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whirlybirbs · 3 years

Note

the prompt "don't you dare touch her," with protective!loki? 👉👈

FROM THE VOID, WITH LOVE | the perfect storm

summary: roxxcart brings the end of the world as we know it.

pairing: loki / f!reader

a/n: we're officially caught up to the next episode, all ready for tomorrow. i'm betting on some signature loki chaos,, also maybe some time crimes. this was a particularly fun drabble to write - especially within the context of reader/lady loki. this gif is by @chrishemsworht from this stunning set!

[ MASTERPOST ]

Ever since you were a kid, you've never liked storms.

Thunder, lightning, wind... Everything that came on the wing of a storm scared you — after all, there was no controlling it. At the very best, you could board yourself up and wait it out, hoping Mother Nature's rage wasn't enough to wash you away this time.

You respected nature.

But this?

This terrifies you.

Going into this, you knew it was a Class Ten Apocalypse. You knew that after the storm made landfall, over ten thousand people would die. You knew this category eight hurricane would completely devour this working town whole — but, when you step through that portal, it dawns on you just how horrifying the destruction will be.

It's like being thrown into a river of ice. The rain leaves welts on your skin. Somewhere in the distance, a transformers blows and lights the sky up green.

Roxxcart stands there in the wake of the storm — a shining beacon of hope — glowing blue in the night. The evacuation buses line the curb, and you watch others flee to the makeshift shelter.

Your arrival goes unnoticed.

The crackle of downed power lines serves as a backdrop to B-15 hollering over the wind.

"Move out!"

Loki can't help but be reminded of his brother.

You notice. Swallowed up by your raincoat, you match his strides as he eyes the sky. You both share a half-worried look, soaked already from the torrential rain.

Inside Roxxcart, store-turned-shelter does little to quell your fear. The power flickers the moment the gaggle of TVA affiliates step through the swinging doors. They rattle on their frames, and rain laps at the rug on the floor.

The store is eerily empty.

Somewhere, in the depths of the back storage room, a baby wails.

You shiver and pull down your hood. Huffing, you spare Loki a miserable look. This rain jacket did very little to keep you dry. Now, it's just clinging to your skin.

Water runs off the tip of your nose and you're about to push a sopping tangle of storm-mussed hair out of your face when, behind you, a shimmer of emerald light ripples across Loki's figure.

You do a double take.

Loki is dry.

"What the hell was that?"

"That was me," Loki snarks at the Hunter, "Using magic. To dry my clothes... So I don't announce myself with every squeaky footstep like the rest of you!"

You shiver again and try to shake off some of the water. "Lucky you."

Then, Loki reaches and prods your shoulder. Suddenly, like a ripple of goosebumps, the cold gives way to warmth and... you're dry.

You blink.

Loki averts your mystified gaze.

"You're welcome."

It had felt feather light. Like a warm breeze against bare skin.

Overhead, the thunder roars. Like a hungry lioness, the hurricane has taken another bite of the mainland and with it goes most of the center power. As if on cue, Roxxcart is plunged into the half-lit glow of emergency generators that hum angrily somewhere outside.

"Take both teams and sweep the storm shelter."

"Yes ma'am."

"Loki, Doc and I are going to check out the Greenhouse, we'll meet back at the show room—"

"No."

Mobius freezes. "No?"

"You and the Doctor go with D-90. Loki stays with me."

You can see a flash of anger ignite in Mobius' gaze. Loki turns to catch your worried look thrown his way — and he can't help but mirror it. The idea of being split up isn't exactly appealing to him.

"What are you... He's under my supervision."

"This is my field op, Mobius. If he's not a threat, it won't be a problem—"

"Of course he's a threat, they both are. Do you not remember when they got here? The Time Theater?"

"Mobius—" Loki is quickly talked over.

The argument continues, all while you try to pipe up. "Guys—"

"You are more than welcome to go back to the TVA and litigate with Renslayer, but right now—"

"—We're here. We're not going back. The Variant is here."

"Mobius," Loki urges, waving a hand at the man, "It's fine. It's fine."

His tone is unusually soft.

"You can trust me," he says to the Agent before turning to the Hunter across from him, "I understand I have to earn that, so, I will."

Outside, the wind howls.

Mobius and Loki share a look.

You have to laugh when Mobius finally speaks. "Why is it the people you can't trust are always saying, 'trust me'?"

Loki rolls his jaw in slight offense.

With that, it's settled. As you begin to follow Mobius off as the agent gets one last dig on Hunter B-15, you call out to Loki. He can see the traces of a smirk.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

He offers a slightly nervous smirk back.

"See you on the other side, Doctor."

The group splits up.

You jog to catch up to Mobius and the other Hunters, ignoring the strobed whir of the power surging overhead. You've never seen a storm like this in your whole life. The wind outside rattles the doors beyond the register and you toss a nervous look of your shoulder. Anxiety bites at your skin. Pinpricks light up your hands as you remember that the Variant is here.

Suddenly, you feel like you're being watched.

You stick to Mobius' side as the group fans out through the greenhouse — and through double-doors leading to a larger, outdoor section, you see twisted and mangled shelves burying shattered planters. Debris block the door. It opens and shuts meagerly on air.

"Something doesn't feel right."

Mobius watches you from the corner of his eye, flashlight raised as they move towards the back of the warehouse. "Why?"

"I don't know," you say quietly, mostly to yourself, "Maybe it's just the storm. I can't put my finger on it."

You duck under the rubber seal strips hanging from the doorway.

The sight of the makeshift storm shelter does little to tamp down your uneasiness. It's a claustrophobic nightmare. Inside the back room, families are piled in tightly. Their belongings and children are held close — and your heart drops at the realization that all of these people will die. Every single one.

And the Variant knows it.

"For the past hour we've seen winds intensifying—" cries the hand-crank radio at the edge of the room, hailing updates from the local weather service.

You swallow down a roll of worry.

You don't want to be here when the worse of the storm makes landfall.

Hunter D-90 gives an order to check bags for the reset charges when a man in the back ambles up, staggering towards you and Mobius.

"You guys FEMA? National Guard?"

You feel Mobius stiffen beside you. The man is desperate, you can tell, by his plead for some sort of transportation out of this place — and you wince when Mobius turns him down.

Snuffed out the hope in his eyes like that.

"Well how th' heck d'you get here?"

Then, D-90 roughly shoves the man back.

You're snapping out a sharp bark of a demand before you even realize it. "Stop it."

D-90 turns on his heel. He pins you with a gaze that should have been intimidating. But, frankly, your anger is the brightest thing in this room right now. Maybe the Hunter sees it, maybe he doesn't. But, when Mobius steps up and presses a hand to the armor across his chest, the staring contest is broken.

"What are you doing?" he says, roughing him slightly by the shoulder, "These people are scared."

"They're about to die," drawls the Hunter, "They should be scared—"

"Fuck off—"

"Doc, take a walk."

Mobius points to the doorway. You bite your tongue, shift from foot to foot, then begrudgingly obey.

Then, in the dark of the greenhouse aisle, you hear him.

It's Loki.

He's... talking?

"Enough with your games, I've been trying to help you—"

Then, another voice.

It's not Hunter B-15.

Moving quickly through the aisles, you duck and weave through the electrical section. It's hard to see anything in the dim light of the Roxxcart, and you're hesitant with every step you take. Above you, the building creaks with a mournful wail.

"Loki?" you whisper, "Where are you?"

The God's eyes widen.

Across from him, standing amidst the grocery aisle, Randy stills.

Behind the sales associate you emerge, swallowed by darkness.

Your expression is confused.

"Doctor—"

The associate turns. You tilt your head.

The man smiles.

"Well, well, well. Does she know about your little plan, then?" he jokes as he sways his arms, "I'm sure she'd be terribly proud of you, Loki."

The God blanches.

You feel your blood run cold. "...Plan? Loki, what's... What's going on?"

The man before you has a name-tag that glows bright orange, but it doesn't matter. He isn't Randy. No, as you stand here and look, it dawns on you; you've seen that smirk before. But, this one is different. It's maliciously threatening; laden with danger. Like wolves' teeth.

The man stalks towards you, then stops just short.

You hold your ground. "Loki, who the hell is this?"

Then, the man reaches out.

"Shame, you don't recognize me, love?"

Loki's snarl startles the both of you.

"Don't you dare touch her."

Randy's eyes flash green. "...Isn't that quaint?"

Then, the expression in the man's eyes softens. His voice is quiet. His hand reaches to press a crooked finger to your cheek. The gesture is gentle, caring. Affectionate.

"You're younger than I remember."

As Loki rears up on Randy, the associate crumples at your feet.

You jump, blinking wildly.

Loki's voice is rushed. "You're alright?"

Then, before you can even reply, there's a root planted on the God's ribs and a man following through — the kick sends Loki sliding to the ground with a rush of pained air. He desperately gasps for air as you stagger backwards.

"I miss Randy."

Then, another kick.

You yelp, scrambling to rush to Loki's side — but this bigger man moves to swing you into a crushing embrace. You wiggle, back to his chest, and grunt; he smells like chewing tobacco and beer. You hiss in pain at the tightness of his grip.

"I really don't want to hurt you, my love," he laughs, "Let me handle this, will you?"

"Don't — egh — call me," you wind your head forward, then snap it back right into the man's nose, "Your love!"

With a pained scream, you're flung across the aisle. Your back connects with the shelving and down comes a rain of Instapots. If you weren't so concerned about the current state of affairs, maybe you would have been interested to know that Instapots had survived until 2050. But, honestly? You're trying to muddle your way through what feels like a concussion.

The room rolls on it's axises.

"Thank you for helping me stall for time," comes the snide drawl of the man pacing towards Loki, now trailed by the drops of blood running from his nose, "You really do love to hear yourself talk."

"You're the first person to tell me that—"

You watch as you try to push yourself up as Loki is skidded across the floor.

What ensues feels like the world largest waste of magical powers — and you finally scramble upwards to see Loki be thrown, once again, but this time through a display with a loud clatter. You gawk, gasping as the man turns. His gaze is now on you.

"Really, darling, you're settling for the wrong one."

The rage never comes down upon you — instead, you're able to rush by and skid to Loki's side. You swat away the little, yellow, yapping dogs and grip the lapels of his jacket. He blinks up at you, rolls his jaw and inhales sharply. You look him over.

"You alright?" you ask, breathless.

"Oh, just lovely."

"C'mon, get up."

You help him, hands tangled with his as he leans on your for support; but once the God has staggered to full-height, it seems as if it's a matter of pride that has come to be settled. It's like someone has snapped their fingers. His coyness is traded in for a viper-sharp sneer — vengeful spite colors him entirely.

The shift in his anger is startling.

He starts towards the crouched man at the end of the aisle.

"What do you want from me?" comes a hellish bark, accompanied by the crisp click of his dress shoes against the tile; outside, thunder roars. A flash of lightning ignites blue along the windows, "What is this about?"

"Loki—" you call after him, stopping in your tracks as the man stands.

"Brace yourselves."

His shoulders begin to quake as he laughs, and you quickly rush to Loki's side — the blood smeared smile of the man fades as his consciousness does. Like the one from before, this vessel collapses in a heap on the tile floor.

WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?

WHAT IS THIS ABOUT?

W̷̤̄Ḧ̸̹A̶͙͂T̷̯̀ ̴̮͂Ḯ̷͓S̸͈͝ ̶̭̕Ṫ̷̯Ḧ̴̲́I̵̦̕S̵͍̃ ̶̎ͅĂ̶̧B̴̠͑Ȏ̷̪U̶͈͠T̶̼͋?̸̻̕

The sound crackles into a near inaudible growl — and when the two of your turn to face the source of the noise, you're greeted by a figure bathed in shadow.

Your heart stops.

The figure steps forwards, fingers electric with the same green energy that had kissed your skin minutes ago, and pulls their hood down.

The woman standing there is not what you expected.

"This isn't about you."

Then, as the whole warehouse is plunged into all consuming black, the hiss and spit of a hundred or more reset charges begins like a wave on a shore — the metallic sigh that follows mingles with the tell tale warble of a Time Door.

Loki watches in horror as suddenly, the ignited light from the charges disappear one by one into the gilded, fogged portals.

You can't move. No, because while the world falls apart around you, this Variant has taken your face into her hands — the look she spares through the chaos is soft; it hurt feels like she's reached into your heart and wrapped a fist around your heartstrings.

Then, like she reminds herself of where she is, she snaps out of it.

The moment her fingers leave your cheek, the warehouse is drenched in red light. Over head, the storm rages. Wind roars, and the rain sounds more like sheets of gunfire.

Lightning flashes, the red dissipates.

Then, she disappears through the warbling portal.

You can hear Mobius somewhere, calling your names, but in that moment it's only you and Loki, sharing troubled looks over what to do next — and trust.

You take his hand. Loki looks over his shoulder at Mobius.

"Loki, Doc! Wait! Wait!"

Then, you both disappear through the door, gone before Mobius can even reach for you.

#from the void with love #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x reader #loki x ofc #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki spoilers #loki/reader #loki/y/n #loki/you #marvel imgaine #loki imagine #loki laufeyson imagine #loki laufeyson x you

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paellaplease · 3 years

Note

Marcid for Revali x Reader maybe? QwQ

18. marcid - incredibly exhausted

pairing: revali x reader

summary: you find a place to hide from the wind blight, but this quiet peace can only last for so long.

By some miracle, you dragged the ancient entrance shut with nothing but raw power and adrenaline. Broken arm painfully throbbing in the makeshift sling of your ripped jacket, there’s an air of finality when you hear the metal wall slam down, killing the lights and plunging you and Revali into near darkness.

“Let’s lie you down,” you say to no immediate reply. In the emptiness of Vah Medoh’s last safe chamber, his silence was unnerving.

“Catching your breath? That’s a good idea, take it easy please.” Talking to yourself wasn’t very effective in fending off the panic either. And the smell of burnt feathers was quickly overtaking everything else.

Carefully, you unhooked the Rito’s wing from around your shoulder, lowering him gently to the ground. Propping his back up against one of the walls, you failed to ignore the groan of pain that escaped his lips.

To your horror, his tired eyes began to close. “Sorry! I’m sorry, please stay awake.”

Knees buckling from the stress, you sank to the spot next to him, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. Reaching out through the darkness, your hand found the buckle of his armor. With some fiddling the straps loosened, heavy steel dropping to the floor. Like a drowning man, Revali took a deep breath of air, the wheeze and crackle that followed bringing you close to tears.

“Just a little longer. Hylia. You hit your head real bad up there so you can’t fall asleep until we get to safety.”

Even as you placed a hand to his abdomen, deep down you knew that running a quick check up would do nothing but bring you more sadness. You were out of bandages and potions. You couldn’t even see him properly. What good would fatal diagnosis do?

The Blight in its rage had torn a large gash over his stomach, cowardly disappearing in a vortex of wind to tend to its own wounds. Desperate to stop the bleeding, you had ripped the Champion’s scarf from around his neck, using it as a makeshift bandage in an attempt to stop the rush of blood that leaked from under his armor.

Probing the site of his injury, you felt your fingers come away damp with blood, dashing the last pieces of hope that you’d struggled to protect. A small sob left your lips. Oh no, please no—

A trembling wing was pressed over your hand, wrapping around your palm and squeezing it reassuringly.

Looking up, you can barely make out the green of Revali’s eyes in the low light. His voice came out quiet and raspy, slow as he teetered on the edge of unconsciousness. “How does it look?”

You shook your head, sobering up for his sake. “Not great, but don’t worry. We’re going to find a way out of here. Mipha or whatever healer is closest is going to patch you up. It’s going to be okay— you’re going to be okay.”

Revali huffed out a small laugh. It was soft and tired, but you can still trace the endearing upturn of his beak in the darkness. “When you put it that way, it’s hard to argue the contrary.”

The Rito coughed again, sagging to the side. You had to pull him closer, shivers racking through his body with burnt feathers fluffing up in an attempt to stay warm.

At some point you felt the heavy weight of his gaze piercing into you, raising the hairs at the back of your neck. You looked at Revali questioningly, barely seeing him narrow his eyes at the sight of your injured arm.

“Uh...this?” You sent him a sunny placating grin as a reflex, useless as it was in the dark.

“Yes, that.”

You pursed your lips, shrugging as you were already past the point of caring for your own well-being. Sensing this, the Rito was less than enthused. “You were out cold but that Blight’s laser was going to hit us…” His body was tensing again, and so you fought your embarrassment to tell the truth. “I deflected it.”

“How?”

“With...my sword?” Rest in pieces. It was a precious gift from one of the best sword wielders among the Champions. “Please don’t tell Urbosa! I’ll make you salmon meuniere for the rest of the week.”

Revali was quiet again, and you could practically feel his trademark stare of Judgement burning into your cheek. With an exhausted sigh, he closed his eyes and rested against your chest. “I can’t believe you. Beautiful, reckless dumbass...”

You mocked a gasp. “Excuse me, a reckless dumbass that saved us both from getting sauteed on the rooftop. And don’t prefix your insult with a compliment, I’ll get confused.”

Much to your disbelief Revali chuckled, shifting in your hold to sit up higher. You turned your head to tell him off, out of concern that he was going to disturb his wounds, only for you to fall silent when you felt his forehead brush your cheek.

The silent show of affection brought the reality of everything crashing back onto you. You were still trapped in the Divine Beast, hundreds of metres above ground. There was no way to call for help, no supplies left but the clothes on your backs. And the person you cared for the most was bleeding out in your arms.

Your head dipped, pressing back against Revali’s face. Vaguely you could feel him whispering to you in the darkness. His wing reached up to wipe away the tears from your cheeks, and only then did you realise you were crying.

“You did well.”

Those words were said with such raw conviction, you almost mistook it to be love.

“I had to shut down Vah Medoh at the control terminal,” you shakily admit, smoothing a hand over the back of his head. Some of the braids he had worked so hard to maintain had come undone. Your fingers got to work, gently untangling the strands.

“I know,” his voice was quieter now. “Medoh asked me the same thing whilst I was in the air. I’m glad you heard the call too.”

The fight was slowly leaving him, his soul barely tethered to your own as you continued to steadfastly linger in this world. There wasn’t much time left. Eventually Malice would weave into the mainframe and find the back up generators at the core.

Eventually the emergency lights would ignite, bathing the room in red and leaving not a shadow left to hide in.

Eventually the Divine Beast Vah Medoh would awaken, undoing the security override on the door and sending you both to the inevitable.

But that would be later, and not yet now.

“Revali?”

“Yes?”

“Can we stay like this for a little longer?”

You could feel his smile against your cheek. “For you, I would do anything.”

#revali x reader #revali #revali botw #reader / revali #botw #botw reader #loz #paella writes

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amintyworld · 3 years

Text

I'm Like You - Origins SMP Oneshot

A/N: So... Origins SMP may be over but that won't stop me from posting this-! :D

Origins SMP please come back

Anyway here's some hurt/comfort more on the fluffy side. - Minty

TW: Blood/gore, mention of death, kidnapping, mention of chopping one's wings off, mention of selling body parts, almost drowning, cursing. (Let me know if I need to add anything else!)

-----------------------------

Phil remembered the day they found him - he was tangled in some seaweed and reeds, floating along in the water, leaving a trail of crimson red in his wake. The teenager's right wing was a shamble of blood and feathers, bruises and cuts littering his skin that ignited Phil's anger - he had half a mind to find that damn village and set it ablaze. But, his mind made sure the boy was the priority. Phil untangled him, thankful that the ocean hadn't let him float out to sea, and pulled him on land, quickly searching for a pulse and practically sighing in relief when he'd found one. Phil wondered how long the kid had been out here - he felt ice-cold to the touch, skin ghostly pale.

He remembered, holding the teenager close in his arms as he took off in the air, wondering why. Why would someone hurt a kid, a child, for something they couldn't control? Why would someone have so much hate in their hearts to land deadly hits on a defenseless person? Why then, after everything they did to him, did they leave him in the river to die? Phil never really got an answer that night as he returned toward Ghostbur's mansion on the mountain. He guessed that maybe the world just didn’t have an answer, or rather, they just didn’t have an answer he wanted to hear.

Phil’s roommate, a good-natured phantom called Ghostbur, practically rushed the kid upstairs to a bed, grabbing supplies before Phil even had a chance to explain what happened. “Ghostbur, you really shouldn’t-!” Phil huffed as he launched himself to the second level, grabbing his friend by the arm, feeling his friend’s body shake with adrenaline, emotion. “Wil, he’s got a broken wing - wings are very sensitive and extremely delicate, we need to be careful.” His hand reached up to steady his phantom friend. “Can you grab a couple of potions, bandages, as well as a needle and thread for me? I’ll work on cleaning him up.”

The phantom took a deep breath, silently phasing through the floor beneath his feet to grab the items Phil requested. He understood Ghostbur’s worry - damaged wings for winged creatures could quickly turn detrimental, it was a natural part of who they were, how they felt, and sensed danger around them. Without it, they’d feel incomplete, empty, but most importantly - they’d be in their most vulnerable state.

Phil’s fingers were soft and light as he cleaned out the wounded wing, picking out and straightening feathers that were stuck, misshapen, or out of place. Gently, using lukewarm water, he washed the dirt, rocks, and dried blood from the wound, careful to move slowly so as to not cause alarm to the kid. Ghostbur floated up next to him, placing the things he asked for on the bedside table, crossing his arms, and looking over to the teenager. “Is he gonna be okay, Phil?”

“I…” Phil sighed. “I dunno. The wound’s deep, half his flying feathers are gone… thank gods whoever left him had a shit aim, it looks like they were trying to take the wing off at the source.”

“Can you fix it?”

“...I can try.”

------------------------------------------------

Tommy’s head pounded, his body wrapped in a comforting warmth that practically screamed at him to sink into. His muscles ached for rest, but Tommy knew he needed to get moving. His head ached so much it made his brain go fuzzy as he struggled to remember what happened yesterday. He and Tubbo were moving to go collect some honey… Did he fall asleep again?

Tommy would admit it wouldn’t be the first time he found a good sunlight patch to catch a nap and the shulker hybrid had to carry him back to their base on the mountain. How long had he slept? Why was he still tired?

His ears perked up as he heard shuffling around him. His instincts began to flare, sending signals up his spine. Wait… the hunters… the hunters took him… Tubbo’s in danger-

He felt someone touch his wing, gently moving it toward themselves. His wing… they tried to take his wings, they wanted to sell them for money-! Tommy’s eyes snapped open. He wasn’t home. He didn’t know where he was and a stranger was touching his wing.

dangerdangerdanger-

Ignoring his body’s protests to rest, he leaped up, surprising the attacker as he tackled him toward the wall quickly to restrain him, pinning his neck with his arm. A crash sounded behind him but Tommy didn’t care. He was getting out of here and saving Tubbo no matter what. His eyes bore into the ill-intended stranger, ready for a fight. “Where am I?!”

The stranger’s eyes flicked up toward Tommy’s, at first matching his intense gaze before quickly softening, silent as he became acutely aware of the razor-sharp talons digging into his leg. “You’re in my house.” He did his best to keep his voice calm. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Where’s Tubbo?”

“Who-”

Tommy slammed the man back against the wall. “Don’t act dumb you fucker, where’s the shulk?!”

“I don’t know, okay?! Just-!”

Tommy’s eyes flicked over toward the window - an escape! He needed to get out of here, clearly Tubbo got taken somewhere else if the stranger didn’t know him. He needed to get free and… and come up with some kind of plan...yeah! Adrenaline pumping like mad from the close encounter, the stranger noticed his gaze as realization hit him.

“Wait… hold on, you really shouldn’t-!”

Tommy felt the wind flow underneath his wings, perched on the window ledge. They were achingly sore - who knows how long he’d been trapped here? Moving to crack a tense spot in his back, Tommy felt a sense of relief. He smiled, knowing that his wings wouldn’t be sore for much longer. They just needed to stretch.

Phil rushed forward, an inch too late as Tommy leaped from the building.

The teenager stretched his wings out to catch himself on the breeze, confident for the span of at least a minute. He closed his eyes like he usually did to better focus. Why couldn’t he feel his wings picking him up? Why wasn’t his body doing what he needed to - it was as simple as taking a step! Just stretch and glide on the breeze.

Stretch, and…

For the first time since the avian learned to fly, Tommy found himself crashing down onto the grass. Shame welled up in his stomach, paired with confusion. Hearing the door bang open behind him added to it all a twinge of fear. He stumbled, trying in vain to gather his bearings. Ignoring the sting of scratches from the crash, he ran into the forest.

“Wait! Mate, just wait for a second!”

