#*implodes before dissipating into a fine dust*

[rainbow-bastard]

YOUR ART STYLE IS SO COOL WHAT!!!!!!!

Worms…

[ID: Magnus archives fan art, Jonathan sims is in the foreground holding a handful of worms, he appears horrified, the creatures swarm the image and create most of the background.. Some of them bury themselves into Jon. Timothy stoker is in the background, trying to fend off the worms with a fire extinguisher, he is facing away from the viewer. The lighting is dark but there is a bright yellow light lighting up Jonathan sims face and a dimmer blue light backlighting Timothy stoker. End ID]

[my-writings-and-musings]

Not sure if you still want to write for old prompts but if so; May I request Rodimus, Brainstorm, and a bot of your choice for the kidnapped s/o defending their bot and giving the kidnapper a tongue lashing? Your writing is so good it seriously brightens my day reading through it all! :D

I never tire of my prompts, lovely anon! Thanks a million and here's the good boys! I couldn't think of anyone I wanted to do for the third bot but I poured my heart and soul into these two, I hope you like them!

Rodimus

·Your panic had never really gone beyond some light anxiety about when you'd get to eat next, but you credited that to the rescue party you knew was coming. Rodimus had bested bad guys far more competent than this loser, so you had few worries about getting out. Truthfully your greatest concern was how unfathomably annoying your captor was proving to be. Between their grandiose personality and their constant taunting over the communication line, you feel as if you're going to go mad. Unfortunately, when the mocking starts to be aimed directly at Rodimus without end, you quickly build to your limit. The gloves come off when your captor crosses the final line and calls your partner "Hot Rod" in an unacceptable jab.

·"Oh for God's sake! It's Rodimus you dolt, not Hot Rod! I know the extra syllable is a little difficult for you, but try to keep up!" Your shout echoes so loudly in the tiny cave that a bit of dust falls from the ceiling. Your captor is quick to try and shut you up, but that doesn't stop you in the slightest, as yelling feels far better than taking any more of their trash. For pete's sake, they stole you for ransom and they're expecting good behavior? Entitlement falls way short of describing what a jerk this bot is, and you let them know it, channeling the insults you know your partner would unleash if they could.

·"You think you scare me? You think you scare anyone?! You're dumb enough to piss off the captain of the Lost Light buddy, you should be afraid! Rodimus sees guys like you as footnotes compared to what he usually deals with!" Quite accustomed to your beloved captain charging in to save the day, you let loose a long list of his accomplishments, proudly defending and boasting at the same time. Your captor can't even get a word in edgewise. With a devilish smirk, you start to go on about all the less public ways Rodimus rules as a partner. His impeccable charm, his smooth wit, and his capacity to perform as a Prime where it really counts... That last bit is kept from vulgarity only due to a none too distant explosion cutting you off.

·Before anything can move, the door quite literally melts before imploding inward as molten metal, revealing Rodimus covered in flame. He moves in a fiery blur, his fist more akin to a meteorite as it collides with your captor to knock them out in a single punch. At your cheering of his name, he comes to your side in a flash, fire dissipating completely after he frees you of your bonds. Moments later the remainder of the crew is pouring in with Magnus scolding Rodimus for rushing ahead. He ignored him completely as he takes you into his arms, optics shining as if he's beholding something more precious than the Matrix could ever be. Though his words are flirty, his tone is tender and brimming with affection as he takes you back to the ship. His lovestruck expression doesn't seem to go away even when he throws a massive party to celebrate your rescue.

·In an incredibly rare moment where his responsibilities pull him away from you, a bot close to him tells you something they think you should know. Rodimus was initially devastated by your kidnapping. Though the entire ship had rallied for your rescue, he'd barely held it together enough to take charge, and hearing the bot mock him had nearly sent him over the edge. Your outburst had, as if by a miracle, revitalized him. Hearing you stick up for him, including your grand list of what you adored about him, had so inspired him that controlling his fire had become easy. It was unlike anything anyone had ever seen. You believing in him had put into perspective what he was capable of, to the point it lit a fire in the most literal sense of the phrase.

Brainstorm

·Dating a bot brilliant enough to rend time had made you quite accustomed to shenanigans of all kinds. Thus, you were calm when kidnapped, both due to the aforementioned reason as well as your certainty of rescue. However, that calm had proved short lived when your captor proved to be an annoying jerk with a massive inferiority complex. Their ceaseless mockery through the communication channel was like torture the DJD would have found too cruel to condone. You'd been able to stay cool for some time, focusing on keeping the situation calm and looking for weak points your rescuers might exploit, but inevitably you'd been pushed to your limit. The final straw had been your captor having the audacity to mock your partner for being a hopeless inventor who only managed to make things no one needed, and that sent you over the edge.

·"Hopeless?! You call inventing time travel and creating the multiverse hopeless?! This coming from a loser in a cave with the most backwards security system on this side of the galaxy?!" Your outburst had come with a rattling of your chains to emphasize your point, and between your voice and the clanking metal you'd immediately had the full attention of the bad bot. Still enraged, you made a point of detailing every single categorical failure they'd displayed, having learned plenty about judging the quality of technology in Brainstorm's lab. There's more than enough material for you to throw at them with the nightmare of poor maintenance surrounding you. "When was the last time you bothered patching up these turrets anyway?! Hope you're not planning on using these for defense, Brainstorm will have them short circuiting before he's done hacking that door!"

·There's something resembling an attempt at a comeback, but you're a mile ahead before it's even halfway out. To say your beloved bot eclipses this loser's intellect would imply they'd actually register on the same level, and you have to laugh at the absurdity of someone so incompetent daring to come after one of the most brilliant bots in the galaxy, something you let them know in no uncertain terms. The litany of reality warping ways you might be rescued is as long as it is ridiculously plausible. You begin going off on the countless other ways Brainstorm might get around this captive situation, extolling his many talents in weapon design and paying special attention to how brilliantly he thinks outside the box. You're about to get into the details of other areas he's creative in when the lights go out and everything plunges in to darkness.

·Flashes of biolights, small explosions, and shouts of action are all you have to discern some incredible rush of activity. Before you can really figure out what's happening a beautiful pair of yellow optics light up the darkness, and in a split second your chains are broken and you're being lovingly cupped by a pair of careful hands. At the flip of a small device the lights flicker on to reveal a beaten but otherwise fine captor being cuffed, but you ignore that entirely when Brainstorm removes his mask to speak to you. Playfully fussing over your condition, he uncharacteristically kisses your little head in full view of everyone, something he's never done before. In fact, the next few days he's nothing but openly loving and outright showy in his affections, publicly presenting you with a series of fantastic gifts invented to profess his love.

·In a rare moment of solitude, you're unexpectedly taken aside by a bot who says they need to let you know something important. Brainstorm was almost dangerous. He'd already lost one love, and he'd been so intent on not losing another he'd been forced from his lab to prevent him from tearing reality asunder to get to you. He'd been nearly impossible to console or restrain until your voice came through the comm. Hearing you defend him so passionately had calmed and invigorated him all at once, grounding him in reality and giving him the clarity he needed to assist in rescuing you. The device he'd created to extinguish enemy defenses had been put together at a speed that impressed Perceptor. It was thanks to you that he remembered to go slow and take things one step at a time, because just as much as you were worth fighting for, you were worth living for.

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost ☀️ main masterlist ☀️ taglist

previously on...

Two chapters over the weekend because I was ✨ inspired ✨ and my neighbors can't stop fucking (noisily!) and I'm,,, envious.

