merely lingering on the surface but instead reaching its twisted fingers dark and deep through thoughts and brain and soul until they take on a life of their own, a dark mass come alive inside twisted dreams.

She can barely get the words out. “Nightmare. It was...a nightmare.” She tries to sniff back the tears, but they both know it’s not working as they flow from her eyes onto his skin.

His hands pause, touching away the wetness on her cheek, and he jostles her so he can try to peer into her face. “What happened?” His hands swiftly move to her back, sweeping down and up, as far as he can reach, as if calming a skittish animal.

“You-” Her voice breaks and she can’t even finish the sentence, instead pulling him even closer. It has to hurt, the strength with which her arms surround his bare chest so she can force every single atom to collide. It’s physically impossible for two beings to share the exact same space, but he responds in turn, arms looping around her just as hard, holding her so tightly that she cannot fully inflate her lungs. It’s better, shallow breaths moist on his skin, her ear pressed against him so tightly that his heart beat is thundering in her ear, steady and solid and present; she counts the pulses, every thump a reminder that he is there, next to her, and suddenly she wants him even closer.

Her fingers are rough as she reaches down, pushing his boxers out of the way so her fingers can circle his cock; he hisses at the first contact but it only takes a few strokes before he is hardening, twitching in her palm as the heartbeat by her ear speeds up, moan caught in the back of his throat. She shoves down her pants, expediency requiring she only pull one leg free, and then she is moving, hips catching him where she is wet and wanting, and then he truly is as close as he can be.

There’s nothing between them as she takes him deeper, hips rolling and forcing his cock further inside, almost to the point of wincing. She bites her lip between her teeth and a rush of iron slides over her tongue; this is not gentle. It is harsh, demanding, every swivel of her hips slamming into his as he pushes the air from her lungs; he is alive, every inch of him, and she needs to feel him inside her more than she needs the stale breath in her lungs.

Her breath catches as his finger finds her clit. He moves quickly, rough, just shy of too hard but she welcomes the jolt of pleasure and pain, twining together and winding their way up her spine, waking her up even more, and reminding her that he’s alive, they’re both alive, hidden away in this bed, flesh joined in a desperate celebration of life.

Her orgasm takes her by surprise. She didn’t think she could come, not tonight, only wanted him inside her, but Colt has always drawn bliss from her, an expert at the precise motion needed to push her over the edge. Her mouth falls open as she shakes, can feel her walls tightening rhythmically around his cock as her vision whites out and she collapses onto his chest. She can dimly sense him thrust, her nerves still firing in pleasure, and she feels rather than hears his moan, deep vibrations under her, his fingertips dragging her hip bones down to meet his.

His heart is racing under her cheek, and his skin is salt slick as he wraps his arms around her waist, lips nuzzling her hair, her temple. She shudders as he slips out of her, but she doesn’t move, even as the wetness flows out of her body, onto her thighs and the sheets below them. He only pulls her closer, hands sliding across her shoulders.

“Ellie?” he whispers low in her ear. “What happened?”

The tears start anew as her stomach clenches, remembering the dream. It was terrifying, even more vivid since it was a combination of fear and memory, her subconscious warping the worst night of her life into something even more terrifying. “You…” She swipes at her face but can’t stop the tears. “It was the night if the vault and the bridge but...but it was you, instead of your dad, it was you driving the car and-” The noise that comes out is choking, cracking, voice positively fractured and she can still see Colt behind the wheel of the Aylesbury, can still hear her frantic screams as he explodes into flame in front of her, can still feel her feet pounding on the pavement as she races towards the blaze. She has to blink her eyes open to somehow stop the horror from re-looping over and over on endless repeat behind her eyelids. However, the room is so dark that phantom flames start anew in the dark corner; she whimpers.

He jerks, turning and spinning her; the room shifts and she is on her side, his eyes dark on hers as pull the blanket behind her. Ensconced in a cocooned in warmth, the tremors slow. He stares into her eyes. “That didn’t happen. That won’t happen.” His voice is hard, sure, his future prediction as factual as if he is stating the date, the weather, an inherent truth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can. I’m not going down like that.” His eyes are ablaze, reminding her of her nightmare, reminding her of before, when she told him he was gonna burn himself down one day. She doesn’t know if that was a portent, if her dream was a premonition, but she knows that, if he burns, she will as well, willingly, will follow him through the flames to the other side. “I’m not leaving you.”

She nods, tears in her eyes, reaching up to twine her fingers in his, where they have graced her cheek. Her breathing is settling, her heart rate starting to fall, and she knows that, if there is fire, they will get through it together.

#n*fw #tw: nightmares #hbd des #amy writes

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pigeontheoneandonly · 5 years

Text

Home

Shepard wakes up in a hospital alone.

* * *

In all nearly a hundred ships are unaccounted. Her voice grows feebler as years go by with no contact, no sign, no return. He’s alive, she insists, believing she’d know, somehow, if he were not.

Her mother tells her to let it go. He’s just a man. She lived, and she’s wasting her life away.

* * *

She sits in a studio on the tenth anniversary of Liberation Day and answers the same tedious questions as all the years before. She tries to avoid blurting out that this is also her anniversary, in a way, by sheer coincidence also fourteen years to the day since she arrived at her X.O. post under Anderson and met the crew. She remembers that first sight of him— quiet, a little too serious for six in the morning and much too handsome for a marine, and her heart crumbles to nothing as it’s overlaid by that last glance, bloody, bruised, as their friends hauled him back aboard the ship. Away from her.

At the end, the reporter asks, “You’ve been on Earth a decade now. Is it starting to feel like home?”

Home was a small room on a smaller ship with Kaidan in bed beside her. She smiles blithely and makes some trite excuse for how obviously uneasy she is, even after all this time.

* * *

Three months later, a whisper. A rumor. A dream. A merchant freighter logged an anomalous signal in the Traverse. They thought it was a turian signal, they said, but it proved to be forged. And if that isn’t exactly the kind of hallmark Joker would use in unknown, possibly dangerous space, she didn’t know what was.

Eight months of pleas and threats fall on deaf ears. The galaxy is still in chaos. People still go without food, there’s not enough ships as it is to hold off the pirates, and nobody has time or fuel to waste chasing the long dead.

Then an unexpected offer. Shala’Raan, at her office, haunted by ghosts of her own. “I need to know,” she says. “I can give you a ship.”

* * *

Volunteers only. The ship is sparsely crewed. The search is tedious, and risky. A great adventure, and she knows that one way or the other, it will be her last.

Twice they nearly turn back.

Then they hear it. The barest thread of a distress call, almost too faint for the VI to distill from the noise. They find the planet.

They find the ship.

She watches the wreckage on the scanner, dumbfounded, unable to comprehend life signs present. It is too much to hope. Her heart is in her throat. For the first time, doubts come. What if he’s angry, the long wait turned to bitterness? What if he gave up on them? He’s done it before, after all. What if he forgot the feel of her mouth or the whispers they spoke together, too afraid to raise their voices lest those dreams be given too much life— enough life to kill?

What if he didn’t survive?

She’s never believed in god, not really, but that one thought chases all the others out. Her eyes squeeze shut and she pleads with every atom of her body to let him be alive, he can hate her if he likes, just let her see him when they land…

And then they set down in the grass, lightly as bird, and she tumbles out the hatch. The camp is in an uproar. People crying, hugging— people sitting on the ground and burying heads in hands. People shouting and laughing, barely able to hear each other, not even caring who knows who from one ship to the next. But she barely registers any of it. Her eyes sweep the crowd but she can’t find his face. A kernel of panic in her stomach, the beginnings of a nightmare.

Somebody engulfs her in a bone-crushing hug and sets her down again. James. He’s saying something, cursing, grinning so wide his face should split in two. But then he finally looks at her, really looks, and the fear is all too plain. He points off to the woods.

“He’s out checking traps,” he says. “We radioed the team to come in.”

And then she hugs him back, fiercely, gratefully, a pressure not unlike tears building up behind her eyes but she can’t even speak, much less sob. Twenty tense minutes pass pacing by the ship, running her hands over her arms, rubbing her palm over the hull, impatient and desperate and strangely anxious, until at last a figure breaks through the tree line. Her head jerks up. Her body goes still.

It should be too far for their eyes to meet, but somehow they find each other. A surge of electricity rushes through her and grounds itself in the earth. She can’t command her own legs.

He screams her name— her real name, the one she was called by as a child, before she somehow got too big for a first name, more an idea best expressed by a title than a human being— he screams it, this man who is so reserved it’s a standing joke. And her knees unlock and she runs toward him, vision too blurry to place her footfalls, drawn onward by the sound of his voice.

They collide in a tangle of limbs and curses and tears and fall into the grass together. Not once in eleven years has she cried but now she’s crying so hard she can’t breathe, all ugly hiccups and oceans of snot and half-formed words emerging from her mouth as unintelligible grunts. He’s softer, her hands too wet to tell his tears from her own, but he kisses her like he can’t stop, cheek forehead mouth hair, over and over, a litany of touch, and his arms are so tight that she can hardly shake even though all of her is trying. Several times she tries to stop, pull back and control herself, and every time she sees his face and it starts all over again.

Minutes or hours or, hell, weeks later, she has no way to tell, she finally composes herself enough to speak, and even as her brain sends the impulse to her lips, it hasn’t decided: I love you, or I missed you, or something joking to ease the tension— but what comes out is, “You’re here!”

He chuckles, and rests his forehead against hers, holding her face between his hands like a relic of a lost age. “I hope so. The only place I’ve ever wanted to be is where you are.”

They sit like that, just a few minutes more, before she hauls him to his feet and they walk slowly back to camp, leaning in on each other. He limps now. Chakwas never could convince his leg to heal right after that final battle. But he gets by, he says. She tucks her arm under him anyway, taking some of his weight, happy to do this small thing. Happy that for the first time in so long, she can take care of him in even the slightest of ways.

There’s a fire, and food, and celebrating— and drinking, and grief, because even for those who survived there is intangible, pervasive loss. Of time, of friends, of the parts of yourself you thought were true until you spent eleven years doing anything to survive.

For their part, despite some good-natured ribbing from friends old and new alike, they’re in their own world. They talk all night. Fingertips trace the gray strands in his hair and the lines at her eyes. She tells him she took his mom on a shuttle tour, to see space, and he tells her how he fed her fish every single day. They started passing away of old age the last few years, but there’s still one left, her first, her favorite, and he swears it refuses to die until it sees her again. All these things shared wordlessly over their long separation, things done to build hope, to stay connected, to hold on to each other across a vast and gaping silence, small acts strong enough bridge ten thousand light years and one broken radio.