The wind picked up through the trees, tangling through hair and setting practically every nerve on Tommy’s wings aflame. There was danger. He needed to fly. He needed to fly away, but… but he couldn’t. He was trapped and alone with hunters chasing him down to finish the job they started. He couldn’t stop running. He couldn’t, because if he did he could say goodbye to flying ever again. He’d never grow his wings back, and he’d look like a useless disgusting human.

He’d be normal.

Flying was the only hybrid skill, the only uniqueness about him. Tommy would rather die than ever have that stripped away from him. Chopping away bone, muscle, and feather - all in the interest of earning a few gold coins! Well, fuck them. His body barely running on energy as it was, his legs gave out on him as he fell to the ground again.

No. Please.

He heard footsteps, flipping around to see the blonde man. Pure fear gripped him for the first time in his life. He scooted backwards as the man tried to approach. Another pathetic attempt at escaping - why was he even trying anymore? His back hit a tree trunk, his wings shrinking back, as scared as he was. Yet, the blonde man moved closer.

“Stay back! Stay back, or…” Tommy struggled, quickly moving to grab a rock, holding it up in some sort of threat. As if a rock could take down a hybrid hunter. “...or I will mess you up, bro!”

The blonde man stopped walking forward. “Look, I know you’re confused and scared, I would be too. But I promise, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Liar! I won’t let you take them!”

The man’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Take them…? I…” He looked down at the teenager in sympathy. “I don’t want your wings, I swear!”

“Bullshit!” Tommy yelled. “I know your game, stop acting so innocent! You can’t lure me in, you can’t make me trust a single word you say, hunter!”

“I’m not... I’m not a hunter, okay?” Phil said, stepping closer and making Tommy tense. He sat down four feet away from the teen, taking a deep breath before shouldering off his green robe, leaving the white tank. Immediately, a pair of translucent, metallic wings unfurled from his back, so large Tommy almost felt intimidated. Tommy wanted to say something, but words died on his throat. Phil shrugged his shoulders after stretching his wings out looking up toward the avian. He awkwardly smiled. “...well mate, I’m like you.”

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#osmp #osmp!wilbur #wilbur soot #osmp!tubbo #osmp!tommy #tubbo #tommyinnit #tommyinnit and tubbo #osmp!phil #philza #dadza philza #my writing #hurt/comfort #osmp drabble #osmp fic

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gameofdrarry · 3 years

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Wizards Hearts Recs: Veela Creature!Fic

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 Taro Milk Tea with a side of Depression by VeelaWings Rated: Mature Words: 1073 Tags: Pre-Slash, Screenplay/Script Format, Conversations, Veela Draco Malfoy, Werewolf Harry Potter, Guidance Counselors, in therapy, Depression, Self-Hatred, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Morbid Humor, Inappropriate Behavior from a Professional, H/D Hurt!Fest 2020 Summary: Draco sat through twenty grievous minutes of Ministry-mandated group therapy for Newly Registered Magical Beings & Creatures — then promptly stormed out. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Feathers, Fire & Fate by agentmoppet Rated: Teen and Up Words: 25983 Tags: Veela Draco Malfoy, Unspeakable Harry Potter, Peacock Keeper Draco Malfoy, unusual careers, Banter, Pining, Loneliness, Dreamscapes, Accidental Bonding, Cursed Bonding, Guilt, Soulmates, Drinking, Minor Injuries, H/D Erised 2020, Creature Fic, Cursed Harry Potter, Fate, Dreams, Peacocks, Animals, Animal Sanctuary, Repaying Debt, Veela Mates Summary: Harry Potter ignites the Veela’s Curse and gets an unwitting Draco Malfoy bonded to him as his executioner… and soulmate. They’ll need to break it quickly, before it takes over, but Potter isn’t the only one running out of time. The sand in the hourglass has nearly fallen, and whichever way this ends, Draco is doomed. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Not Even Malfoys Wear Silk to Work by ringelchen Rated: Explicit Words: 14026 Tags: Christmas, First Dates, Co-workers, Veela Draco Malfoy, Vampire Harry Potter, Veelas, Vampires, Creature Fic, Oblivious Harry Potter, Secrets, Misunderstandings, Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy Has Long Hair, Harry Potter Cooks, Soulmates, Enemies to Lovers, Flirting, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE Summary: Harry invites Draco, his new boss who also happens to be a Veela, to spend Christmas Eve with him. It is supposed to be their first date and Harry wants it to be perfect. However, with him being a new vampire and not knowing a thing about Veelas, problems are bound to occur. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Soup-pocalypse and The Great Curry Cataclysm by SquadOfCats Rated: Explicit Words: 104357 Tags: Veela Draco Malfoy, Veela Mates, Teddy Lupin was Raised by Harry Potter, Parent Harry Potter, Depression, Mental Health Issues, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter, Past Suicide Attempt, H/D Food Fair 2018, Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Thinks Draco Malfoy is Up to Something, Draco Malfoy Cooks, Courtship, Food Issues, Romance, Pining Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Post-Hogwarts, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE Summary: Eleven years after the war, Draco Malfoy leads a quiet, boring, and perfectly respectable life, thanks very much. Or, at least he does, until a sudden and very unexpected veela awakening causes him to throw soup all over Harry Potter in the middle of the Ministry cafeteria. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 There's You by epsilonargus Rated: Teen and Up Words: 19254 Tags: Veela Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Post-Hogwarts, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Creature Fic, Winged Draco Malfoy, St Mungo's Hospital, Angel’s Trumpet Draught, Grimmauld Place, H/D Pottermore Fair 2015 Summary: When Draco is attacked and turned into a Veela, he falls under the protection of Auror Harry Potter. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Today, Forever by PalenDrome (nerdherderette), PotterArt Rated: Explicit Words: 60958 Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Voyeurism, Frottage, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rimming, Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, Veela Draco Malfoy, Winged Draco Malfoy, Veela Mates, Bonding, Soulmates, Enemies to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Draco Malfoy/OMC (brief), Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Case Fic, Minor Violence, Minor Character Death, Magical Theory, Magical Biology, Muggle and Wizarding Technology, Digital Art, Embedded Images, Harry/Draco Big Bang 2018, Community: harrydracobang Summary: As if his recent divorce and sleepless nights weren’t bad enough, a rash of escalating crimes against purebloods forces Harry and his team of Aurors to protect the riskiest target in all of Wizarding Britain. Of course, Draco Malfoy would still be ridiculously infuriating and impossibly gorgeous. As well as a Veela. Who happens to be Harry’s mate. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 A Year's Temptation by Lomonaaeren Rated: Mature Words: 118117 Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Veela, Angst, Post - Half-Blood Prince, Alternate Universe, Consensual Infidelity, Dubious Consent Summary: Draco isn't best pleased to discover he's a Veela at twenty-four...especially since both he and his mate, Harry Potter, are married. Harry suggests a compromise that might work, if everyone agrees. But the compromise is fragile, and stands the chance of only making everything monumentally worse than before. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 High Priced by dysonrules Rated: Mature Words: 17094 Tags: Veela, EWE, Magical Creatures Summary: Harry Potter discovers he has Veela blood, which requires him to have contact with his "mate" in the form of some sort of physical touching or else he will wither and die. Of course, his mate turns out to be someone extraordinarily unsuitable--Draco Malfoy, who is only too gleeful to finally have something that Harry Potter needs. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Animal Attraction by Tari_Sue Rated: Explicit Words: 19334 Tags: Veela, Veela Draco Malfoy, Veela (Harry Potter) Summary: A hex gone wrong turns Draco from one of the world’s most despised wizards into the Ministry’s most desirable Veela. Now all he has to do is learn to control Veela Allure gone haywire, try to find a cure and avoid Harry Potter. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Glory Be by Lomonaaeren Rated: Explicit Words: 32847 Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Veela, Assassins & Hitmen, Veela Fest Summary: Draco—Draco Malfoy, skilled assassin, powerful and wealthy Veela, former Death Eater—has always known what to do, where to go, who to kill. And then Harry Potter came along: Harry Potter, Unspeakable, former Auror, the most powerful wizard Draco has ever seen. And Draco catches a glimpse of glory he may be unable to live without. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 In The Hand by aideomai Rated: Teen and Up Words: 28470 Tags: Multiverse, lots of harrys, a few more dracos, feat. - Freeform, Veela Draco Malfoy, Female Harry Potter, Female Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy Speaks French, (sorta) - Freeform, oh and a jazz singer Summary: Two months after Harry went missing, when Hermione was frantic with fear and panic and sleep deprivation, Draco Malfoy cornered them outside the Great Hall before breakfast. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Nothing Stays the Same by isabelbarret Rated: Explicit Words: 103022 Tags: Auror Harry Potter, Veela Draco Malfoy, Veela, Babysitter Draco Malfoy, Falling In Love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter, Quidditch, Daily Prophet Summary: When Luna leaves for a year for an internship in America Harry is in need of a new babysitter. That's where Draco Malfoy comes who is now a redeemed death eater, veela, and highly recommended nanny. Life only gets crazier for Harry when a new case comes to the Auror department and the Daily Prophet is printing everything that harry does. Life is never simple for Harry Potter. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Shine, Even in the Darkness by raitala Rated: Explicit Words: 41159 Tags: Top Draco, Bottom Harry, Rimming, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, Sex Compulsion, Quidditch, Draco is still a prick, Facials, Frottage, Auror Harry, Veela Draco Summary: Harry hasn’t seen Draco for over fifteen years, but now he’s showing up everywhere and Harry is sort of weirdly attracted to him, but that can’t be right? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Gift of Life by dragontara Rated: Explicit Words: 13658 Tags: Mpreg, Veela Draco, Bottom Harry, Top Draco, Protective!Draco, Difficult!Harry, Loyal!Hermione, Doting!Narcissa Summary: Harry had always wanted a family of his own. Now, after a drunken one night stand, he was going to get it, but it'd be nice to remember with whom he was getting it. Also, having a baby with a Veela was a much bigger challenge for Harry than he'd have ever thought possible. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Veela-Ness by Quentin_threepwood Rated: Mature Words: 12618 Tags: Mpreg, Mpreg Harry, Veela Draco Malfoy, Gay Summary: When Harry is informed he's pregnant, he knows it shouldn't be possible. For one he was a bloke. But maybe Draco his sort of boyfriend, wasn't lying when mentioned he was a Veela... ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 My Name Was Safest in Your Mouth by alpha_exodus Rated: Expicit Words: 46134 Tags: Post-Hogwarts, HP: EWE, Background Relationships, Background Slash, Background Femslash, Pining, Potioneer Draco Malfoy, Creature Fic, Veela Draco Malfoy, Mates, Veela Mates, Magical Theory, Major Illness, Dirty Talk, Masturbation, Virus, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bonding, Magical Biology, Friends With Benefits, Angst with a Happy Ending, Community: hd_erised, Alcohol Summary: Harry didn’t ask for Malfoy to walk into his shop after so many years. But one event leads to another, and soon they’re scrambling to help Hermione find the solution to one of the most insidious viruses the wizarding world has ever seen. To make matters worse, Malfoy’s hiding something, and Harry really wants to kiss him—except Malfoy doesn’t date. Ever. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 body electric by lastontheboat Rated: Mature Words: 8844 Tags: Wandmaker Harry Potter, Veela Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, draco has commitment issues, harry makes wands the muggle way, draco's magic is suddenly on the fritz, oh no what could be causing it, nothing a good lust-powered wand crafting session won't fix, Harry Potter Has Long Hair, Dirty Talk, woodworking is sexy and nothing will change my mind on this subject Summary: “What could you possibly want?” Harry asks. "Would you believe I’m here for assistance with my wand?” Malfoy replies, still refusing to meet his eyes, and Harry snorts. “There are other wand makers,” he says tightly. “Unless you’ve slept with all of them as well.” ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Amaranthine by Bumping_Bees Rated: Explicit Words: 10324 Tags: Veela Draco Malfoy, Mates, Romance, Soul Bond, Smut, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Light Angst, Happy Ending, Reimagining of the Deathly Hallows, The Princess Bride References, Mating Bond, Veela Mates, Facebook: Hermione's Nook, Rimming, Anal Sex, Wingfic Summary: "Isn't that how stories are told? Fight the bad guy, be the hero, live happily ever after in love? After everything he had been through, some part of him really believed he would get a happy ending." Harry Potter never expected to become someone's mate. He never thought Draco Malfoy would love him back. He certainly never imagined that there was a path that would lead through the war to them both being alive. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 touch me, touch the sky by glittering_git Rated: Explicit Words: 34458 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Hogwarts, Auror Draco Malfoy, Veela Draco Malfoy, Magical Creatures Consultant Harry Potter, POV Draco Malfoy, Getting Together, Animagus, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Creature Discrimination, Mates, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Switching, Rimming, Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, Couch Sex, Trans Female Character, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Bars and Pubs, Drinking, Secrets, Background Femslash, Creature Fic, Unusual Career, wing fic, Tattoos, Wandless Magic, Sectumsempra Scars (Harry Potter), Allusions to Various Creature Attacks, Non-Graphic Violence, Committing Acts of Violence Under a Spell, Compulsion, Blood and Injury, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Kidnapping, H/D Erised 2020 Summary: Draco Malfoy has been an Auror for six years, but he’s never done anything more than push paper. When he and his new partner get called in on the biggest case the DMLE has worked in ages, Draco thinks his luck has finally changed. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Malfoy's Mate by maraudersaffair Rated: Explicit Words: 2481 Tags: Veela Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Partners, Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Injury, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Christmas Fluff Summary: Draco and Harry are Auror partners. They share a desk and quills and apricot buns. Draco is a Veela and Harry is his mate, but Draco knows he would lose Harry if he ever told him. ❤️ Read on AO3

#veela!draco #veela fic #drarry #drarry recs #game of drarry #wizards hearts #wh masterlist

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cassiecasyl · 3 years

Text

bittersweet surrender (everything is better now)

My first contribution for @whumpay2021!!

fandom: mcu relationship: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes warnings: self-harm, nightmares/flashbacks add. tags: Bucky Barnes has PTSD, Alternate Universe - Angels, Angel Sam Wilson, Angel Bucky Barnes, Recovering Bucky Barnes, Alpine and Redwing as their pets

prompts: Day 9 - gentle/brutal + Day 10 - screaming/silence

note: this fic is based on a headcanon i have about angel wings which i’ve previously written about in this series. I have pasted some paragraphs at the start for better understanding, but I still highly encourage you to check out the original series!

Read on Ao3.

“What are those lights?” Dean eventually asked, wonder and admiration on his face, an expression he hadn’t worn since his childhood was stolen.

“The plumage of an angel possesses a glow specific to the angel,” Castiel explained. “Sometimes, when the angel is around someone they especially trust and care for, this glow manifests in those particles. Nobody really knows what they actually are.”

“They look like fireflies,” Dean stated, but his eyes spoke of a question he was too afraid to ask. Castiel chuckled and agreed before he whispered a little word in Enochian, increasing the expression on Dean’s face. “What was that?”

The angel repeated the word, louder this time. “That’s what they’re called,” he clarified. “It means sparks of emotion, which is contradictory since angels aren’t supposed to feel. With the absence of a soul comes the inability to feel, but somehow, emotions found a way into our beings. These fireflies, as you call them, especially respond to strong emotions, but somehow they don’t resonate with hate, which is one of the strongest emotions. Usually, they show when an angel is around someone they,” Castiel made a quick pause, almost unnoticeable to those who didn't know him, “... love. Those little traitors.”

- After the Flight (The Meaning of Home) by @cassiecasyl

~~~

The poison entered him from the veins in his left arm. It’s still bleeding from the impact, and Bucky thought he saw flashes of bone the few times he’s able to blink his eyes open. He groaned in pain, instictly flinching away from their hands, but his body lay still, obedient. It burned through his system, alighting his insides, flames infecting his body and soul.

Humans always thought of hell as a pit of fire you’re thrown into, or the stake they’d burned witches on. Bucky knew better. Hellfire devoured him from inside. The souls of future victims screamed a haunting melody as they burned.

He remembers being a comet. His wings caught fire in the wind, the Earth rapidly approached to greet him in a lethal hug. Feathers danced back towards the heavens, hopelessly holding out for a home lost.

The inferno inside reached them now, igniting them anew, as if they weren’t injured enough already. It blazed through his grace, touching the very essence of his being, triggering what should never be forced. Tiny blue orbs sprang from his plumage, fighting their artificial light, reflecting in the tears streaming down his face. No. They couldn’t.

A nasty smile echoes in his mind, darting around forever. His heart sinks as his love sings, but he doesn’t feel it. They jab into his arm, cutting something off. He is a machine, easily reconfigured. No. They fill him with foreign hate, and it burns what’s left of him. Blue turns inside out, ablazes in orange before glaring at him in red. Bucky screams.

He screams, but there’s no sound, so he tries again, and again, and again, to no avail. His body is no longer his own. They control the very air he breathes, control the function of his lungs. He could die, here and now, and his body would be none the wiser.

Blood fills his mind, darker than his corrupted sparks. It is splattered all over the place, all over his face and on his hands. He is shaking inside his stoic cage. A tainted feather falls onto the ground, further painting itself with blood. It is surpringly light, considering the state of his wings. They are darkened with ash and charcoal these days, and covered in the grey mud only snow produces.

Winter. That’s what they call him.

He comes when it’s most inconvenient, and leaves only coldness in his wake. Wherever he goes, suffering follows, and even the trees shake with fear. None of them hear him scream.

He tries and tries, screaming until he swears he can feel blood in his throat, and then some more. Louder. Nobody even flinched. Louder. Why didn’t his mouth move, why were his tears only an extension of hellfire? His eyes burn, but winter freezes him before a tear ever leaves his eyes. They are as trapped as he is. Bucky screams, because that’s all he could do anymore. He screams over the roaring flames and the souls haunting him. He screams, but it never passes the barrier of his skin.

Bucky screams.

He screams until another voice joins him. “Bucky!” It was familiar panic, or worry. Hands collide with his freezing skin, and it’s burning again, oh god, they’re burning him again. He doesn’t even remember what he did to deserve this. Bucky kicks and flails, blind because they control his eyes, but his body is his.

A scream thralls through his ears and he stops and opens his eyes, every nerve on high alert. The dark room seems familiar, but Bucky can’t quite place it. There are shadows playing with him, and the moon, ever the creep, smiles into the window. A night light burns on the nightstand on the other side of the bed.

Brown, worried eyes catch his. Bucky stills, breathing heavily. Sam. His wings are angled slightly in alarm, showing their light brown freckled underside. He relaxes as Bucky stares, the hellfire and ice slowly replaced with softer warmth.

Hazel fireflies surround Sam’s wings, standing out more now that he had closed them. On the upside, his wings are colorful; his primary feathers are black and white, covered by grey secondaries. In the middle, they meet his back in a golden brown, blending into his sepia skin. He is beautiful, hoping eyes a promise of home, sparks untainted by hate.

Bucky reaches out, daring to search for contact, for comfort, slowly enough to ask for consent. Silver light reflects on his metal arm, and he is back there, with them in his veins, no, cables, controlling, controlling, controlling. Bucky recoils, scared of what his hands will do when they meet Sam. He can’t hurt him.

He can’t, he can’t, he can’t—he already did. Red splotches obstruct his vision, much like the blood he shed when they first met. When the hate still fueled him, rage dancing in his bones, hellfire in his veins, so hot it’s freezing him. When his sparks were still tainted red, a supernatural beast scaring its next victim just for fun. Nowadays, they usually don't show at all. He’d lost them to the winter.

Though, he means to see their glowing eyes in the corner of his own. He shudders, unsure whether his body follows the motion. No. Bucky shakes his head as he fights against the ice in his lungs. He can’t hurt Sam. Not again. Blood fills his vision, or maybe the moon hides behind clouds, too scared of the monster he is. Too scared to witness a murder between lovers, because one can’t trust his mind. His mind that screams for blood.

Blood, blood, bloodbloodbloodblood—

Pain stabs through him and he stills. Bucky blinks, looking into worried eyes that break his heart. He’s so sorry. The air he sucks in is a weird mix of warm and cold, of dry heater and cold night. He stares again, and thinks that maybe a tear escapes his eyes. He’s still an angel, not a machine. Machines don’t cry.

His hand must’ve found his wings, because that’s where the pain pulses from, sharp and attentive. There’s blood on his hands, but it’s his own, so it’s okay. His fingers graze another feather, thumbling on it and pulling slightly. It was the only thing he could do. Tears run down his face, weirdly warm - everything he is, is frozen, so why aren’t they? - and dropping to his chest and he knows he can’t stop them.

His shaking fingers lose grip on his soft plumes tainted with blood, and he desperately tries to get it back, to get it under control again, to just feel what he deserves— A hand stops him, burning him with the contact. It’s not letting go, even as Bucky struggles against it, but carefully leads his hands forward, away from his wings. Bucky looks up at Sam, blinking through the tears and an apology on his tongue.

Sam wraps his arms around him and Bucky falls into him as he melts. “It’s alright, you’re gonna be alright,” he assures him, and Bucky latches onto it as he rides through another wave of tears. Sam’s warmth is so drastically different from the one he dreamed about— comforting, soothing, calm, safe. He nudges his head into the crook of Sam’s neck, breathing in his home and the sweet nothings Sam hadn’t stopped saying.

“Hey, remember when we were racing in the sky?” Sam asks as Bucky’s breathing steadies. He continues after a moment as it becomes clear that Bucky won’t answer—but the fallen angel doesn’t feel judgement coming from his lover. “And the sun kept hiding behind clouds, so you decided to be Icarus?”

Bucky chuckles. “And you almost flew into a bird,” he recalls.

“Almost,” Sam repeats, chidingly, but not without a smile in his voice. Bucky glances up at that. Before, he had been staring into nothing, too afraid to look the other angel in the eye, but now, all he could see was the homely beauty. The moon’s cold light clashed with Sam’s warm skin tone, darkening it like a sunset.

“Anyway, you flew past the clouds and you would’ve flown into the sun, if I hadn’t caught up to you in time.” Bucky grins up at him. He remembers that day. It was one of the the first time flying since he’d escaped, and the first time he’d made it that far up. By the time he was past the clouds he was positively basking in the sun’s glory and in happiness. And then Sam came, almost golden in the sun, and his luck had been complete.

“If you’re trying to use this story as a moral, it’s kinda working,” Bucky teases, reveling in Sam’s snort. Right when he wants to cuddle closer, they’re interrupted by an ear-shattering screech that’s trying to impale Bucky’s sensitive ears. Sam just sighs as the noise is followed by a cat hissing.

He rubs over Bucky’s right arm before he quietly stands up, and Bucky whines at the loss of contact, at the warmth leaving him. It’s cold without Sam, but he keeps the thoughts of winter at bay by ignoring the moon in favor of watching Sam open the door. He quickly ducks as Redwing shoots through the opening, and almost stumbles on Alpine in pursuit. The cat has his eyes keenly set on the bird, who is now circling the ceiling in panic, calling out again. Bucky chuckles.

He welcomes the cat as he jumps onto the bed and lies down next to his angel. Bucky’s hand automatically finds its way to the soft and fluffy body, petting him until purrs erupt. He laughs at Sam’s exasperated face as he tries to get his bird to land or just calm down in general.

“You really gotta teach your cat some manners, old man,” Sam tells him and he laughs.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky grins innocently. Sam rolls his eyes in response, but the smile playing on his lips isn’t missed to Bucky. Redwing finally lands on Sam’s shoulder and the angel gently offers his hand to him. The bird nuzzles it, chasing the darkness it brings.

Bucky watches them. He’s staring again, he knows that he does it a lot - Sam keeps pointing it out - but he can’t help he lopsided grin his mouth morphs into at the sight of his family. Alpine had fallen asleep, his fur tickling Bucky’s belly. Right here, at this moment, he is happy. It is weird how fast his weird little family cheered him up.

Sam looks back at him, his dumbass bird on his shoulder, his eyes undecided between annoyance and love. He thinks his heart might burst with all the love it’s not used to holding. There’s a new light there, suddenly, blue and frazzling. Bucky blinks, trying to chase it from the edge of his vision. It’s just his mind playing tricks on him.

But then Sam’s whole face lights up. He moves forward slowly, as to not scare Redwing again, and sits down on the bed. Bucky quickly glances back to the side, and then does a double-take. There, caressing his damaged wings, are a few little blue orbs. He cries out in surprise, covering his mouth, tears returning to his eyes. This isn’t real, he tells himself. It couldn’t be. They’d turned them red, replacing all he had with their hate, but now his body is brimming with love instead of hell.

Bucky looks back at Sam, and sees understanding love reflected back at him. He reaches out, closing the distance between them until their lips meet in a kiss. The warmth is overwhelming, but Bucky doesn’t want it to end. He got his sparks back, he was no longer corrupted, broken. He was happy, sappy enough to cry joyous tears as he kisses the man who made all of this possible, who was the reason for all that was good in his life.

“Thank you,” he whispers in-between kisses, his heart jumping with every beat, dancing in love. Blinking blue mixes with soft hazel, creating a stylised night sky, completed by the colors of their wings. Bucky puts all the overflowing love into the kiss, his hands flailing to get Sam closer, and Sam returns the favor.

But then, Bucky moves the leg against which Alpine is resting. The cat wakes up instantly and voices his complaint in a confused meow. He breaks the kiss, softly chuckling into shared air before leaning back to take care of his fluffy child, leaving Sam to do the same with his feathery kind.

