#ITS DONE RAHHHHH

[kirnet]

Don’t Wake the Ancients - Epilogue

read on ao3 | previous chapter |

-

The days dragged on in endless monotony.

At least Dorotea was starting to get used to being underground, as much as she could. The whole Agency seemed to buzz around outside her door, writing reports and drawing her blood and spreading rumors on how Murphy had been brought down. Elidor, thankfully, never let the brunt of it pass the threshold of her room. They talked a lot, the fae humoring her every question and thought as she tried to distract herself from all the pinching needles.

“What’s in this, exactly?” she asked one evening, Elidor rubbing some ointment on her wounds while he changed her bandages.

His hand glided over the myriad of burns and cuts on her arm. “A collection of things. Yarrow, mostly.” The balm was cool on her skin. “Echo-touched. We harvest it from around portal sites, which enhances its natural properties. A necessity, since I can’t use spellwork to speed up your recovery. Imbued with magic yet still non magical, yes?” He thought for a second, and then added morosely, “I imagine they are the closest thing in either world to you now.”

They sat in silence after that.

Rebecca visited often, and for once, Dorotea didn’t pick a fight over it. Not yet, not while her very flesh still wanted to slide off of her bones. Their conversations steered professional, Rebecca updating her on her station and the comings and goings of Unit Bravo. They didn’t talk about Murphy, locked in a cell floor below her, trapped in some waking nightmare, just like they didn’t talk about the mist in Rebecca’s eyes.

“The results from your blood test came back,” she said after a length of silence. Rebecca stood in the center of the hospital room, a healthy distance from anything to lean on. “We… In truth, we have nothing to compare it to. You are something entirely new. But our best guess is that you are now truly immune to any supernatural effects, not just resistant.”

Dorotea struggled to sit up in bed. The click of Rebecca’s heels echoed through the room as she rushed forward to adjust the pillows. “So I’m a vampire now? Or some sort of mix?” It was a stupid question, but Dorotea had rubbed her tongue raw against her teeth, constantly searching for any changes. 

“No, no. You are still plainly human. And that’s what frightens me.” Rebecca’s hand came to rest on her daughter’s shoulder, her gold wedding band gleaming under the harsh lights. She chewed on her lip as she considered her next words. “The Agency will do its best to keep your condition under wraps, but that doesn't mean that supernaturals won’t be able to scent you. The majority are benevolent, but a few…” Her expression darkened as her finger brushed the bandages on Dorotea’s neck. “I don’t need to tell you that. I’m scared about what might happen to you.”

“It’s…” Dorotea didn't know how to answer. Instinctively, she angled her shoulder away, allowing her mother’s hand to fall. She wasn’t going to comfort her, not when she didn't know how to comfort herself. The first reaction was to say that it was fine, that it would figure itself out, but it wouldn’t. It wasn’t fine. Not Murphy’s invasion or Rebecca’s lifetime of secrets. “I’ll just have to learn to deal with it,” she said instead, jaw set. “I don’t have a choice.”

Rebecca drew her hand back to fold her arms. “I suppose that brings me to our next issue.”

“Surprise!” The door banged open with so much force it was a miracle the wall didn’t crack. Dozens of balloons entered before Farah and dozens entered after. She tried to wrangle them to one side of the room, pulling out one that read “Congrats!” and dragging it to the front. Nate sheepishly followed, a box of chocolate covered strawberries securely in his hands.

“I don’t think she’s actually accepted it yet,” he sighed with a shake of his head. His expression brightened when he set the box on Dorotea’s lap and sat on the edge of the bed. “But we hope you will.”

“Accept what?” Dorotea asked, not so confused that she couldn’t pilfer a berry. Morgan and Adam entered, clearly not as pleased to be here.

Wrinkles well beyond Rebecca’s age formed on her face as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I was just about to get to that.” Farah backed into the cloud of balloons to hide from Rebecca’s glare. “The Council has come to a decision.” Something like a cough rattled around in her throat before she spoke again. “The Agency wants to extend you an offer for the role of Human Liaison.”

Dorotea leaned forward. Council? Since when has there been a council? She pushed that thought to the side and grasped one of the thousands of other questions swirling around in her mind. “Liaison? What exactly would that entail?”

“A middleman, essentially,” Nate clarified. “Wayhaven is awash in Echo World energy, this whole mountain range is, hence the need for an Agency outpost here. You would act as a mediator between the supernatural and human elements of your town.”