Strange adventures in Hell. There are descriptions of desperation and doom, lots of magic and - hear me out - forced/reluctant hand holding 😌 Oh my God, they held hands!!!

"What. Were. You. Thinking?!" Strange was seething, his enormous figure and broader height towered over me, the blood-red of his cape vibrating, the only spleck of colour in the grey and dusty dark world.

"I had no choice in the matter," I replied as calmly as I managed, gritting my teeth, memories of our past stand-off fresh in my mind. We could have bickered until the end, until one of the beasts flying overhead spotted us and decorated the bleary grounds of this forsaken planet with the crimsons of our life blood. "I think it's best if we get to safety first, argue later. I have no desire to become somebody's lunch."

That much was true: I had taken a good look at our surroundings as soon as I recovered from the vacuum-like sensation of being pulled into a magical gateway; the visibility was terrible, the planet's natural light very scarce. Several suns were hardly visible in the sky, their rays barely penetrating the mists and the ashes freely floating in the air.

There was oxygen even if breathing in a full lungful seemed impossible; I tried not to think about the contents of the air, or the possibility of radiation poisoning, as the multiple amulets and charms seared into my skin where they rested under my clothes. I had four bottles of water, some bandages and salves and a sacrifice for a single ritual to my name and absolutely no conviction that Mother Earth would be able to hear the call of an earthling gone so astray.

But it was hope, so I held on.

"Fine," Stephen sighed, suddenly looking tired and weary, glancing around with furrowed brows. "Let's see if I can open a portal," his hands did that complicated set of gestures that I'd grown to associate with a golden circle and sparks on the ground. The thing flickered, once, twice, before disappearing, as if the Sorcerer's magic had run out of batteries. "Yeah, I thought so," he whispered to himself, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"The bad news first, please," I interpreted his hesitation with a realistic outlook on our predicament.

"I can't open a portal just anywhere on this planet. We need to find a... Rift, of sorts," the man was anxiously looking around. "And those things, they'll smell us... Right about now," his eyes shot up at a winged, rapidly approaching shadow. "No good news, I'm afraid."

I allowed myself a small sigh of disappointment, keeping a tight leash on the panic slowly creeping up my body. The feeling of determination, the power of Gaia within me was still present, laying in a cozy dormant ball slightly south of my solar plexus. "Give me your hand, please," I reached out to Stephen only for him to promptly recoil.

"You should've thought about the consequences of your actions, I'm not going to hold your hand because you're scared shitless," his words were sharp but they lacked the venom. He wouldn't, or couldn't, meet my eyes.

"I know you have scarred hands. I'm a healer and you don't have to feel embarrassed or ashamed I, I've seen worse," I stated in my best 'mutant nurse' voice as Stephen's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened. "Those things can't sense me. And I know they won't be able to sense you too if we have skin-to-skin contact. So unless you want me to get under your... Robes," I gestured to the layers upon layers of clothing he had wrapped himself in. I considered the possibility of his whole body being covered in scars, too, and couldn't help the pang of sympathy. "Take one glove off and give me your damn hand before this trip to Jurassic Park goes full pterodactyl massacre!"

I saw the thing in the sky open it's mouth - but no sound came out, the clouds reducing it's outline to a vaguely triangular shadow. There was something very unusual about this planet's atmosphere.

With a couple of jerky movements, Stephen slid off the glove from his left hand, looking away as his large, dry, warm palm encompassed mine in a gentle, trembling grip. It made no sense to interlace our fingers, so I help onto him like a child holds onto their parent; the size difference of our hands and his imposing aura surely made me feel like one.

We stood a foot apart, watching the shadow in the sky begin to circle the place we stood in, it's gaping maw opening again and again, before it zigzagged across the sky with a strong dash of confusion, it's graceful glide becoming a series of rapid turns and twists. With a final inaudible shriek, it flew off into the dusty greys of the horizon, becoming a dark spot far away in mere seconds.

The silence was so loud in this world. Like the eerie stillness of my, undoubtedly haunted, apartment, I was eager to dissipate it with something beyond our combined heavy breathing. "Please don't tell Tony," I timidly gave our touching hands a sway. "He'll never leave it alone."

A chuffing noise coming from above had me whip my head up to see Stephen holding in a puff of nervous laughter; his shoulders dropped slightly as he eyed me in turn. "What makes you think I won't tease you about it?"

"You wouldn't dare," I took mock offense, rising my leaking nose to the skies.

The grumble and the eyeroll I expected, the smirk that faded into a ghost of a smile I did not. "We should go. Usually there is a rift within a few miles of every location everywhere," he tried to keep the content expression as he spoke but the storm in his eyes betrayed his concern. They were so blue, I felt like I was drowning.

I let myself to be tugged in a direction - everything seemed exactly the same, a never-ending ashen wasteland with the occasional dark grey rock that crumbled to dust as soon as the heel of my shoe touched it. My light blue sweater quickly became the colour of rotten wood, a sickly, dull monotone between brown and gray.

The complete lack of any kind of natural noise brought out the desolation of this wretched place; if we gripped each other's hands tighter, neither of us chose to acknowledge it. It was too easy to get lost in your own mind when the surroundings were dead set on rebuking anything that was in any shape or form alive.

I caught myself thinking that this must be what people think Hell should look like.

Strange walked briskly for the most part, periodically clearing his throat and eyeing me when I struggled to keep up with his long strides. It could have been an hour, or maybe two, of aimless wandering and rapidly imploding portals accompanied by Stephen's increasingly overcast face before I made the man stop and offered him a water bottle, which he insisted we split between us two.

It didn't take me a tarot reading to figure out our chances were grim. Needless, I gave him the same look I give to injured, scared mutant children when they come to the bodega for the first time; a look of quiet temperance.

And then we walked, and walked again, as Stephen grew moodier and moodier, marching on with the force of a seasoned soldier, only taking breaks when I forced him to stand still and breathe with me. As cautious and closed-off as he was, I pressed onto the fact of me being a healer of sorts, and he relented if briefly, always reluctant, always seasoned by a great dose of bewilderment.

"Do you feel that?" Stephen's stride halted, both feet firmly planted on the ground.

The ground had tremors had coming from deep within, small shocks that could have been easily missed if not for the complete lack of sound on this world. My nod was mute, I didn't trust my voice not to break when I clearly knew there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, endless fields of nothing all around us.

"Hold onto me," promptly, I was grabbed and pushed into his chest, his long arms easily picking me up, encouraging me to wrap my legs around his waist. "Hold tight, I might need my hands," my face grew hot as I wound my arms around Stephen's neck, clinging to him like a monkey, a palm resting on the soft fine hairs if his nape. It felt too intimate somehow, in the wake of imminent danger.

The Cape that previously swayed behind him in rhythm with his steps billowed, the red fabric of it tough as it levitated us a few feet above the ground. I felt Stephen tense with each tremor; within moments, the surface shook and stuttered more and more, cracks appearing in between the dust, turning the plains into a marble-patterned patch of darkness.

We rose above it, high enough that I could see the veins resulting from the quake stretch far out into the wasteland, jagged, abrupt lines of even more concentrated darkness. And as quickly as the quake started, it was over, leaving little evidence as the ground settled.

Stephen floated us to a larger patch of the ground, criss-crossed with thinner, less prominent lines, poking the ground with his foot before allowing it to fully bear our weight. He was shaken, there was no doubt. "That was... Something," he stated lowly.