~~~

taglist: (lemme know if you wanna be added or removed!) @starrynightdeancas @spookyscarykittycat @sherlock-who-mentalist @lost-lunar-wolf @aniridescentdreamer @aixabi

#sambucky #self-harm tw #nightmares #angst with happy ending #hurt/comfort #fluff #angel au #Whumpay2021 #my fic #tfatws

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waiting4inspiration · 4 years

Text

A New Life? (Bucky x Phoenix!Reader)

Summary: Bucky’s been having dreams of a woman bursting in flames, but is certain that there is no chance she can be alive. During a mission at a familiar HYDRA base, Bucky finds the woman, and figures out what she really is. Especially after he finds her in the ashes as the blown-up base.

Warnings: angst, strong language, magical elements, phoenix!reader, not really much

Word Count: 2,070

7k Mythical Creatures Masterlist II Marvel Masterlist

Bucky’s used to having nightmares almost all the time. He’s used to waking up in a cold sweat after dreaming about something that has to do with HYDRA. He’s had dreams about killing innocent people, about having no control over his actions, about being the Winter Soldier again.

Lately, he’s had the same dream over and over again. A new dream. One he hasn’t had before. A dream about a woman on fire. It’s a short dream, but he knows the dream like the back of his hand; both flesh and metallic.

It starts with him waking up from cryo, after his memory had been wiped. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows that he’s going to meet with his partner; The Flame.

The room is freezing, it’s a wonder how anyone can survive in a room this cold. But there in the corner is a female figure, knees held close to her chest but not shivering. Not even slightly.

In the dream, Bucky blinks and he’s behind a glass window. The woman is in a new room now, a warmer room, but the temperature on the monitor shows that it’s like a hot day in a dessert in the room. And yet, she doesn’t appear to be sweating. That’s when he notices the wings from her back, how they burst into flames when you stretch them out, how the fire engulfs your entire being.

And when he sees a pile of ash on the ground after the spontaneous combustion, that’s when the dream ends.

He’s done research, knowing that it’s no normal for a human to just combust like that without any reason. And because it’s HYDRA, chances are that this female, his partner, isn’t completely human. Perhaps, a mutant.

But all he’s come across is one thing; a Phoenix.

He doesn’t think it’s a Phoenix. A Phoenix is a bird, a mythical bird. It can’t be the answer he’s looking for.

So, he puts off researching for his answer and focuses on the current mission to take down a HYDRA base.

“Barnes, focus,” Tony snaps him out of his own thoughts about the woman in his dreams. “We can’t afford any mistakes here.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and steps off the jet. “I know this base like the back of my hand. I got it,” he says, knowing that Tony heard him over the comms when he flies overhead.

This base was his home for a while when he was working with the woman in his dreams. He wishes he could remember a name, but he can’t think of one. Not that it would matter. If his dreams are true, she must be dead. He can’t remember when his dream took place, but no one walks out unharmed after bursting into flames.

When the mission stated that the base is still occupied, Bucky didn’t think it meant that the total number of occupants are less than 50 people. Just enough to keep a base running. But for what reason?

As he scouts through the halls with Steve, he passes a hallway that makes him freeze.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve questions, his head turning over his shoulder when he hears his best friend’s footsteps stop behind him and then turns when he finds him staring down a hallway.

Bucky recognizes the hallway, not from his dream but from his memories as the Winter Soldier. The sign on the wall says ‘Fire Room’. In his mind, he can hear the heavy footsteps of him and the agents following him down this hall.

Now, his footsteps are lighter, almost like he’s scared he’ll frighten off the memory growing in his mind. Steve follows behind him, unsure of where Bucky’s leading him to or what a ‘Fire Room’ is.

Hearing hushed voices around the corner, Bucky stops and holds his hand up to tell Steve to stop too. They glance at each other, nod as Steve pulls the shield off his back and gets ready to throw it.

As they step forward, they see two men standing guard in front of a door. Steve aims, and throws the shield, knocking both men out without either of them realizing it. “That was easy,” Steve mentions, walking forward with Bucky to collect his shield off the floor.

“Because they weren’t the best on the team,” Bucky mentions, nodding to the numbers on their uniform. High numbers, but a lower rank. “Still, they were guarding something,” he whispers, staring at the door with a frown on his face before slowly taking a step forward.

Reaching out with his flesh hand, he feels the coldness radiating off the door.

Bucky thinks of his dream again, about that freezing room. And he can’t help but wonder why this room would still be running after all this time.

Steve reaches out to stop Bucky by grabbing his arm. “Maybe we should call the team in on this,” he suggests when Bucky glances at him. “We don’t know what’s behind there-”

“I have a pretty good idea what’s behind there, Steve,” Bucky cuts him off, pulling his arm away from his grip to pull on the handle of the door.

Why didn’t he think it would be locked?

“One of the guards must have a key,” Steve mutters, glancing down to the two unconscious men.

But Bucky doesn’t want to waste time looking for a key. Taking a step back, he kicks the door in and lets the coldness escape. And without a second thought, he steps into the room.

It’s like he’s dreaming again. But, instead of a non-shivering female figure in the corner of the room, his eyes land on a terrified, wide-eyed woman.

“(Y/n).” The name just rolls off his tongue when the memory hits him like a truck.

You sigh, your breath evident from how cold the room is, and the fright on your face turning into relief as you push yourself to your feet. “James,” you whisper, stepping forward slowly, unsure of the man behind him. But he doesn’t seem to be part of HYDRA, and you can see two men unconscious on the ground, the ones guarding your door.

“You’re alive?” he questions, stepping forward with you and frowning how you seem to be the same as when you two worked together. You haven’t aged. But you’re not in cryo. “But the fire. I saw you go up in flames.”

You stop walking, a breath catches in your throat as you blink in shock. “You don’t remember, do you?” you softly say, wrapping your arms around you as you step backward. “James, I’m a-”

You’re cut off by a blaring alarm.

“Oops. That was my fault,” Tony speaks over the comm, but it doesn’t break Bucky’s stare on you. “Everyone might want to get out of the base, say in the next 3 minutes.”

“We have to go,” Steve says, stepping forward and making your eyes snap over to him.

Bucky steps forward, your eyes shifting back to him and he holds out his hand. “Come with us. You don’t have to be under HYDRA’s control anymore,” he urges.

A smile grows on your face as you drop your head between your shoulders. “A new life,” you whisper, turning your head over your shoulder as you flex your back muscles.

That’s when Bucky sees them. Wings rising away from your back and black feathers rustling together. Wings like the ones he dreamed about.

“You should go. I have something to do first,” you encourage, but Bucky shakes his head. “James, I want you to get out of here and come back to look for me in ashes,” you whisper, reaching out to touch the side of his face. And for someone who’s been in a freezing room for God knows how long, your skin is pleasantly warm to the touch.

“Ashes,” he whispers, remembering the last part of his dream of seeing nothing but a pile of ashes after your spontaneous combustion.

A smile grows on your face as you run your hand down his neck and shoulder before letting it rest on his chest. “You remember.” He shakes his head and breathes out a laugh. “You will. Now go. Time is running out,” you remind, pushing him back out the room and into the hall.

He runs with Steve towards the nearest exit, but when he gets to the corner of the passage, he turns to look back at you.

You have your wings stretched out behind you as you fire the other way. Towards the ‘Fire Room’. “Bucky, let’s go.” Your head snaps over your shoulder to look back at him when you hear those words. Giving him a reassuring smile and nod, the black feathers ignite and turn into wings of fire. Just like in his dream.

It spreads to your body, but he doesn’t stay to see you combust and turn into a pile of ash on the ground.

And just as he and Steve get to the jet, the base explodes like a bomb was placed in the middle of the building.

Bucky insisted on doing clean-up duty, and Steve knows why. Of course, searching through rubble isn’t a one man job. So, the two super soldiers go together.

“So, who is she?” Steve questions, thinking that it’s a good time to find out from him who you are and what you have to do with HYDRA.

“She was my partner,” Bucky states, answering more than one question in Steve’s mind. “I wasn’t told much about what she is. HYDRA didn’t know much about her. The only one that knew everything about her, was the man that brought her in. He was killed so that she could belong to HYDRA completely,” he carries on, speaking his thoughts, his memories out loud.

He can trust Steve with that.

“Who’s she loyal to?” Steve questions, wanting to know if there’s a chance you’ll still ‘belong’ to HYDRA after this.

Bucky shakes his head, frowns to himself and tries to remember the answer to that question. “Herself. She only acts to survive. If doing what HYDRA wanted her to do means that she lives, then she’ll do it,” he states, turning his gaze up to Steve as they come to a stop in the place where the hallway where he last saw you would be.

“What is she?” That’s the question on Bucky’s mind too.

Then, he spots a body. Two. The guards.

Stepping forward, his eyes move slightly up to find another body, wings wrapped around them. It’s you.

Ashes. He remembers ashes. Rebirth. A new life.

His research.

Touching your shoulder, you jump and turn over onto your back. Pushing yourself away from him, you stare at him and Steve with wide eyes and fright on your face, like when he kicked down the door. “Who are you?” you spit, bringing your wings around you to hide your naked body from them.

You don’t remember him?

Bucky holds up his hands to show you he doesn’t mean you any harm. “We want to help you,” he softly speaks, shifting forward and making you move back away from him.

But the longer you stare at his face, the more familiar it seems to be. You tilt your head to the side and frown. “I know your face,” you whisper, your eyes slowly moving to his hands that he holds up. One of them is metal. “James,” you say the name on the tip of your tongue before lifting your eyes to see if you are right.

He smiles and shifts closer again, holds out his flesh hand for you and nods his head. “(Y/n),” he whispers in return.

Hearing him speak your name makes you relax and you place your hand in his, allowing him to help you to your feet. You then notice your surroundings and glance around you. “Where am I?”

Of course. You’re a Phoenix. Bursting into fire to start a new life means that you forget everything that happened before. It’s why HYDRA forced you to do that every time he was brought out of cryo. It was an easy way to wipe your memory.

You remember him because he became a constant factor in your life. Or, lives. You were the last person you saw before combusting and the first person to see when you are reborn. You remember him.

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secretpeachtea · 3 years

Text

“hand over your heart”

Scenario: Comparing hand sizes with the kings of teasing ‘cause you’ve got much smaller hands that fit real nicely in their much larger hands. You’re basically having the opportunity to hold each of their hands and interlock your fingers for a sweet moment. I don’t make the rules. (individual scenarios)

Genre: F L U F F

Pairing: (Y/N) x Kuroo / (Y/N) x Hawks / (Y/N) x Gojou

A/N: This is dedicated to both the voice actor Nakamura Yuichi and my best friend! My friend absolutely adores this VA and I wanted to gift her a little something with a classic romance cliché and whatnot with some of her favorite anime characters. I’m sure some of these men if not all of them have a special place in your heart too. I hope everyone else is able to feel something like my friend did hehe

Kuroo

“So, the middle blocker-”

“Kuroo, I know what a middle blocker does.” You wave one of your hands at the tall volleyball player walking next to you while your other hand cradles a matcha mochi. “In fact, I know every volleyball position! I’ve been to some of your games, and you even made me watch that volleyball anime with you a couple years ago!”

You and the Nekoma captain are walking home after having a little group outing with the rest of the volleyball team. Today was their day off from practice, so you all decided to stop by a mochi ice cream shop after school. Kuroo was telling you about a practice game he had with Fukurodani’s volleyball team the other day. You don’t mind listening to him talk about volleyball at all, but it does get a bit repetitive when he forgets that he’s told you just about everything he knows about the sport.

“Right. Sorry, I guess I just got a bit excited to talk to you about it.” Kuroo rubs his neck sheepishly. He stuffs the rest of his own strawberry mochi into his mouth and proceeds to pout quietly.

The silence lasts for about a minute or two before you start fidgeting with your hands. It’s almost never silent when the two of you are together since you always have something to talk about with each other. You start to feel bad for losing your patience and let out an audible sigh. “Look. Sorry...I…”

Kuroo blatantly ignores your gaze and keeps his eyes forward, his bangs covering his expression. You try getting his attention once again. “I know a lot about volleyball, but I guess… I haven’t actually played before.”

You could’ve sworn that you saw Kuroo’s ear twitch from the corner of your eye, but choose to stay focused on what you want to say next. “We could go to the gym tomorrow and… maybe you could teach me?”

Now that definitely got the male’s attention. Kuroo’s eyes light up at the prospect of being able to play with you and teach you how to play the sport that he loves. He takes a large step in front of you and you have to hold out your arms so that you don’t bump into him. Your hands make contact with the male’s chest and you would be lying if you said you didn’t like how toned it was.

“I thought you’d never ask, (Y/N)!” Kuroo exclaims. “Let’s go right now!”

You blink twice before bewilderment casts over your expression. “Wait! Right now?!”

“Yeah! It’s too late to go to the gym, but we won’t really need anything else other than a volleyball!” At this point, Kuroo is almost hopping in place with excitement. Before you could properly react, he clasps one of your hands in his and starts running along the sidewalk.

“But, today’s your day off!” You try to find a way to slow down, but your much shorter legs are no match for his long limbs. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

He just laughs.

“Kuroo!!”

The two of you stop by Kuroo’s house to pick up a volleyball and he finally tells you that he’s planning on having the two of you practice at a nearby park. Once you guys arrive, you both put down your belongings on a nearby bench and Kuroo immediately ushers you to start stretching.

“I don’t wanna overwhelm you with serving and blocking, so let’s just practice going over some basics.” Kuroo demonstrates how to do overhead tosses and receives and you try your best to follow his movements.

When you try to stand in a receiving position, something must’ve been off because there’s a slight frown on Kuroo’s face. You watch as he walks past you and positions himself directly behind you. Without hesitation, both of Kuroo’s arms slide on top of yours and move your arms to the correct form for receiving. Your mind wanders back to Kuroo’s toned chest which is basically resting against your backside. It takes everything in you to push aside how intimate the position was since it seemed like Kuroo was purely focused on teaching.

“You have to make sure your forearms are facing this direction or you won’t have good control of the ball.” Kuroo’s head is positioned right next to your ear and you involuntarily shiver at the feeling of his breath so close to you. You’re a little disappointed when he lets go of you and stands up straight again. Suddenly, your back misses the warmth.

Kuroo steps away from you and grabs the volleyball from the bench. “Alright! I think you’re ready to practice with the ball!”

The two of you pass the ball back and forth with overhand tosses for a bit and you’re pretty satisfied with your decent passes. Kuroo then gestures to try receiving the ball with your forearms, but then the passes start to become more unstable. At one point, you receive the ball so poorly that it flies over to an area that’s impossible for him to receive, landing on the ground after bouncing several times.

“Sorry about that!” You apologize.

Kuroo just jogs over to the volleyball to retrieve it. “No worries, (Y/N). You can’t become a pro overnight!”

The male picks up the ball with one hand and your eyes widen substantially. “How the hell are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” Kuroo stares at you with a confused expression as he makes his way back to where you’re standing.

You point at the volleyball in his arms adamantly. “You just picked up the ball with one hand!”

“Oh, it’s not that hard.” Kuroo holds out the ball so that it’s between the two of you. “Here, you try.”

For the next couple seconds, you try every method to pick up the volleyball with just one of your hands. You ultimately fail at every attempt and Kuroo begins to laugh at you in amusement. “Aw, how cute! Your hands are too small.”

You let out a little noise of annoyance. “Well, sorry if my fingers aren’t as freakishly long as yours, Kuroo. I’m quite happy with my hands the way they are, thank you very much!”

“Come on~ My fingers aren’t that long.” He then gently takes a hold of your wrist and places his hand against your own. Despite his words, your hands were significantly smaller than his. Kuroo’s hands practically engulfed your own. “They’re just long compared to your adorable fingers.”

In the midst of his teasing, Kuroo starts playing around with your fingers. You didn’t expect this at all, so you’re just left flustered at his ministrations. “A-are you trying to show off?”

The tall male lets out a quiet hum and finally interlocks his hand with yours. “Would you believe me if I told you I just wanted to hold your hand?”

Your cheeks are now fully tinted with a bright red blush. You’re surprised you could even let out a coherent sentence with the amount of blood rushing to your head. “I mean...it’s not like you have to ask to do that or anything…”

Kuroo gazes at your face for a moment in surprise, but a grin makes its way onto his lips after a couple seconds. “Oh? Then, does that mean I don’t have to ask to do this?”

He pulls your interlocked hands towards himself so that your whole body lurks forward. You stumble into his chest with a small thud and grab onto his shirt to keep yourself stable. He lays his other hand on your waist and successfully traps you in a tender hug. At first, you feel like your heart is about to burst from how fast it was beating. However, there was something so comforting and gentle about the hug that made you relax and feel completely at ease. You two stay like that silently for a bit as the evening sun sets beside you both.

Kuroo is the first to notice how late it’s gotten and decides that it would be a good time to walk you home. He begins to pull away when you suddenly tighten your grip on his shirt, your hands tugging at the hem.

“Can...can we stay like this for a bit longer?” You feel a bit embarrassed at your request, so you don’t look up at him and keep your head against his chest.

Kuroo looks down at you and smiles softly. Your hands are still interlocked and he moves his other arm so that it is now wrapped around you to pull you even closer. “Only if we can do this more often.”

A light breeze passes by, but instead of feeling the chilly air, all you feel is the warmth from both the sweet embrace and the little firecrackers igniting your heart.

Hawks

Your vision is blinded by a myriad of red feathers as Hawks lands beside you on the sidewalk outside of his agency building. You both greet each other with matching grins and it’s almost like the sun was shining brighter on this particular day.

The two of you often partner up when going on patrol since your respective agencies are situated in the same city. After bumping into each other on multiple occasions, you eventually became good friends and have found solace in patrolling together on slow days.

“Ever thought of walking out the front entrance like a normal person?” You ask him playfully.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Hawks just smirks as he retracts his wings. You shake your head with a small smile and make your way towards the male.

You’re a little surprised when you notice that Hawks was not wearing his usual black gloves with his hero costume. “What happened to your gloves?”

“The last villain I fought did quite a number on them and when I ordered new ones, the support company said it was gonna take about a week or so until they can send them to me because they’re a little behind on orders,” Hawks explains. You nod your head in understanding as the two of you start walking while keeping an eye out on your surroundings. Although, you’re internally celebrating about this new information.

During your patrols with Hawks, there have been a couple times when he’s left you behind to take on villains or rescue cases on his own. It didn’t bother you as much in the beginning, but you were soon getting tired of always picking up after the Wing Hero and filling in all the reports instead of saving civilians with your own efforts.

You’ve now picked up on the habit of latching onto some part of Hawks to make sure he doesn’t go off on his own, such as gripping onto a section of his jacket or linking your arms together. The one thing you always make sure to avoid holding onto, though, are his wings. You made that mistake once during a patrol when you were just starting to get comfortable around each other and he couldn’t look at you in the eyes for a couple days without the tips of his ears turning red.

More often than not, you choose to hold onto Hawk’s hands since they are one of your favorite things about him and you love playing with them. The only issue is that he almost always wears those pesky black gloves since they’re a part of his hero costume. Today seems to be your lucky day.

Your hand instinctively brushes up against Hawks’ fingers to grab onto them, but your body tenses up as the male flinches his arm back away from you. There’s a sharp sting of sadness in your heart at the idea that maybe Hawks didn’t actually want to hold your hand.

However, your negative thoughts are thrown right out the window as Hawks takes a hold of your hand and starts to squeeze your fingers back and forth repeatedly. There’s a slight look of concern on his expression. “Hey, you good? Your fingers are freezing.”

You let out an inaudible sigh of relief. “Oh, now that you mention it, it is a bit windy outside. My hand is probably really cold since I’ve been out longer than you have. Sorry about that.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Hawks just brushes off your unnecessary apology. “Actually, you should’ve told me sooner!”

Without a moment to lose, Hawks extends his wings out slightly on the side you’re walking on, successfully shielding you from the incoming wind. He then stops his ministrations on your hand and just simply wraps his palms around it. His hands are significantly larger than yours so they practically engulf your entire hand and you feel a comforting warmth seeping into your fingers.

“Are your hands always this cold?” Hawks questions.

You shrug your shoulders. “I guess so? I don’t really notice since they’re pretty much always like this. You probably never noticed since you always wear your gloves when we’re patrolling.”

“You should invest in some hot packs or something.”

You pretend like you’re contemplating, but you already know what you want to say. “Hm...no thanks! I’d rather just hold your hand to keep mine warm!”