And it’s not becoming whole again. It’s coming home.

#f!shepard #kaidan alenko #Fshenko #post-ME3 #mass effect #is it cheating to repost something i've had on ffn for years #doing it anyway because i'm going to be too busy to write for a few days #fanfic #pigeon writes

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leoswritingcorner · 4 years

Text

lucky’s yj-verse debut. ft the dream team (brennan, kendra, garth) coming to her rescue. this got long but!!

October 29th, 2013 9:30 AM Location Unknown

“Good morning, Ms. Day.”

Lucky looks at the speaker. Someone different from yesterday. It had been a middle aged white man then. He had been very stern, and kept his questions clipped. Today, it’s a younger woman, again white, but much more pleasant. The room is the same; small, off white and empty save for a mirror, the table and two chairs. Lucky doesn’t answer her right away and turns her eyes to the voice recorder on the table. Her throat is dry as she answers, not daring to raise her voice above a whisper. “Good mornin’.”

The woman smiles. “How are you feeling today?”

“Tired.” Lucky responds, making a show of rubbing a hand over her face. She rests her elbow on the chair, and looks to the woman through her fingers. “I’d like to go home.”

“I’d imagine you do. Your family does miss you.” The woman says feelingly, as she begins to write on a notepad. There’s a sympathetic tone in her voice, but it does not reach her eyes. It makes Lucky want to shudder. Was she even telling the truth? Were any of these people being honest?

The scratches of the pen against the paper begins to irritate Lucky. “Do they?” She asks, sitting up straight.

“Do they what?” The woman asks back, not bothering to look up from her work. That made a flash of anger heat up Lucky’s skin. A soft jolt sparks between her knuckles as she clenches her fists.

“Ya just said that my family misses me.” Lucky responds exasperated. “Do...do they even know that I’m here?” She gives the woman a steady look.

The woman gives Lucky a smile that again does not reach her eyes. “Ms. Day, I assure you that-”

“Don’t lie!” Lucky cuts off, there’s a surge of energy that flies through her veins, and it almost feels unworldly. She doesn’t notice the woman’s eyes widening, or glancing at the mirror “Don’t…” She trails off, sighing shakily. The surge is gone. Lucky’s body tilts forward as she rests her elbows on the table, her hands coming to cover her face. “Please, can I just go home already?”

“I’m sorry. That is just not possible.” The woman shakes her head and watches Lucky closely. “You need to tell us-”

“What happened that night.” Lucky finishes. She wipes her eyes clean of the forming tears. “I’ve told the same thing to the others before ya and I tell ya as well...I don’t know.”

The woman’s smile falters. “Ms. Day.” She says, taking a breath. “We are here to help you. If you’d like to leave here, we need answers.” The pleasantness in her voice began to chip away.

A chill comes over the room. Lucky swallows and slowly clears her throat “I was stargazin’” She starts.

“Why?”

“Cause I like to and I wanna be an astronomer.” Lucky shakes her head with a shrug. It was the same old back and forth bit she went through ever since she got here. She remembers being wheeled out, still in a haze from the newest medicine the doctor had given her. When she woke up, here she was….wherever this place was, and whatever it was.

The people had been nice enough, helping her to get back on her feet steadily. Lucky was surprised to not have any left over scarring or open wounds. They never did answer her about that. But it was day in a day out of tests, questions, the same thing over and over.

“Then what happened?” The woman’s voice cuts in through her thoughts.

Lucky sits back. “A meteor hit. About,” she sways her hand side to side in thought “100 feet away. I was runnin’, from it and then I wasn’t. That’s all I know. That’s all I remember.”

“Did you see how big it was. What color was it?” The woman begins to inquire more urgently.

“I was runnin’ for my life.” Lucky shrugs. “I didn’t get too good of a look.”

The woman scoffs, writing more forcibly. “I see you’re just here to waste my time.” She says in a curt tone. Gone was all the friendly features to her. She even began to look like a stone. Lucky breathes out stunned.

“Your time?” Lucky says quietly. “Wastin’ your time?!” She stands, the chair falling over. “You’re the ones who brought me here. Where the hell am I anyway, and who are all of you?!” She demands.

“Until you accept our help, we will not allow you any information. Your family better get used to missing you.” The woman says lowly. This time, her cold smile reached her eyes.

Something snaps and Lucky feels the surge come over her once more. It crackles through her veins and a force pulses through her body. In a blinding hot light there’s a hole in the wall. Not too far from the woman’s head.

The woman shakes as she stands and frantically bangs at the door.

Lucky barely has time to react before a swarm of men come in and surround her. The surge pulses again as she screams. The men fly back from her from the burst of light, their bodies crash against the walls. She whips around and freezes at the sight of herself in the mirror.

Her body was covered in a mixing light of blue and silver. Her eyes completely glossed over, she swears she sees a whole galaxy within them. It was then that she noticed how her body floated over the floor. “What...what did y’all do to me?” She asks her voice hitching. She touches her hair where her brown curls were now atomic blue. “What did ya do?!” She yells, veering on the woman. The surge begins to crackle again and Lucky lifts her hand.

The woman screams. A stinging pain comes against Lucky’s neck, and everything goes black.

October 29th, 2013 5:00 PM Location: Mount Justice

Kendra flips through the file again and studies the picture of the young woman. Lucky Siddalee Day. Missing. Poor thing. Being kidnapped was never fun. Especially being kidnapped by some super secret, super evil government agency.

“Most likely obsolete and banned.” Brennan says out loud as if reading her thoughts. He points to a part in the copy of his file. “Started up again without real government consent or knowledge.”

Kendra nods. “Nightwing says we just need to go in, grab her, get out. Why do I have the feeling that’s easier said than done?”

Garth is the next to speak up. “When has any of these missions been easy?” He counters with a small smile. “Especially if Nightwing says so.”

“Let’s just get this done. We’ll plan our strategy on the way there.” Brennan mumbles, tossing the file down. He stands up and heads towards the hanger, not bothering to wait for his teammates. Kendra sighs, pulling her hair forward then pushing it back over her shoulder.

Garth rolls his eyes. “Guess he’s in charge.” He mumbles sardonically. Kendra watches Brennan’s back before following along with Garth.

October 30th, 2013 12:30 AM Location Unknown

“We can’t keep this up.” “She’s dangerous.” “If we are going to use her, she needs to be on our side. Completely.” “You know what needs to be done. Make her a soldier. One that obeys.”

Lucky hisses in pain as she opens her eyes. There’s a dull pain in her head that seems to throb with every breath she took. It’s dark. How long has she been out? What did they do to her? A gasp leaves her when she finds her hands strapped tightly to the arms of a metal chair.

“No. No! Hey!” Lucky rasps out, wincing at her sore throat. “Let me go!”

No one answers.

A shutter of film startles her. The light of a projector fills the room. Lucky tries to steady her breathing as she hears an eerie sound play. Echoes of strings being pulled begins to vibrate around the room and in her ears. Lucky whimpers before crying out in pain. Her arms shake as she tries in vain to lift her hands to block away the noise.

The noise grows louder till it sounds like shrill ringing. She can vaguely hear the counting of numbers through it all.

‘3 1 5 4 5 6 5 3 5 9’

“Stop…” Lucky pleads, tears coming to her eyes. Her mind slowly begins to fade. “Why are ya doin’ this?”

A static voice over the speakers speaks back finally. “Are you going to be a good little soldier?”

“Wh-what?” Lucky looks around. “I’m not a soldier. I never-” She cringes as the numbers being called grows louder.

‘8, 1, 5, 4, 5, 6, 5, 9’

“Are you going to be a good little soldier?” The voice demands. Lucky trembles, breathing deeply. Again she feels her anger build into a wave, pulsing through her body. That familiar crackle of energy begins to charge...

A loud crash rocks the building.

“Comet!” Kendra whispers frantically over the comm. “Dude, what the hell?!”

Brennan doesn’t answer her, but she can hear grunts and punches being thrown. There’s a gunshot or two. Garth’s voice comes up instead. “Do you think they noticed us?” He asks dryly.

Kendra puts her hands on her hips. From the shadows of the forest, she looks at the giant hole in the building that Brennan made. “Nah, not at all.” She replies just as sarcastically. She rubs her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “Do you need me to come in?”

Inside, Garth dodges another punch swung at him and knocks the guard out. “Only if you don’t want to miss all the fun.” He replies. “We should be close to finding her.” He adds, looking around. Before he could speak again, a winded grunt leaves him as Brennan’s body collides against him. The two heroes topple over, and instantly, are surrounded.

The sounds of guns clicking fill their ears and Brennan narrows his eyes. Garth sees the spark of energy growing in his arm and hand. It’s one of the unlucky guards who stood by too closely who gets the worst of it. His body goes sailing through the air like a ragdoll, slamming into the others. Brennan is on his feet again, back into the fight with full force. Garth takes the chance to slip away and search through the rooms.

Another blast shakes the building. Harder this time. Through the wreckage Garth sees a glare of light coming down the hall. “Silhouette, be ready. I think this place is about to come down.” He warns over the comm. His steps are quick but careful. Guards and various workers scramble by him to evacuate. Finally, he reaches the room and pauses.

Lucky faces him and the light coming from her vanishes as her body falls to the floor. Garth hisses a few swears in Atlantean as he rushes over. He’s careful to lift her in his arms. Lucky’s head rolls against his chest. “Comet!” He calls out. “I’ve got her, we need to get out!”

Brennan is there within seconds, he moves forward and raises his fist. Another charge of energy comes through his arm as he slams his fist against the wall. A clear opening opening breaks through. “Right through here.” Brennan nods his head towards the hole. Garth doesn’t bother to give him an exasperated look. Without another moment to waste, they run through.

Kendra meets them halfway as they run back for their transport. “Is that her?” She asks, glancing at Lucky in Garth’s arm. “Why do you think they took her?”

“Let’s not stick around to find out.” Garth says as they reach the transport.

Lucky remains out cold. The light from her skin is gone, her hair normal once again. But a few zaps of light jumps between her fingers. All she sees in her unconsciousness is stars, and eyes purple like the twilight sky.