"Mhm," I hummed, fighting the urge to frantically look around, forcing my hand from clutching at his palm like a lifeline. I had decided on a plan while I was busy playing baby koala - not that there were many other options except to wander these god forsaken bare badlands until our painful demise. "Listen, Strange, I'm aware you don't hold my people in particularly high regard but you're going to have to trust me on this," my words came out derisive as I placed his palm on the back of my neck and kneeled, forcing him to do the same behind me.

The contents of my bag greeted me grimly with out last bottle of water and the couple knick-knacks that gathered the black dust on them. I hastily poured the water into a bowl, dipping my fingers in it, and added the crushed bones to the mixture.

The time that was required to make a paste-like mixture, I used to address a bewildered Stephen. "This is a last resort. I don't know if it will work, we're not on Earth," I briefly breathed my distress. "I don't even know how far we are from home. But I refuse to die here, in this grotesque Hell, without putting up a fight and Gaia has always looked out for her flock. I might get very, very sick if this is successful."

The warning had him attempt to object before he cast a long look around us, shoulders sagging, as motioned for me to continue, those piercing blue eyes boring into my face. "Tell me what do I need to do," his voice quietly attempted to soothe my very obvious fear.

I was terrified, both of dying, nameless, faceles in this world full of Nothing; the prospect of withering away after depleting all my resources was, perhaps, equally unappealing, but dying on my home planet sounded better than dying here. "Have faith," I replied curtly, beginning to chant softly under my breath as soon as Stephen's expression hardened.

My eyelids grew heavy, limbs filling with lead and molten lava as I summoned the forces of Mother itself; my body was aching, exhausted by answering her call as it was. The warm ball in my chest that previously comforted me grew, spreading its smelten power through every vein, every vessel. No part of my body was left cold. A sense of purpose filled me, pushing me forward, driving me to move, to run, to leap.

"This way," even to my own ears, my voice sounded pained. It felt as if I was walking through swamp waters, full of clay and debris, each step taking my barely coherent form through an individual bog full of pins and needles. The force of Mother Nature burned inside of me, enraged at the state of her surroundings.

Stephen spoke to me but all I could hear was mumbling, thousands of voices, low and shrill, unintelligible to the human mind. I could feel the sorcerer's pain; the itch and burn in his throat, the constant, dull throb in his scarred, broken hands. His hand in mine only intensified the situation and I fought with his injuries like I fought with the black dots in my eyes, I forced down the unpleasant sensations, setting fire to them, letting the reigns of control on the raging inferno within me slip just the smallest, tiniest bit.

The steps of his long feet stuttered as I felt the discomfort lessen yet I simply towed him along. Time leaked through the cracks in my eyes, which were mostly unseeing anyways. The useless things grew blind at some point, not that I noticed it on the greys and blacks of the surrounding scenery. It was harder to walk, my breathing grew laboured with the extertion as we finally reached the place that felt right.

"Here," I rasped, voice so quiet it could have been mistaken for a breeze. I craved to feel it; the soft puffs of wind, the sound of running water. I had called for Earth and she demanded its child back.

The portal appeared without a stutter even though Stephen's hands shook; I saw the uneven channels, the energies traveling through them at an uneven pace. As soon as I pushed through the wormhole, coming to my senses in an unfamiliar, light room, I fell to my knees.

Stephen's pained moaning told me he was probably experiencing the same stinging, burning sensation on his skin; my eyes, they were the worst - my eyeballs felt like they were melting, leaking out of my sockets into thick, gelatinous tears streaming down my face. I blindly groped for the sorcerer's hand, directing the forces within me to soothe his hurts much like I had done in the wastelands.

"Strange?!" A masculine, shocked voice exclaimed before footsteps crashed into my sensitive ears with the force of an elephant herd. "Oh my God, they're here! Tony, come!"

"Stop fucking screaming," Stephen gasped out as I felt him curl into himself.

"Friday, scan them," I recognised Tony's voice, the tiredness and desperation standing out in it more than it did in the rest of the whispers in the room.

"They appear to be experiencing a sensory overload. I would recommend to engage Peter's Cooldown mode," the mechanical voice replied, barely audible. The noise still grated on my ears after spending... How long were we gone?

"Do it, Fri," Tony's soft footsteps reached us; I smelled the spices of his cologne next to my and Stephen's prone forms. "You gave us a scare there," the tone was admonishing but gentle.

"We were scared shitless ourselves," I attempted to speak, only now noticing how grating my voice sounded. "We were in Hell," I mumbled to myself, slowly removing my hand from Stephen.

"That," he coughed up the word, breathing through his nose before speaking again, his voice sounding much better than mine. "That place was as close as possible to biblical pits I have ever seen," there was shuffling and gentle murmurs as the two men ensured each other of their presence and well-being.

The burning sensations receded back to my core, the embers of the fires dying out, leaving me feeling like deflated beach ball, all shell and no filling. With a groan, I rolled over onto my back right in the middle of the pristine carpet on the floor, forcing my eyes open and breathing through the pain until I could somewhat see the champagne coloured ceiling without black dots obstructing my vision.

Shuffling noises reached my ears as a familiar round face with light red hair came into my line of sight, Wanda's gentle features concerned. "Star, do you need to go to medical?" She eyed me almost suspiciously but the question was earnest.

The idea of a doctor fixing a magical burnout was bizarre to me, as if it ever was that easy; I chortled sardonically. "No, Wanda, there's nothing wrong with me that a doctor would be able to fix," I replied honestly. "I should call Odette."

"I've called, she said to notify her when you return," Sam's voice was gentle as he approached. I could feel him glaring daggers at a rapidly reddening Wanda. "She was the one who said you'll definitely come back," he offered me his hand.

I had to choke down a moan of relief as I grabbed it. The warmth, the life of another human being, the precious gift of a beating pulse under my fingertips was divine. "You should listen to her. She knows her stuff." It was easy, talking to Sam as if he was an old friend. He had one of the most pleasant auras I've seen on a human being.

"I'm a doctor," Stephen suddenly perched up, sounding almost bashful. "And I can aid the healing process," he stated over Tony's disgruntled mumbling. "If you can explain to me how the hell you managed to hold a... an entire sun's worth of energy!" The more he spoke the more bewildered he became, tone growing in pitch, ending the sentence with an exclamation.

"I don't know," I replied with a sigh. The whole indignation in this man, I was not prepared to face. "When I took this up," I gestured vaguely to the burned, bent metal adornments I began to remove off my body. "I thought I was going to get an increase in tips and a better outlook on life. Help my friend with her asthma as much so she wouldn't have to use her inhaler every time she gets suprised or scared," my jewelry hit the floor with a dull clank, piling up into bent silver I wouldn't even be able to cleanse and repurpose.

Sam whistled lowly, poking at a necklace that had twisted on itself, a grotesque spiral of dull ashen grey.

"I certainly didn't think that a bleeding mutant accepting his fate as cannon fodder will call for the Earth itself," my tone grew vicious. Exhaustion was nesting in my bones. "And that Mother Nature would take over my body, pour lava into my veins and bleed recklessness into my thoughts. But here I am, freshly out of Hell and alive and kicking."

A stunned silence was interrupted by Tony's frantic whispering. "You are not leaving my penthouse for the foreseeable future," as the weight of the incident set on him. The knuckles of his hand clutching Stephen's dirty tunic turned white.

"I am," Stephen eyed me with a strange look in his eye, as if he was seeing me for the first time. His eyes then turned to Tony, who'd began rambling, arguing with Stephen. The sorcerer stopped the word vomit with a grim confession. "I'd be dead if not for Starlight. I'd be meat and bone, splattered across a barren, radioactive land in the deepest, darkest pits of the universe."