Hawks almost trips over his own feet at your response and his cheeks turn a little pink. In order to avoid your gaze, he lifts the collar of his jacket up a bit higher with his free hand and refuses to face you. You softly smile at his reaction and feel immensely satisfied at flustering the normally confident hero. The both of you just continue your patrol in a comfortable silence with warm hands and warm hearts.

~~~~~~

It’s the end of the day and you and Hawks are making your way back to his agency. The two of you were still holding hands, and at some point during the day, your hands became interlocked.

The day was pretty uneventful and there were only a few incidents, but you still needed to file reports of everything. At the end of your shift, Hawks practically begged you to help him with the paperwork. You were weak to his pouty face, so you reluctantly agreed.

As Hawks’ agency came into view, the man suddenly dropped his hand from yours and wrapped his arms onto your waist securely.

“What are you doing?” You ask with slight panic in your voice.

“Having fun~” Hawks smirks and before you know it, both of your feet are lifted off the ground. You let out a small yelp as Hawks flaps his wings and flies you to his office balcony.

After landing safely, you take a moment to catch your breath and Hawks makes a beeline for the couch. He plops into the plush cushions and you raise an eyebrow at him.

You make you way over to his relaxed form and cross your arms loosely. “Um...don’t you have some paperwork to do?”

“Don’t wanna.”

Hawks’ tone reminds you of a child and you just shake your head with a sigh. You know there’s no way you’re going to get him to do any work at this point, so you just join him on the couch and stare at the small Endeavor plushie sitting on one of his shelves near his desk. There’s a subtle warmth from where your shoulders are now touching and you’re almost tempted to just fall asleep right then and there. It wasn’t exactly easy for you to feel this comfortable with another person, so it’s a wonder how Hawks was able to worm his way into your heart. You definitely cared deeply for this man.

Not wanting to waste the precious moments you had with him, you just say the first thing that comes into your mind. “You know, you got pretty big hands.”

“Do I?” Hawks’ voice has a hint of amusement and you feel him shift his position so that he’s facing you.

You also sit up and direct your gaze at him. “Yeah, I’ll prove it. Hold up your hand.”

He lifts his hand curiously but stiffens when you place your palm directly against his and add a little bit of pressure. The two of you have held hands on so many occasions, but it always leaves his heart racing every time you touch.

The corners of your mouth curve upwards slightly. “See? Your hands are a lot bigger than mine!”

Hawks takes a brief moment to just gaze at you silently. His mind takes you in as a whole and he’s reminded of how much of an impact you’ve had on his life. His pupils flicker along each feature of your face before ultimately landing on your soft lips.

“Do you wanna compare our lips too? We could use the same method.”

Despite the urge to roll your eyes, all rational thoughts completely vanish from your mind as you immediately crash your lips against his lovingly.

Gojou

“Hey, (Y/N)! Come here for a sec!”

At the sound of Gojou’s voice, you look up from your phone to where the said male was flailing his arms at you. After pocketing your device, you walk over cautiously with one hand on the hidden dagger on your left hip. You never know what your crazy companion might pull on you, so it’s always better to be on guard. You’ve only made that mistake once and it still haunts you to this day. You muster up a strained smile as you approach him. “What’s up?”

The white-haired sorcerer raises his right hand into the air with his palm facing you. “Hold up your hand for me like this.”

You raise an eyebrow at him suspiciously but still lift your hand up as he asks. Once he gets his chance, Gojou pushes his palm forward to come in direct contact with your own. You tense a bit at the sudden touch, but relax when he doesn’t appear to make any other movements. There’s even a small part of you that enjoys how warm his hand is against your colder fingers.

You open your mouth to question his motives, but he beats you to it. “Ah~ It’s a wonder how you can put so much cursed energy into your punches with hands this small.”

A small angry tick mark appears on your forehead at the sudden comment. “Are you giving me permission to punch you?”

“Now, now. No need to get all heated up, dear (Y/N).” There’s a slight shift in Gojou’s expression because he’s well aware that you’d take any opportunity to land a blow on him. However, his amusement seems to subdue any of those thoughts as his face reverts back to his usual smirk.

You tense your leg muscles to deliver a well deserved kick to his shins, but you freeze up when you realize that Gojou is slowly interlocking with your fingers. He takes his time as he gradually curls his long digits around your palm. The gesture seemed a lot more intimate than you’d like to admit.

A sudden memory takes over your mind and you huff with unease. “You better not pull any of that infinity shit on me.”

“Now, why would you assume that?” Gojou replies in a teasing manner.

You scoff. “I heard what you did to that Krakatoa* demon a while back. Right after your little hand stunt, he was practically sent flying back to where he came from.”

If he didn’t have his blindfold on, you would definitely be able to see him wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Were you jealous?”

“Shut up, Gojou.”

“With pleasure, (Y/N).”

The two of you stand in front of each other with your hands still interlocked for another minute before you finally succumb to your impatience. “So, how much longer are we gonna be doing this? Is there a point to this?”

“I just wanted to hold hands with the woman that has captured my heart~” Gojou responds with no hesitation and confidence that leaves you shocked. You begin to sputter at the sudden confession and his smirk widens.

In an attempt to keep his attention, you lower your hand along with Gojou’s to face him more directly. “H-how can you just say that?! Don’t you feel even a little embarrassed?”

“I can say more!” The man just lets out a satisfied laugh at your uncharacteristically flustered state. “You’re the apple of my eye!”

“Can you even see with that blindfold?”

“Why do I need to see when you’re already running through my mind every day?”

“Okay, that’s enough.”

“You’re the beautiful girl of my dreams!”

“Gojou! Stop that!”

You shove his shoulder a bit with your unoccupied hand without much force and even a small giggle escapes your lips in mild amusement. It seems like even you can’t stop Gojou’s charms from making its way into your heart.

“I’m only being honest~ I’m a man of truths!” The man lights up at your smile and a wave of joy falls over him at your positive response to his words.

Feeling lighthearted, you gather up the courage to make a suggestion. “Alright, Mr. Man of Truths. Is it true that we’re going to grab dinner together after the mission for today?”

You feel him tighten his grip on your hand and find Gojou even more endearing when his thumb caresses the back of it.

“Most definitely.”

*Krakatoa: Reference to a volcano in Indonesia, a children’s novel that I once read in 6th grade (The Twenty-One Balloons), and that one hero episode of SpongeBob

#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #kuroo #bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia fic #my hero academia #my hero academia fic #hawks #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fic #gojou #secretpeachtea

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talpup · 4 years

Text

Chaos: 41

Summary: The day Aizawa Shouta betrayed his Love was the day the Daimon lost everything that mattered in his life. Now, with her awake from her slumber and memory wiped, he has another chance at having her and being happy. There’s only the small problem of heaven wanting his Love dead, and hell wanting control of her. And her promise to protect and help another. Oh! And her remembering what he did.

But Shouta has waited so long to have her back. Has planned and taken measures to see his Love protected. He won’t loose her this time. He’ll do anything to keep her safe, and stop her from remembering his betrayal. Cost and consequences be damned.

Though it really is a shame that the cost just might bring about Chaos.

Please remember, this fic is rated explicit and has warnings of violence, sex, questionable con, and non-con (though we’re thankfully done with that), and other possible triggers.

***If you prefer reading off AO3 here’s the link for that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155333/chapters/55322377

I write for my own enjoyment, but edit and post for yours. If you enjoyed reading this at all please comment and let me know. It’s the only thing that encourages me to keep editing and posting.

Thank you to those who have left hearts. And a great big THANK YOU to those who have left comments or re-blogged. They really mean a lot.

As always, an extra special thank you to @inorganicone2230 for their encouragement and friendship, and help brainstorming. Your thoughts and our chats mean a lot.

41.1

Reyanna was torn between being relieved and angry when Todoroki told her that Shouta was needed if the third task was to be complete and one of the gates closed. Dangerous as these steps were, they could certainly use the Daimon’s help. But more than that, she wanted to see him. Needed to see him.

The three days after the fullness of her memories had returned had been torture. Shouta had betrayed her trust in him. Twice! He had used her love and desire for him and made her betray the last Llaes. Tamaki had died because she had given into Shouta. Hawks had almost died. And then Shouta had kept it all from her.

Hawks… The Archangel had been careful around her since his attempted kiss. There was a strain between them that she both wanted, and didn’t care to fix.

Shouta was a daimon. She knew all about his darker nature, though she had never expected him to go so far as to betray her; but Hawks… Hawks was still an Archangel. He might’ve been released from heaven, but he still had his grace.

For Hawks to have tried such a thing when she had clearly been upset and vulnerable…

“Anna. They’re here.” Hawks said, his uncertainty around her making his voice more serious and soft.

Reyanna turned to see Shouta and Hizashi standing a few yards away. Her breath caught in her lungs, heart aching. No. She couldn’t do this. She could barely stand to look at him without wanting to rage and cry. How was she suppose to work beside him in this final step?

No one said a thing as Shouta and Reyanna stared at each other. The long silence grew oppressive.

“I’m glad you two agreed to come.” Todoroki ventured, turning away from the tear that would take them to Oblvi.

Hitoshi gave Todoroki’s hand a squeeze of thanks. He knew his mentor had done wrong, but he didn’t like seeing Aizawa so unsure.

He might've been jealous at the closeness Reyanna had with Aizawa. But now that he understood that Aizawa’s happiness came from her. Now that he had someone of his own who his own happiness derived from. Hitoshi better understood the unique connection loving partners had, and wanted that for his mentor.

“There was no way we’d say no.” Hizashi said, his forcefully cheery voice a stark contrast to the surrounding mood. “We started this thing together and will finish it together. Yeah!”

Reyanna turned away, unable to bare looking at her Lover any longer.

She had to do this. She had promised Abril she would. To stop now and deny Todoroki what he said he needed to complete this task would be a betrayal of her word. She had already done that once thanks to Shouta. She wouldn’t do so again.

Sighing, Shouta's eyes left Reyanna and scanned the rest of the group.

His gaze landed on Todoroki and Hitoshi’s joined hands. An eyebrow lifted in interest.

“Yeah. That happened during your absence.” Dabi remarked softly, turquoise eyes following Aizawa’s. “Actually, a lot happened while you were away. Feathers and Anna are barely speaking to each other. No one knows why, but I might’ve spied a bit and saw the unrestrained Archangel wrap his wings around her and try to kiss her.”

Shouta tensed, hand twitching.

He nearly called forth his blade and killed Hawks on the spot. But any chance of getting Reyanna back would end along with Hawks’ life. Todoroki had said they all were needed to help in this next step. If he killed Hawks now he would ruin any chance of completing this.

“Despite your falling out, she’s still carrying a torch for you. Either that, or she really doesn’t like Hawks that way. Cause as soon as Feathers made his move she held her blade to his throat and told him to back off.” Dabi gave a sly grin. “You must be some fuck, Zawa. To have twist both Nemuri and Lucifer's Daughter around that cock of yours. Yeah.” He smirked at Shouta's uneasy glance of surprise. “I know about you and Nemuri’s past. Who in hell doesn’t?”

“It’s exactly that. The past. Long. Ancient. Past.” Shouta replied.

He almost went on to tell the Demon that he and Reyanna were bonded and he would never break their Bond. But he didn’t; because he had.

Shouta's fingers rubbed at his thumb. The missing Vim ring that once gave him hope and comfort more painful than an open wound.

Dabi shrugged. “Maybe. But I was that Daimon Dominatrix’s play thing for a while. It’d take a fool not to see how hung up on you she still is. And I’m no fool.”

“That’s debatable.” Shouta huffed.

“Does Anna know?” Dabi asked.

Shouta’s shoulders tensed.

For a moment he thought that Dabi was asking if Reyanna knew about what happened between him and Nemuri during their imprisionment in hell. But there was no way Dabi could know what happened in that cell.

He exhaled sharply and swallowed trying to forget the taste and smell of the female Daimon.

Dabi leaned in, voice a tempting whisper. “If Anna knew Nemuri still wanted you she might get jealous. Forget all about your past sins in a swell of possessiveness.”

“I told you. You don’t get to call her Anna. If I have to tell you again, I’ll end you.” Shouta rumbled, stepping away from the Demon.

“Way to deflect the issue, Zawa. I was only tryin’ to help.” Dabi called after him.

Shouta stopped in front of Todoroki. “What are we suppose to do in Oblvi?”

“Go there.”

Not in the mood for smart ass remarks, Shouta growled out. “I know that.”

Suddenly behind Todoroki’s left shoulder, Hizashi whispered. “Don’t test him, Kid. Not today.”

“I wasn’t.” Todoroki said.

Shouta's eyes narrowed. “Is this a task to close one of the gates or get all of us killed. Cause Anna’s already…” He swallowed, struggling with the memory of her chilled, unmoving body before starting anew. “Oblvi is even more dangerous than heaven or hell. The chances of us surviving over there are slim to none. And that’s if we know what we’re going there for and come up with a plan.” He stepped closer to the teen, staring down at him. “Is this some kind of game to you?”

Reyanna was between them in an instant.

Hand on Shouta's chest, she pressed him back. “Lay off! He’s told you what he knows. If you don’t want to come that’s fine with me.”

Shouta's eyes lowered to her pushing hand. One corner of his mouth tugged up in a small, brief smirk.

He grabbed her wrist, taking a full two steps back.

Reyanna’s eyes widened. Her legs moved swiftly in effort to keep her upright. It took her several small, quick steps to match his long two.

She pulled back against his hold, her other hand gripping his forearm.

Hawks move to help but was block by Dabi and Hizashi.

The golden haired Angel glanced at the Demon, green eyes full of curious surprise.

Dabi himself was surprised by his own action. What did he care if Aizawa and Reyanna made amends He certainly didn’t care if Hawks disturbed the lovers twisted foreplay and found himself cut down by Aizawa for his efforts.

“Leave them be.” Hizashi warned.

Hawks looked between Dabi and Hizashi. “An Angel and a Demon teaming up. You really have let your friendship with Aizawa effect you, Hizashi. Doesn’t matter. My restraint’s been undone. I can take you both on. Easy.”

The Shouta and Reyanna moved in a flurry of holds and blocks. Steps were made and retreated. Reyanna flinted behind Shouta only for him to have read the move and taken advantage of the split second of weakness the move created.

Reyanna was flipped onto her back, air knocked out of her.

Shouta pinned her arms above her head, straddling her.

“So. You really have remembered everything.” He grinned, breath a bit heavy. “Good. I’d hate to go into the realm of Thirds with you missing any fighting know how. Though you still haven’t learned not to flint in too close.” He sat more of his weight on her hips. “Guess I still have a few things to drill into you, Kitten.”

It took everything in Reyanna’s power not to press her hips back up to his. Damn. She loved it when he pinned her and he knew it. He wasn’t playing fair. No. She was mad at him. Furious. Just because her body reacted and wanted him didn’t mean that she did. She would never take him back.

She glared up at him. “Get off me.”

Shouta's small smile fell.

He knew it would take more than this to get her back, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t disappointed. He had done it all for her. Everything he did was for her. She should be grateful. Instead she was being a brat.

Shouta leaned down, his lips a hairs breath from hers. His cock stirred at the feel of her moist, hot breath; eyes igniting at way her lips parted slightly.

“Are you sure that’s what you want, my Love?”

Reyanna couldn’t stop the shiver of desire that moved through her body. “I hate you.”

“Tch. That wasn’t what I asked, Kitten.” He moved to her ear, his lips brushing the shell of it as he spoke. “You avoiding the question makes me think you want me to stay right here and--”

“Well isn’t this a surprise.” Came a smooth voice that set Shouta's teeth on edge.

“Kai.” Shouta growled.

Reyanna saw Shouta's eyes flick red, before he blinked and was off her, pulling her to her feet.

She stepped away from him almost glad for Kai’s disturbance until she saw the numbers he came with.

“Hand the Llaes over and come with me, Anna.” Kai instructed.

“Not happening.” Shouta and Reyanna said as one.

The two glanced at each other. Shouta smirking. Reyanna frowning.

“What’s this?” Nemuri asked, picking up on the way Reyanna scowled and moved away from Aizawa. “Trouble in paradise. Did you two have a lovers quarrel?”

Kai looked to Nemuri wondering what she was talking about. He reached out a hand to stop her from stepping forward, but the hand wasn’t there. He glared at Aizawa. The Daimon that had cut it off. He fixed his golden eyes on Shigaraki. Then the Demon that had taken any hope of him reassembling himself.

Shigaraki waved Kai’s severed hand at him.

Kai sneered. He was going to kill them all.

“Did she find out about our fun while you were in hell, Aizawa?” Nemuri went on.

Shouta felt a sudden dread. His heart hammered in his chest, color draining from his face.

Before he could open his mouth, Nemuri continued. “Did you tell her you liked eating my pussy out more than hers?”

“What?” Reyanna’s voice didn’t have much volume, but it thundered with it’s sharpness.

“During your little trip to hell, Aizawa ate me out like it was his last meal on earth.” Nemuri told.

She moved in front of Reyanna, but was smart enough to keep her distance.

Shouta shook his head, words failing him. The memory of Nemuri groping his flaccid cock and pushing his face into her cunt while telling him to do it for Anna filled him mind.

Reyanna’s lips curled in a sneer.

Kai took a step to Nemuri.

He knew why she was doing this. They had all had a rough couple of days. Lucifer hadn’t been pleased to learn that the Llaes had finished the second step. Rounds of torture had been ordered for every daimon with a ranking authority.

Hell might've been a place where torture and torment were common place; but Kai swore that those working in the Block got creative and saved their best for the higher ups, that the Butcher’s called Special Guests.

He wasn’t in the best of moods himself. Lucifer might have been able to restore his missing hand but had refused to try. Instead, Kai had been sent to the Block with everyone else. A humiliation for the General that out shined all the rest. And to top it off, he had now been sent here with only a single legion at his backing and told not to fail.

Still, Nemuri was playing an unnecessary dangerous game. Either or both Aizawa and Reyanna could lash out. And while a fight was would undoubtedly happen, Kai had experienced first hand how such taunts didn’t carry the desired effect of blind, distraction.

“I guess he got tired of the same old thing and--” Nemuri's words stopped in a squeak.

Several things happened the moment Reyanna flinted.

Kai swore unable to believe the unnatural speed Reyanna had traveled. He flinted beside Nemuri, hand gripping Reyanna’s forearm.

Shouta flinted beside Reyanna, blade already in his hand.

Hawks’ feathers detached, hovering in the air.

Dabi lifted his hand, white flames licking around his fingers.

Shigaraki squatted, burying both his hands and Kai’s severed one in the ground intent on calling upon the Daimon’s power stored within. He had always had trouble controlling his affinity, but Sakamata’s preserved hand in his pocket helped with that.

“Let. Her. Go.” Shouta snarled, the air around him growning cold.

Eyes trained on the point of Reyanna’s blade which would pierce Nemuri's skin if she took too deep a breath, Kai lifted his gaze to Aizawa's burning red.

“It’s alright, General. I got her.” Kurono said from the other side of Nemuri.

That’s when Shouta realized that Kai’s Lieutenant had a hand on Reyanna as well.

“Release her.” Shouta commanded the other Daimon.

Reyanna moved a fraction, her blade point beginging to pierce Nemuri's chest.

Nemuri took a slow step back, afraid to move too quickly.

“I thought you said you had her.” Kai accused, his other arm wrapped around Nemuri's waist.

“I do!” Kurono stressed, shocked that Reyanna had been able to move more than a millimeter with his affinity’s hold on her.

“Release her!” Shouta growled.

“He doesn’t obey you.” Kai told.

Though his flames remained at the ready, Dabi laughed.

While the outburst garnered attention, it didn’t defuse the situation.

“Learn to read the room.” Hitoshi muttered.

“You should send your woman home, Kai. You think Aizawa’s protective and jealous. You don’t wanna mess with that one. Reyanna’s a bit distressed and repressed right now.” Dabi said, earning a scowl from Shouta.

“Nemuri. Maybe you should return--”

“You’re gonna listen to the demon with a soul?” Nemuri practically shouted over Kai.

“Don’t interrupt me.” Kai warned.

“Everyone stand down and step back.” Ordered a booming voice.

“Shit!” Hawks cursed. Just what they needed.

Todoroki rolled his eyes. Why did his father have to show?

Kurono’s grunt was all the warning Kai, Nemuri, and Shouta got.

Reyanna’s other hand slammed flat against Nemuri's chest sending her and Kai flying back.

“Anna! Don’t!” Shouta called before she could flint after them.

“I said everyone stand down!” Enji roared.

Kai pulled Nemuri to her feet. “And why should we listen to you? You’re alone, and I have my legion. What? Did Toshinori not believe you when you figured out where the final step would take place?”

Enji ignored the Daimon General’s taunting remark and made one of his own. “You lose so many in the battle at heavens gates that Lucifer was wary of giving you more than a single legion, Kai?”

“A single legion’s all I need to take all of you down.” Kai threatened, eyes scanning the opposing group.

“Not with this you can’t.” Enji said, producing a bottle that contained fire from heaven.

The few feathers attached to Hawks’ wings fluttered in surprised agitation.

Hizashi gulped and nearly flinted away. A few of the demons and daimon’s in Kai’s legion did exactly that.

Teeth bared at Enji, Shouta grabbed a hold of Reyanna, ready to protect her. Not that there was any protection from heaven fire. It was absolute. Deadly to any and all it touched.

He held her tight, expecting her to try and pull away, but she didn’t. Instead, she glared at Enji, hands tightly gripping his arms as she pulled him against her.

“Are you insane!” Kai exclaimed, voicing what they all were thinking. “You could kill us all with that!”

“Better to die saving heaven than live sealed away.” Enji told.

Kai’s hand flexed and closed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.” Enji said without blinking. He turned his eyes to Shouta. “Aizawa. Tell your Nephilim whore to put her weapon away.”

Enji refused to call it a blade, no matter how similar it was to one. Why didn’t his son have one? Todoroki was a true Nephilim that same as the Bitch.

Shouta ground his teeth. He would've attacked Enji for calling Reyanna such a thing, but the Archangel held the angelic equivalent of an a-bomb.

Reyanna’s blade disappeared without any word from Shouta.

Hawks feathers re-attached.

Dabi snuffed out his flames.

Shigaraki slowly rose to his feet.

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Enji said, scanning the group. “I’m going through the tear with Todoroki’s chosen allies and--”

“And you think I’m just going to let you?” Kai questioned.

“I’m not looking for you to let me do anything. Either I go, or you died.” Enji said.

Kai frowned.

He couldn’t let Enji go through the tear alone with them. The Archangel was sure to force the Llaes into closing the gates of hell. Hell. So long as Enji had heaven fire he could force whatever he wanted, so long as he was willing to die for it.

It wouldn’t have mattered how many legions Lucifer had let him bring, the battle for which gates were closed was all but settled and over.

“I’m going too.” Kai said.

“What?” Nemuri and Kurono blurted.

“General.” Kurono shook his head.

They were to stop the Llaes from crossing into Oblvi, not go through with him. Who knew what they would face on the other side.

“She’s not going.” Reyanna said, murderous eyes on Nemuri.

“And I’m not letting your legion through.” Enji added.

“It’ll be just me.” Kai said.

“General!” Kurono tried again.

Kai turned to his Lieutenant. “You and the others stay here.”

“But...”

Kai pinned Kurono with a hard look. “Things aren’t going as planned. This is our only option.”

“But to go alone.” Kurono argued.

“I need you to stay here.” Kai said. “I doubt they’ll let me near enough to the Llaes to kill him, but I will try.”

“But the gates...” Kurono said.

“Lucifer will have us on the Block for eternity if we fail.” Nemuri uttered.

Kai nodded. “Exactly. That’s why I want you to wait here. Kurono, as soon as we’re through use your affinity to slow the time of the tear. Keep Nemuri and the others close. If you start to feel a pull towards hell you’ll know that the gate is closing. Step through the tear. There’s a high chance that after the gate is closed we can come back through without fear of being locked away.”

“And if we send someone through and find that’s not the case?” Nemuri asked.

“Then we stay in Oblvi and rise to rule the Thirds.” Kai said.

“Are we really going to let him come?” Dabi asked. He looked to Shouta. “Zawa. You gotta be totally against this. Right?”

Shouta was against it. But he would have an easier time killing Kai if he got the General away from his legion; not that he was going to say that. So instead he said nothing.

“Let’s get moving then.” Todoroki said, unhappy that his Father’s presence turned out to be necessary to helping his task. Sometimes he really hated the way knowledge and understanding suddenly came to him.

”You’r—you’re bringing that with you?” Hizashi asked Enji, wide green eyes on the bottle of heaven fire.

“Of course he is. It’s his insurance that we won’t work together to kill him.” Kai said.

“I’m gonna kill you.” Shouta rumbled, roughly shouldering passed the Daimon General.

He could’ve slipped his blade between Kai’s ribs so easily as he passed. The urge to go back and do so was overwhelming.

The Bastard had raped Reyanna. Why hadn’t his Love told him? Reyanna spoke of his betrayal; but she had betrayed him too. Kai had done this unforgivable thing to her, and because she had kept it from him, Kai had been allowed to live. Did she think that he wouldn’t have found a way to avenge her? That he wouldn’t have died if it meant killing Kai? Or had she feared that he wouldn’t have accepted her?

“If you don’t think we might need it over there, you’re short sighted.” Enji told Hizashi.

“Just don’t drop it and kill us all.” Todoroki muttered, stepping passed his Father.

41.2

On the other side of the tear they were met with nothing but forest. It was somewhat unsettling give each of them had imagined they would be met by force.

Hawks recovered first. “Where to, Kid?”

Shouta grumbled under his breath.

This was idiocy. Were they really going to walk through Oblvi with no plan or idea what they were here for? If he had been involved, and not relegated to a mere fighting body, he never would have let them move without a plan. He certainly never would have let them come here without knowing what they were coming here for.