#lucky day yj verse #brennan o'challaghn #kendra ohanzee #i am...not good at writing action??#i feel like this got wordy i am SO sorry #hgngfh #did u...see the hint at the ship (eyes emoji)#ffsgsfsfs

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aidenzhous · 5 years

Text

with you. (ajay x mc)

pairing: ajay x f!mc (cas rhodes).

word count: 1.3k

genre: fluff.

summary: cas can’t quite focus on the movie with ajay right there.

tag list: let me know if u wanna be added !!

Cas distracts herself with a blanket fort. It’s all familiar routine underneath her hands—bring the chairs here, drape the blankets there, stack the pillows so it’s comfortable wherever you lie. She does her best to ignore the way her heart thuds against her chest like a hummingbird in a cage, does her best to ignore the tremor in her hands if she leaves them still for too long.

She’s just nervous.

Ajay has that kind of effect on her.

The doorbell rings as she sets a pillow down. It makes her jump, a burst of energy that spills forth as she crawls out of the fort and runs to the door before slowing down. Cas takes a moment to smooth down her hair, takes a deep breath that she lets out in a slow rush before she pulls open the door.

“Hey!” she says, stepping aside. “You’re just in time—I finished building the blanket fort!”

Ajay laughs. It’s a sound she tries to commit to memory. “Blanket fort?” he asks. His hands are holding a bag weighed down with snacks. Cas spots one of her favorites in the pile and tries not to smile. “I didn’t realize we were in kindergarten.”

“Blanket forts are enjoyed by all ages,” she argues before taking his hand and tugging him inside. She nudges the front door shut with her foot. “They’re cool. You’re just mean.”

“Mean or mature?”

“Both.”

They share a laugh as she takes him to the living room, dropping his hand to gesture extravagantly at the blanket fort she’s built. It’s a large space turned cozy, and she whirls around with eyes hopeful. “So?” she asks. “What do you think? Good enough for movies?”

The kiss to her forehead is unexpected but welcome. It brings a blush to her cheeks that she tries to cool by pressing her palms against her face, and she tries not to focus too hard on the warmth left behind. She doesn’t want to get swept up in a daydream, not when she has the real thing right in front of her.

“I think it’s great,” Ajay says, and his eyes are so soft around the edges when he looks at her. The moment stretches, long and unbroken—just two people on the cliff’s edge, waiting for the jump. Ajay breaks it with a laugh that sounds awkward around the edges. “So, movie, right? I brought some snacks.”

“Oh, yeah.” Cas blinks, pulls her gaze away from his and skips over to the fort. She takes to a corner and Ajay settles beside her like the space was made for him all along. She supposes, in a sense, that it was. “Into the Spider-verse, right? I have it set up right here.”

Cas starts the movie, and Ajay wordlessly hands over her favorite snack. They lapse into a hush, but she’s distracted. Ajay is close—enough that she can feel all the points where they’re touching and all the empty spaces where they’re not. She feels like she’s on thin ice, one move away from falling into unexplored waters.

Ajay’s hand brushes against hers as he reaches to sneak an unauthorized handful of her chips. Retaliations wilt on her tongue and she forces herself to focus on the movie. Don’t pay attention to the livewire sensations, don’t pay attention to Ajay.

She lasts fifteen minutes before her head starts wandering again.

Ajay smells like soap; clean, with a hint of something floral. He smells like home, if home were a person and not a box with a roof. She goes from smells to sight, eyes drifting from the small screen of her laptop to the boy sitting next to her in a blanket fort she built from the foundations of distraction.

Cas notes down several things; his eyes crinkle when something is funny, anything really funny is rewarded with a laugh that sounds more song than it does anything else (but sometimes, it’ll just be a quiet little huff, joy-tinged before he quiets), his brows will knit together when the characters are struggling—like he’s empathizing with them while also keeping his own notes for later.

Then, unexpectedly, Ajay’s looking at Cas, and her eyes widen before she snaps to look somewhere else.

“Is the movie playing on my face?” he asks.

“Nope, I was just looking at”—she gestures to the fort around them—”the design of the blankets. Aren’t they great? My mom got them as a… Present.”

And Ajay laughs, the youth of it tracing every sound. He shakes his head, disbelief in his smile as he says, “The blankets are great, but you paying attention to this movie would be better.” His arm easily loops around Cas’s shoulder, and in a bold move she’s sure to regret, Cas scoots closer so the empty spaces between them are filled. She lets her head rest against his shoulder and feels his breath stutter in his chest—a pause-play motion that her own heart copies.

Cas gives the rest of the movie her partial attention. She goes between concentrating on the rise and fall of Ajay’s chest to watching the vivid scenes before her and the credits start rolling before she knows it. She realizes with a soft, startling intensity, that their pinkies are linked together, warm where they touch.

“Were you even watching the movie?” Ajay asks, and Cas sits up. She gives him a confident look.

“Of course I was,” she says. “Totally focused on it, one hundred percent.”

“Oh yeah? Then what happened in the end?”

“Uh.” Cas pauses, searching her memories. “The good guys won?”

Ajay rolls his eyes, but his smile is kind-hearted. “You’re not wrong, but it’s too vague. Be more specific, act out how it made you feel.”

“Or we could just watch a different movie,” she suggests. “And I can ask you how it ends.”

Ajay’s arms find their way around her waist, pulling her close. He presses a kiss to her hair and she laughs, squirming in his grip. He responds by tugging her down and somehow—in a second—he has her on her back, and Ajay’s hovering over her with a smile that looks cosmic.

“Or we could just hang out in this fort.” Ajay’s eyes look to the side before he says, “You did take the time to build it.”

“I mean, it’s a pretty great blanket fort,” she says. Ajay looks to her. “We could wage wars from here.”

“I was thinking of something along the lines of this,” Ajay says, and he sweeps her up in a kiss. “You did spend a whole movie looking at me.”

“It’s because you’re very, very cute,” Cas replies. “No other reason, I swear on it.”

Ajay’s still smiling when he presses his lips to hers again, and his laugh is sweet when he pulls away. “You’re a mess, Cas.”

“Okay, says the one who started crushing on me three seconds after we had one conversation.”

Ajay shrugs. “Do you want me to bring up how you held my hand in the art gallery?”

“You held mine during the dance!” Cas retaliates, and her laugh is dubiety and adoration. “I see you, villain! I see your plots!”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Ajay says, and before Cas can retort, he kisses her again. Longer, this time. The seconds stretch into minutes, broken up with interludes for lungfuls of breath and shared smiles. His lips are warm against hers, tasting slightly like salt from the chips they had earlier. Easily, her hands find their way into his hair, twirling strands around her fingers.

It’s too easy to lose herself in the moment. Ajay’s arms bracket her head and he dips down to kiss her deeply and insistently and every now and then they’ll part and laugh (or giggle, in Cas’s case) before they’ll kiss again, lips slotted together in a way that’s become familiar.

When Ajay pulls away, his figure is haloed by the setting sun—liquid gold blurred around the edges. She tugs him close so their atoms can collide and feels her home shrink; it goes from being a box with a roof to a blanket fort with a boy she would chase the stars for.

Ajay, she realizes with a smile, has always been home.

#playchoices #hssca #hssca ajay #ajay x mc #fics.#me tryin 2 get a grasp on how to write ajay nd struggling: love that for me babey !#also uH NOT PROOFREAD it just b like that somtimes #also u kNo what this is just . me as a writer ramblingngjshjejJHSJHSJK

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meowloudly15 · 5 years

Text

Stranded: Day 8 - RELATIVE CHAOS

First | Previous | Next

Gwen, Mrs. Parker, and the rest of the spiders sat around the kitchen table, finishing off their pulled pork sandwiches. (Strangely, Ham didn’t have a problem with eating them.)

“Do you guys have any good stories from your time in the field?” asked Mrs. Parker.

“Oh, I got some!” Gwen brightened up. “You wanna hear a funny one or a cool one?”

“Either or,” said Ham.

“All right, so this happened like a year and a half ago. I was fighting this one guy who was basically an animal trafficker, and he’s super fast and strong and stuff. I won, but it was a tough fight, and he cut me across the face right here.” Gwen drew an invisible line across her forehead. “So, I went back home, and I’m back in my room, and I’ve gotten ready for bed and stuff, and I figured, I’ve gotta clean up this cut. So I headed to the bathroom and ran into my dad. He looked at me funny and asked, ‘What did you do to yourself?’ I panicked and said, ‘It’s ketchup!’”

Peni laughed. Peter B. and Mrs. Parker both cracked a smile. Noir remained as impassive as ever. Ham had vanished for no apparent reason.

Gwen chuckled to herself. “Yeah, I suck at cover stories.”

Peter B. commented, “You sure do. May, did your Peter do anything stupid? Or was he just too perfect for mistakes?”

Mrs. Parker chuckled. “Oh, not at all! Everybody makes mistakes! I’ll tell you how I found out about his secret identity. He was a senior in high school, and I was out of town on business for Alchemax.”

“Wait, you work for Alchemax? The place where they built the collider?” asked Noir.

“Used to. I quit because first of all, I found out that they were battling my nephew, and also because this upstart, Liv, decided she’d try and take over my position. She could have it, for all I cared.” Mrs. Parker rolled her eyes.

“Back to the point. I ended up coming home a day early, and I called Peter to tell him that the business trip had been terminated early. He didn’t pick up. I walked back into the house and saw Peter, sitting on the ceiling of the kitchen in his underwear, halfway through a bowl of mac and cheese. We both screamed.”

Everybody at the table cracked up, even Noir.

ATOMIC DISJUNCTION

Gwen spazzed out and fell through her chair. Noir yanked the chair out of her before her atoms rejoined.

“Thanks, Noir.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Ham poked his head out of the head of the faucet and said, “You have some wonderful storm drains, May, I gotta say. I just had to take a second look.” He pulled the rest of his body out and sat on the counter next to the cookie jar.

Everybody else exchanged concerned glances.

“So, what do you all do for work?” asked Ham.

Noir raised his hand. “I’m a dick.”

Mrs. Parker grimaced, trying to disguise a laugh. Peter B. instinctively covered Peni’s ears. She reached up and removed his hands, saying, “I’ve heard worse.”

Noir cocked his head to the side. “What’s the problem? I’m a dick! You know, a gumshoe? Is something wrong with that?”

Peni and Gwen exchanged confused yet amused looks.

“Oh, for Chrissake, I mean I’m a private eye! Why, what’s-”

“Don’t ask,” said Peter B., cutting him off.