I felt my face droop in slow-motion. My throat flexed, swallowing a thick lump of filthy mucus, I coughed up, "Ra-radioctive?" As soon as I could work my voice without it squeaking.

Taglist: @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins2 @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox

[polaroid15]

One Day We’re Going to be Alright

Summary: Sometimes, in the aftermath of a particularly vivid nightmare, it's hard for Tony to distinguish the fine line separating reality and his worst fears. Tonight, it's Peter, and he refuses to breathe until he knows the boy is safe.

Or, I simply refuse to believe this isn’t canon haha. Enjoy!

Read on Ao3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/28902099

---

Dust.

It’s everywhere. On his hands, under his fingernails. In his hair, on his clothes. It sticks like a memory and burns into his skin like fire, scarring him in some unseen way. Though it hurts, he can’t look away from it, feeling too shocked to do much else. It paints a story, represents a history, marks a grave.

Then, without any warning, the wind carries it away. It leaves him alone, drifting somewhere far where he can’t follow.

No matter how badly he wants to.

It disappears from sight, and he blinks slowly, unable to believe it.

Then everything inside him breaks, shatters, obliterates, like his soul has evaporated into dust but his body, by some horror, is left untouched.

He has nothing to hold onto now.

Gone.

Gone forever.

He had just been holding the boy in his arms. Only moments ago. The strong, energetic, too-good-for-his-own-good-heart-of-gold-kid. The kid who followed him into space and wedged his way into his heart, who had reminded him what it was like to have purpose.

Peter.

His kid.

I’m sorry.

He’s numb, impossibly so, like he’ll never feel again. Everything is gone.

Everything.

“Peter-” he calls out, voice breaking. He looks at his hands, trembling violently and streaked in black. “PETER!”

But his voice only echoes, falling deaf to his surroundings.

He’s alone.

The world twists, and Tony is falling. He must be blind, because the world has gone dark. He feels trapped, restrained perhaps in his own grief. He calls out again, his voice ripping out of his throat. “No!”

Something is wrapped around his limbs. He tries to kick away from it, to escape, to find Peter. Somewhere in the process he loses his equilibrium and he falls once more, landing hard on his elbow, the pain real through the haze.

“I lost- I lost-” he pants, but can’t complete the thought. He’s suffocating though he’s sure he can feel the air around him. One of his hands wrap lightly around his throat and he feels, distantly, his pulse jumping through his skin.

Alive, alive.

“I lost him,” he wheezes. “I- I lost him.”

Whatever had been trapping him earlier has fallen with him. He wraps his fingers around it tightly until his knuckles ache, and is surprised by its soft nature.

A blanket, he realizes.

A dream?

Refusing to believe it, Tony wrestles with the blanket to reach at his bedside table, knowing himself now to be in his room. He finds his phone in the darkness and holds onto it like a lifeline, bringing it into his heaving chest. The bright screen assaults his eyes and his fingers go numb, but he holds on.

He can’t let go. He can’t.

It takes too long to unlock the device and he gets increasingly lightheaded as he struggles to force his fingers to cooperate. When it finally clicks open, it’s another agonizing battle to find the contact he needs, though it’s the first one on the list.

“I lost him. I lost him-”

His thumb slams on a small icon, the air in his chest deflating so dramatically that he physically can’t pull in another breath. It rings once, twice, three times, then four.

“Hey! This is Peter! Um, Peter Parker. Leave a message I guess! If you want.”

He ends the call, dials again. This time, the wait feels longer.

“Hey! This is Peter! Um, Peter Parker. Leave a message I guess! If you want.”

There are stars in his eyes as he redials a third time. When it goes to voicemail again, the phone drops from his hand.

“Please,” Tony begs. He’s not sure to who, only that it matters. “Please.”

He pulls the phone into his hand again. Presses the green icon under Peter’s smiling picture.

It rings once.

Twice.

“H-hello?”

It’s raspy and weak, but it’s there. Full of life.

Not dust.

Every bone in Tony’s chest implodes. He folds over himself, clutching the voice to his ear so fiercely a small part of him worries the glass will crack. Nothing else matters but the voice, though, so he hangs on tighter.

Nothing else matters.

“Hello? Mr. Stark? Are- are you okay? It’s four in the morning-”

It’s real. Peter’s alive.

He’s not lost.

He’s back.

Tony sobs.

“Tony!” The voice is more urgent now, the lingering signs of sleep gone. “Tony what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“You’re alive,” he whispers.

“What? Of course I am.” There’s a pause, and Tony presses his palm on his chest to prevent his heart from breaking through his ribs. “Are you in your room?”

Tony processes this, looking blearily around his surroundings once more. Through the glow of the screen, he manages to make out the details. “Y-yeah.”

“Alright,” Peter says gently. “I’m coming.”

“Coming?”

“Yeah. I’m just down the hall, remember?”

Tony’s brain short circuits. He hiccups, wiping the moisture off his cheeks. “What?”

“I’m staying at the Tower for the weekend. Just- hang on. I’m almost there.”

In less than a second, there’s a soft knock at Tony’s door before it opens. A thin strip of copper light falls into the room, rising up to meet Tony from where he’s leaning against his bed frame. Peter fills the gap, dressed in his pajamas and his hair mussed and crazy with sleep. He looks at Tony with wide, understanding eyes, his own phone still pressed to his ear.

“Tony?” he whispers through it.

“Peter.”

Without further invitation, Peter crosses the distance towards him. As soon as he’s close enough, Tony pulls him into his arms, digging his face into the boy’s neck. He’s shaking, he realizes, but Peter is hanging onto him tightly, holding him together.

He’s solid and real.

Alive, not dust.

“You’re okay,” Tony slurs. He can feel Peter’s heartbeat through his shirt, rapid with worry.

“I’m okay,” Peter agrees. “Remember to breathe.”

He tries, but it catches in his throat.

“Try again.”

He does.

“Good,” Peter says, voice wobbling. He’s patting Tony on the back, his small hands gentle but sure. “That’s great, Tony.”

For a while, they just stay like that. They stay until Tony can see through his panic, until he can breathe without it hurting and he’s sure Peter isn’t going anywhere.

He releases the hug and falls back against the mattress, dizzy and tired. Peter shuffles awkwardly beside him. “Are you okay?” he asks.

Is he?

“Yeah,” Tony says, his own words getting lost in his ears as if they’re stuffed with styrofoam. “Yeah I’m okay. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

I’m sorry. The last words before dust.

“I woke you up,” Tony says numbly.

“Who needs sleep anyways?”

“You.”

Peter laughs, and the sound fills Tony’s aching chest like a sunbeam. He closes his eyes as they water. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Tony whispers. “Just- just stay. Please.”

“Okay,” Peter says, relaxing more fully against the mattress. Then, hesitantly, he scooches over until he’s pressed against Tony’s side. “I’ll stay.”

A tear does fall this time, and Tony is too slow to catch it. He wraps one of his arms around Peter’s shoulder, accepting the embrace. They sit like this for a long time, until all the anxiety in Tony’s body has dissipated.

Peter’s head is a dead weight on his shoulder, his breathing deep and even.

“Kid?” he whispers.

A light snore.

Feeling warm, he tilts his chin to press a kiss onto the top of Peter’s head. The boy shifts in his sleep, collapsing more fully onto Tony’s side. Tony melts into it and closes his eyes.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and it sounds so much better than I’m sorry.

He drifts off into a dreamless sleep, the most peaceful one he’s had in weeks.

And in the morning, Peter is still there, and Tony can still breathe.

And everything is okay.