Granted Reyanna had been through a lot and no doubt wanted this task to finally be over, but was this how she worked without him by her side? Shouta was more convinced than ever that she needed his care and protection.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Reyanna asked, as they moved through the forest.

She was annoyed that Shouta had kept by she side, but hadn’t tried to distance herself.

Shouta glanced at her and looked away. “I told you. You never would have trusted me. And without your memories--”

“No.” Reyanna interrupted him. “Not that. Why didn’t you tell me about Nemuri?”

“I didn’t—”

“I know you didn’t do anything. Do you really think I’d believe that you would?” Her eyes met his.

Shouta’s jaw clenched. “Why didn’t you tell me about Kai?”

The shock, fear, and discomfort that moved across her face told him that Kai had spoken true.

Damn it! He was going to kill that--

“How—how did you--”

“Let’s just say he made a bad call in trying to distract me.” Shouta said.

She looked away. “It was a long time ago. Before Hawks took me and I left hell.”

“And that’s suppose to explain why you didn’t tell me?”

“It doesn’t matter any more. We’re finished. Our Bond is broken.”

Shouta swallowed the hurt and rage that rose up like angry bile.

Did she really think that centuries of love and devotion could be swept away so easily. Yes. Their Bond was broken, but they were far from finished. They would never be finished. He wouldn’t allow it, no matter what she said. She was his everything.

“Is that why you asked about Nemuri? Cause we’re finished?”

Reyanna opened her mouth to respond but they had reached an abrupt clearing. The sight took her breath away.

Before them was a castle as big and tall as a mountain. And at the top of the steps, in front of the towering entrance was a man. No. A beast.

Reyanna blinked finding it difficult to focus. He mans image changing between human-like and winged creature. No. Not changing. He was somehow both in one.

How was that even possible?

“Sister.” The Man Beast spoke, his voice making the ground beneath them tremble. “I’ve been expecting you.”

#bnha #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa #yamada hizashi #bnha hawks #todoroki shouto #hitoshi shinsou #bnha dabi #shigaraki tomura #todoroki enji #kai chisaki #nemuri kayama #hari kurono #yandere aizawa #yandere #chaos #my hero academia

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wwwafflewrites · 4 years

Text

Team Free Will+ Getting Stranded

Part 1

Both Winchesters would admit that the fight wasn't going well. Indeed, even with Castiel and Gabriel on their side, that ought to have been enough to stop an army of demons, they were losing. Sorely.

Dean ducked and met with Sam once again, fighting as one as the demons surrounded them. At one point, their backs were touching. Sam had the demon knife while Dean had an angel blade.

Castiel was doing his own thing, mostly with his own angel blade. He hardly had enough juice to smite one demon, much less an entire army.

Gabriel just kind of happened to be there. Wrong place, wrong time. It was actually quite impressive; Gabriel was still recovering from his time with Asmodeus, and now after only burning his tormentor twenty-eight hours ago, he was smiting demons again. It was quite the unexpected turnout, considering two days ago Gabriel was a terrifed, broken victim who had suffered to an unfathomable number of years of torture.

Too bad everyone was too occupied to notice the demon painting a bloody symbol along the wall. By the time Castiel saw it, it was too late. The demon slapped their hand on the sigil, splattering blood, and Team Free Will felt the air tremble at the immense power.

Castiel's eyes had blown wide. "That sigil is forbidden!" he yelled. But since when did demons care about forbidden? He had then put his hand out, reaching for Dean's and Sam's shoulder to warm them; he had to warn them. The force of the sigil knocked the wind out of him before he could speak a word.

Castiel was in the sky, falling at breakneck speeds. He could smell the burning grace of his wings, which had ignited in the heat of the fall. He was spinning, out of control, and his wings were too broken up to cushion much of anything. He then realized there was nowhere to land except back to Earth because Heaven was locked.

Then he realized his hand was still holding on to something. A jacket… a shoulder. His eyes managed to look at who it was connected to. It was Dean, who was unconscious, likely from the unbearable G-force he was enduring. And with all the strength he had left, Castiel brought him closer, curling his wings around the fragile human, for otherwise there was even fewer a chance of the hunter surviving such a fall.

Cas frantically looked for Sam, but Gabriel's voice called out before he could worry to death over the younger brother, "I've got the moose!" The archangel was trying to sound strong, words still heavy with sass like such a fall was above him, but Castiel could hear the strain in his voice.

They were still falling, with little choice of where they were to land. Castiel could see miles of wooded area, through the blur of his vision. This was definitely far from any civilization.

The oak tree branches hit them like bullets, and they could barely acknowledge the pain of it all before they hit solid ground.

It hurt so much that Castiel didn't dare breathe. His wings unfurled on their own, revealing a mostly unharmed Dean Winchester. The hunter was still unconscious, but it relieved Castiel like nothing else. Dean was alive.

Gabriel stood, head in his hands like he was only dizzy.

Cas shouldn't have been surprised—Gabriel was an archangel, and he was not.

Said archangel eventually snapped out of his stupor, checking on his brother before letting his face show a flicker of vulnerability: worry. Worry for Castiel.

Gabriel moved Dean from off of the angel, scowling and cursing out the hunter for using his brother as a pillow. Cas tried to voice that he didn't mind, but nothing came out. Why couldn't he speak?

Gabriel was staring at his chest. "Kiddo."

Cas then realized there was a branch impaled into his sternum. Huh. He hadn't noticed before.

"Alright, alright bite onto this." Gabriel offered him a convenient stick.

Castiel did as he was told like a soldier.

Dean came to before Gabriel had the chance to work out how to remove Cas from the piercing branch. The human rolled, grunting but overall he was fine. He blinked up at the pair of angels and their situation, and suddenly he forgot his own pains. He scrambled up, stumbling over to Gabriel's side. "Cas," he breathed.

Gabriel motioned to Dean. "I need your help."

"He's… Cas, he's…God, he's..."

"He's not going to live if you don't give me a hand right now!" Gabriel commanded, the breeze coincidentally becoming heavy. His eyes were angry, tinged with gold.

Dean nodded, staring in horror at his friend.

The archangel, held the left side of Castiel's still body, and he gestured for Dean to take the right. "On three."

"Three…"

Castiel closed his eyes. He bit into the stick and it dented under his teeth.

"Two…"

He tried not to move. Tried not to feel.

"One!"

They pulled Castiel away from the offending branch, and the angel couldn't help as he cried out, slumping into the dirt a foot away. His breathing was ragged and weak.

Gabriel tenderly examined Castiel's back, staring at the invisible mess of feathers with a pained, sympathetic expression. "Ouch, Cassie." He rolled him onto his back, crouching and placing his hand on top of the wound. As golden light flooded the area, Gabriel staggered, throwing out a hand to catch himself from getting a face-full of dirt.

Dean reached out, steadying Gabriel.

"Thanks Dean-o," the archangel gasped, and then passed out. The hunter caught him, rolled him onto his back beside Castiel.

Dean, paranoid as ever, checked Castiel's injury, and was very relieved to find just a shallow wound and some bruising. Cas's chest was moving with strong breaths. The angel would be in a lot of pain for a while, but ultimately he'd be okay. Assuming they ever got out of here.

He paused, allowing himself to take a much needed breath. Castiel was alive.

"What am I going to do with you two?" He then looked to his right, where Sam was sprawled in a crater. "Three," he corrected.

Dean took a seat on a nearby log, then realized his hands were shaking. He made the mistake of looking left, where blood coated the branch, and he felt sick. He'd seen a lot of terrible things, but that might have taken the cake. Cas, that nerdy dorky little guy, should not have been strung up like that. Dean just couldn't erase the image from his mind.

He didn't know how long he sat there in shock, but eventually Gabriel stirred and sat up, groaning. The archangel spared a glance to stunned Dean, and then he stood up. "You okay there, Dean-o? Hey, your boyfriend's gonna be fine. Seriously."

"He's not my—"

"Sure, he isn't. Could have fooled me." Dean continued to protest, but the archangel ignored him. Gabriel shook his head in disbelief, then made it over to Sam, who was still out cold. He loomed over him, lightly kicking his arm. "Wakey wakey, Sammich. You missed the party."

Sam finally stirred. "What—?" Then he gasped and jolted up, wincing. "Where..?"

"Middle of nowhere," Dean told him.

"Disneyland without the Disney," Gabriel added.

Sam blinked, processing what they were telling him. He asked, "You can just zap us out of here, right? I mean, you're an archangel."

It didn't fool anyone when Gabriel shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah, no can do, kiddo. Would have done it already if I could. My wings are fried from the sigil. Also keep in mind that we kept you guys from roasting in that fall. I mean, my wings are in rough shape, but Castiel's are even nastier." Gabriel glanced to Castiel, and then said in a lower tone, turning to Dean, "You're lucky he's loyal, Dean-machine, because those things look like they went through a meat grinder."

"So how long will it take you two to heal up?"

Gabriel was dreading this question. He sort of wished he could just ignore it, but he knew they wouldn't let it go. Stubborn bastards. "Me? Maybe a few weeks. Him? I don't know. He may set back plans by a few months." To be honest, the archangel didn't even want to acknowledge it. Who wanted to sit around in a stinky forest for that long?

Dean's face reflected Gabriel's internal feelings and conflictions. "A few months?!"

Gabriel glared. "Hush up. It ain't all bad, I still have some mojo, yeah?" He attempts to snap a lollipop from midair, but winces when a paralyzing pain stops him, like his grace is shredding, and he staggers, blinking away the grey in his vision. "Holy—okay, maybe not. We might need to stick to hunting, boys. Literally."

The archangel lists to the side, and Dean manages to catch him again.

"Dude, sit down or something," Dean said gruffly, then guided the archangel to a clear patch of ground.

"Glad I have you holding my hand, Dean-bean," Gabriel said halfheartedly.

The hunter scoffed. "Sam, you babysit. I'm gonna quick check out the area."

"It's almost sunset," Sam reminded him. "We're probably on the other side of the world for all we know. It's not noon anymore, Dean."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I said 'quick'." And then Dean left Sam alone with the mouthy archangel. Great.

"You okay there, Samantha? Think you might be growing a worry wart." Gabriel grinned.

"Bite me."

"Maybe later."

Sam rolled his eyes. He sat himself down on a nearby log, then noticed the drying blood a foot away. Alarmed, he asked, "What happened?"

"Hot wings over here got himself impaled."

"What?!"

"Relax. I healed him. Nearly drained me, but he'll live." Gabriel paused. "He's almost human, right?"

Sam let himself relax a bit, but his stomach twisted. He felt a little sick looking at Cas. "Yeah."

Gabriel whistled. "When he fell, he fell hard, huh?"

"Yeah." Sam looked up, expecting to see an expression of sarcasm and indifference, but the archangel was looking at Cas sadly.

"Poor kid," he said. "I hope you know what he went through to side with you knuckleheads." But then Gabriel looked up and saw Sam's face. He closed his eyes in complete exasperation. "He didn't tell you."

"What do you mean?" Sam's eyebrows went down in concern. "Tell us what?"

"What heaven did to him. Of course he wouldn't tell you. That idiot—you can't see it, so of course he wouldn't bring it up."

"What? What'd they do?"

"Just like hell, there are parts of heaven that don't obey time. What you thought was a couple days… well, they tore him up for years. They brainwashed him with simulations worse than torture. You're lucky he's so strong. Most aren't." Gabriel curled his lip in disgust at the thought. "Most are so broken they become mindless soldiers."

"Like Anna?"

"Yeah, like Anna." Gabriel said. "Heaven is corrupt, and Castiel got the brunt of it because he was the brave one." He let out a breathy laugh, "I'm supposed to be the Archangel of Justice. Funny, how he was the brave one and I was the coward."

Gabriel laughed, but it wasn't funny.

///

Dean was a bit disoriented by the setting sun. Like, he knew and understood why it was setting, but his brain just didn't like it. Dean wanted to blame it on time, but he knew it wasn't about that.

It reminded him of Purgatory.

The long shadows, the neverending trees. Dean could feel an old, locked part of him starting to creep out. Predatory and feral. Scary.

Dean gripped his gun tight, hoping that Sam was making a fire and setting camp. He didn't know what he planned to do, but he had needed to get out of there. If only for a while.

Dean lucked out big time. The sound of the gunshot reverberated off of the surrounding trees and had nearby birds fleeing their nests. He scored a big, stupid turkey, who didn't seem too threatened by Dean's presence. In its own way, that wasn't a good sign. That meant there weren't people nearby to hunt these animals. Or many predators, for that matter.

The hunter was proud to drag a turkey back to base camp, though.

He was also happy to see that Sam had built a fire. The wind was calm and it made feeding the flames easy. Sam's three layers had now become two; his jacket was draped over Cas's still form.

Dean held the turkey up by its neck, flashing a smug smile at Sam, who watched Dean, unamused.

"Wow, fancy," Gabriel muttered. "Guess we got some Dean-cuisine, huh?"

"Shut up," Dean said cooly.

Gabriel was reluctantly drifting to sleep, curled up against a log, which wasn't a very good sign at all. "Just need a big recharge. I should be a bit better by morning. So should Cassie," the archangel assured them.

The Winchesters watched over as the angels slept, and the irony was not lost on them.

"Aw, aren't they just angels," Dean said.

Sam sighed, warming his hands over the well-made fire. "So is this it? We just wait until their mojo is back?"

It was Dean's turn to sigh. "Seems like."

///

Not even an hour later, they were interrupted by the rumble of a jeep off in the distance. Both Winchesters were awake and shared glances.

Soon, a man—a park ranger—was visible through the trees and eyed their camp. He then saw the dead turkey. "This is the Theodore Roosevelt National Park. You can't hunt here."

Sam's eyes widened. "We didn't know. I mean—we'd like to leave. We're lost."

"You didn't know?" The ranger was disbelieving.

Dean clapped his hands together. "Don't know how we got here, actually. We just woke up. We just want to leave, man." It was mostly true.

"Our friends are hurt. Could you help us?" Sam added.

The ranger made him way over the Cas, who was still completely out of it. Dean came over and lifted the angel's shirt to reveal the wound. For Cas, this was nothing, but for any normal person this would look serious.

The ranger's eyes furrowed. "My car is parked not far from here. Can you help me carry him?" He then looked to Gabriel. "He okay?"

"Uh, yeah, he's just a hard sleeper," Sam assured him.

Dean offered, "Here, I'll wake 'im up." He walked over to the archangel while Sam and the ranger helped move Cas. Dean prodded and poked Gabriel's shoulder. "Up and at 'im sunshine, we're gettin' outta here."

Gabriel woke with a start and scowled. "So much for beauty sleep." He took Dean's offered hand up.

"You can get your eight hours in an actual bed, how about that?" Dean said snarkily. "Now get a move on. The ranger's car is that'a way."

"Ranger?"

"We're in a National Park."

"You certainly are," the ranger answered, apparently having been listening for a while. "Your friends are in the car. If you don't mind, I'd like my own beauty sleep as well."

They complied.

Once they were settled in the car, with Gabriel in the front, Castiel's head rested on Sam's shoulder, and Dean on his other side, the park ranger sighed, looking at them through the rearview. He offered a tired smile to Dean. "So you really don't know how you got here, huh?" The man's crooked teeth gave him a slight lisp.

"Nope," Dean replied sincerely. He looked to Sammy, who was out like a light. "Look, we're sorry for hunting here. Really. To be honest, we thought we were in the boonies."

"Well, I suppose I'd rather you go off hunting in the park than the other alternative."

Dean shifted, now wary. "Why?" Dread filled his veins. That was the kind of vague thing that a monster , demon, or Anything That Wants to Kill Sam and Dean™ said before they lunged out.

But the ranger didn't attack, and Dean relaxed some. "Well, this has been going on for a couple of weeks. We've been finding people out in the middle of the park like you bunch every night"

"And they don't know how they got there, either?"

The man's lips thinned. "They're dead when we find them. Mountain lions, we figure."

Dean straightened. "You figure?"

"Yeah, well, I mean, they look like animal attacks. Big predator. But it's just strange. Mountain lions don't often come around these parts, much less attack people. They're solitary animals. Plus, there were these… fang marks on all the victims."

"Fang marks?"

"Nothing like I've ever seen. Drained each victim of all their blood. One of my coworkers swore up and down he's seen a vampire the other night. But that's crazy talk, right?" The ranger exhaled. "I just don't know how these people are all getting into the park."

"You find out who they were?"

"We've matched some people. I just don't know. I mean, one man went missing in Florida and two days later he just shows up dead in North Dakota? We matched a couple from Michigan, too. Sam deal. Where were you last?"

Dean but his lip. "Massachusetts."

"Christ."

The hunter in Dean was suspicious. This sounded like their kind of gig. Did they really just stumble onto a case? Ah, what the heck. I'll just ask him. "You know of any nearby hotels by chance?"

The tanger looked surprised. "You're planning on staying?"

"Well, I mean, we get planted in a National Park, might as well go sightseeing." Dean offered an innocent smile.

"You don't have family to go back to?"

"Nah. Just us. We like to roadtrip anyway."

The ranger nodded. "You sure everyone's in shape to be sightseeing?"

That was true; Castiel was not in any condition to be running around hunting monsters. "All the more reason to stay. I don't want to move him around anytime soon."

The ranger didn't look so convinced, but he didn't say anything.

///

Sam woke up in a hotel bed.

"You finally up, Sleeping Beauty?" Dean's voice sounded from across the room.

Sam wiped at his face, blinking until his vision was clear and he could make out Dean sitting at a table…

Researching.

"What's going on?" he asked. Because if Dean was researching, there was something wrong.

"What, I can't just read a book?"

Sam sent him a disbelieving look.

"Fine. Ranger said they've been finding more than just us. Except the people he found were all dead before they reached 'em." He closed the book, frustrated with it. "Animals attacks, he said."

"Since when were animal attacks our gig? You know this is a National Park, right Dean?"

"But this thing isn't hunting animals, Sam. It's hunting people," Dean said.

"Probably just mountain lions upping their game, Dean. Civvies aren't that difficult to kill."

"That turkey that I got? It was fearless. Like it'd seen a predator in its life. I'm just sayin'. We've looked into less."

Sam nodded. "I guess you're right."

"'Parently people are disappearing from all over the place. I've been looking into it, Sam. They're coming from all over. Not even just the states. They found two guys from Europe."

Sam's eyebrows furrowed as he thought. "That does sound like our kind of gig."

"Yeah. That's what I've been trying to tell you," Dean snapped.

"So that forbidden sigil that the demons were using… they're using it everywhere?" Sam got out of the bed, walking over to see the research Dean had been doing. "What does the sigil actually do?"

"No idea. That's why I'm researching, Sam," Dean said. "But whatever it was, it must be bad. What kind of sigil sends angels and humans away?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't know."

"I know." Both Winchesters turned to look at Gabriel, who was sitting up in the hotel bed, stretching. "Man, this thing is just not comfortable. You two deal with this all the time?" He snapped, upgrading the bed to something better. "There."

"Thought you didn't have your mojo?"

"Let's just say that power nap kick-started some things." The archangel stood, walking over to the book. We waved his hand casually, letting the pages fly and flap until he thrust his hand forward, stopping the book. "It's a sigil of condemnation. It repels all the followers of God." He looked up at the boys. "It's not perfect. It just repels anything that isn't demonic, and send them here."

"Why?"

"Why does anything do anything? Sigils are just writing. Someone designed it for this purpose. Why? Beats me." Gabriel shrugged. "Whoever made this wanted anything that wasn't a demon to be transported onto this particular land. I'm sure it was just designed for humans, but it managed to send us away too. Probably because we're not demons. I know, it's a shocker."

Dean thought about that. "Cas recognized it too."

"As I said, it's just writing. Whoever designed this thing knew Enochian. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he did recognize it. That kid's always getting into trouble."

Dean looked to the bed, scowling, but not actually angry. "Damn it, Cas. Wake up already. We need your help."

"Really pour your heart into it, Dean-o. Maybe he'll even wake up," Gabriel said. His sarcasm was palpable.

"Shut up, why don't you."

"Make me."

Sam had had enough of this. "Grow up, both of you. Let's just work on the case, okay?" He snatched his laptop and sat himself on a bed, brooding.

Dean raised his eyebrow at his brother. "Well someone's cranky." He sighed, tapping the book as silence encompassed the room. After several minutes of awkward tension, where Gabriel played with the tips of pages, making them dog-eared while Sam put his full attention on his screen. Finally, he cracked. "Hey, Sammy."

"What?"

"What if it's the chupacabra?" Dean joked, a stupid smile on his face, vainly trying to lighten the mood.

Sam shook his head and brought his eyes back to his computer.

Dean's grin faded. This was going to be a long day.

///

"I... think I found something," Sam finally said after two hours.

Dean was grateful. He felt like his head was going to explode if he read anymore. "What is it?"

Sam sighed, visibly hesitating. "You were right, Dean. I don't know how, but you were."

Dean looked excited. "I was right?"

"Yeah."

There was a pause.

"Right about what?"

Gabriel snorted.

Sam rolled his eyes. "The chupacabra."

"Oh." Dean looked almost baffled. "That was just a joke, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Sam snapped. "But apparently they've been associated with demons. Even mentioned as demons themselves sometimes."

Dean had not seen this coming. He had not expected to be right, of all things. "And it's camping out in a National Park why?"

"Honestly? That's probably the best place they could hide. People can't bring in guns, so they're left defenseless."

Gabriel hummed. "The demons are sending people to it, then. Feeding it."

"Wait wait wait. But I thought they only attacked livestock," Dean said.

"Well, it sounds like they just go after the largest prey they can find. In the lore, it was livestock because that's what was out and vulnerable at night, when the chupacabra would strike." Sam shrugged. "Sounds like they would go after farmers too."

"Humans can't be the biggest animal in that park. What about the mountain lions?"

"Prey, Dean. It goes after prey."

"But humans aren't prey. I mean, hell, we're at the top of the food chain!'

"Without tools and weapons? We're prey."

Dean scowled, but after a moment he realized something. "That's why we weren't attacked last night. We had guns, Sammy. Weapons. Last night, we weren't prey." He thought back to the turkey. "We were predators, and it knew that."

"Well, that explains some things." Gabriel looked almost impressed by Dean's deductive skills.

Dean frowned. "How do we kill it?"

"Well, it sounds like people used to stab them with pitchforks when they were found on their farms. So I'd say iron is our best bet… which would make sense if they're a demonic monster."

"Right. Okay. We know why the demons are all buddy buddy with them, then? There's got to be a reason they're feeding it. Demons don't do stuff like this for nothing."

"Dean's right. I mean, he would know," the archangel said bluntly.

Dean glared. The nerve of this guy…

Sam cleared his throat, trying to pull Dean's attention away from the source of his irritation. "Maybe? It says that… well, crap."

"What?" Both Dean and Gabriel asked.

Sam's face had frozen, staring at the letters on his screen. "Well, you know some people thought they were demons? Turns out it could also be said that they could be a type of wild hellhound."

"Well, crap." Dean echoed. "So, what, the demons lose their pet and now they're trying to lure it back with treats?"

Sam pitched a reluctant sigh. "We should probably ask Crowley."

"Crowley?! After that demon army launched us five states away? No. Nuh uh. Have a Plan B? I mean, we do have an archangel on our hands."

"I'm right here, you know," came a protest from behind them.

"Seriously, Dean. Think about it. We know how to call the actual King of Hell and ask him what's going on, and we're not going to take it?"

"Great to know I'm appreciated." There was a huff.

"Sam, what about a demon army do you not understand? I don't think anyone particularly wants to be launched out of the sky again!"

"What other choice do we have?! We can't speak with the victim's families because they're on the other side of the country, and we can't pose as law enforcement because the ranger would call us out!"

Dean looked light he was going to argue, but then he huffed. "Fine. We call Crowley."

#dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #gabriel #crowley #demons #angels and demons #angels #falling angels #case fic #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #fanfiction #fanfic #destielifyousquint

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mydisenchantedeulogy · 4 years

Text

The World Looks Red [Keigo Takami/Hawks]

Tag List: @mx-irony

Please read the afternote for more information.

Hate was too strong a word; Aina hated shots, but how she felt about romance was roughly similar. There was no word to exactly describe it. She felt uneasy with the aspect of love; enough said.

This is why – for the second time this week – she turned down her fellow workmate whenever the eccentric young woman tried to set her up on a blind date.

“Oh come on. It’s one itsy bitsy date,” Ikumi stated. She leaned over the teller desk and brushed her long hair behind her ear. “Besides … you may even meet the person you were meant to be with.”

Aina teasingly rolled her eyes. That was the tackiest thing she’d ever heard, but no less true.

These days soulmates were as common as the development of Quirks, albeit the phenomenon hadn’t been around quite as long – give or take fourteen years. The exact cause was unknown, but rumors were that someone in the country of Japan manifested a powerful Emitter-type Quirk and altered humanity.

No one came forward with proof of such claim, so no one really knew for sure. What they did know was that Japan was the only country at this time affected. It swept the island like a plague, and at the young age of eight, the vibrant world Aina knew ceased to exist.

All traces of color washed away. It didn’t necessarily peter out, but those affected by it could no longer see color. It was like a monochrome lens was inserted into each and every eye. Then came the awakening.

A woman in her late thirties claimed that she could still make out colors; her spouse claimed the same. Tests were administered, but to no benefit.

That was nearly three days after the phenomenon occurred, and since then, more and more people regained their loss. Each and every one of them were either married or found that a simple touch helped them see again. The only rationalized theory – Quirk experts believed – was that true love reversed the Quirk.