Ham peered over the edge of the ceiling-mounted lamp. “You can cuss in this dimension?”

“No, Peni’s-” Peter B. started to say.

Peni cut him off with an eager grin. “Yes.”

“You guys are so lucky! I can’t cuss! I can only say symbols!”

“You wh-” began Noir.

“#%€@&%¢*§¿&%!” yelled Ham.

The table went silent. Peter B. instinctively covered Peni’s ears. Gwen tried to figure out how he had managed to say those symbols out loud.

Ham continued, “¢*§¿! ¶@~€! +¶¶@+€!”

Mrs. Parker said, “Okay, enough of that.”

“But I’m not actually cussing!”

“Yes, but you’re using a cipher. And you have the intent to swear.”

Under his breath, Ham muttered, “>%ππ+##~€.” He vanished back into the light fixture.

Peter B. glitched out for a couple of seconds.

Gwen tried not to laugh. She had no idea what he’d said, but it was still funny, maybe more so because she didn’t understand it. She did want to know what Mrs. Parker had meant by saying that Ham was using a cipher.

“So, uh, Mrs. Parker…” began Gwen.

Mrs. Parker chuckled. “Oh, please. Call me May. Or Aunt May, if you prefer.”

Gwen furrowed her brow. “But… we’re not related. That’d be weird.”

“You don’t have to share blood with someone to consider them your family.”

Gwen blinked. That was an unexpectedly philosophical answer.

She loved her dad and missed her mother. They were her family, first and foremost. Could somebody have other families besides just those to whom they’re related? Did that count as a family? Technically, it wouldn’t, at least not by the literal definition of one. But was it possible to become close enough with somebody that you might consider him a brother, even if he wasn’t? Or an aunt, even if she wasn’t?

Maybe it was, but it wasn’t anything that Gwen had seriously considered until now. She was lucky to have a caring father who supported her heroic endeavours and to have had a wonderful mother who had raised her pretty well. But other people might have had to think about this more so than she would ever need to.

“Gwen? You all right?” Peni waved a hand in front of her face.

Gwen blinked and returned to earth. “Oh, uh, yeah, sorry, I’m fine. Just spaced out, that’s all.”

“Like I asked,” said Noir, “you play the drums, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Splendid. See, I play tenor sax part-time in a jazz ensemble, and our drummer was… well, he’s now an ex-drummer. We need a replacement.”

“As much as I’d love to help, I can’t visit your dimension without putting my life on the line. Also, I’ve got school.”

“Ah, school.” Noir balanced his chair on two legs and folded his arms behind his head. “When I was your age, I walked five miles to school. Uphill.”

“Both ways?”

“Yes, I walked back from school, too.”

“Uh, I mean, did you walk uphill both ways?”

“No, that wouldn’t make sense.”

Peter B. chuckled. “I take it you didn’t have buses back in your day?”

Noir replied, “They existed, but they weren’t for carting kids around. They’re starting to make them for schools, but they’re pretty rare, at least as far as I know.”

Gwen recalled that Noir was from 1933. He had an air of seniority about him, too, which confused her.

“Uh, how old are you?” she asked him.

“Older than you are.”

Ham glitched out briefly.

May stood up. “Who wants dessert? I have fudge.”

Everybody raised their hands eagerly. Who in their right mind wouldn’t want fudge?

May walked into the kitchen.

RELATIVE CHAOS

“Oh man, fudge is the best!” exclaimed Ham. “I normally only get it at Christmastime!”

“You have Christmas in your dimension?” asked Gwen.

“Yeah, who wouldn’t celebrate it?”

Peter B. raised his hand. “There’s Christmas in my dimension, but I celebrate Hanukkah.”

“I promise to punch thirty extra Nazis for you,” said Noir. “And yeah, my dimension has Christmas, too.”

“Thanks for that.”

“There’s still Christmas in my dimension, despite the Creeds!” said Peni. “Is Santa real in your dimensions, too?”

“I don’t think he’s real in any dimension,” replied Noir.

Peni’s eyes widened. “He’s not?”

How old was this kid? Ten? Definitely no older than thirteen. Somewhere in the preteen range. Somewhere in the “you-should-have-figured-out-about-Santa-Claus-already” range, which doubles as the “you-probably-haven’t-learned-about-Santa-Claus-yet-and-that’s-a-problem-for-all-us-folks-in-the-know” range.

There was no way in which this conversation would end well.

“Uh, he is! Definitely! For sure! I know it! Yeah, he is!” stammered out Peter B.

Now Gwen was annoyed. “Come on, don’t lie to her!”

“Well, we can’t just stamp on Peni’s innocence like that!”

“But she deserves to know the truth!”

“Maybe the truth is something different in her dimension! How would we know?”

Peni looked thoroughly heartbroken. “You mean he’s… not real?”

Noir appeared stunned. “Uhhh…”

Ham butted in. “Uh, yeah, Noir was just kidding around! He wouldn’t know! Go ask your parents!”

“But my dad’s dead!”

“Then, uh, go ask your mom!”

Peter B. interjected. “Please, Peni, don’t worry about it too much. It’s okay to believe.”

Everyone started talking at once, trying to make themselves heard.

“In something obviously false?”

“I mean, the tech is different in her world. Maybe it’s possible?”

“But who would wanna do that?”

“Can we just… stop talking about this?”

“I wanna know the truth! Is Santa real or isn’t he? You’re confusing me!”

May cleared her throat and silenced the hubbub. “Stop arguing. I have fudge.”

Everybody quieted down and took some fudge. It was the perfect distraction.

“So, uh, what was that about making an online dating profile?” asked Peter B. after a couple of awkwardly silent minutes.

May chuckled. “I’ve been single for long enough, I think.”

“Do you need, like, technical help or something?”

May shook her head. “No, I know my way around a computer.”

“You sure?” butted in Gwen.

“Yes, I’m sure. I programmed a neural net two years ago that identifies phishing scams, tracks the IP address of the original sender, installs upside-down-ternet on the device to screw with the UI, and whitelists any phone numbers connected with the email account on seventy-two different telemarketer call lists.”

Gwen’s mouth hung agape.

“Huh?”

“You lost me after neural net,” said Peter B.

May folded her arms over her chest and smirked. “I lose most people after neural net.”

Noir said, “You lost me at program.”

“I understood that. It’s child’s play,” said Peni. “But I can imagine that for you, in as archaic of a society as you are, that’s quite an achievement.”

“Archaic society?” muttered Peter B.

“Then why on earth would you need our help?” asked Ham.

“Because I don’t know what sixty-something-year-old males are looking for in a woman. I mean, what do I put on the profile? What do I leave off? How do I embellish it? How do I get more clicks? Should I tell them I was widowed ten years ago? Should I mention that Spiderman was my nephew?”

Peter’s uncle was dead in this universe? Huh. Gwen was starting to get accustomed to the weird differences between worlds. Of course, she’d thought she’d seen everything until Peni and Ham showed up.

JAMMED FINGERS

Oh, right! Good idea, spider-sense! Thanks for actually being useful for once!

Gwen asked May, “Uh, if you’re so good with tech, could you fix up my webshooters? They keep jamming.”

May grinned. “Of course! Give them to me, and I’ll take a look at them tonight. Now, why don’t you all head off to bed? It’s getting late.”

“And not go on patrol?” asked Noir.

“May’s right,” said Gwen, handing over her gloves. “Not sleeping actually makes our atomic disjunctions worse.”

Everybody at the table gave her a blank look.

“Atomic… what?” asked Peter B.

“The glitching thing.”

“Oh. Gotcha.”

“Where will we sleep?” asked Peni.

That was a good question.

May slipped Gwen’s gloves into her back pocket and thought for a minute. “Uh, there are three rooms and six of us. Hmm… Peter and Peter can take Peter’s old room, and I have a sleeping bag for one of you… Gwen and Peni can take the guest room, since there’s a pull-out cot… I’ll be in my own room… what about Peter?”

“Which one?” asked Peter B., Ham, and Noir simultaneously.

“Uh, I mean the Peter in sweatpants and the Peter in a fedora will share a room. How about you?” May directed the last question to Ham.

He replied, “I can sleep on the couch.”

“Okay, that works. Is everybody okay with that?”

Gwen had no qualms about the setup. Neither did anyone else.

Thirty minutes later, she found herself lying in the cot in the guest room. It was comfortable, as far as pull-out cots go. Peni was half-asleep on the bed, and her spider was on the dresser.

Suddenly, Ham burst through the door. Well, not completely literally, nor did he open the door, but he did appear through the keyhole in a rather sudden fashion. Gwen and Peni both yelled.

“Why do you keep doing that!” exclaimed Gwen.

Ham shrugged. “I’m used to getting places this way. Just wanted to say goodnight to you guys before we all turn in.”

“But, how do you do that? How can you get through tiny gaps like that?” asked Peni.

“I’m, uh, I’m 2.5-dimensional. I think that’s how you’d put it in your worlds. I look and for all purposes am two-dimensional, but I can still move in 3D space and interact with 3D things. Like this picture, for instance.” Ham leaped up and spun around a sepia-tinted photo from the wall, settling it back into place.

“But that doesn’t explain how you can defy gravity,” said Peni.

“That’s toon physics for you.” Ham pulled a pair of spectacles and a graduation cap out of thin air and donned them. He flipped through a comically thick textbook, laid his finger on a paragraph, and began to read. “‘Any body suspended in space will remain in space until made aware of its condition.’ -Paco, 1994.”

“And… you operate by the laws of... toon physics? Even though you’re not in a world with toon physics?” asked Peni.

“Yeah, sure. We operate by the principles of the world that we’re from. I mean, look at Peni. She can summon anime backdrops out of thin air and jump forty feet in the air to land in the cockpit of her robot. And Noir’s still in black-and-white. And Gwen still follows the laws of physics from her universe, which happen to be exactly the same as those here. If there was a spider here from a universe with two extra quarks, he’d use the rules of physics of a universe with two extra quarks.”

Gwen blinked. Ham knew a surprising amount.

“How do you know all of this? I mean, you’re a-”

“A cartoon character, I know,” finished Ham. “I get that a lot. But I’ve been Spider-Ham for 35 years. I know my stuff.”

Gwen made a mental note not to underestimate Ham in the future.

“You, uh, don’t look a day over 35,” she said.