[thisspaceintentionallyleftblank]

Try, Try Again (pt. 12)

(Cpt 1) | (Cpt 11) ||  (AO3)

Chapter 12 (2953 words)

There’s this cool movie, the kind that even older kids don’t usually get to watch, where a bunch of evil space aliens show up, eat people, and ruin everything. You know it’s hardcore because the poster has the tagline “In space, no one can hear you scream.”

Now, an angsty teen seeing this poster hanging over the horror movie section of the film store might assume that the screams in question are going unheard on account of everybody getting eaten by aliens. 

This however, is not completely true. 

Within the scientific community, experts agree that - evil aliens aside - sound simply cannot travel through space. Unlike light or heat, sound waves travel by causing surrounding particles to vibrate until some of these particles happen to smack into someone else’s eardrums.

So, if you happened to be aboard a spaceship whose engines have just imploded, ripping massive holes in the hull, forcibly venting the atmosphere, and leaving you hopelessly adrift in the vacuum of space, then there would be no particles left for your screams to vibrate. 

This again, is not completely true. 

Even in space, there are a few things left which can transmit sound - namely, the human skeleton. Microscopic vibrations are capable of traveling through the skull, from the jaw up to the tiny bones within the ear. This is the same principle behind those delightful singing toothbrushes, and is the reason why your voice always sounds different in recordings. 

The point here is that the truest thing to say, would be that in space, no one can hear you scream except yourself. 

Of course, this particular detail was of little importance to Emmet Brickowski as he found himself hurtling through the void of space, his own panicked wails ringing in his ears. 

The noise stopped abruptly as he slammed into ground, knocking the wind out of himself. He bounced at least three times, each impact as jarring as the first. Eventually though, his momentum dissipated and he began to slide on his back, leaving clean streaks in the dust and dirt before skidding to a stop in some kind of dark, cavernous space.

It was quiet here, and for a moment, that came as a comfort to Emmet. 

Then, with a mounting sense of dread, he took note of his leaden limbs and uncooperative vocal cords. 

He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He was paralyzed - a sensation both alarming and familiar. 

“I’ve been here before,” he thought. And, while he didn’t recognize his immediate surroundings, the sentiment still rang true. 

Years ago, he’d leapt from Lord Business’s tower into the Abyss below. His memory of the fall was vague, perhaps due to the time that had passed since or to the surreal, ephemeral nature of the fall itself. His memory of the place he’d found himself afterwards was much stronger. Just like now, he’d lain paralyzed on the ground, an unwitting witness to the events unfolding around him. 

He’d eventually escaped from that place, sent back by one of its strange inhabitants. 

Emmet stared up at the vast thing looming over him, unable to turn or look anywhere else. A cold voice in the back of his mind asked how any of those beings would be able to find him here. 

“It’s okay,” he told himself. “The raptors sent me out on this mission. They'll notice that I’m gone. They’re the ones that pre-programmed the flightplan, so they’ll already know where to look.”

At the time, he’d thought it was weird how the raptors had been rushing him around, especially considering that the ship seemed like it had been prepped a while ago. They’d been in such a hurry that no one had even explained what this new mission was or why none of the crew could come with. 

Emmet’s lips twitched in an attempted frown. His past concerns all felt so trivial in the light of this new situation.   

“They’ll find me soon,” he tried again to reassure himself. “I just have to be patient.” 

---

Ironically, Emmet found himself thinking about Vitruvius pretty regularly. 

It was ironic considering that Vitruvius was the only one of his friends that couldn’t possibly come to his rescue. Regardless, he was the one at the start of all this, and so Emmet’s thoughts routinely returned to the old man and his “fake but real” prophecy. 

Vitruvius had understood that these states were not mutually exclusive - a clarity granted to him after spending countless hours meditating, dwelling on the nature of the universe, and occasionally napping in a super enlightened manner. Trapped here in Undar, Emmet had nothing better to do than meditate himself, and as a result, he was beginning to better understand the truth that Vitruvius had seen. 

“The only thing anyone needs to be special is to believe that you can be,” Vitruvius had told him. “I know that sounds like a cat poster, but it’s true.”

The cat poster, like most things, existed somewhere beyond Emmet’s current prison - out of sight and out of reach. But, even here, he clung to his ability to believe.

The thing about belief is that its power is firmly rooted in the mind. It is something that you choose to do, and by choosing, you give power to the belief. 

These beliefs can be personal - like a New Year’s resolution. You convince yourself that you will eat better or exercise more and, as long as you remain committed to that belief, the resolution maintains its power. 

Beyond that though, there are many things in the world maintained only by the power of collective belief. Things like laws and money might seem like indisputable facts of nature, but in fact, their strength depends on society considering them as such. 

Take language for example. We know that every word was at some point invented by a person but, if everyone simultaneously started making up their own words instead of using those commonly agreed upon, then conversing might get eh fideckal discvanger upso.

It’s like the prophecy - something simultaneously made up and real. 

At first, Emmet was comfortable with this realization. It gave him a sense of comradery, this idea that society was based on mutual agreement and trust. But, the longer that he ruminated, the more that these thoughts ate at him. After all, the power of belief could only go so far…  

The thing about belief is that it can’t go beyond the mind. Believing that 2 plus 2 equals 5 won’t make your math teacher give you back points on your exam. Believing that you can fly won’t suddenly cause the laws of gravity to flip. 

Believing that your friends will come save you won’t make them appear. 

As time passed, Emmet felt the weight of this truth sink further and further into his chest. Here in Undar, he was quite literally trapped in his own mind. But, as he continued contemplating his situation, he began thinking that maybe he always had been. 

Maybe that’s why the other Apocalypseburgers had been tougher than him. Maybe they’d already recognized the lies inherent to the concept of belief. Maybe they’d all seen the truth of the world while Emmet just kept clinging to stupid things like instructions and turn signals. 

He lived in the world of belief - either too naive or too afraid to face reality, to face the fact that maybe just believing that you are special, that you are worthwhile, that you are loved… doesn’t make any of those things true. 

But now, trapped here, staring helplessly upwards into the maw of the machine above, he had no choice. Now reality screamed at him in the wind, and there was no amount of belief that could save him. 

---

“What are you going to do with him?”

The voice, muffled by the thick cell door, snapped Rex out of his reminiscing. 

Taped to the prison wall, Rex found himself slipping into thoughts about Undar far more easily than he was comfortable with. It made sense, considering that he was once again trapped and motionless, an unwilling witness to his friends talking, laughing, and joking with each other just beyond his reach.

The familiarity burned, a deep, hot ache in his chest. He pressed his eyes closed and forced himself to breathe, struggling to maintain his composure. 

He’d escaped from Undar, and he knew he could escape from this prison too. It was just a question of time, and if there was anything that he’d learned in Undar, it was patience.

He started trying to free his hands again. They were taped across his chest, his fingers tucked into his armpits. With every attempt to move, he could feel the fine hairs on his arms being ripped out. It hurt like heck, but it was only physical pain and so Rex could push past it.  

Dimly, he noticed the sound of the door opening. His eyes flashed open, and he forced himself to be still.

Lucy walked in, leveling a hateful gaze his way. Clearly, he thought, she was still upset about his little trick.

“Okay, listen,” Lucy started, her voice rusty. “I don’t know what your deal is, but I know that Emmet doesn’t deserve to get caught up in all this.”

She walked up to the Tape-estry, resting a hand on its edge. “Just tell us where he is,” she said, peeling the corner back slightly, “and maybe we’ll let you go.”