“Under Agency direction, of course.” Adam had found his usual spot in a corner. “Since you know of our existence we might as well make use of it, especially since you will need constant guard now.”

“I wanted them to offer you a position here, maybe in our science division, somewhere where you would be protected.” Rebecca shook her head before Dorotea could speak. “I know you would never accept it. You should feel honored that the Council sees such potential in you. It’s been some time since Wayhaven had a liaison of its own.”

“Do I get actual resources in this position? Actual power to push for what is best for the town?” Dorotea eyed Rebecca wearily. “Or is this just an attempt to placate me?”

She swore the sound that scraped against Adam’s lips was a laugh. “Is that even possible?”

Morgan popped her gum with disdain. “You’ll get use of agents, tools, research, anything you get clearance for. But you’ll be independent.” She gave her a peculiar look, though the meaning was clear as day. You’ll need to follow our lead, but you’re not owned by us.

Rebecca cleared her throat. “I’m sure this is overwhelming. We’ll give you time to consider-“

“I accept.”

A glimmer of pride shone in every vampire’s eye, even Adam’s, while Rebecca seemed to deflate. She quickly recovered, stoicism masking any minute emotion. “I’m not leaving my people defenseless, from outside threats or from you.”

“I see.” Rebecca clenched her jaw at the clear accusation. “I’ll inform the Council.” She strode out the room, Nate getting up to follow.

He dusted invisible lint from his pants. “She’s just trying to juggle her duties to the Agency and her duties to you. Perhaps there is no need to be so harsh.”

Dorotea was too tired for justifications or explanations. “Stay out of it,” she said tersely.

Nate frowned and slid from the room, Morgan on his heels. She gave Dorotea the slightest tilt of her chin before she disappeared into the hall.

“Congratulations, seriously.” Farah punched Dorotea in the shoulder. “But are you gonna make a habit of making things so awkward?”

“I’ve been told that I excel at it.” Dorotea smiled and half-wrapped her arm around Farah’s waist. “Thank you for all of this. It really livens up the place.”

Farah left, leaving only Adam. He approached the bed with slow, strong steps. “You will do well in your new role,” he said, looking at the wall. I have full confidence in that.”

“Thank you. For everything.” There was a beat of silence, Dorotea fiddling with the edge of a bandage and Adam remaining inhumanely still. “Though I’m sure you’re glad to be rid of me. Do you know who your replacements will be? You mentioned constant guarding.”

“There are no replacements,” he said, an edge to his voice. “Agent Langford requested a permanent transfer. We are to become Wayhaven’s resident unit.”

“Oh.” Really? These were supposed to be highly trained agents, not standard bodyguards. Surely their talents were much better suited somewhere that wasn’t sitting on her couch as she slept. Then again, that hadn’t worked the last time. It didn’t make her feel any safer. “I’m sorry.”

Adam’s gaze snapped to her. “What for?”

“You despise Wayhaven. I’m sorry for keeping you here.“ She shrugged. “I understand it can be hard to love, especially if you’re used to more grand places.” Dorotea had hardly ever set foot out of the state, never mind the country. Even her exotic choice of college had been located within the mountains. Wayhaven was too rural and plain for a man with Adam’s rich accent. 

“A place is just a place. Wayhaven is one of many.” In an all too-human gesture, Adam scratched the back of his neck, probably itching a stubborn patch of skin still blistering from the explosion. “My personal distaste has no effect on how I perform my duties.”

Dorotea lifted a bruised brow. “I don’t need a comment,” Adam grumbled, closing the gap. He stuck a hand out, his palm like smooth porcelain, unmarred by any of the toil of human life. “Shall we try this again?”

Trembling from pain and disuse, Dorotea stuck her bandaged, blistered hand out, slid it into Adam’s, and shook. 

-

Farah wasn’t the only one to surprise Dorotea with balloons.

After long weeks of healing where her ectoderm finally remained attached to her skin without reminding, she returned to the station. It wasn’t a total surprise, not with Tina around, but a few grateful tears pricked the corners of Dorotea’s eyes nonetheless. The largest miracle was that Tina had managed to whittle the guest list down to only a few handfuls that Dorotea could actually relax around. “I had to tell most people you’re due back next week,” she giggled, looping a party hat under Dorotea’s chin and placing it on top of her cattleman.