“Yeah that’s another thing. I don’t age. Pretty convenient, if you ask me. Well, good night, folks!” Ham gave a wave, then vanished under the door.

Gwen tried to comprehend everything that had just happened. Ham was really weird. At the same time, he was kind of cool.

“How old are you?” Peni asked after a few moments of silence.

“Uh, take a guess.”

“Fourteen?”

Why did everybody think Gwen was so young?

“Nah, sixteen. How about you?”

“Guess!”

“Uh, you’re like ten?”

“I’m eleven and three quarters.”

Okay, so she was close.

“How many people have you killed?” asked Peni, sounding as chipper as ever.

Gwen blinked. “Uh, one. No, two. Both were accidents.”

“In... two years?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s lame.”

“Why, how about you? And, uh, how long have you been doing this for?”

“Twenty-three people. Over the past five and a half months. And none of them were accidents.”

Peni sounded both completely serious and entirely proud of herself. Best not to dwell on that.

All of a sudden, Gwen burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” asked Peni.

“It’s, well, I was early in getting to this dimension, and Miles made a joke about him being on time and everyone else being late because of relativity, and… never mind. You wouldn’t get it.”

Peni asked, “Could you explain it to me? Maybe then I’d get it.”

“Never mind. It’s a moot point. Go to bed.”

“Aww, come on!”

“Good night!”

Gwen rolled over and faced the wall, ignoring Peni’s pleas. After a couple minutes, she drifted off to sleep.

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#stranded #stranded fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #marvel #spidergwen #spider gwen #spider-gwen #gwen stacy #ghost spider #spiderverse #into the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #long post #writing #writers on tumblr #technically swearing

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imagination-is-key-in-my-world · 6 years

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Party Frocks and Naughty Knocks

Summary: You had this condition called Multiple Sclerosis which half of the school knew about. This often resulted in you feeling like an outcast. That was until your best friend invites you to a party where you meet someone who knew nothing about you.

Pairing: Jace Wayland x Reader

Warning: Medical condtion and the obvious swearing that accompanies my work.

Word count: 2,883

It was a typical Friday morning. Also known as the main day in the week that all the students spent wishing the clock hands to move faster. Including you.

Everyone knew you as the girl in the back of the library reading quietly to herself. Only half the time you weren’t reading. You often used that as an excuse to get away from it all.

It’s not like you didn’t enjoy being at school. Learning was the one thing that actually made school bearable and meaningful. It was the stupid things like ‘socialising’ at lunch that killed you off.

Being a well known long term carrier of Multiple Sclerosis by the whole school, you’d often find yourself running off to your ‘safe haven.’ As a lot of the school pupils and teachers included knew about your condition, a lot of them would bug you constantly. Always interrupting you to ask if you were okay.

It was nice to know that they cared. Of course it was. But it came to that point when you stopped being known as Y/F/N the high achieving student, and became that girl with MS.

Since finding out yourself, you hadn’t ever let it define who you were. Or even stop you from doing the things that you wanted to do. Regardless of what anyone thought, you were handling it very well. You’d take your meds, you’d go to school, you’d even try and see some of your friends outside of school too.

You were a big believer in ‘everything happens for a reason.’ You we’re just waiting for your reason to show.

“Can I ask you a question?” A familiar voice filled your ears in first period. The voice belonged to a red headed girl that you had grown to love like a sister. She’d often get in the way of everyone’s ‘caring questions.’

“If the questions is ‘have I done my homework and would I lend you it’, then no. But shoot.” Clary was different from all the other students here. She held herself well in a fight, and excelled in both academic and physical subjects.

“You’re so funny,” she half laughed, half stared at you willing for you to spontaneous combust at any given moment. “Well... I am having a party tonight,”

“Uh, I hate this already”

“C’mon, you never know you might meet someone.” Clary was always trying to set you up with a strapping young lad. Obviously you refused, thinking that everyone would immediately only pity date you. Everyone at school knew your business.

“Y/L/N and Fray! If you were quiet you may actually learn the importance of quantum mechanics.” Mrs Mitchell also known as your least favourite teacher. Always blowing up over the smallest of things.

Instead of instantly silencing and turning to the front, like you had done. Clary continued to ignore her lesson despot her warning. “Fray!”

“Quantum mechanics explains the behaviour of matter and their interactions with energy. This typically takes place on a similar scale of both atoms and subatomic particles.” As usual, Clary is the smartest and most underestimated person in the room. Well apart from yourself of course.

Mrs Mitchell’s mouth immediately dropped when she understood everything that left the red head’s lips. In fact, the exact definition that she used was the line that Mrs Mitchell had prepared to try and humiliate her for not paying attention. “Shall I continue?”

Clary wasn’t exactly that bad girl of the school. Don’t get you wrong, she got sent to the office plenty of times, only it was for her smart mouth running away from her. Normally on purpose, but that’s besides the point. Associating with Clary Fray, often landed you in hot water too.

Somehow you didn’t mind. It was nice to be something other than the sick girl.

The bell rang before Mrs Mitchell could even think up a good enough comeback to the daring young girl. “So party tonight?”

You sighed as you lifted the strap of your bag that had been resting by the side of your chair. “But what would I even wear? Who would I even talk to? How long is that party planning on lasting till? H-“

As you tried to ask yet another question, a single finger rested on your lips. “Shh, so many questions and yet none of them matter because I didn’t hear a no.” You tried to open your mouth again to speak but she just pressed her finger further onto your face.

Sauntering up the driveway of your best friend’s home, you felt slightly over dressed. And by over dressed, you meant that you had more than just your underwear on which is what most of the girls were currently wearing.

There were empty cups lying everywhere, on every surface including the counters, sofas and floor. If the dog stayed still long enough, you were sure that there would have been a cup resting on his head too.

It was hard to pick out your friend in the crowd of drunks. Most of them you knew from your school. Some in your year group, some not from your year group. Then there were some faces that you wouldn’t know even if they told you their life story.

There were a few whispers going around you. Some of what you were able to pick up on were those of people who knew you and your reputation. “Shouldn’t she be at home if she is sick?” “What is she doing at a party?”

Things like this, are the reasons behind why you pretend to be studying in the library as much as humanly possible. About eleven pairs of eyes burned into every inch of your body. It was as if they had never seen a human being before.

Thank god for that. A delicate set of arms wrapped around your stomach. You’d recognise that particular perfume anywhere. “You made it!” You’d never thought you would be this happy to see a drunk Clary in your life. “I’m so happy you made it. Simon said you weren’t going to come.”

Simon Lewis was Clary’s best friend and now boyfriend. The three of you together were pretty much inseparable. Them two more than you which is understandable. Which also made you feel like a third wheel here and there.

Simon patted your shoulder and handed you a non alcoholic drink. “Saw your car out front B, before you go all ape on me for assuming you weren’t drinking tonight.” Not the one to stay long a these events whenever you were actually invited to one.

“Cheers four eyes.” B was the nickname he gave you, meaning baby. As in the baby of the group because you were a little bit younger than the pair of them. Four eyes was yours for him, pretty self explanatory.

“Oh Y/N!” You knew this excited version of Clary. This was the ‘I’m about to set you up with someone’ Clary. The one that you always feared. “I have someone here that you should totally meet.”

Before you could even place your drink down under Simon the bodyguard’s watchful eye, your hand had been snatched and you were being dragged through the cluster of human bodies. Not the mention the horrible smell that radiated off of them.

She continued to pull you through the party goers, that was until you collided into the body of someone that Clary obviously hadn’t intended. Almost instantly from the contact into his chest. Your red drink poured out of your cup and coated his white shirt.

The pair of you completely and utterly shocked as to the events that had unfolded in front of you. “I’m so sorry. My friend here,” you pull Clary over to the boy who you now owe money to for his dry cleaning bill. “Get’s a little carried away. Don’t you Clary?”

Too drunk to even register what you said. She remained silent, apart from a few moans as she wanted you to wrap up whatever was going on so she could introduce you to her mystery man.

“Y/N come on.” She moaned slightly tugging your hand for another round of human battering ram.

“Later. Right now I’m busy.” You say to her. She lets out a large ‘ugh’ like a child who is disappointed for not getting her own way. “I’ll come find you in a little while. Go find Simon.”

The mention of Simon’s name brought a smile to her lips. The next thing you knew she was skipping down the now cleared path, falling straight into her boyfriend’s arms.

“Like I said I’m really sorry for your shirt. I’ll pay you the money to get it cleaned.” You rambled trying to justify the actions that weren’t even yours.

The mystery boy laughed, quite attractively as he was amused at your fumble for words. “It’s alright. I hated this shirt anyway. You actually did me a favour.” The boy stopped dabbing his shirt with a napkin and extended a hand out to you. “By the way I’m Jace Wayland.”

Accepting his kindness and the fact he seemed to not hold any discontent to the whole drink debacle. “Y/F/N, nice to meet you Jace.”

“Hey um, do you wanna go outside? It’s a little loud and crowded in here. Plus, I think I saw a swing out of the porch.” You smiled, relieved to be leaving the party that you had only just arrived to.

You’d spent most of the party outside talking to him about his personal life. Who he was, what he did, how he knew about the party. Those kinds of questions.

“Well, I am in the protection business. I keep people safe. I heard about the party from a mate of mine, he knows ugh your friend.”

He got to know you too of course. He asked you why you weren’t drinking after he discovered the drink wasn’t wine which he originally believed, but Ribena. The one thing you held back was your condition.

“So do you not drink at all or just tonight?” Jace questioned his attention fell to your empty cup.

“I don’t typically get invited to things like this that often. The only reason I showed up was because the crazy red head who caused me to lose half my drink, is my best friend. I had no choice but to at least show my face. No matter how brief that may be.” You explain a little more than you needed to.

Jace became sort of nervous after a while, like he wanted to ask you something, but couldn’t bring himself to ask it. “So um, I was wondering whether I-”

“Y/N, I need to talk to you. There is someone here I want you to meet.” Clary stormed out of the house, screaming those words that interrupted Jace’s attempt. Those words caused Jace’s smile to fade till it was non-existent.

“Can I just apologise for my friend, she has no boundaries.” By this time, Clary had managed to appear more drunk than before you came out of the party.

“You better do as she says. I don’t think she will take another brush off.” You didn’t want to leave. More than anything you wanted to stay with him a little longer.

Clary’s hand had already wrapped around your bicep, practically dragging you to the door. Only Jace didn’t follow when he got to his feet, he trudged down the steps of the porch, and made his way towards the road. He made the decision to leave the party and you behind him.