Rex frowned. If the others rescued Emmet from Undar, then things would play out like they had in the last timeline - except that this time, he’d be trapped and unable to access the flux capacitor. Rex wasn’t sure what would happen to him in a “Rex-less” timeline, but… he had a hypothesis. 

“Tough luck, sister,” he spat. “I think you'll find I’m a pretty tough nut to crack.”  

“Oh, you’re nutty for sure.” Lucy sneered, resealing the edge of the tape. 

She turned her back to the prisoner, stepping away as if to leave. Rex’s pulse sped up at the thought, and he cursed his treacherous heart. 

She stopped in the middle of the room, getting just enough distance to try and clear her head. She was certain that Rex was their only hope of finding Emmet. Benny may be able to track his ship, but that was less than useless if Emmet wasn’t on said ship. 

But how could she get Rex to talk? She knew nothing about the man except that he was dangerous and cruel. It seemed like he knew Emmet, but she just couldn’t understand how anyone familiar with her special best friend could do something as heartless as kidnapping him, or worse.

“Can you...” She started. “Can you at least tell me why Emmet?” 

Rex shrugged, wincing as the thoughtless motion caused the tape to pull at his skin again. “To protect him from all of you.”

“From… us?” She stepped back, physically shaken by the utter ridiculousness of the idea. “From his own friends? We wouldn’t hurt Emmet. We- we miss him! We just want him back! Want him to be safe!”

“You don’t want him back.” Rex muttered, exhausted by how obvious it all was. “You guys don’t even like him.” 

“How would you know?” Lucy hissed. “You don’t know us! You don’t know Emmet!”

“I am Emmet.” Rex stated flatly, the confession coming easier than he would have expected. 

Lucy’s fists clenched at her sides. She scowled, forcing herself to ignore the way her nails bit into her palms. “You’re an idiot if you think I’m falling for that again.” 

“I mean, I was Emmet. ” He replied dryly. “It’s time travel stuff, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Emmet could never do the things you've done. He would never lie… never hurt people.” 

“If you want,” Rex pressed on. “I could prove it. I could tell you something that only Emmet would know...”

Lucy didn’t turn. She couldn’t let him see the way his words wormed into her brain. She knew Rex was an imposter, a liar, but… she couldn’t deny that she wanted to hear what he’d say next.

“Like what?”

Rex smiled, the scent of blood in the air as the prey lumbered into a well placed trap. 

“I could tell you that he liked his coffee with just a touch of cream and 26 sugars.”

“Lots- Lots of people know that.”

“I could tell you that, back before the world ended - the first time that is - he told you that you were the first person to ever tell him that he could be special.”

Lucy kept her eyes pointed down. “That’s not proof, he could have tol-”

“I could tell you that I loved you.” Rex answered, his voice increasing in volume, the raw intensity of the sentiment overpowering his usual stoicism. “Even long after you stopped loving me. Even after you left me behind.”

Lucy whirled around, her face dark with rage. “How DARE yo-” 

She stopped abruptly, staring at the trapped man in shock. She was so ready to be angry, but the pain and grief on Rex’s face was dreadfully genuine.

“Why wasn’t I good enough?” Rex screamed, his voice cracking under the strain. “Why?” “Why wasn’t I good enough to come back for?” At some point, he’d stopped forcing his voice and it had slipped back into something unmistakably like Emmet’s, though Lucy had never heard Emmet like this. 

“S-Stop talking like that! You’re not Emmet.” She pressed her fists into her temples, trying to convince herself as much as Rex. “You’re just a vindictive jerk!”

“Well, Emmet wasn’t good enough either was he?!” Rex roared.

“I-” Her voice trembled. “You don't know what you’re talking abo-”

Rex laughed mirthlessly, interrupting her. He was rapidly losing his composure, but couldn’t seem to care. He managed to find a point of vulnerability, a chink in her armor. “Soft little Emmet… that poor, sweet guy. What a Hufflepuff he was. What a stupid loser he was.”

“Hey!” Lucy spat. “You don’t get to talk about him like that.” 

“But everyone else does?” Rex met her eyes, pinning her in place with his steely gaze. “But you do?”

“I don't….”

“What,” Rex asked in a low voice, “was the last thing you talked to Emmet about? Your Emmet? The real Emmet?”

Lucy froze. The last time she’d seen Emmet had been over a week ago, and the memory came to her slowly. He’d asked her yet again if he could come with her on a patrol, hadn’t he… which meant that…

“I told him that he couldn’t come with me.” Lucy droned, almost mechanically. “I told him that he wasn’t tough enough for patrols…”

“Exactly.”

“But that's not the same thing!” Lucy cried. Pricks burned at her eyes. “I was trying to protect him. Telling him that he's not tough isn’t the same as calling him a loser!”

“It is if you hear it enough.”

Rex’s voice was soft. Lucy took a pause. It was a hard thought to come to terms with.

“You… really are him, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Rex pushed. “And that’s why you need to trust that what I’m doing is in his best interest. If you go after Emmet,” Rex looked her directly in the eyes, “you'll only hurt him more.”

The tears started now. Lucy could do little more than tremble as they coursed down her cheeks. 

“Okay,” she whispered, no fight left in her voice.  

She stepped forward, and pulled Rex free from the tape. As he stepped down, he stretched out, flexing feeling back into his arms and legs. He turned towards her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“You made the right choice, Lucy.”

She shivered and watched him leave.

---

The winds had started up again, a persistent, rumbling thunder that shoved any thoughts out of his mind. 

If Emmet could have cried, he would have.

There was another sound somewhere in the distance, and Emmet braced himself for another one of those terrible, crawling monsters to appear. 

The sound came again, closer and clearer this time. It was a high-pitched droning noise, and with a flash, Emmet recognized it as the whine of an engine.

The drone cut off, abruptly replaced by the whirr of a docking mechanism and the hiss of an opening airlock. 

His heart soared in his chest. He knew the raptors would come for him. He knew it!

Unable to look over, Emmet strained his ears, listening for footsteps or voices, willing them to come closer. 

A sudden fear struck him. What if they didn't find him? This place was huge and dark, and, unable to move or speak, Emmet had no way to signal them. Frantically, he tried to move, to scream.

His arm twitched. 

It wasn’t a lot, but it was more than he’d been able to do before. 

His resolve strengthened, Emmet redoubled his efforts. He tried harder than he’d ever tried anything before. 

His leg kicked, followed by a flick of a wrist and a twist of his neck. Slowly but surely, he regained some kind of control over his body. He grunted, instantly delighted by the sound of his own voice. 

In his self sustained commotion, he failed to notice the sound of approaching footsteps. 

“THERE HE IS!” The voice that rang out was muffled, likely by a helmet, but Emmet still vaguely felt like he should recognize it. 

A figure ran up to him, kneeling at his side. They reached down, taking his hand. Instinctively, Emmet grasped back, not even noticing how much easier the motion had become. 

“DO NOT WORRY,” the speaker continued. They loomed over him, a set of glowing green eyes peering out of the darkness. “WE ARE HERE TO RESCUE YOU, GROMMET!”

[written-adventures]

Storm the Castle: Last Light Pt. 30

Lance was sick of playing around in people’s worst nightmares. Even sicker of the fact that every single one he saw was real, or going to be real. It was hard to have faith in humanity when your mind was drenched in their shitty pasts and futures and he had one more mind to ruin. 

“So you deal in terror too?” A voice called out of the shadows. “I thought your shtick was running away?”