Bull; utter bull. Aina didn’t believe it to be true. How could people assume that love was fixed? Her parents loved each other very much; neither of them were lucky enough to have their sight returned.

Not to say that it wasn’t true, however. Couples found one another, all claiming to be awakened. The woman Aina worked for was one of them. She found love – years after the death of her husband – and swore the world lit up again.

“Doubt I will ever be that lucky. The boss didn’t meet her soulmate until she was in her late forties,” Aina explained.

The term soulmate was coined by high schoolers. It stuck like glue.

Ikumi snorted. “It’s not like they’re going to just fall into your lap. Go and meet them half way. This bank isn’t the best place to start.”

“Who knows … maybe I will meet them after I leave here. Doesn’t hurt to touch every random guy or girl on the street and hope for the best,” she joked.

Ikumi again snorted.

Now that she thought about it, she didn’t even know why Aina was leaving early in the first place.

“You took a half day, right? How come?”

Aina curled up her nose. “I have an appointment. Flu season; the doctor insists I get a shot.”

Mother insisted actually. She worked at Fukuoka Kinen Hospital. The doctor was a friend of hers and offered to see Aina. However, the only way he could fit her into his schedule was if she took a half day. Aina would have rather avoided it, but her mother was a tough one to negotiate with.

“Tough break,” Ikumi said with a look of pity. “Shots are so annoying.”

Aina nodded in agreement. You can say that again.

She waved goodbye to her friend and left through the bank doors. The outside air was much more refreshing. Aina stretched her arms over her head and yawned. When she opened her eyes, they drifted up to the heavens.

Not being able to see colors really sucked at times. She missed the color green; it was her favorite. The foliage around her house was always so pretty when she was a child. Now it just looked like the rest of the world; grey and bleak. If there was anything to regret, it was the fact she took it all for granted.

“Ma’am … watch out.”

Aina knotted her brows and turned her head to the side. She didn’t notice it before, but someone was running towards her. He was a tall individual with a cowlick in his hair.

Before she understood what was happening, he dashed forward and snatched her by the arm. A gun was pressed to the side of her head as he forced her closer to his chest. That’s when she noticed the police; four of them.

The hell was going on?

“Make a move and I will shoot her,” the man yelled in her ear.

Am I being used as a hostage?

For some reason the hard truth was not sinking in. She never thought she’d be in a situation like this. The man held her close as he shouted at the police. Aina could hardly understand him. Her heart felt like it was beating out of control.

She thought she was going to die.

But, the villain suddenly let out a loud shriek and dropped the gun. In his hand was a red feather. Aina stared at it in shock. She never even thought about running.

How is it that I can see the color?

Before she or the police could even react, the furious man shoved her forward and activated his quirk. Aina felt her entire body lift into the air; tossed with such intensity that her head began to spin. She screamed in fear, but nothing could prevent what had already been done.

She felt like she may be sick. Her sight quickly came back and she glanced down at the street beneath her. Everyone looked so tiny – she realized the gravity of the situation and knew that she might not survive this.

Not wanting to see how fast the pavement was advancing on her, she closed her eyes tight. It was better this way.

A pair of arms slid beneath her own and suddenly she wasn’t falling any more. But how? Another quirk? Aina opened her eyes. What she saw brought tears to her eyes.

Scarlet feathers; they twirled and glided in the sky around her. But how? She didn’t understand any of this.

“They are so beautiful.” Aina had never seen anything so pretty.

A soft laugh brought her to reality again. She now remembered – someone had saved her. There was only one person she knew of in Fukuoka who had wings. Hawks; the number 2 hero.

She glanced back in his direction with the intent to thank him. Tears leaked down her cheeks.

His keen eyes were wide with shock. There was no way he was seeing this. Color ignited in her eyes; so blue and so beautiful. Keigo nearly dropped her as she stared up at his wings. It made him wonder why he could not see anymore than what was being shown to him.

“Who are you?”

Aina felt her face heat up. “I’m … not anyone.”

“Must be someone, for us to have met like this. Like it was fated,” he said with a smile.

She puckered her brow. “Isn’t it your job as a hero? There is nothing fated about it.”

“A skeptic; that’s something.”

Aina nodded in agreement. “It’s a little cliché to me.”

“No doubt about that,” Keigo said. He saw the police arrest the villain and flew down with the intent to set her on the ground. Once she was out of his arms, her eyes faded out. “Have to admit though, it’s nice to see color again.”

Even though her eyes were the only source.

With the ambulance on the way, Keigo knew that his job was done. Yet he couldn’t force himself to leave. He reached out and touched her shoulder just to be sure. Her eyes again ignited with shades of blue and green; colors he could only remember seeing as a small child before he went colorblind.

“Isn’t this something?”

Aina stared at him a minute. The wings behind him faded to grey once he removed his hand. It saddened her a little.

“I guess this means we are soulmates.”

Keigo puckered a brow. “You sound let down. I’m not that bad of a guy.”

“Don’t take it that way,” Aina said in a panic. She brought up her hands in defense. “I just … don’t know how to deal with this. Where do we even go from here?”

He wasn’t sure himself. The idea of love wasn’t something Keigo had even thought about before. He was a pro hero. Love was merely something he thought may have passed him by – until today. It was too soon for him to say, but he could not deny that there was something special about her. She was easy on the eyes too.

Keigo combed back his hair. What to do? He honestly did not want to lose this chance to see color again. “How about diner? My treat, of course.”

Her face again felt warm. Should she? The thought scared her. She did not like change, but the color she saw interested her.

“I suppose. My name is Aina by the way.”

He sat his hands on his sides – a move she often saw heroes do; it made her smile. “Hawks, but you can call me your hero if you like.”

Aina chuckled. Easy on the eyes and able to make her laugh; maybe this wasn’t so bad. She wasn’t totally convinced it was fated, however. Just part of his job. Her being there was just coincidence.

But maybe not. Aina decided that looking at it with an open mind was probably the best idea. For her sake, anyway. She exchanged numbers with Hawks and spoke with him until the ambulance came. Once he was gone, she clutched her phone to her chest and smiled.

Had she really found her soulmate?

A/n: There is a sequel in the works. More Hawks and more Aina.

#my hero academia #hawks x oc #soulmate

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turtle-steverogers · 5 years

Text

Mothman Unsolved

hi guys im laughing really hard cuz its 3 am and i wrote a fucking mothman au and its weirdly angsty but every time i typed ‘mothman’ i chuckled anyway lol enjoy

warnings: death, uh some panicking, a bridge collapses (this is based off the true events of the incidents yah oops)

ship: ralbert, past relmer, past spalbert

word count: 5576 im crying im so sad

November 17, 1966

“Let’s do something,” Race peered into his lover’s eyes, which were carefully masked by the darkness in the room, “Let’s go somewhere, live for a bit…” he trailed off for a moment, “be kids.”

Elmer pulled him closer to his chest, running a hand through his tangled curls, “I dunno,” he considered, heaving a breath, “M’kinda tired and it’s pretty late.”

Race propped himself onto one elbow, leaning down to capture Elmer in a searing kiss, “C’mon,” he whispered, pulling away just far enough to speak, his breath still ghosting Elmer’s lips, “Just for a bit?”

“A snake, Higgins,” Elmer said, sounding vaguely breathless, “You are a fucking snake.”

“So’s that a yes?” Race murmured, trailing a line of kisses from behind Elmer’s ear to his neck.

Elmer growled, “Fucking fine. Okay, yes.”

Race sat up, grinning as he bounced off Elmer’s bed and slipped on his shoes, “Great, let’s go!”

The drive was pleasantly invigorating as they sped along Route 62, the long stretch of road expanding in front of them. There wasn’t much in around the area, but it was theirs. Point Pleasant, West Virginia wasn’t known to be any large attraction. Rather, it was a small town of no more than 5,000 people where everyone knew everyone.

Neighbors never changed, townspeople never strayed. Everything was routine. Cookie-cutter. Imperfectly perfect in every way.

Race liked routine. He enjoyed the vacancy of the area and cherished the fact that nothing ever differed. It was oddly comforting knowing that no matter how fast life seemed to accelerate, leaving him breathless and scared, he always had the same home and group of people to surround himself with.

They sped forward, the road curving slightly as they entered the McClintic Wildlife Sanctuary. Race’s hand remained entwined with Elmer’s as he propped his feet on the dash, eyes wandering out the window and to the stars above. It was strangely warm for a November night, clear skies making way for thousands of visible stars and temperatures pushing towards the 60s. The two boys had long since abandoned their sweaters, relaxing with the windows down to allow the breeze to travel through the car.

“Ain’t we near the TNT Area?” Race asked, breaking the silence as they passed one of the old storage bunkers that scattered the area, leftover from World War 2.

Elmer hummed, glancing to the side momentarily before nodding, “I think so, yeah.”

“This place always rubbed me wrong,” Race commented as they passed another bunker, dug into the side of a ditch, “It’s downright unnerving.”

“We can turn around if ya want,” Elmer suggested, “we don’t gotta-”

He cut himself off with a gasp, involuntarily jerking the steering wheel to the side as what looked like two enormous red, glowing eyes materialized down the road. Race let go of Elmer’s hand, hastily taking his feet off the dash and placing them securely on the ground as the car’s wheels screeched against the pavement.

They were spinning. Fast. But the red eyes never seemed to move from in front of the car.

“Elmer, stop the car!” Race shouted, heart hammering in his chest. He willed himself to look away from the eyes and turned to his boyfriend, who’s gaze was transfixed on whatever was staring them down. His mouth was hanging open, but no sound was coming out. It was as if the sound had been erased from his vocal chords, leaving him utterly helpless.

“Elmer, love, look at me,” Race pleaded, reaching out to grab the steering wheel as they continued to spin at increasing speed. His stomach was flipping violently and he willed himself to hold down his dinner.

Elmer shook his head slowly, lifting one hand and pointing out the window. Fear spiked in Race’s stomach as he looked forward again, only to find that he was looking at what appeared to be a very large bird-man.

The creature was abnormally tall, landing somewhere between 7 and 8 feet. Its legs seemed to sprout far to the ground, disproportionately slim compared to its torso, which was wide and covered in feather-like fur. A large pair of wings, more similar to those of a bat rather than a bird were neatly folded behind its back and Race swallowed, utterly captivated. His eyes returned to the creature’s own and he felt his voice leave his body, brain turning to mush as he tried to form words.

Then, its wings spread and it glided upwards, wings staying stationary. Race’s awareness returned to him with an overcompensating gasp and he turned back to Elmer, who’s eyes appeared to be rolling back into his head. Race watched in horror as Elmer’s arms curled into his body as he began to convulse.

Race only had a second to scream as the car flipped on its side, Elmer’s head smashing into the driver side window. The sound of glass cracking echoed through the car, then everything went black.

November 17, 1967

Race sighed, hands curled around the mug of coffee he was nursing as he looked out over his front lawn. It was an overcast morning, the grey sky casting a gloomy mood over the area. It was as if the town was tired, sad, completely worn out.

Or maybe that was just Race.

He removed a hand from the warm, comforting ceramic of his mug and allowed his fingers to travel to his chest, where the locket that Elmer had given him still hung. He considered taking it off and opening it, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He hadn’t looked at the picture inside since before the events of a year ago.

He swallowed. It didn’t feel real. He couldn’t fathom that an entire year had already gone by since, since-

He huffed a breath, lifting the mug to his lips and taking a sip of the scalding drink, allowing it to ground him as the hot liquid traveled down his throat and into his chest. He winced, blowing out a breath to cool his mouth, but a part of him enjoyed the sting. It almost seemed to fill the hole in his heart that Elmer once occupied. Almost.

He stared out towards the town in the distance, watching as a traffic light turned from green to red. He flinched, glimpses of the horrifying creature and its awful eyes flashing through his mind at lightning speed. He shut his eyes, willing for the memory to leave. But he knew deep down that it would never.

He wasn’t alone in his experience, he knew that. Other sightings of that...that thing had been reported frequently throughout the year.

More reports of a creature with terrifying, red eyes, a large wingspan, and frightening speeds had been told and retold by those living in the area. It was every bit disturbing to Race as it was comforting. At least he wasn’t alone in his insanity.

He considered taking a walk, his legs itching to get up and move away from his place of solitude on his front porch. Standing, he chugged the rest of his coffee, placing the mug on the wood railing of his porch before traipsing down the steps, tucking the locket underneath his shirt as he walked off his property.

It was colder than it had been a year ago and he felt his teeth chattering as he drew his shoulder up, hands finding their way to his pockets. He watched his shoes hit the pavement, too worn to look where he was going.

It had been like that a lot recently. Small tasks seemed impossible. Simply lifting his head was too much to bear. Life seemed pointless without Elmer- his partner in crime, his other half, his secret and forbidden lover. He missed the thrill of sneaking out and stealing kisses, blind to the eyes of the town. It was a game. Seeing how far they could push their luck and limits without exposing themselves to unaccepting onlookers. But they loved it. God, did they love it.

Race pursed his lips, sucking in a breath around the lump of emotions in his throat as fierce longing thrummed through his system. He missed him so fucking much.

He hadn’t realized he was at his car until he was subconsciously pulling out his keys. He froze, catching sight of himself in the window. For a split second, he swore he could hear the sound of Elmer’s head making contact with the glass, the crack indicating the loss of his life reverberating in his brain. He shook his head, blinking. God, he was tired and it showed. Even in the shitty reflection he could see the dark shadows on his face.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, reaching down to pull open the driver side door. He climbed inside, anxiety bubbling up through his stomach and into the back of his throat, drying out his mouth and souring the taste on his tongue. It felt inappropriate to be driving then- as if he were betraying Elmer in some way.

Nonetheless, he jammed the keys into the ignition and steered the car with trembling arms onto the street. He drove numbly, unsure as to where he intended to go. That was a lie. He knew exactly where he was going.

Twenty blurry minutes later, he pulled onto the McClintic Wildlife Management Area. As the road began to curve, he slowed to a stop, nausea rolling in his chest. He could feel small spasms in his legs as anxiety turned to panic. Why did he come here? He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Abruptly, he lashed out, fist connecting with the hard leather of the steering wheel with a shout. He could feel tears painting his face, but he didn’t do anything to stop them. He needed this, goddamnit. Sobs ripped out of him- loud and agonising. He hunched forward, pulling at his hair as he tried to retain some semblance of control. But the grief was ruthless and all-consuming and he soon lost himself in it.

It was only when his sobs slowed to hiccups that he noticed the other car parked not far down the road. All breath left his body as he caught sight of the figure next to the car and he froze, eyes widening in fear. Not fucking again.

The figure turned and relief flooded Race’s mind as he recognized the shock of distinguishable red hair. It was a guy he’d seen around town. He was fairly certain he’d been in his homeroom the year previous.

The guy seemed to freeze momentarily as well when he caught sight of Race’s car, but he, too, relaxed when he realized that he was safe. They held eye contact through the windshield for an indiscernible amount of time. Bloodshot eyes peering into bloodshot eyes, a strange understanding emanating from one man to the other.

On a whim, Race turned off his car and climbed out. The guy kept his eyes trained on him, curiosity visible on his face. Race steeled himself, tentatively approaching him.

They stood, face to face, searching separately for what to say.

“It was here, right?” Race asked, voice low and sad, “You lost them here, didn’t you?”

The guy nodded, “Driving here at night. Almost a year ago. Saw that...that thing and then we swerved and the car flipped and...he was gone.” The guy’s eyes widened as he seemed to realize that he had just outed himself.

“It’s okay,” Race said, quickly, “I am too. Queer, that is.”

The guy’s tense shoulders seemed to deflate at Race’s words and he leaned back against his car, crossing his arms at his chest.

Race bit his lip, hovering awkwardly for a moment before leaning against the car as well, mirroring the guy’s position.

“What did you see first?” The guy asked, apprehension thinly veiled in his tone.

Race hesitated for a moment, eyes flicking to the spot where he’d first seen it.

“The eyes,” he muttered.

The guy nodded, “Big and red, right?”

“Mhm.”

Silence fell between them and Race forced himself to look away from the road where if he tried hard enough, he could still see the creature’s horrifying form. His stomach lurched as the whip-lash inducing, spinning motion of the car seemed to ghost over him. He shivered.

“Fuck that thing,” the guy said, malice biting at his words, “Fuck it for doing this to us.”

Race nodded, “honestly.”

More silence, then, “What’s your name?”

“Hm?” Race hummed, distracted, “Oh, uh, Antonio, but folks ‘round here call me Race.”

“Ah, you’re a Higgins, right?” The guy asked.

Race nodded, “Yup. What about you?”

“Albert,” the guy said, “Dasilva.”

“Right, right,” Race said, recognizing the last name, “Your dad owns the auto shop, right?”

“Yeah,” Albert said, “Gonna be mine soon.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah…”

Before he could help himself, Race asked, “Who was he?”

Albert looked at him, raising his eyebrows and Race stared back, guilt encompassing him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Race hastily exclaimed, “You don’t hafta-”

Albert smirked sadly, “It’s alright,” he interrupted, “It was, uh, Conlon. Sean Conlon, you know him?”

Race grimaced, “Went by Spot, right?”

“That’s the one,” Albert said.

“Yeah,” Race said, “was in my class for a few semesters in junior high.”

Albert set his jaw, “Yeah. Good guy. Kinda bruting, but sweet all the same,” he let himself look back towards the trees, deep in thought, “What about you?”

Race looked down at his sneakers, scuffing the ground with his toe, “Elmer, uh, Elmer Kasprzak?”

“Ah,” Albert sighed, “Yeah, his dad was a frequent customer. Also a good guy.”

“Definitely,” Race agreed, a heaviness hanging in the air between them.

“I miss him.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’m gonna find that thing,” Albert said, his voice taking on a new sort of determination, “and kill it.”

November 20, 1967

“Dasilva!”

Race approached the auto shop, sandwich bag in hand. He could see Albert’s legs poking out from underneath a 1964 Pontiac GTO.

A loud bang, followed by a resound, ‘shit-fuck!’, sounded from underneath the car as Albert apparently tried to sit up. A moment later, he slid out on his back, face screwed up in pain as he rubbed his forehead, where presumably, he had hit it against the car.

His eyes lit up nearly imperceptibly when he noticed Race and he smiled, beckoning him over, “Hey, Higgins, what’s up?”

“Ah, nothing. But here,” Race crossed to him, reaching into the sandwich bag and pulling out a grilled ham and cheese sandwich, “I broughtcha some lunch.”

Albert took the sandwich, eyebrows furrowing as he looked up at Race, something akin to amusement dancing in his eyes, “Thanks, but why?”

Race shrugged, pulling out his own sandwich and unwrapping it, “Dunno, really, just thought it’d be nice.”

Albert faltered for a moment, sandwich halfway to his mouth, “Yeah?”

“Eat it before it gets cold,” Race said, pointedly.

Albert chuckled, taking a bite of his sandwich, “Alrighty, thank you.”

Race chewed thoughtfully as he looked around the shop, taking note of the organized clutter. Some cars were suspended from the ceiling, while others were propped on the ground, but every car was in a different condition. Some looked pristine and new, complete with a shining gloss exterior. Others were completely wrecked to the point of unrecognizable, but every single one held a story.

“Do you like working in here?” Race asked, crumpling up the aluminum foil that previously held his toastie.

“Love it,” Albert said, scanning his eyes fondly around the garage, “I dunno, it’s just...calming, you know? Fixing things.”

“Calming how?” Race pushed, a strange part of him yearning to learn more about Albert- to hear what he had to say.

Albert took a measured breath, sorting through his thoughts, “It’s just,” he shook his head, placing his mostly-finished sandwich into the bag, “I’ve always loved it, like, working with my hands and being able to blow off steam that way. But after what happened last year with Sean, I...I was so lost and I felt so broken, you know?” he took a deep breath, composing himself, “The first thing I did was take the wrecked car here,” he pointed to the farthest corner from them where an old 1959 Ford Fairlane was displayed. The sides were still dented in some places, but altogether, it looked pretty stable, “Fixed it up as best I could and, I don’t know, it calmed me down.”

Race studied the car, letting the words sink in, “Was the car his?”

“Yeah,” Albert sounded distant, lost, “He loved that thing more than life itself. I don’t even know why, but it was sweet,” he paused for a moment, “I love it, too. It just feels like the last bit of him that I still got.”

Race fiddled with his locket, relating all too well, “Yeah,” he breathed.

Albert looked towards him, fixating on the locket for a moment, “That your piece of him?” he asked, nodding to it.

Race pressed the cool metal to his cheek, “Yeah.”

“Does it have anything inside?”

“Picture of us,” Race said, “But I haven’t opened it since before...yeah.”

Albert watched him carefully, “Open it when you’re ready.”

Race looked at him, a lopsided smile plastered on his face, “I will.”

They held eye contact, swimming in empathy, warmth filling their chests. For the first time in months, the cavity that Elmer had left in Race’s heart seemed to mend the tiniest bit.

November 25, 1967

A loud knocking at his front door awoke Race from his nap. He kept his eyes shut, allowing for his senses to return and distantly willing for whoever it was to go away. But whoever it was was adamant and the knocking only grew stronger.

Groaning, Race pulled himself off the couch and scrubbed at his face, stumbling towards the door, “M’coming, m’coming.”

As soon as he opened the door, a newspaper was thrust in his face. Race’s eyes snapped open, his heart leaping into his chest momentarily at the sudden movement, but he calmed down when he saw Albert’s red hair peeking over the paper.

“Jesus,” he croaked, voice still dripping with sleep as he grasped the newspaper, moving it away from his face, “hello to you, too.”

“Just read it,” Albert demanded, stepping inside the house without prompting and pointing at the headline, “there was another encounter with the thing last night. Some lady saw it in her yard.”

Race raised his eyebrows, speed-reading the article, “Mothman?” He said, cocking his head as he read the new term for the creature.

“Yeah, that’s how she described it, but think about it,” Albert’s hands were waving wildly at this point, “I don’t know exactly what you saw, but a moth isn’t so far off.”

Race looked up at Albert, realization dawning on his face, “Holy shit, you’re right.”

Albert nodded, an apprehensive glint to his eyes, “I say we go try and find the goddamn thing-”

“What!?” Race yelped, “Are you fucking insane-”

Albert held up a hand, silencing him, “Lemme finish. I say we find the damn thing and kill it.”

Race ignored the voice in the back of his head telling him to kick Albert out of his house and demand he never return with such idiotic ideas, “How would we even find it?”

“Okay, okay, so,” Albert pushed past Race, plopping down on his couch, “This thing is supposed to be a moth, right?”

Race eyed him warily as he sat down in the armchair across from him, “Yeah?”

“And moths are attracted to light, yeah?”

Race nodded slowly, “yeah...where are you going with this?”

“Shh, listen,” Albert’s leg was bouncing rapidly at this point, “we were both driving at night when shit went down,-”

“Oh my god, it was drawn to our headlights,” Race concluded, adrenaline ripping through his veins as the puzzle seemed to complete itself.

Albert clapped, a cheeky grin spreading across his face, “Exactly.”

Race leaned forward, holding his head in his hands for a moment, “Okay, how do we kill it?”

Albert seemed to stop short, “I’m not...entirely sure, but my dad’s got a couple guns, so that’s worth a shot?”

Race mulled it over for a moment, “Okay, yeah, I’ll do it, but I’ll need a bit to think this through.”

“Course, yeah,” Albert said, easily, “Come and get me when you’re ready.”

December 1, 1967

Race buttoned his jacket with vibrating hands, trying his best to mentally prepare for that night. He’d agreed to meet with Albert at the auto shop at 8:00 pm to search for the mothman, but he didn’t think he’d ever truly be ready.

He tried to focus on the grounding weight of his locket against his skin as he drove to the auto shop, his recollection of travel growing fuzzy as he neared it. The anxiety that had been present throughout the day was in full swing by the time he pulled up and he was grateful that Albert had offered to drive them to the TNT Area. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle being behind the wheel.

The prospect of willingly searching for the mothman seemed stupid, as if they were putting themselves directly in its clutches- walking into the belly of the beast. But closure seemed appealing and as terrified as Race was, the slim chance that he’d get to kill the godforsaken monster left a giddy feeling inside him.

Albert was sitting on the hood of his car, head tilted towards the sky. He didn’t look at Race as he approached, but he did shift over slightly, leaving room for him on the blue metal. Race clambered up next to him, crossing his legs under him as he followed Albert’s gaze to the sky.

“Stars,” Albert muttered, his voice low.

Race felt overwhelmed as he drank in the view of thousands of blinking specks, “Yeah.”

“There were stars that night, too,” Albert said, “So many of them.”

“Same with my night,” Race said, “It was a beautiful night, warm-”

“-Clear-”

“-Free-”

“-Perfect.”

They looked at each other, eyes glistening and hearts hammering.

“I’m scared,” Race admitted, breath hitching.

Albert reached out and cupped Race’s jaw, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. Race reached up and grabbed his wrist, holding on for dear life.

“I am, too,” Albert whispered, “Let’s do this for them.”

Race nodded, “For them.”

The drive was completely silent, save for the sound of both boy’s slightly too fast breathing. The nervous energy in the car was nearly suffocating, but Race willed himself to take a few exaggerated breaths as they neared the TNT Area.