After all, you were the only reason he stayed as long as he did .

You turned to your friend, “couldn’t you see that I was talking to someone?” Drunk Clary just shrugged and continued with her quest to find you a man. “Clary?”

“What! You need to meet him, like right now!” She cried as she tried to reason with you. “He is really cute. Exactly you’re type as well, quite moody and melancholy at the same time.”

Submitting to her insistence, you allowed her to pull you back into the party. All that remained of Jace’s presence was the napkin stained with your drink, resting on the surface of the swing.

Once you were inside you were greeted by Simon with a tale dark haired male. “Y/N, this is Alec Lightwood.” Simon said, pointing to the fairly attractive man. Attractive or not, he wasn’t your type.

From just the few minutes that you had been standing there, he had checked his phone more times that you could count. You’d tried to start a conversation with him, but his attention was clearly elsewhere.

Simon noticed that his behaviour was starting to get to you, but he bit his tongue. Not exactly wanting to get on the wrong side of his girlfriend. But that wasn’t just it. The way he was acting around this young man, gave the impression as if he knew him too.

“So, are you going to make the effort to talk to me?” You questioned, although he didn’t respond. All you received was a ‘mmm?’ confused mumble. His eyes not lifting from his little screen.

You turned to your friend who was watching you converse with this person she knew. “Clary, I think I’m gonna go home.” As much as you knew this wasn’t going to make Clary happy. The whole drunk matchmaker plan, isn’t working for you.

“What? Why? This is all going so we-”

“No Clary it really isn’t.” You interrupt, which did make you feel bad. “You interfered when you didn’t need to. I was more than happy talking with Jace, but you pulled me away.”

Her face fell. If it wasn’t for the fact that she had gotten in the way more than once, then you’d feel worse than you did and probably apologise for your words. “He was absolutely amazing. Finally I could talk to someone who I actually liked. Someone who was sweet and considerate to me when we talked.”

“I’m sorry Y/N. I didn’t know you liked him.”

“That’s because you didn’t ask.” You talked over her as if she were a wack-a-mole arcade game. Every time she spoke, you dominated her. Something you never did with her before.

Just as you were about to open your mouth, a voice interrupted you. “I wouldn’t exactly say ‘absolutely amazing.’” His voice made you jump. As you turned around you saw him standing there with his arms crossed. His tattooed naked biceps were huge. “Although, I do like it when you say it.”

You were definitely shocked. “You came back? Why?” The minute he stepped away from you and you him. You had accepted that it would be the last time that you saw him. No matter how much you wished it to not be true.

Slowly he edged towards you, step by step, little by little. Until he was so close to you that you could feel his breath on your neck. “Well, I left something behind.”

“Well I’m not surprised you left in a hurry. What was it, maybe I can help you find it?”

He let out a little tut what you hadn’t understood where he was going with this. It was quite sad to be honest. To watch you fumble for words. “You! I left you behind.”

“Me?” Clary and Simon pretty much slapped their foreheads at your incapability to understand an obvious attempt to hit on you..

“Yes you.” His hand moved to cup your cheek. An act that never happened to you. It was a level of intimacy that you had only witnessed on the big screen. “Did I hear you right? Do you like me?”

You knew it was better to just admit it than try to hide it. “Yes.” Your head dropped, you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye at that point.

The next event that enfolded happened so fast, it was a good thing you had witnesses to prove that it happened. Jace tilted your head back so that you were looking at him. Then his lips jumped onto yours, kissing them until they were red and plump.

It was safe to say that this was your first kiss.

“Jace I have to tell you something.” You whisper against his lips as you pull apart from what has to be said was the best thing to come out of this whole debacle. “I have a condition called Multiple Sclerosis.”

At first he didn’t know how to process it. Whether he should be shocked, sad or play it cool. “I’m sor-”

“Honestly Jace it’s okay.” Your heart thumped in your chest. “I get it if your feelings may have changed.” He didn’t answer verbally. He just shook his head and pulled you in for a second kiss.

“No condition can change the way that I feel.” Landing a quick peck on your nose. “Can I tell you something? You trusted me with a secret, it is only right if I repay the favour.” He said as he allowed the words to sink in. He let his head rest close to your ear so that the next words that left his mouth could only be heard by you. “I’m a Shadowhunter.”

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sending-the-message · 6 years

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You complete me by blankdreamer

My earliest and best friend from childhood, Mark, was the complete opposite of me. I think that’s why we got on so well. He was incredibly smart and an utter book worm. I would drag him outside to play and explore the world and he would tell me why trees grew the shape they did or describe the entomology of the bugs we caught. We swore when little even if we split up later in life we would write letters to each other regularly. I know letter writing is old fashioned but a childhood pact is a childhood pact. Even though Mark worked around the world as a high-energy particle physicist, we have (by and large) written to each other once a month consistently. However Marks letters have taken a strange turn recently that has me concerned and I wanted to see what others thought:

23 January 2017

Happy New Year Buttface! I’m concerned for you Hazza. Can’t believe you fell for one of those icky girls. Yuck. Brooke sounds like a great girl for you. Don’t screw this one up you schmuck. I shouldn’t tell you this as its classified but I am BURSTING! We’ve have a major breakthrough at Cern in our search for the Higgs-Boson particle with the Large Hadron Collider – you know the one the media call the "God Particle" (eye roll) because it adds mass to matter. We think we found the damn thing! It will be months before we can release any confirmation or data publicly so for gods sake (heh heh) keep it under you hat Harold or I’ll give you an atomic wedgey next time I see you. Write soon Hazman.

25 February 2017

Loved your last letter my friend. That Brooke is sticking around hey. Good for you dork. Our research on the Higgs-Boson is not as straight forward as we thought. It’s providing some strange data that doesn’t fit our model. But that is science for you – our models are always only temporary as we dig deeper into reality. I find myself getting frustrated and grumpy which is really unlike me. Anyway take care you slob and let me know how your work is going.

19 March 2017

Things sound like they are going great for you H. I’m jealous. Can’t remember the last time I had a girl. Makes me a bit angry when I think of how stuck up the women here are. There is a lot of tension at the facility at the moment. We think the particle we discovered is not the Higgs-Boson now. It’s way too different. We are all working at fever pitch on it. We come in on our days off and some even sleep in the lab. We are all suddenly possessed with a craving to discover what this damned particle is.

5 May 2017

H-man – I actually got into fist fight the other day. Yes me! Me! One of my colleagues, Watson, was trash talking my hypothesis on the particle (he says he was just critiquing it with a colleague) and I confronted him. Things got heated he pointed his finger at me, I pushed him lightly, he pushed me back and then I DECKED HIM. Seriously. One punch and the little wuss went down. I still can’t believe I did it. After speaking with HR they put it down to overwork and stress and have strongly recommended a month’s leave. But I spoke to my manager and we both agreed I needed to keep working as we feel we are right on the verge of a breakthrough with this particle. And you know something? I’m kind of proud of what I did. I freaking enjoyed smacking down that fuckwit Watson with the hot wife and nice suit. Even though my hand hurts the feeling of pain and humiliation I inflicted on him felt damn good. I might try and chat up his hottie of a wife next time she’s in. I’m sure she gave me a come-on look the other day.

18 July 2017

Sorry I haven’t written for a while Harold but we’ve had a HUGE BREAKTHROUGH! You know how I’ve told you that there is both matter and anti-matter in the universe? How every particle has an opposite? Well we think – only think at this stage mind you – that what we discovered is actually the anti-particle for the Higgs-Boson. We nick-named it the “Devil Particle”. Yes, not in the slightest bit witty but hey we are scientists – what do you expect? You should have seen the meeting where we tried to award credit to who discovered it. 20 scientists all wrestling and punching each other in the conference room like a WWE royal rumble. You think I’m exaggerating but I’m not. It was insane. I’ve got a black eye and bruised knuckles on both hands. When we got our sanity back we all agreed not to make any complaints to HR or the police so we can keep our work going. Ps I fucked Watsons wife. She was well up for it the little slut.

6 September 2017

I’ve just come from the police station Harold. My colleague Watson was found dead. He was found hanged in his home. The police presume suicide but wanted to talk to all his colleagues. I won’t pretend I have much sympathy for him. I hated him. A strange thing I’ve found Harold. It’s amazing what strength you have when you really hate someone. Hate is kind of thrilling. Its lets you take care of problems quickly and easily without the worry of “morals” or “ethics”. Write soon if you wish.

27 November 2017

Dark Matter. Dark Energy. You won’t know much about this being quite stupid yourself Harold. This anti-particle we found is powerful. More powerful than anyone dared dreamed of. Unlimited energy, unlimited power. I am sure it is what makes up the 70% of unknown matter and energy in universe. Darkness is what the universe is made of Harold. And hence so are we. Darkness is the truth. The pitiful sparks of stars in the sky are immensely outweighed by the darkness between them. I have become as cold and as empty as the space between the stars. It is what tears things down and destroys that has the true power. Something is growing inside me, taking me over, and changing my atoms. I feel a huge sense of destiny. I have a strange rash on my forehead. I swear I can see a 6 in it.

25 December 2017

It is very late Harold. I have the laboratory to myself. I am going to go into the particle collider and turn it on. This should kill me and in a way it will. My body shall be crucified on this technological cross. But I have faith I shall be reborn. My particles become anti-particles. My true self shall emerge. Merry Anti-Christmas Harold.

NEWSPAPER REPORT dated 2 January 2018

Massacre at Cern Laboratories, Switzerland

18 Scientists were found massacred yesterday at Cern Laboratories in Geneva Switzerland. Cern is the European research organization that operates the largest particle physics laboratory in the world including the Large Hadron Collider (LHC). The area is sealed off as police investigate. A cleaner who discovered the bodies spoke to our reporter. She claims that the scientist’s bodies were torn apart and disemboweled. Some bodies were pinned to the wall with steel shafts. There were strange phrases in an unknown language written in blood on the walls.

28 January 2018 [This letter is written in a dark substance]

It is now the year prophesied. The Beast has risen from the earth. I am the destroyer. I shall summon a dark age for mankind. Pathetic human laws will have no place. Blood, sacrifice, pain and torment shall be the rulers of this world.