Lance watched as a man slipped from the shadows. He was big, loud, overdramatic, and had to be one of his mother’s guys. Probably heard about Lance and was looking for a fight. Looking for a way to move up in ranks by killing the Witch. It was almost flattering they thought so fondly of him. Though Lance wasn’t about to give him a fight. He was tired, sore, and hungry and in no mood for this. So, he turned on his heel and walked in a different direction.

“H-hey! Hey, I was talking to you!” The man called after him. Lance ignored him, too busy wondering if that little deli on the corner still sold sandwiches late. He’d kill for one of their reubens right about now. P.K. was probably still up studying, so he might as well get two.

“Hey! Pyrrha, or whoever you are!” Lance stopped midstep, foot still hanging just about the ground. This asshole again? He turned to face the man and his stupid proud grin.

“Do me a favor and fuck off,” he called back. “It’s been a rough night and unlike last time, I’m armed.” He patted his hip. “Phobos, right? Run along and I won’t put a bullet in your face.” For all his bravado, Lance flinched when flames raced along behind him, he couldn’t help it. 

“Phobos? You think I’m wimpy little Phobos? I am Deimos and you will dread my na-AH!” He shrieked as a bullet tore across his cheek.

“Sorry,” Lance said, “you were monologuing?” Arro’s magic must be fading from his left eye, he’d actually aimed right for Deimos’s forehead. Between that, and how he trembled under the heat of the flames, he was lucky to have shot Deimos at all. 

It’s an illusion. They’re not real. But he could smell the burning garbage, feel the heat on the back of his neck, taste the ash in the air. 

Deimos advanced on him, his lips drawn up in a wicked grin. 

“This is going to be fun.” The excitement in his voice made Lance sick. It reminded him of Earl and every other asshole he knew. He’d shoot Deimos again if his arm would just stop shaking.

“Lance!” A familiar voice called and the sound of it stole his breath. It was P.K. P.K. was here and that last shred of sanity snapped. At the sound of his voice, Lance was there again, in that burning shed. Trapped, dying, begging for someone to save him. All witches burn.

 “Yuri! I think- no I know Lance is over there. You have to trus- HOLY SHIT!” He cried out at the sight of a man wreathed in flames and Lance on his knees, locked in his panic.

Deimos rounded on the intruders, his face twisted up in fury. “You again!” The flames faded and strange, dark trees shot out around them. Twisting like claws, reaching for them.

Yuri grabbed P.K., yanking him away from the swinging branches. The two scampered back, but Arro stayed right where he was. The branches swung uselessly at him and vanished around him like smoke. 

“Arro!” Lance called, struggling to his feet. The long healed scars on his back felt raw and fresh. “Get them out of here!” He readied his gun again, unnerved and unshaken despite the pain. 

Deimos rounded back on Lance. “They’re not going anywhere!” he snarled. He raised his hand and the trees morphed into ropes made of burning light that wrapped around Lance. The bit into his back, his arms, making him scream until they curled around his throat and cut off the sound.

“No!” Arro screamed. “Unhand my Amayvi!” Dust swirled around Deimos. Rising, and sticking together as it formed the skeleton of a massive lion. 

“Nivo!” Arro called, thrusting out his arms, and the lion barreled into Deimos, fangs tearing into his arm. Deimos screamed as the lion shook its head.

“Get off!” He yanked the light ropes and threw Lance at the lion. Arro snapped back his hands and the beast instantly shattered into dust, only to reform as Lance sailed safely through. 

He hit the ground with a heavy thud, and a tiny, pained gasped slipped out. He dragged in a ragged breath when Deimos let him go and pulled the bands of light back into a sword.

P.K. tore away from Yuri and ran to his brother's side. "Lance! Lance wake up!"

“Get them out of here!” Arro called to Yuri as he scrambled to his feet. The air around them went cold. Disembodied voices whispered in the wind and Arro’s eyes glowed white. 

“You made a big mistake,” Deimos growled. 

“Yeah, you did,” Arro replied. He swung his arm wide. Lights shot out from him, slamming into Deimos and pushing him back. 

Deimos roared in anger, rushing at Arro with the sword drawn. 

“Arro!” Lance screamed. He was too weak to throw off P.K. and Yuri.

Arro formed a fist and Deimos froze in his tracks. Deimos struggled to move forward but it was as if gravity stopped working around him. 

“You piece of-!” 

“Enough!” Arro clenched his fist. Deimos gasped and struggled as he felt his body crushing on itself. “Get out of here. You’ve lost.” 

The sword vanished from his hand. “Fine.” he shrugged. “Fine.”

The prison around him dissipated and he could move again. 

“Get out,” Arro said. “If I-” 

“Gotcha.” Deimos shot forward, his sword returning to his hand. 

Lance and Arro raised their hands at the same time, and as the gunshot tore through his face, Deimos’s body collapsed in on itself. 

“… well, fuck.” Lance stared at Deimos crumpled in a heap. “Arro?” 

“I know.” Arro knelt and carefully set his hand on Deimos’s buckled chest. His eyes returned to their usual crimson. “Why didn’t you leave?” 

“What did you do?” Lance asked. “That spell… it’s like he imploded.” 

“That’s exactly what I did,” Arro replied. “Go now, and join those who came before.”

“We have to get him out of here,” Lance squeezed Arro’s shoulder. “We can’t let anyone see the body.” 

“Yes. Yes, you’re right.” Arro nodded. “Take P.K. away, this will be messy.”

“I’m not leaving you.” Lance nodded at Yuri who led P.K. away as Deimos’s corpse rotted away to bones under Arro’s hands. Lance kept his hand on Arro’s shoulder as the bones crumbled into dust and drifted into the waiting vial. Arro leaned against Lance, exhausted. 

“You ok?” Lance murmured. 

“Just tired. Are you ok?” Arro asked.

“No, but I’ll be okay,” Lance said but smiled and squeezed Arro’s shoulder. “We’ll be okay.”

[pandatypewriter]

Never Alone: Zelo

.Soooooo sooooorrrrryyyyyy! This request was submitted to be a long time a go by a kind, patient nonnie! Sorry this took so long! XO But please enjoy! 

Could I get a apocalyptic Zelo scenario where the reader and Zelo get separated from the group and have to take shelter in an abandoned motel? Fluff please. Love your work😊

“Shit!” Zelo groaned as he ran his hands over his face. You quickly turned and glared at the giant baby. “I’m your 20 year old boyfriend, Y/N. Not a 2 year old toddler.” He let out a small scoff as you rolled your eyes, glancing around the corner to see if the coast was clear.

“Either way, no potty mouth for you.” You stuck your tongue out at him.“So I should speak like a child like you?” He teased, causing you to lightly punch him in the arm.

“Stop being a cheeky brat. We’re in serious trouble here!” You let out an exasperated sigh. 

You didn’t know how it happened, but somehow you and Zelo were separated from the rest of the group. In the middle of the world falling apart of all times! You were mentally retracing your steps, trying to figure out how the two of you had been separated from the pack. You could imagine the lecture Himchan would give you if the two of made it to the meeting place. Alive anyway. 

“Hence the cussing.” He smirked. Sometimes you just wanted to smack the giant baby in the back of the head. In some moments he was the cutest innocent child that you wanted to huggle and then the next moment he would be this cheeky, smart mouth that you wanted to strangle. He was starting to hang out with his hyungs too much. *cough* Himchan, Daehyun, and Youngjae *cough*

You glanced up at the murky orange sky that was shrouded in a cloud of pollution and dust. You remember when everything went to hell. The world imploding upon itself. The quarantine. Everyone thought that as long as they were closed off. Hidden away from the epidemic that had turned the world mad. Then maybe, just maybe, it would kill itself. Go through the throngs of natural selection and die off. A naive thought. It was one. Then two. Then everyone. The quarantine had become a nesting ground for the epidemic. You didn’t know how the seven of you managed to escape, avoid contracting the inevitable, but you all did and you all would fight like hell to survive. And in order to do that you guys would have to escape this place despite the government’s attempt to quench your existence. This places presence. 