The panic that had resided within him left a lump in his throat, threatening tears, and he gripped the center console, trying to calm down. Albert was chewing on his bottom lip, a breathless sigh leaving him every so often. It was clear that he was also barely keeping it together.

Somehow, Albert’s hand found Race’s and they grasped each other tightly, eyes never leaving the dark road ahead of them.

Then, they saw them. The glowing, red eyes, stark and shining in the bitter, black night. The world muted for a moment as Race’s stomach seized up, utter and absolute dread eating him from the inside out.

“Fuck,” He heard Albert breathe, “Shit, fuck.”

“I see it, too,” Race said, finding himself unable to look away from the enthralling eyes. It was as if the creature cast a spell on him, preventing him from wavering his stare.

All of a sudden, the creature took off, gliding flawlessly vertically. Albert cursed again, accelerating the car until it was pushing 95 mph. Race lost track of the red eyes, but soon, a creeping feeling tingled the back of his neck and he turned to the side.

Horror slammed him so hard he couldn’t even scream as he made eye contact with the creature, directly outside his window. Albert must have seen it, too, because a moment later, he shouted a curse and made a sharp turn, hoping to lose the mothman.

But it stayed on their tail, never losing speed as it ran beside their car.

“Albert, fucking speed up, fuck!” Race shouted, chest heaving as he tried not to throw up.

“I know, I’m trying!” Albert hissed, a panicked lilt to his tone. He sounded as terrified as Race felt.

Albert made a sudden U-turn, screaming as he tried to keep the car under control. They sped along for what could have been hours, but in reality was a few minutes, until the red eyes disappeared, no trace of the creature in sight.

Albert slammed the breaks, frantic cries escaping him. In the commotion, their hands had parted and Race reached a shaking hand over to Albert. Albert immediately clasped their hands together and lifted Race’s knuckles to his lips, trying to control his breathing.

“Hey,” Race murmured, trying to keep his own tears at bay, “Hey, look at me.”

Albert shook his head, breaths coming out short as he continued to cry.

Race reached his free hand up to brace the back of Albert’s neck, which was slick with sweat. He massaged it soothingly, taking a few deep breaths of his own.

“Shhh,” He cooed, squeezing Albert’s hand, “We’re safe, I promise.”

“We’re not, though,” Albert interjected, finally looking at Race. Their terrified gazes met each other’s, “We’re not as long as that thing is alive and we didn’t get a chance to fucking kill it.”

Race felt his adrenaline ebb away and he choked, “I know,” he said, “I-” he shook his head, “I don’t think we can kill it.”

Albert looked back towards the street, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

December 10, 1967

Race and Albert’s legs were tangled together under warm sheets, shadows dancing across the walls in Race’s bedroom. They had spent nearly every night since their latest encounter together, too paranoid to be without the other’s company.

Race stared at the ceiling, heart too heavy to drift off. Albert was resting across his chest, fast asleep and looking at peace, something Race was thankful to see. Neither of them had spoken about the incident, but the dark cloud of apprehension followed them relentlessly wherever they went.

Questions of their safety hung in the air, withering their sanity from the inside out, but they tried their best to move from day to day, carefully avoiding any news of further encounters.

The town was in chaos. Everyone had their stories and no one was safe. The mothman didn’t discriminate. Everyone was fair game for a sighting and it seemed that as the days crept along, nights passing quickly, more and more people fell prey to its peril.

A soft whimper from Albert brought Race back to the present. Concerned, he peered down at Albert, who’s face seemed to be screwed up in fear. He ran his fingers through his hair, hoping to calm whatever dream he was having, but his condition only worsened.

With a gasp, Albert awoke, his arms tightening around Race briefly before he scrambled to a sitting position. He looked wildly around the room, pupils blown wide in panic as he neared hyperventilation.

“Whoa, hey,” Race said, crawling forward and placing a hand on Albert’s knee, “He’s gone, he’s not here.”

Albert shook his head vigorously, gulping in air in an attempt to gain oxygen, “Water,” he rasped.

“You want water?” Race asked, gently.

“No,” Albert was clawing at his throat, “There was,” another gasp, “So much- fuck- water.”

“Where? Wait, you know what? Tell me in a second,” Race pulled Albert’s hand away from his throat, massaging his palm, “Gather yourself and then tell me what happened, yeah?”

Albert nodded, tucking his head between his knees as he tried to calm down. Race crouched next to him, diligently rubbing a hand down his back and continuously kneading his fingers until he was significantly calmer.

After a few minutes, Albert lifted his head, dazedly looking around before slumping into Race’s chest.

Race held him tightly, “What about water?”

“I was drowning,” Albert said, voice worn, but scared, “it was so cold...and...dark and there were...presents everywhere and...I don’t know. I couldn’t breathe.”

Race squeezed his bicep reassuringly, “It was only a dream, alright? You’re safe.”

“But what if I’m not?”

Race shifted so that he was looking into Albert’s eyes, “You are, I promise, okay?”

Albert glanced to the side, “okay.”

“Wanna try sleep again?”

Albert tucked his head into the crook of Race’s neck, “Please.”

Race guided them so that they were laying down and situated Albert back onto his chest, “I’ve got us.”

December 15, 1967

Race was running, feet hitting the ground hard as he willed himself to go faster. He needed to get to the Silver Bridge, he needed to get to Albert, he needed to find him before it was too late.

Stories of those who had dreamed of awful occurrences, which were soon followed by tragedy, had been frequenting the news lately and each and every one had a common thread: those who had these dreams had seen the mothman mere days before.

As Race neared the bridge, the sounds of cars honking reached his ears and he froze, awestruck as the clutter of cars that lined the bridge from end to end. The seemed to be stacked horizontally, bumper to bumper. The road wasn’t visible beneath the vehicles and Race’s gaze shifted through the crowds. Albert was somewhere in there, and he had to get to him before something bad happened.

He could feel it. The ominous lurking of catastrophe blowing in the frigid, Winter breeze. He wasn’t sure exactly what was going to happen, but it wasn’t anything good.

He stepped foot on the bridge, beginning to weave his way through the cars, but stopped dead when an awful creaking sound rang out directly above him. His head slowly turned up, mouth hanging open as he scanned the cluster of steel cables. They were taut, vibrating, working against every ounce of physics to stay put.

“Shit.” Race swore, head snapping back down. The goddamn bridge was going to collapse.

He began to run, pounding on the windows of pedestrians as he passed different cars, shouting for everyone to, “Run! Get out of your cars! Get off the bridge!”

Whether or not people listened, Race didn’t know. His mind seemed to tunnel on one target as he searched feverishly for Albert’s car, which was nowhere in sight.

The bridge gave a sickening groan and people screamed. Race willed himself not to stop running as he slid over hoods of cars and snaked between those who were running.

The sound of the bridge straining grew louder and Race could feel the panicked sobs rising in his throat. He couldn’t do this again, he couldn’t lose someone else.

He clamped his hands over his ears as a deafening crack echoed behind him. It was happening now. The bridge was going to fall.

He was distantly comforted by the fact that Albert clearly wasn’t in the center of the bridge, but he couldn’t help but look back as the middle crashed downwards, bringing cars down with it.

He gasped, unable to look away as the crevice seemed to grow, steel and metal barreling towards the water. It was nearing him, he was going to fall with it. He was going to-

A pair of strong arms wrapped around his torso as the bridge around him crashed down and he could hear a scream that matched his own echoing behind him as he plummeted towards the inky, black water.

The water was freezing and he could feel his lungs constrict as he was submerged. He kicked out, turning his body so that he was facing the person holding him.

Albert. Thank god.

Race held him back, both boys using conjoined efforts to kick to the surface, away from cars and bridge debris. Christmas presents floated around them, and suddenly, Albert’s dream became clear. It seemed to take hours, but eventually they made it to shore on the Point Pleasant side of the bridge.

They collapsed on the grounding, chests heaving and bodies shivering as adrenaline seeped away, leaving them cold and scared.

Then, they were hugging, holding on for dear life as they came down from the high of yet another near death experience.

“Jesus Christ,” Albert muttered into his ear, “Did that really just happen?”

They broke apart and Race held his face in both hands, numb fingers brushing over blue parted lips, “I don’t fucking know.”

Albert surged forward, capturing Race in a kiss. For a moment, Race felt warm, a spark in him igniting- a simple flame burning against the bitter cold. He kissed back, trying to convey every ounce of love and fear and sheer understanding into that singular action.

They were alive. They were safe.

January 1, 1968

Albert and Race trudged through the snow outside Race’s house, watching as their new adopted dog, Queso, bounded in front of them.

The events of the year previous still followed them like a shadow, but they were grounded. Since the collapse of the Silver Bridge, mothman encounters had ceased, no longer plaguing the people of Point Pleasant.

Things were far from okay, but as Albert and Race healed together, their love grew stronger.

They were okay.

anyway i guess thats what i get for watching too many mothman documentaries this weekend lolol

had to add queso in there somewhere

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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heartofhryule · 6 years

Text

Breath of the Wild: Captured Memories - Chapter 7

Preface and Disclaimer; First and foremost; SPOILER WARNINGS. If you have not played The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, or completed the Captured Memories Quest and want to stay unspoilered for it, DO NOT READ. Keep Reading link provided for that reason.

So I am writing these as I play through BotW for the first time - which means they probably won’t be ‘one-a-day’ consistent - I have finally gotten all of the memories, but not yet gone for the final fight at Hyrule Castle. #Soon. I will post them as I can though! Promise! I also plan to include links to the cutscene for you to watch at the bottom, if so desired - at least for the ones I can find. Any other warnings that become necessary, I will add for content as I go. For now, enjoy! [All Chapters here for your reading enjoyment.]

Y’all… Dammit Salty Bird. I got irritated all over again rewatching the scenes to get the dialog for Revali’s scenes. He’s SUCH a well written character... and I hate him. Well, hate is strong. But I really, really dislike him a lot. Even when he “gets better” he’s still a !@#%%^&^er. But, I like this chapter, and I hope you will too. Chapter 7 - Revali’s Flap

The Rito Village, and land surrounding, was genuinely breathtaking. The wood and canvas huts that served as both homes and shops were built around the landscape’s large peaks of sandstone. This design allowed wind to blow through the village unhindered without disrupting structural integrity. At this altitude and in the region, Link was chilled. Pretty much constantly. But, he’d bought some new armor from the nice Rito vendor in trade for some amber and a few sapphires he’d found. Now he was nice and toasty warm.

Sitting by the cooking pot inside a part of the village’s inn, Link stared into the fire as his dinner marinated. He’d been here before. He could feel it, and this was not a place soon forgotten. It might have been if it was the first place he’d come, but even then the striking beauty of the land, difference in architecture, and the colorful individuality of its inhabitants were like nothing else in all of Hyrule.

Maybe that was the opinion of an ignorant Hylian child that he had once been. He had grown up in and around the Zora Domain in the Lanayru Province. This knowledge was coming back to him slowly, and explained why he’d gone there first. It also meant the Zora had never seemed odd to him, though consequently neither had they seemed particularly awe inspiring in a long, long while. The Rito however, were a different story.

Ladelling out his dinner from the pot, simmered fruit for the moment as he was cold, tired and in need of foraging for some supplies, Link leaned back against the solid wood support beam of the hut. Simmered fruit made him think of his mother - now that he remembered her face. She made the best, and had taught him long ago. It always made him feel better.

He needed that right now. There was a long way to go for him to find all the locations in Zelda’s album, and take back control of two more Divine Beasts from Ganon. He was tired, and had only arrived less than an hour before, deciding that he was going to eat something before speaking with the Tribe Chief. In the sky overhead, Vah Medoh let out a shrill and bone chilling cry. The enormous ancient technology flew overhead in the shape of a bird, stone and metal kept aloft by gigantic propellers and magic. Glancing up, and giving a good, long look at the Calamitous energies pulsing through the construct, Link ate his simmered fruit quickly.

No rest for the weary, as it were.

After eating, he asked directions to speak with the Rito Chief and had the oddest interaction. It was as though the Chief could tell he was the fallen hero, but couldn’t accept it. Link had stopped bothering to try and explain it to people months ago at this point. He was told of Teba, and that perhaps the warrior could help him, if nothing else the Chief was worried.

But it was the following conversation with Teba’s wife that ignited something in Link. She showed him Revali’s Landing, a flight platform just outside her home named for the Champion of the Rito from a century ago. Looking at it, Link was taken by a memory.

***

Standing out on the center of the flight platform, Link craned his neck and shielded his eyes to look up at the impressive Vah Medoh high above him. It truly was an impressive piece of ancient technology, and he’d listened intently to Zelda lament at great length that she would never be able to set foot on such a marvel. The sky was the clearest blue surrounding the Divine Beast, and wind cool despite the sun’s warmth. But then, it was always cool in the Hebra region.

Just as Link had the thought he should probably go find the Rito Champion, as that was whom he had climbed the peaks to see on behalf of Zelda, the wind picked up. At first it was small, but it rapidly build to a steady cyclonic breeze that seemed to come from beneath the platform.

In the blink of an eye and the flash of dark grey feathers, the Rito Champion appeared from below. Shooting up into the air high above, Revali spread his charcoal and white feathered wings, gliding down to a light and graceful landing before Link.

“Impressive, I know,” the Rito archer said in his normal, smug tenor. “Very few can achieve mastery of the sky. Yet I have made an art of creating an updraft that allows me to soar. It’s considered to be quite the masterpiece of aerial techniques, even among the Rito.” Revali turned to pose dramatically, one wing lifted where he was backlit by the sun in the beautiful day.

Link managed to not roll his eyes at Revali’s grandiloquence, giving him a tight-lipped smile. Revali didn’t like him - Link knew this. The Rito felt within his superior self image that he should have been the Princess’s appointed knight as he was clearly the most capable and worthy of the Champions. Clearly.

Though the Rito had never said those words exactly, it was the undertone of every word, sneer, snort and action the Champion took while in Link’s presence to date. Somehow the Hylian knight had a feeling this interaction would be no different.

Link found Revali cutting him a sharp look, speaking again before the knight could give a syllable of proper greeting. “With the proper utilization of my superior skills, I see no reason why we couldn’t easily dispense with Ganon,” be boasted with a bow. Hopping down from the railing on which he’d perched, Revali tucked his wings behind his back as if about to give a dissertation (which Link had no doubt he was going to do just that). Strolling forward, Revali’s expression was one of barely contained detestation. “Now then, my ability to explored the firmament is certainly of note… But let’s not- and pardon me for being so blunt-” he said as his tone changed from fairly condescending to outright patronizing, “Let’s not forget the fact that I am the most skilled archer of all the Rito.”

“Oh here we go,” Link muttered to himself into the wind.

“Yet despite these truths, it seems I have been tapped to merely assist you. All because you happen to have that little darkness sealing sword on your back. I mean, it’s just… asinine.” The only thing that prevented Link from drawing his sword then and there and teaching this megalomaniac of a Rito a lesson, was self control. As Revali’s red-feather rimmed, green eyes cut snidely to him, Link crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. The absurdity of this entire monologue was as laughable as it was insulting. Clearly, Revali liked hear the sound of his own voice.

“Unless,” the Rito Champion added after a moment, “You think you can prove me wrong?” He took one large step closer to Link. The bird man who was a good head taller than the Hylian leaned in, beak to nose and invading Link’s personal space aggressively. “Maybe, we should just settle this one on one.”

Link opened his mouth to say that he had no problem with Revali… not until this conversation at least, but the archer turned away and continued his drama. “But where?” he asked the wind, one wing crossed his chest as the other pretended to stroke his beak in thought. “Oh, I know! How’bout up there?!”

With a grand sweep of one wing, Revali motioned to the sky, where Vah Medoh was soaring past, making its rounds. “Oh! You must pardon me,” Revali chuckled, his tone even more supercilious than before, “I forgot you have no way of making it up to that Divine Beast on your own.” The last words were spoken with actual open aggression as the Champion spread his wings sharply, and took to the skies, leaving Link behind on the platform.

As Revali grew smaller towards Vah Medoh, and the vision began to fade, the Rito’s parting jab echoed the skies. “Good luck sealing the Darkness!”

***

As he came back to himself, Link was being stared at oddly by Teba’s concerned wife. Apparently she’d asked if he was alright, while he’d been lost to the past. “Oh, I’m sorry, yes - thank you ma’am.”

Giving him an uncertain look, she touched a delicate wing to her beak. “If you’re sure… you seemed… angry? Irritated at least. Are you well?”

Cracking his neck at the legitimate frustration Revali’s personality had left him with, he nodded. “It was… just not a pleasant memory, ma’am. Sorry to space out like that- but I promise, I will find your husband, and bring him back alive.

“Oh thank you!” she said sincerely. “Please… be safe.”

---

The knight held his shoulder and looked around the topside of Vah Medoh. The Windblight Ganon creature that had held control of Vah Medoh for so long was gone, fallen to the Master Sword. Well the Master Sword, and a not insignificant amount of bomb arrows.

Staring at the Main Control panel ten yards from where he stood, injured and exhausted, Link smirked to himself. He should just sit down, right here, and bake some apples to eat so he could regain a bit of his strength. It had been a hard fight! It had taken a lot out of him! And Revali could sit around and complain all he wanted, since there wasn’t anything the spirit of the Rito Champion could do about it.

He deserved as much for the prickly and haughty manner in which he’d been speaking while Link tried to subvert Ganon’s corruption. Though the change in tone as the hylian’s repeated successes went on had not gone unnoticed by the knight.

No, No Link wouldn’t keep him waiting… that would have been cruel. With a sigh, Link closed the distance between himself and the Main Controls, setting the Shiekah slate on the tablet as he had so many times elsewhere. The bulb, large as a room and intricate with ancient energy, changed from orange to blue, and pulsed once… twice… three times as Vah Medoh was not returned to control of the Champions.

“Well I’ll be plucked,” Revali’s echoic, ethereal voice said from behind him, “You defeated him, eh?” Link cut his eyes over his shoulder and turned around, braced for a potentially long and self absorbed speech. There Revali stood, incorporeal as both Daruk and Mipha had been, green spirit fire dancing around him where he had just landed. Spreading his wings wide, Revali seemed reserved… for Revali. “Who would have thought?”

Looking at each other a long moment, Link felt… differently than he had before. Mipha and Daruk had been his friends, people he cared a great deal for. Revali and he had not been friend, and even actively disliked one another a century ago. And yet, there was still a sadness in Link’s heart, seeing the Rito Champion’s spirit.

Noting that the archer dropped his gaze and looked away before he spoke, the Rito’s next words were surprising to the hylian. “Well done.”

But Revali continued, and the moment was over. “I suppose I should thank you now that my spirit is free. This returns Medoh to its rightful owner.” With a grand gesture to the sky of one wing, Revali straightened, clearly meaning himself. “Hmph,” he added with a callous expression. “Don’t preen yourself just for doing our job.”

Link pressed his lips together and raised one eyebrow. “Oh yes. We could never have that from any Champion,” he mumbled sardonically. If Revali heard, he didn’t show it.

“I do suppose you’ve proven your value as a warrior. A warrior worthy of my unique ability. The sacred skill that I have dubbed Revali’s Gale!” Despite the posing and flapping of wings, Link forgave the Champion’s drama in the face of the nicest thing Revali had ever said about or to him.

With yet another set of dramatic movements, Revali’s spirit summoned and sent an orb of green spirit energy hurtling at Link, and as it entered him body, a familiar, strong whirlwind kicked up, lifting Link from his feet and tossing him into the air quite unexpectedly. With a flip and twist, Link landed without injury on one knee, and looked back up to the Rito… in gratitude.

“It’s now time to move on and start making preparations for Medoh’s strike on Ganon. But,” Rivalli gave a small smirk, “Only if you think you’ll still need my help while fighting inside Hyrule Castle.” It wasn’t an apology, but even a small admission that he’d been wrong so long ago was enough to inspire forgiveness entirely in Link’s heart. Revali quickly ruined the moment again by added, “Feel free to thank me now.”

Rolling his eyes, Link noticed the now familiar gold light that meant his time on the Divine Beast was over, and was shocked to hear Revali say, “Or.. .nevermind. Just go. Your job is far from finished you know.” The Rito Champion was glancing at him sidelong. Finally turning away and lifting his beak to the sun, Link was fading away already when he heard the final words of his old self appointed rival.

“The Princess has been waiting an awful long time.” Revali’s Flap - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=doMVZikgnNE Freeing Vah Medoh - https://youtu.be/uxP8BqemAvc?t=1413

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imaginetonyandbucky · 6 years

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All I Need is the Air

Tony heard Winter before he could see him; a whooping shriek that got Tony’s heart pumping and his wings beating furiously against the air. The arc-reactor pulsed in time with his increased heart rate, giving him more strength, more endurance. He tried not to rely on that boost of power too often; each little bit brought him closer to exhaustion, his body pushing itself past normal endurance, but the sound--

Either a warcry or a shout of terror, and in either case, it couldn’t mean anything good for his wingless guest. Tony pushed harder, flying up that he could dive when he got in sight of the Tower.

Winter wasn’t screaming in rage or fear, but in exhilaration.

The avian was swooping around the Tower in graceful dives, the artificial wing glowing like a star in the morning sun as Winter plummeted toward the ground at top speed, then spread the wings and rocketed up, wings outstretched, hands reaching for the sky.

Beautiful.

Winter was radiant.

Tony had never seen anything quite so pure and uncomplicated as Winter, taking joy in flight.

His heart thumped a few times, extra hard.

Tony had done this. Tony had given this solace to another. Fierce exhilaration filled Tony’s chest, aching there, and he cried out a greeting, a boisterous kyaaaar against the sky, and Winter twisted, mid-dive, to meet him.

Winter whooshed, nearly passed Tony, then grabbed his hands at the last second, pulling Tony up into the climb, spinning and twisting in an aerial dance that was…

Skies, was Winter coaxing him into a courtship flight? There wasn’t much time to consider a yes or no, reaching the top of their summit. Courtship wasn’t mating, however. A yes now could be a no, later. All it was was a signal of intent.

(more below the cut)

These last few weeks, with Winter at his side, in his life, Tony had felt… part of something again. He wasn’t eager to let that go.

They reached the apex and Tony flipped, arcing away from Winter, and they dove, opposite and equal, forming the skyhearts, the signal that they were both interested in pursuing attraction, to see what would come of it.

Winter snatched Tony in mid-air, hands clasped, and they spun around again, ascending again. At the pinnacle, before gravity claimed them, and they were forced to tumble downward, once again, Tony let his arms go around Winter’s neck, let the full power of the artificial wing bear their combined weight, tilted his head, and collected a kiss.

A brush of lips, and then they swooped, raced each other down to meet again, mid-air, before Winter spread his wings, and lowered them to the flet.

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” Winter crowed as soon as their talons touched the iron-laced wood. His face was wild, almost feral, hair in total disarray, gray eyes sparkling like stars. “Thank you, thank you for this, oh, skies and clouds, I never! Oh… oh, Tony. Tony, I remember! I remember everything!”

“That’s excellent, Winter,” Tony said. He couldn’t help the smile that was stretching his lips, the way his whole insides were warm and light.

Winter frowned, tipped his head to one side. “That’s not my name.” he said. “That’s what they called me. My name is Bucky.”

Tony winced. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know--”

“No, no, that’s fine, it’s what I told you, but…” Bucky was practically giddy with delight, still smiling so hard that Tony’s face hurt in sympathy. “Oh, oh, oh, I need to talk to Steve, do you know where he is, I can’t believe I didn’t-- oh, my stars, I need to tell him!”

Tony wasn’t having much luck in following the conversation at all, but he just waited. Eventually Winter--no, Bucky, eventually Bucky would calm down, hopefully.

The burning ache of wanting that Wint--Bucky had igniting, mid-air, was fading, banking down. “Hey, hey,” Tony said, reaching out one hand. “This was very exciting today, yeah, wasn’t it? But let’s get this harness off you and we’ll do a post-performance evaluation?”

Bucky took a step back. “If you take it off--”

“You won’t be able to fly for a few minutes,” Tony said, reassuring him. “But we’ll be inside, and I want to see how it went, and what parts need to be reinforced. It’ll be good. I’ll give it right back, and then I can start working on something a little more long-wearing and permanent.”

“I… I need to see Steve,” Bucky said. “We…” And he looked right at Tony, without flinching or embarrassment or anything, “we promised to each other, a long time ago. That we wouldn’t mate--” And with those words, Tony felt like the heart that had been in his hands, ready to offer, was cast aside without even looking.

“I see,” Tony said. He took a deep breath. He’d suffered wounds before, at the hands of his father, of Ten Rings, and even from the Captain, and he’d never let anyone see him bleed. He’d be ground-damned for the rest of his life before he’d let Bucky see how badly he was hurting. “Okay. We’ll make this quick, then, and you can go see him. In fact, you can just stay; I’m sure Steve will be delighted to see you again, and know you’ve made a good recovery. I’ll come and visit when I’ve got the new rig set up?”