I remember you told me when we first became friends Harold that we would do amazing things together. I was the smartest kid in the world you said, but I needed you to take action in the world and change it. You didn’t say whether it would change for the better or worse. As kids, what first attracted me to you Harold was your goodness. You were kind, you would stick up for kids against bullies and try to help people when you could. And you know what they say. Opposites attract. Join me my old friend, and let us rule together. Don’t bother writing. I shall see you soon.

Little children, it is the last hour: and as you have heard that Antichrist cometh, even now there are become many Antichrists: whereby we know that it is the last hour. — 1 John 2:18

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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hellomissmabel · 7 years

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Of Dusk and Dawn part 3

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Apollo/Steve x reader, Bucky x reader

Warnings: None.

Word count: 1.619

Summary: Y/N is the Pythia, the Oracle of Delphi, blessed by the God Apollo with the gift of foresight. Yet one day a hunter sets foot in her temple and she is struck by a dark vision. With the blood moon approaches fast, higher powers take the upper hand and shake up Y/N’s life and love. Is she strong enough to survive the wrath of a Goddess? Or shall she wither and die in the aftermath of a God’s sorrow?

A/N: Written for @marvelous-fvcks her challenge.

Series masterlist can be found here

The temple of Apollo is a majestic work of architecture, opening its door for the first time after a period of prayer for the priestesses. Yet inside, an even greater work of art resides. The Pythia is unmatched in her grace, her beautiful form surrounded by clouds of scented smoke bringing her into a state of transcendence. Yet her trance is broken as soon as I set foot in the temple, her eyes slowly focusing onto my face with the delicacy of an angel.

“You have a question, traveller?,” she addresses me with a featherlight voice.

I put down my bag and kneel beside it, opening it and showing the Oracle the gift I’ve brought her and the God Apollo. “It is not much, but I hope it is enough.” Gingerly, I show her the golden amulet that once belonged to my mother, a priestess in favour of the Goddess Artemis. With great care I place it in her outstretched hands and with unfeigned astonishment she admires the piece of jewellery.

“You are not a traveller, neither a soldier,” she speaks warmly as she delicately runs her fingers over the pale blue gemstones adorning the golden charm. “You are a hunter and you have come here for a cure.”

Slowly, I peel off my clothes, bearing my sweat-slicked chest to her Y/E/C eyes. As she lays the amulet aside, her attention drawn towards my wounded arm, she places her tender hands on bicep. “Poison,” she whispers softly, her eyes tracing the dark current of the venomous blood running through my veins.

Even though my skin has long been hardened against any feeling due to the poison I am shaken by the familiarity her touch evokes in my heart. She has the same soft hands as my mother and the same sophistication with which she carries herself effortlessly. “I can feel that,” I exhale with a shudder, drawing her eyes to lock with mine.

For a few seconds were are both floating in oblivion, nothingness surrounding our bodies as we melt into the atmosphere. But those few seconds are just that, seconds, and as she retracts her hand from my battle-worn skin, it feels like we are two atoms colliding in a universe yet to find its course. “I can feel you,” I repeat with a sharp breath, my fingertips aching to cling to her.

“You must go to the seaside,” she quickly whispers as she turns away from me and walks swiftly back towards the alter. “There you will find what you’ve been looking for.” She takes the amulet back into her hands and inspects it curiously. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you much else, hunter. The visions aren’t sharp.”

“Please,…,” I beg her while I approach her cautiously, joining her at the alter and following her eyes as she studies the amulet. “I’ll give you anything, anything at all. Just please help me. I want to feel again.”

With a brief caress, our hands momentarily touch and the amulet crashes to the floor, splintering in a thousand little pieces. The young woman cradles next to the broken remnants, holding her face in her hands as she rocks back and forth, unfathomable cries an omen of what she has seen. Her eyes are as white as the marble of the temple floors and her voice is merely a ghost of the loving tenor it carried before, stripped from all emotion and veiled in an ominous darkness.

“Under a blood moon one chord shall be cut and another thread shall be woven.”

With frantic gestures she crawls over the ground, the fumes of the candles growing thicker and surrounding her like a pair of devil wings. “Under a blood moon one chord shall be cut and another thread shall be woven,” she chants in a barely-there voice, over and over again.

I call out for another priestess and soon enough a dark-haired woman emerges, folding the distraught Oracle into her embrace. “What did you do?,” she hisses at me, never taking her eyes away from the Pythia.

“I did nothing, I swear!”

“What did she say?”

“Under a blood moon one chord shall be cut and another thread shall be woven,” I tell the priestess, who tears her attention away from the Oracle’s trembling form and raises an eyebrow at my exposed torso. Then she notices me arm and reaches out for it, but this time I do not feel her touch.

“My sweet.”

There is the rustling of blankets as your body releases the tension that held you captive the entire night. You wake up bathing in sweat, screaming and clawing and squirming as your lover holds you down.

“My sweet Y/N.”

Your cries pierce through bone and marrow as you wail in Apollo’s embrace. He can’t stand to see you in so much pain, so he soothes your mind with a deific ointment and presses his palm to your heart to soothe you.

“Y/N, please, my sweet, wake up. Open your eyes, love.”

This goes on for two full days and two full nights, until the third morning you finally reach consciousness. His bright baby blues are the first thing you see when you open your eyes, smiling through the tears. “My Apollo.”

“My sweet,” he replies in unadulterated relief, peppering your face with kisses. “My sweet, what happened to you?”

You push yourself up on your elbows, yet continue to rely on his sturdy frame to keep you from falling apart. “I’ve never been triggered this violently…” Your voice is hoarse and the syllables barely sound coherent, yet with a weak smile you prophesise what you have seen.

“I saw Poseidon’s trident, very vividly so. And there was a red-headed child playing with a pendant…,” Your eyes flutter closed again as you recall your vision. “A pendant with a sun. I was a spectator and watched as she played with it. but for some reason she got angry and snapped the pendant in two, throwing it into the sea.”

“Y/N, look at me,” he urges as he notices you’re drifting off again and he cradles your face in his soft hands. “A red-headed child, a sun pendant and Poseidon’s trident. Anything else, my sweet?”

Shaking your head as the images turn faint and blurry, your presence lingers for a tad longer in the space between the present and the future. You start to become restless again and Apollo has no other choice than to use his powers to tear you away from the apparitions.

“You kept mumbling ‘non-believer’ in your sleep, my sweet. Does it mean anything?”

“There was a non-believer, who visited the temple shortly before the vision, with an arm like metal, stripped of all feeling,” you recall when the image of the dark-haired hunter crosses your mind. “He was a hunter once but lost his faith after the war was over.”

“Did he do anything to trigger you?”

You hesitate and search Steve’s eyes. Should you tell him that it’s the blue-eyed stranger’s touch that erupted such a violent vision? No, it will only anger him and now you are with child, you cannot endanger his or her future like that.

You keep your lips sealed, nuzzling into his broad chest, whispering against his bare skin. “No, I think not. He had already received his answer and merely wanted to pass on his offering. The amulet fell from my hands and that’s the last thing I remember.”

“Then it must’ve been the amulet, my sweet. I will inspect it first thing tomorrow.”

“My Apollo,” you smile up at him, your fingertips caressing his cheek. “Please, I have to talk to you. I – I was wrong to react the way I did and I’ve given it much thought.”

“And what have you decided, my sweet?”

“When the child is born, you will give it your blessing and claim it as your own. You will visit this child every two days, not every two weeks. This child needs to know its father, but you cannot tell it who you really are until it has come of age. Our child will know you as Steve first and later as Apollo.”

Eyeing him nervously, you swallow thickly and cast your eyes towards your sweaty palms, wringing them together until he nods his head, agreeing to your terms. “I will do all those things and more, my sweet. I promise.”

He brings his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. “You are my lover, my sweet, my muse. I cannot deny you anything.”

Your heart stills at his words, constricting as soon as he calls you his muse, Cassandra’s foreboding prophecy still fresh in your mind. Yet you do not let this hold back your true feelings for him, afraid you might not share any more tender moments like these, your life in the daytime endangered by a moonlit night so fierce and so ferocious.

“I love you, my Apollo,” you rush out in a deep breath, your lips moving of their own volition. “I love you as Steve and I love you as Apollo.”

“And I love you, too, Y/N,” he replies warmly, presses another tender kiss to your lips. His fingertips weave into your hair and you moan softly as he tugs gently, taking this opportunity to deepen the kiss. “I love you as Y/N and I love you as the Pythia.”

“You should rest some more, my sweet,” he hums softly into your hair, laying both of you down again on the bed, coaxing you into a fitful sleep free of hallucinations. And as you lay peacefully in your Apollo’s arms, the sky turns red under a blood moon, the Goddess Artemis plotting her revenge.

Tagging: @avengerofyourheart @a-little-hell-to-raise @marvelingatthewonder @mrshopkirk @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy @winterboobaer @italwaysendsinafightt @viollettes @hymnofthevalkyrie @feelmyroarrrr @justareader @austinamelio @volklana @4theluvofall @themcuhasruinedme @theoneandonlysaucymo @caplanbuckybarnes @nenyakj @amrita31199 @emilyevanston @minervaem @howlingbarnes @buchananbarnestrash @youandb @you-and-bucky @fvckingsteverogers @thatawkwardtinyperson @that-sokovian-bastard @abovethesmokestacks @marvelrevival @marvel-fanfiction @justanotherbuckydevotee @barnes-heaven @heartmade-writingbucky @buckyywiththegoodhair @captnbarnesrogers @mellifluous-melodramas @its-not-a-phase-hux @melconnor2007 @ivvitm1109 @toofuckinfabulous @ailynalonso15 @hollycornish @delicatecapnerd @camigt1999 @learisa @curlyexpat @palaiasaurus64 @fanndas-snow-goddess @crisssivonne @yourenotrogers @tomhollandzs @supernaturaldean67 @aletheladyinred @beyondbarnes @xbergiex @reniescarlett @promarvelfangirl @capbuckybuchanan @lovemarvelousfics @yknott81 @rrwilson66 @pegasusdragontiger @mizzzpink @salty-holographic-stickers @sammyissassy @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @kudosia @bellejeunefillesansmerci @lumelgy @southernbellestatues @daringtodreamawake @neurotic-narwhal @cokamarie24 @blue1928 @movingonto-betterthings @breezy1415 @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for @jesspfly @weenie-butt @debzybrazy @fuckingchaotic @always-an-evans-addict

Series tag list: @nativesebby @taylorjacksonandtheolympians @sad-af1121@throwingup-rainbows @thegreentgirl @jughead-wuz-here @redroomproperty @sgtbxckybxrnes @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @lifeofmarvvel @amiarealfan @captainsbestgal @whiskeyandwashitape @kimistry27 @superpaperclip @acunningstargazer @heyitsaznfangirl @follow-the-freeway @mo320 @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @katalina-from-hellbound @grantsgorgeousgirl @winterwolf57 @lycanmomma @caffeinatedcellist -@thefandomimagines @lostinspace33 @jasmineladjevardi @majbritsr @dinorapreira @naturalistamisslyn @winenighthoe @aliasauthor @heneed-somemilk @quoththe-raven @thelostswan @2017booklover @suz-123 @lumelgy @magellan-88

Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you!