You let out a small hiss as you placed pressure on your right ankle to get a slightly better glance of the surrounding area. You glared at the stupid injury that has caused you and Zelo to be separated from the group. The car had run out of gas and you volunteered to go to the nearest town to find some fuel. You didn’t want to be dead weight. The town wasn’t very far, fortunately. The task seemed like a walk in the park. That is until you felt a hungry eyes staring at you. Bloodlust. A predatory glare. You knew the feeling. The feeling of being hunted. At first you tried to maintain your cool, speeding up your pace as you headed towards the gas station. As your paced increase so did the infected. The men turned monsters. The Hannibals. The stress, anxiety, and fear bubbled in the bottom of your stomach, causing you to stumble on the uneven pavement. You thought it was over. You thought you were going to die alone. Become one of them. By pure luck, Zelo had came and quickly scooped you up, running as fast he could until he found a decent hiding spot, leading to both of you hiding behind a grocery store. 

“You shouldn’t be putting stress on your ankle…” His eyes soften as he came beside you, holding up your shoulder so that you could relieve some pressure. 

“Thanks…” You murmured, too stubborn to publicly admit your gratefulness. If it weren’t for Zelo you would have become a monster by now, craving human flesh and blood. 

“What was that again?” He feigned innocence and brought his face lower in order to get a better listen to your words. You rolled your eyes.

“If you weren’t so tall I would kick you….” You sighed. You loved Zelo to death. He could be so sweet, so adorable, so huggable, but at the same time he could be a butt. He loved to tease you and see your animated reactions. You were entertaining to him. Entertaining and quite adorable. But he’d keep the last part to himself. He knew that if he had relinquished that last tidbit of information you would tease him to no end. 

“And cute. I’m too precious to abuse.” He flashed you a cheeky grin which caused you to reach up and pinch his cheek.

“Riiiiight~” You flashed a polite grin as Zelo pouted at you. “It’s getting dark out…” You groaned as the polluted orange sky was becoming darker and darker.

“We won’t make it back to the rest of the guys,” Zelo noted the surroundings. If the two of you decided to take the trek back to the rest of the guys, there was a very high chance that the Hannibals would find you both and with your injury Zelo didn’t know if the two of you would make it. Staying here...or finding shelter here...well that was another challenge within itself. “And you need to rest…Y/N….hey Y/n!” Zelo’s eyes went wide with panic as he saw how heavy you were breathing. Your breath was ragged and your ankle looked twice the size as it was originally. The numbness of adrenaline and fear had dissipated leaving only overwhelming pain and exhaustion. 

“I’m f-fine…” You took in a big gulp of air, trying to steady your rapid heartbeat. “But you’re right, we need to find shelter…” You gripped onto Zelo’s arm tightly, trying maintain some sort of balance. 

“Wow, I never thought you would be this so complacent,” He let out a small chuckle. “Maybe you should have swollen ankles more often,” You shot him a dark, angry glare. You were not having it. “Or not…” His chuckle became awkward. He looked up and noticed a motel not too far from where the two of you stood. 

“Do you think we can make it without getting caught?” You managed to cock a playful eyebrow at him.

“Who do you think you’re talking to, Y/N?” He flashed you a playful smiling before leaning down and give you a quick eskimo kiss. He wasn’t wrong. Zelo had opted to merely princess carry and sprint towards the motel. Half of you thought he wouldn’t be able to do so. Slow down his pace or either put you down for a breather. But he didn’t. He toughed it out and used his manly skills to get you both to the motel. Luckily there were a few rooms open due to everyone scrambling to escape the area, unfortunately unsuccessfully. He gently placed you on the bed, kissing your forehead before barricading the door and windows with the minuscule amount of furniture decorating the room. He grabbed a few couch cushions to prop your leg as well as a cold wet towel to place over it. Luckily the water and electricity hadn’t been shut down. Once he was finished, he plopped down beside you, letting out a huff of air on the way.

“Thank you my knight in shining armor.” You giggled as you saw Zelo’s face scrunched up. Almost appalled at your words. 

“Ew, you being so sweet to me is kinda disturbing.” He teased, jokingly backing away from you as if you were some stranger. 

“Then how do you feel when I do this!” You quickly leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Ick, cooties.” He made a mock face of disgust causing you both to burst out into laughter. After both of you had your little fun, and odd silence filled the air. Usually with Zelo there was never a moment of silence or boredom. The two of you always managed to find something to talk about. Whether it was something completely silly or mind blowing. Everything started to sink in. Both of you might not make it out of this hell alive. 

Poisonous thoughts started to fill your mind. Though you didn’t want to think them. Cling onto that small strand of hope. You had to take in reality. You were a liability. And if one of you had to survive, you wanted it to be Zelo. “Zelo...If I don’t get better fast enough...or if I slow you down-” 

Your words were cut off by his soft lips on yours. The kiss was sweet and slow. Not impatient. Not lustfull. Just loving. Caring. Adoring. When the two of you separated, Zelo refused to go very far, keeping his forehead against yours. Both of your breaths in sync with each other. He looked up into your eyes. You could the spark in his eyes. The passion and fire. He wasn’t going to give up. Even if the world would blow up right then and there he would do anything in his power to protect you.

“We’re making it out of here alive,” His grinned, his words more like an order than a possibility. He was determined that the two of you would survive. That he would do everything in his power for the two of you to make it out of here. Get married. And have a slew of kids. “And then the two of us will get married and we’ll have enough babies to make our own mini boy band.” 

“Pfft, well isn’t someone creative.” You scoffed rolling your eyes.

“Yah, don’t you see the two of us getting married…” Zelo eyed you as he brought his large body closer to you, leaving no space between the two of you. A small playful glare on his face. 

“Hmmmm, I can see me and Youngjae getting married.” You teased, causing the giant to began tickling your sides in revenge. His fingers were attacking your sides rapidly and every attempt that you tried to grab them he would slip away.

“Mercy?” Zelo raised a cocky brow as you squirmed under his touch. “I’m not going to stop until you do~” He cooed, enjoying this teasing game the two of you were playing. 

“Aish!” You let out a hiss as the horseplay caused you to move your ankle. Zelo immediately stopped his actions and quickly apologized to you, petting the top of your head.

“Sorry, Jagi,” He leaned down towards your swollen ankle and gave it a small peck. “I should have been more careful…” A small pout formed on his face. You tried hard to suppress the chuckle that wished to escape your lips. He looked like a kick puppy.

“It’s fine,” You cupped his face and gave him another peck on the lips. “So come snuggle with me. I’m cold.” You chuckled at the spark in his eyes. “I love you,” He chuckled and pulled you in close, being extra wary of your ankle. He placed his arm around your shoulder as he snuggled into your hair. You leaned in closer into his warm embrace, nuzzling into his chest. You basked in his warmth, his scent. He always smelled of either fresh laundry or baby powder. 

“Get some rest and then we’ll head out tomorrow.” He kissed the top of your head, gently caressing your arms. 

“Thank you my prince charming.” You kissed his jawline. He let out a scoff and leaned down and placed a peck on your cheek, your forehead, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips.

“Anything for my princess.” He chuckled before engulfing your frame in his arms.

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