Tony didn’t notice, or told himself he didn’t notice, and in the end that was the same thing, that Winter--that Bucky’s enthusiasm was suddenly dimmed. Waiting even the hour or so it would take to make the diagnostic checks was impossible for him to endure. He must want to see Steve pretty desperately.

And yet, after so much work and time (and love), Tony would be damned if the first thing that happened as soon as Bucky was out of his sight, was that he’d crash. Work first, heartbreak later.

The first hour or two -- Tony hadn’t even come with him, and that had been so strange that Bucky didn’t even know what to think -- was all joyous reunion. Steve had been on patrol, so his second, Sam -- Bucky recognized, but didn’t trust, Steve’s new friend -- had gone to fetch him.

And seeing Bucky, artificial wing spread, tall and straight and smiling; Steve had practically fallen out of the sky with joy.

Steve was pretty much the only one who was happy to see Bucky.

Many of the other avians stared at him, like he was a ghost. Or a demon. The artificial wing drew everyone’s attention. No matter how beautiful it was, or how much it had saved Bucky’s soul. To everyone else, it was a fearful machine, and they drew back from it. Drew back from Bucky.

He kept it folded against his back as much as possible, all silver, gleaming metal and red framework feathers, but even that much was enough. It was obvious that Tony Stark had made it, and there were mutterings and whispers that Bucky couldn’t understand. And didn’t really want to.

But Steve-- oh, skies, Steve was so happy to see him.

Sam went along with whatever Steve said, and while he and Bucky would probably never be truly comfortable in the other’s presence, Bucky was glad to see that Steve had a friend.

“Where’s Howard?” Bucky asked, once the initial how are yous and are you hungry’s were done.

“He died. Several years ago,” Steve told him. “Tony didn’t say?”

Bucky scowled. “Tony doesn’t talk about himself much.”

Sam scoffed. “That’s a hoot. Never get that avian to shut up when he lived here. It’s better this way. Stark’s a strange duck, that one.”

Strange, Bucky thought. Yes. But beautiful. And kind. And perfect.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Steve about the courting flight. How wonderful and amazing it was, how just the touch of Tony’s mouth, the way they’d flown together in absolute harmony, had brought all the pieces of Bucky’s mind back together. Given him back to himself in one, crystal moment.

“He’s never going to come back here,” Steve said. “Likes his fires and his forges too much. Pity the avian who tries to settle that one. He doesn’t flock, not at all.”

Steve… wouldn’t approve?

And that cut, cut like a knife through the tendons of his wing. Bucky told himself it didn’t matter; the way he felt about Tony didn’t depend on what others thought of him.

At the same time, Bucky had been so long without a flock, so long without the comforts and community of his fellow avians, could he give it all up? To have Tony, and Tony only?

Maybe… well, he and Tony hadn’t talked, after that flight; everything was all mechanics and aerodynamics and weight control, and pain management after that.

Speaking of which; the muscles in his shoulder were hurting. Pretty badly.

And he didn’t have a nest. Not here. An hour or more’s flight across the open firebreak to th one he’d built at Tony’s tree. He rubbed fitfully at the harness.

“Steve, c’n… would it be permitted? Does your mate mind?”

“Mind what, Buck?”

“I need rest, before I can fly again.”

“Stark’s wonder wing not so wonderful?” Sam asked. That was sarcastic, and Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“It works fine,” Bucky retorted. “I’m the weak one. I haven’t flown much, not in decades. I’m out of practice. I need rest.”

“It’s fine, Buck,” Steve said. “Sam’s just being territorial.”

Sam was Steve’s mate?

“Now, don’t be sore, Buck,” Steve was saying. “You were gone, and I didn’t… I didn’t think I was even waiting for you to come home and stand with me. When it happened, it happened. Come on. Nat’s brooding, and I want you to meet her. You’ll like her, I promise. Sam’s our co-mate. We’ve got a whole nest full of eggs, just waiting to hatch.”

Steve put an arm around Bucky’s back, just under the wing-harness, and Bucky was ashamed to admit how much of his weight he let Steve take up, but he was exhausted.

Tony had warned him, he had. But Bucky had been too excited, too free, too… well, maybe too stupid, really, to listen. He wanted to see his friends and his home, to feel the air under his wings.

“It’ll be fine, pal,” Steve was saying. “Let’s get you settled in, yeah?”

“Okay,” Bucky said, and he couldn’t help a glance over his shoulder. Would Tony expect him… home? The word tasted weird on his mental tongue, like maybe he didn’t have the right to call Tony’s nest home.

Certainly, Tony hadn’t said anything to him, about the courting flight. Was… was he rejecting Bucky’s courtship?

Wouldn’t he have said that? Would he have kissed Bucky, so sweet and tender and needy, if he was saying no?

Damn it. Bucky was aching and exhausted and all he wanted to do was go home, to look at Tony’s perfect face and figure out what the hell was wrong. But it would have to wait. He needed sleep.

Bucky didn’t come back.

Of course Tony had told him not to, but he wasn’t sure he’d expected Bucky to listen to him quite that thoroughly. He’d left all his things behind.

Although when Tony went into Bucky’s flet, there really wasn’t that much there. Food. A few items of clothing. The impossibly beautiful bowl that Bucky had hand carved from a gnarl of tree root and polished to a satiny finish while keeping Tony company during construction.

Nevermind. Tony had more important things to do than pine over an avian that had only been so overcome with joy at flying again that he’d forgotten a promise to an old love.

Of course Bucky was going to go home and mate with the Captain. Collecting a regular flock all of his own, the Captain was. He was a good provider, fierce and brave and amazing. Anyone -- everyone -- would want to join his nest.

Because who else would ever have brought such a wretched creature to Tony to save but someone who desperately, desperately loved him. Of course the Captain wanted Tony to do something.

Do something didn’t, however, mean falling in love with the Captain’s promised mate.

Tony scraped both hands over his face and pushed his hair back.

“Enough,” he told himself after more than two hours sitting in the room with Bucky’s hanging nest. “You have work to do. Feel sorry for yourself on your own time.”

He had much work to do; not just setting up the permanent harness for Bucky -- although that was his priority. The pins would have to screw into the man’s back, and he’d be out of the air for a few weeks while they healed, but the Scarlet Witch had been pretty convinced that Tony’s work and plans were good, that it would be like Bucky had never lost the wing. Maybe even better, since the artificial wing could be upgraded and repaired if anything ever happened to it.

Although, Bucky had seemed very frightened about the idea when Tony even tried to take the practice harness off him, that he’d be grounded again.

Hope was a thing with wings.

Were they not all things with wings, and Bucky, missing his. Once it had been replaced, no matter how difficult and heavy and unwieldy? Bucky had discovered he could fly again, and then Tony threatened to take it away from him? Even for a moment.

Tony wondered if he would have had the strength to give it up.

He pressed his hand over the arc-reactor, feeling the whirr of the machinery underneath his palm. Would he have had the courage, if he’d had any other choice?

Well, he would make both, Tony decided. The permanent kit, and a backup, a lighter, but more durable detachable harness. If Bucky didn’t want to be out of the sky for the weeks it would take for recovery, Tony would give him options.

All Bucky needed was the air.

He didn’t need Tony.

Didn’t want Tony.

That didn’t even matter, because Tony couldn’t ever give up. He couldn’t not make the beautiful things in his mind once he’d thought them.

He had to see them, touch them, improve them, give the children of his mind a physical form, let them free in the world. If Bucky didn’t want the rig, that was fine. But Tony could no more have not made it than he could have cut off his own wings.

He was deep in producing a second detachable harness; he’d had a brain wave in the middle of the night, and gotten up to test a new format of straps, when Wasp returned.

“It’s confirmed, Tony,” she said, a little sadly. “Some of the mines use slaves. All of them owned by the naga, Hydra and Aim, alike. There are others that use indentured servants; persons that owe money work it off in the mines, but the conditions are not much better. Of the mines that were scouted and counted, Mutant Brotherhood’s mine, and Shield’s mines, are both run off fair practices. On the plus side,” she continued, chipper, “most of the ore you’ve purchased comes from their mines. You’re very picky about the smelts and purity. But not all.”

“So, I’m complicit in the enslavement of who knows how many poor souls,” Tony said.

“To some degree,” Wasp said, “we all are. We, none of us, thought to investigate. Not what was going on in the mines, in other tribe’s territory, nor look into what happened to those men and women who were stolen from their homes. We have taken their raiding as just another hazard to be accepted, not something that we needed to band together in order to stamp out.”

Wasp landed on Tony’s shoulder, a tiny little thing no bigger than his hand span. “The Pym will join you in this fight,” she said, “if you chose to take the battle to them. To free who we can, to remove the slavers from the mine holdings.”

“Thank you,” Tony said. The Pyms would be great allies, all winged fliers and poisonous stings and determination. And Wasp was just as outraged and upset as Tony was; to think they had been a part of a system that accepted no oversight, that cost young men and women their lives.

“I’ll send out the call tomorrow,” she said. “We shall see who stands with us.”

#winteriron #prompts #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #tisfan #wing!fic #pining #misunderstandings #background Steve/Nat/Sam

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maxheadley · 6 years

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Twyla Bloodstorm

Character Introduction #5

Name: Twyla Jennifer Bloodstorm

Face Claim: Unknown

Occupation/Title: Princess of Legend, Eventual Queen of Legend, Warrior of Legend, the Violet Queen

Race: half angel, half vampire and demigod.

Eye Color: her eyes change color, it is either gray and violet or gray and gold/pale blue.

Hair Color: silver

Famous Weaponry: Esthalayah, the Blood Dagger.

Powers: She can control all five elements, spirit, air, water, fire and Earth. She can create living creatures from her imagination. She is a telepath and has telekinesis. She also can fly.

Body Type: short, slender, has deep dimples on each of her cheeks. She has a scar across the left side of her like her face has been cracked. He wings are white with copper intricate designs engraved in the feathers.

Age/Birthdate: March 7th, 21.

Sexuality: heterosexual.

Spouse: Eventually Maroon Blue

Former Lovers: has none.

Children: Rylea Bloodstorm-Blue, Ryder Bloodstorm-Blue.

Siblings: Nikolai Bloodstorm (twin), November Bloodstorm (anazul), Maleficent Fnah (Sebastian), Twilight Fnah (Sebastian).

Cause of Death: she currently lives.

Personality: She is isolated, distant, private, respectful, hopeful, mellow, condescending, clever, tough, imaginative, artistic, authoritative, tentative, brave, courageous, undefeated, intelligent, abrasive, bashful, and devious. She may be a Queen/Princess but she knows how to separate her personal life from her Royal life. Very few know the laid back, calm girl behind the strong, queenly facade.

Brief Background: Twyla was born unto Anazul Bloodstorm alongside her twin brother, Nikolai. She is the first born daughter of Sebastian. She grew up fighting, training, and being schooled into being a Queen because of her mother's legacy. She eventually came to a fight where her opponent was quick like lightening and struck without remorse. Because of Twyla's undefeated, clever fighting record, she managed to outwit her opponent and defeat him though not unscathed. She did receive a nasty slash going from her forehead, across her eye down to the side of jaw. She ended up being best friends with the man who gave her a battle scar.

Little Excerpt of Twyla:

The white jagged puffy scar across Twyla's face was off putting to most, but not to her best friend, Maroon, the man who slashed her as a reminder of their small, precise battle or to herself. Twyla's pale gold and violet heterochromic eyes gazed down at the streets below her room's balcony. Most of the street walkers bustled around selling perishables, homemade dishes, homemade jewelry, and clothes for small children or the children traded their fancy drawn playing cards for one they didn't have or teenagers played pranks on one another using small creatures and little children, most likely their siblings or charges.

Beside her, a tall extremely pale man stood. His bottle glass green eyes cast downward on the vendors displaying trinkets and clothing on racks and tables. His unruly long, maroon colored curls whipped around his oval shaped face. He almost appeared thoughtful, but knowing him no thoughts floated in that intelligent brain of his. He had a way of thinking of absolutely nothing, only what is in front of him or the conversation at hand. He was odd, though the good kind of odd.

Twyla ran her fingers across the silver railing bar. Her fingers came away slightly smudged with dust. She wiped the dust onto her pale blue silk dress, sighing. "Do you think we could ever be..." She trailed off, when he looked up at her. Twyla averted her changeable eyes.

"More than friends?" He finished, settling his eyes on her prominent pale collarbone, where a large heart shaped scar scorched the skin from a burn she endured after having an argument with her twin brother.

Twyla snapped her eyes back up to his strange, yet handsome face. He reminded her of a domestic cat, alluring, distant, and confusing. He could be cuddly one minute, the next he could be as sharp as knife. His eyes were indecipherable. Why did he have to be so hard to read? She also couldn't read his mind because he was able to block out most magic so she didn't try. "Maybe." She answered, quietly, and a tad shyly.

Maroon's bright red lips twitched, the corners almost turning up to illuminate a smile. He breathlessly gave a chuckle, stirring the tense air. "Twyla. I don't know. You've never been interested in a man or a woman for that matter. You have belonged to yourself for twenty some odd years and I don't see you belonging to anyone who isn't deserving of you?"

Twyla arched a light eyebrow. "Do you think you're not deserving of me?" She asked, her voice hindered by an emotion she could not identify.

"I am deserving if you believe me to be so." Maroon bowed his head, kinda shyly and awkwardly, though Twyla knew her ruthless, kind best friend was anything but shy and awkward.

Twyla inched forward one pace. She covered one of his thin, angular cheeks. Her other hand toyed with the collar of his black dress shirt, slipping a finger underneath and running her fingertip across the prominent collarbone she could see outlined through his shirt. She met his playful green eyes, seeing the undisguised and undeniable love. Maroon snaked one arm around her wide waist, pulling her close, pressing her to his body, and the other rested on her cheek, the one he brutally scarred. She did not flinch like usual when one touched her there. "I think you are the most deserving of anyone in the world." Twyla whispered, leaning on her tiptoes.

"I love you." Maroon slammed his lips against her plump ones. Sparks ignited where her heart pounded. Every bit of the world seemed to illuminate him and her. His kisses tasted like fire, brushing her lips sending them ablaze, passion riding on their tongues as they met. He didn't treat her as if she were something breakable, something porcelain, something fragile. He held her like the strong woman she was. She could handle anything. He knew it.

And with that one kiss, their fate sealed, closing around them and locking them into one box, unable to be broken and reopened. They were the couple unlikely to rise from the ashes. But no one saw it coming til the night every piece of them came together on that balcony above the streets of Saara. A new era began with the first Queen to invite a man to rule as a King beside her. Many firsts were given, all because of one lonely starlit night on a balcony.

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shatner-the-catner · 3 years

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He spun around, trying to locate the source of that terrible noise. He couldn’t see anything. It’s too damn dark, he resigned. Why is it so fucking dark, he thought angrily. There was something very wrong here. Something quite obviously and biblically wrong. It’s safe to say there was nothing right about it.

His eyes scanned the parking lot, searching for figures or movement. In the darkness, his eyes began to feel sore under the pressure to identify and label. The only thing he could make out was the tree branches gently surfing the wind’s waves. It was a very pleasant night and he should have felt safe, but he knew that danger was not far away.

There’s that sound again, he thought to himself. This one was quicker and higher pitched, but still low and almost Jurassic. His head turned to the east end, where he thought he could have seen movement.

And he saw them.

A group of Canada geese. More than a dozen. From his perspective they stood silently, however the Leader’s head-tossing indicated that words were being said amongst each other. They stood sideways, their Bow and Port facing eyes sharply and steadily fixated on him.

They took a few steps forward, five if you want to get technical about it. They walked in short steps calmly, their leader demonstrating a few more head tosses.

He felt his heart woodpecker it’s way through his chest. He found himself panting softly. The urge to run back to his car was there, gently and politely tugging away at his amygdala, but he didn’t move. He wasn’t sure if he simply decided to stay out of a malignant case of curiosity, or if there was some diabolical force keeping his feet frozen.

I can’t move, he thought. I can’t talk, his mind reported. The geese were approaching at an increased pace. They must think you have bread, he said to himself. That’s got to be it. They just got used to humans giving them food so they expect it now.

He soon realized that was not the case.

The leader then lowered his head, lifted the crests of his wings slightly, and began a moderately paced charge in his direction.

He saw them coming, but he still couldn’t move. Something horrible was weighing his feet down and they wouldn’t budge. The geese kept coming, heads lowered and mouths agape. That was when he first learned that geese can drool. He noticed the big ones up front slobbering as they quickened their pace. Their drool lines swayed clumsily as their bodies moved with increased speed.

They bellowed. The sound seemed to make Olly’s eyeballs vibrate. There was something deep within his ancestral instincts that alarmed him. The same alarm that alerted ancient men when they were being stalked by predators. Olly felt this cavernous siren go off loudly in his bones.

They were getting closer.

Most people are unaware that horror and terror and two different emotions. Terror is the unpleasant feeling of dread and anticipation that precedes a dangerous or traumatic event. Whereas horror is what one experiences after the traumatic event.

Olly still couldn’t move. They were coming faster.

It was only when they were a few feet away that he finally noticed the red rings around their black eyes. They were like firey rings stoked by the flames of hell. And all he saw behind those eyes was cold, animalistic indifference. It now came to his full awareness that a flock of more than a dozen geese were charging at him. And they were drooling, displayed bright red eyes, and howled like dinosaurs.

Somehow he managed to force his feet to move under his own power, and he bolted towards the Kia. He left it unlocked, and thank Holy Providence that he did, because once he slammed the door he heard a loud THUD. Peeking out the window, he saw that the geese had chased him all the way and were now ferociously pecking and kicking the car. The noise was unnerving and loud.

Thud. Thud. THUD.

Dozens of geese surrounded his car and began behaving like a pack of wild velociraptors.

The pecks and scratches from their wing claws sent pure terror to the pit of his stomach. He began whimpering softly as he fumbled to get the key in the ignition. With each peck, scratch, and THUD, the core of his DNA shuddered.

“Oh fuckfuckfuck,” he quivered.

His hands were trembling, and with each thumping sound he heard he nearly dropped his keys. When he heard another honk-roar, he did drop his keys. In a panic, his foot kicked them under the pedals. Folding himself against his gut, he reached. With all his might, he reached. His finger kissed the metal of one ring, but still, the grasp eluded him. Out of breath, he tried again. There were more THUDS, it almost sounded like it might be raining frogs. It was like prehistory itself was having a go at modern technology.

It is incredibly difficult to do much of anything when one is drowning in terror, but he finally managed. He pawed the keys within reach and grabbed them. Then he turned the car over, ripped open the parking break with wild abandon, and shifted into reverse. He immediately felt two or three bumps as he backed up. He knew exactly what they were, but all he could feel was relief as he was backing out. And like a bat straight out of the city center in Hell, he drove off.

Very soon after, he awoke in his bed, with a full body quake that nearly vibrated half his sheets off. Quite wearily, he started to realize that he’d just had another one of his old nightmares about demons. They were a rare occurrence these days, nevertheless they were always quite burdensome. Oftentimes, they were all it took to put him in a lousy mood for the entire day. He always tried to remind himself when he was dreaming, in an effort to control them, but it never worked.

Olly could never remember to look at his hands when he dreamt.

PART IV

Such a day should have known better than to begin.

“I forgive you,” she had said tenderly over the phone, hours before. The tone of her voice suggested that the previous day was nothing more than water under the bridge. He felt relieved. But when she asked if they could meet for another goose date, he popped two different benzodiazepines at the very start of that suggestion. Still, he agreed to meet her. He was determined to make things work with this lovely girl. Come Hell or high water.

He was perhaps too medicated to notice the fresh blood and feathers stuck to his bumper.

He exited the vehicle, light-headed and a bit unsteady. Looking across the parking lot, he could see her sitting on the ground, under the Taco Bell sign, with a little over a dozen geese surrounding her. With a kind breeze, and in light of that benign early morning, he thought maybe she looked a bit like St. Francis. He began to approach her.

He did not feel any fear, his dose of Xanax and Klonopin wouldn’t allow it to cross the border of his mind. Forward, he walked thickly. The geese looked at him, and upon closer inspection, he could see five goslings standing next to their parents. His heart swelled involuntarily at the sight of the adorable little fuzz balls. As he drew closer, he could hear their tiny little baby peeping noises. How cute, he pondered.

“Hey Olly,” she smiled at him.

“Hey…” he could barely muster under his own slurs.

The geese parted and he sat down next to her. They regarded each other quite vehemently for a small moment of time. She smiled at him with her eyes and then leaned forward and gave him a hug that cooled his baseline anxiety levels to a spectacular degree. Oh God, that feels good, he realized. Tenderly, she patted his back.

“I’m so sorry - ,” he whimpered, muffled against her red jacket.

“Shhhh…” she cut him off.

She gently patted his back and just held him. This was the first physical contact that he’d ever had that held any emotional weight. The feeling was intoxicating. He took a small inhale of her scent and began to feel positively drunk.

Then she leaned him over onto her lap. He accepted this invitation and laid sideways on her folded legs. It almost started to make him feel uncomfortable, but then she did the most divine thing and began running her fingers through his hair. It sent pleasure waves through his nervous system. She petted and cooed nice things in his ear and he started to feel dangerously relaxed. If they continued to go on in this fashion, there was a possibility that he could fall asleep on her.

Still, he laid his head down woefully in her inviting lap, and began to feel completely at peace with the world. All was right with reality, his mind pledged.

She started singing softly to him in Korean. The weight of all his burdens seem to melt away. The skies appeared more bright, and the breeze felt like a gentle blanket, swaddling him. There were precious few times in his life that he felt so comfortable. He nestled in her lap as she petted him tenderly. Fingers forking the strands of his locks, she continued to sing.

Then, he became hazily aware that the geese were closing in on the two. Precisely and naturally, they waddled forward. They didn’t make much noise except a few low grunt-honks, and didn’t say much beyond the occasional head-toss. He should have felt scared, but Sandra’s head rubs were hypnotizing him into a sleepy stupor.

Indeed his eyelids were heavy, and when he opened them again after a brief rest, he noticed that the geese were now mere inches away from his face. They steadily peered at him from the angle of their tilted heads. He looked up and considered the one immediately to his right to be exceptionally curious. The gander tilted his head downward to get a better look at him, a habit common with birds that have sideways-facing eyes.

Soon everything would change. It would be natural to assume that what was about to occur would terrorize him, but really, he was not totally able to feel fear. It could have been the medication or the gentle caresses from her hand, but he laid there still. Maybe he did feel the slightest suggestion of worry, but it was dull and easy enough to ignore.

Then the pecking began.

Very lightly, they started to peck at his flesh. It didn’t hurt, but felt more exploratory. The geese surrounded them, two leaned over and peppered his bicep with tiny nibbles. He should have lifted himself out of her lap and shooed the geese away. Regrettably, he could not.

The weight of his medication, and possibly some other unseen force, was keeping him sheltered him her lap. Peck, peck, peck, they continued. The subtle terrain of terror was beginning to appear on the horizon. The geese still pecked and bit, perhaps a bit harder this time. He wanted to get up. Oh dear God in heaven, he wanted to move so desperately. But something was leashing him in position.

She slowly got up from under his head and placed him on the ground. His body poured awkwardly onto the asphalt. The geese circled him tighter. He managed to tilt his head towards to sky, only to see what was perhaps a feathered demon bear sharp teeth that it grew out of sheer will. Drool dripped from it’s smelly mouth.

They began with his eyes.

There was no pain, but like how one can still feel the pressure of dental surgery even when on novacain, he felt a deep pop within his eye socket. Then, permanent darkness out of it, forever. The Horror was beginning. This undeniable intense fear started to form in his brain stem and radiated outwards. The goose gobbled up the deflated eye, chewing on it’s lense.

He could not scream. He was completely unable to utter any cry, nor wail. Instead he shifted his bleeding head towards the side, and with his remaining eye he watched her, sitting on the ground, overseeing the geese as they began to devour him.

The only thing he could utter, as the blood dripped down his face, was, “Demon…from Hell…”

She glared at him so vacantly. A totally inhuman stare that only seemed to know greed and disgust. And divorced from any human emotions at all she said, “Hell, I suppose so.”

It took them two hours to finish his entire body. Oddly enough, not a single car drove by in all that time. Maybe it wasn’t just that people weren’t in the right mood for Taco Bell that day. Perhaps it was something more characteristic of the devil. Or a force that was seasoned by prehistory.

A new flock arrived overhead, “Ba-HONK!,” they cried.

TAIL FEATHERS (end)

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