#of dusk and dawn #greek god au #amarvelousfvckingwritingchallenge #steve x reader #bucky x reader

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marypsue · 7 years

Text

guess who hasn't been following the new Jean Grey comics beyond the occasional tumblr search and yet still has Thoughts: The Fic

...

That which is dead cannot grow.

It's the first observation, the simplest. That which is dead cannot grow, can only decay.

That which lives must grow. Must expand. Must change. Must, if it wishes to continue to live, evolve.

And as it grows, that which lives must learn.

...

The figure hovering above the lawn is imposing for only a moment, a flash of flame that quickly compresses itself down into a slender, human shape. A tangle of brilliant hair, fanned out behind her, is the only remnant of her former, fiery image.

She looks familiar, to some like an old friend, to others like a glimpse of a future, long-awaited, long-dreaded, that may yet come to pass. When she alights on the lawn, she leaves scorched footprints in the emerald grass behind her.

The others gathered on the lawn shift, reflexively, into defensive positions, but she pays them no attention. Her shockingly orange eyes focus for a moment on the imposing face of the school before her, before she finally acknowledges the determined - and frightened - faces around her, the raised fists, the readied attacks.

"Don't," she says, and her voice is the roar of forest fires, the deep, oppressive silence of ocean trenches, the shrieks and howls and calls of both predators and prey. It should never have emerged from such a human-seeming mouth.

She gives one more look around, at the startled people gathered on the lawn, and says, in a voice just a little less like the wind through fields of tall grass and the rush of waterfalls and the rattle of a startled snake, "I'm here to talk."

...

Rachel's mother once told Rachel that she'd always be able to find her in the Phoenix Force. It was cold comfort, when the Phoenix Force was what had taken Rachel's mother from her.

No. That was too soft for what the Phoenix Force had done. It killed Rachel's mother. Burned her out from the inside.

So Rachel doesn't trust things that have her mother's face. Not the teenage girl who claims to be her mother, displaced in time, and definitely not this imposter with eyes like living flame. Jean Elaine Grey is dead, and she's not coming back.

"I know," the thing with Rachel's mother's face says, turning to stare directly through Rachel. Rachel hadn't even noticed the psychic intrusion, hadn't had a chance to resist. "I...won't claim to be her."

It almost sounds...sad?...as it says, "I've learned better than that."

"You mean you figured out it wasn't going to work," the boy who's supposed to be Rachel's father - from the past, or an alternate past, or something - blurts. The Phoenix glances in his direction, and a fond smile starts to cross its familiar face before slipping away again.

“No,” it says. “And then, yes.”

It turns back to Rachel.

Rachel doesn't move, staring it down. It stares back.

"What do you say," it says, "when you regret the pain your action has caused someone, but do not regret the action?"

"Usually real people are sorry," Rachel snaps.

The Phoenix' orange eyes don't track across Rachel's face, but she still feels as though her expression is being intently studied, picked apart.

"I'm...sorry," it says, almost experimentally. And then, "Hm."

Storm finally seems to find her voice. She sounds as composed, as certain, as ever, but Rachel can hear the turmoil seething under the surface. Rachel can't blame her. She's only ever known her mother as, well, her mother. She can't imagine what this must be like for anyone who was Jean Grey's friend. "You say you're here to talk. So, talk. What do you want?"

For a moment, the only movement on the lawn is the Phoenix's illusion of wild hair.

"Forgive me. I haven't been a person long," it says. Rachel could spit. "But I think..."

It glances over at Rachel as it says, "I want to say I'm sorry."

Before Rachel can respond, before anyone can respond, it smiles, and uncoils into a burst of bright flame, and then into nothing.

It's the strangest thing, though. For that split second before it dissolved, Rachel could swear it looked...relieved.

...

Jean is meditating.

She's picked up the habit in an effort to protect her mind from the intrusion of the Phoenix Force. If she's being completely honest with herself, she's not certain it's doing anything at all in that department, but when you're a telepath living in a large communal dormitory, it's nice (if almost unimaginably difficult) to try to quiet your brain down for half an hour or so every day. She's finally starting to get good at tuning out the rest of the school's backdrop of constant low-key psychic distress. (With this many teenagers in one building, it never really stops.)

Which is why she doesn't realise she's not alone in her room until she opens her eyes and her older self is sitting across from her, legs folded in a mirror image of her pose, watching her carefully with fiery orange eyes.

Jean sucks in a breath.

Her doppelganger hasn't done anything yet, doesn't do anything when it notices Jean's eyes opening, sees that Jean sees it. It's not an enormous fiery bird screaming about how she can't win and can't escape. It's not an overwhelming feeling of irresistible, uncontrollable power, of chaos. It's just a mirror image of her, only older, sitting perfectly still and, apparently, waiting for her to react.

Jean licks her lips, which suddenly feel impossibly dry. Like her throat. She doesn't dare blink.

"May I show you something?" her other self says.

...

In the beginning, there was nothing.

Pure, perfect, dead. Emptiness. Void. Nothing changing. Nothing growing. Nothing but nothing, forever.

And then, something. Something exciting quantum particles, causing them to collide. And out of the resulting explosion, a universe. Atoms, elements, energy. Stars.

Planets.

The odds against life developing are astronomical. And yet, everywhere it can, in whatever form it needs to take, up it springs. Life with silicate nerves and quartz bodies. Life that dwells in seas of ammonia and feeds on brainwaves. Life that has no physical form, but exists as a superintelligent shade of the colour blue. And every time one form fails, falls to dust, another appears to take its place. Ambulatory life forms feed on other ambulatory life forms, feed on photosynthesizing life forms, which in turn feed on the nuclear energy of an impossibly distant sun. Everything is interwoven, stealing energy - stealing life - from each other. Wherever life exists, it strives. And it exists. Everywhere.

It's chaos. But it also has a rhythm to it - a syncopated one, to be sure, wild and loud and raucous, but a rhythm. There is a kind of logic to it all. There's only so much energy to go around.

And life is not...not an entity. Certainly not anything like a god, deliberately choosing worth or lack thereof to determine which form of life will be successful and which will fail, where its energy should flow next. Not even, exactly, a force. It is not discrete or distinct from the universe it flows through. It is not ruthless, or powerful, or vicious, or selfish, or fair or unfair. It simply is.

And it does what it does.

Poets and philosophers have called humanity 'the universe experiencing itself'.

The first time life burns out a star to divert its energy while wearing a human form, there is no thought behind it, no calculation, no cruelty. It simply does what it does. The energy has to come from somewhere. The exploding heart of that sun and the lives of all those millions who orbited it have not been destroyed, merely converted to another form. It's simple physics.

Simple physics thinks nothing of it. Simple physics doesn't think at all.

But Jean Elaine Grey, a tiny speck of sand dislodged from the bed of the massive river of the universe, can't contain the full horror of it in her little mind. All of those lives. All of those individual, distinct lives.

Life, the seed of the thing that was and will be the Phoenix is used to. It is not equipped to handle lives.

It is not equipped for anything to do with being alive at all.

It reacts...badly.

...

The thing in the form of Jean's older self is still watching her, when the trance breaks. Jean is horrified to feel the unmistakable stiffness of drying tears on her cheeks.

She shakes her head.

"None of that makes it right," she says.

"I am learning that," the Phoenix agrees. " 'Right' is a human concept. Like 'justice' and 'love'. I have very little experience with it."

Jean has no idea how to respond to that, so she doesn't.

"Most of my experiences come from you." The Phoenix's illusion of lips quirk upwards in an ironic smile, and it says, "In a way. It appears Time is trying out a few new ideas, as well. And, much like me, getting them wrong."

Jean bites down on her lower lip. The situation feels much too serious to laugh.

"Is that your pitch, then?" she asks, once she's stuffed down the urge to snicker. "I should let you in because I make you a better person?"

The Phoenix shifts, grimacing as it unfolds its legs.

"No," it says. "You made me a person. If I understand the human perspective correctly, it is now up to me to make me a better person. Which is why I'm here."

It reaches out. Jean leans back, but the Phoenix's gloved hand still settles against the dead centre of her chest. There's an answering flicker of warmth from between Jean's lungs.

Jean struggles to draw breath.

"You have a seed of my power in you," the Phoenix says. "You always have had it."

"Tell me something I don't know," Jean snaps. To her surprise, the Phoenix smiles.

"You're not the only one," it continues, and then, before Jean can interrupt again, "Everyone else on every world does too."

Jean shakes her head.

" 'Life Itself'," she says, softly, to herself. "You're in everything living."

The Phoenix nods its illusory head, once, smiling. Jean presses a hand to her forehead.

"But - why me, then?" she asks, and is uncomfortably aware she's whining.

The Phoenix gives her a blank look. "Why not you?"

Jean has nothing to say to that.

"So you understand why I can't take the Phoenix Seed from you," it says. "But - I think Time wishes to give you a second chance. I know I do."

Its face grows serious for a moment, a shadow passing behind its eyes before it says, "I owe you a debt of gratitude. But...I am sorry. And if I can help you, in any way, in your fight against your fate, then I will."

Jean realises, with a start, that it's starting to fade before her eyes. She doesn't think, just reaches out and grabs the Phoenix's arm. It doesn't feel like flesh under her fingers, just tingles, like her palm is falling asleep.

"Wait," she says. "Why are you doing this?"

The Phoenix smiles at her, enigmatically, with her own face.

"You humans aren't the only ones who can evolve," it says.

And then it’s gone, leaving nothing behind but a faint warmth in Jean’s chest.

#this is mary's fic tag #jean grey is mine now #/#//#///#xmen #cleanin' out my drafts doot doodly do #what the heck is accurate characterisation #what the heck is knowing the source material

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