And she was thankful for it. The bandages had come off, leaving the two jagged scars that ran down her throat in full display. The official story was a car accident. Dorotea had caught Dr. Murphy - the real killer, the one who had planted any and all evidence incriminating Lance - with the help of Unit Bravo. She had followed the escort to the city to be processed by whatever government entity the town thought the Agency was. Her bravery was rewarded by a t-bone at an intersection, the other driver distracted by a text. She had barely gotten out alive, her neck sliced open by the shards of her window. No one asked for further detail, all just relieved that she was walking now. Some, like Verda’s husband, Eric, pretended not to eye her as she cut a slice from one of Hayley’s cakes.

They were ugly scars. She’d have to get used to the looks.

Beer bottles were opened and the food table was devoured. Even Captain Sung chimed in, resting a firm hand on her shoulder. “Good work,” he said, pride beaming from every word, before his expression shuttered close. He turned to Tina. “I want every piece of confetti cleaned up by noon tomorrow.” He took a plate to go.

Douglas and Tina filled her in on every coming and going of what had happened in her absence, Verda interjecting when the tales got too hyperbolic. A coal plant deep in the woods had exploded, they raved, kicking up a black toxic haze before it had been put out. This was treated with equal importance as David Arbuckle tripping and landing into yet another woman’s lap.

“Not having fun?” Dorotea asked when she finished her rounds.

Spots of whipped cream from the cake still flecked the corner of Lance’s mouth, rising as Dorotea pulled a chair over to sit beside him. “Nothing of the sort.”

“Really? ‘Cause usually you would have thrown Verda’s girls into every available soft surface by now.” For a giant, Lance knew how to hide. He had spent most of the party in Dorotea’s office, occasionally shuffling out only to grab more food or another beer. Dorotea leaned her elbows on her knees, groaning when every part of her body protested. “What’s wrong?”

Lance chewed on a piece of tri-tip for a long while, his glassy blue eyes fixed on the party just outside the door. “You don't wanna ask me that. Go enjoy your shindig.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.” She caught Lance’s hand before he could bring the beer bottle to his mouth. “I am so, so sorry for ruining your reputation, Lance. I was fooled by that bastard like a God-damned idiot.” Dorotea curled her fingers around his as they watched Verda frantically wipe frosting from his youngest’s hands before she could reach for Tina’s desk. Just because he had been cleared didn’t mean that people wouldn’t talk and suspect. This would stain his character for the rest of his life.

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for. He was the one who tried to set me up, not you. You were just doing your job,” Lance rumbled, casually brushing her betrayal aside. He rolled his shoulders as his hollow gaze swept to her. “People will talk. It ain’t nothing I’m not used to.”

“What I did was wrong. I’m still sorry.”

He offered a weak smile. “And I appreciate that. More than you know.”

“I’m…” Lance hunched forward, and for a horrible moment Dorotea was down the hall, trapped in the closet they called an interrogation room, Lance melting right in front of her. He snapped back to himself, his toe tapping against the floor. “I’m having these dreams.”

Dorotea stilled as he continued. “Dreams about the woods, and you, and those agents.” He winced, a muscle feathering in his jaw like Adam had just shocked him with the stun gun again. “About that Greenland woman. Awful things.” Palms up, he looked down at his hands, his voice quivering. “Did I hurt her?”

It would be kindest to lie. Lance was as much of a victim as Kenny or Garret. Whatever terror Janet had felt as she thrashed against him, screaming into the night, her camera ripped from her shoulder, was not his fault.

But he had hurt her. And Dorotea had never been a liar. “You didn’t have a choice.”

Lance nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He didn’t ask how she could possibly know, nor what that meant. He wrapped his arms around Dorotea and buried his nose in her shoulder. “When did you get older than me, missy?”

Dorotea ignored the wet spots growing on her shirt collar and hugged him tighter. 

-

Lance wouldn’t let her go alone, not after she had been jumped by Kenny and was still recovering from her wounds, so Dorotea brought him to the graveyard with her. But she wanted privacy, so he agreed to stand a few yards away, his breath fogging the air as he stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets.

The snow crunched under her boots as Dorotea hobbled Garret’s gravestone, careful not to drop the beer or the piece of cake in her hands. 

She had missed the funeral. They had laid him to rest the second the Agency gave the all clear on Dorotea’s behalf. It was for the best; Kate, and everyone, needed closure. She could imagine the whole town draped in black, Kenny and Paul standing in silence for the first time in their lives, noses upturned, as the casket lowered beneath the ground. 

God, Garret would have hated it. He was too young for such reverent morbidity. He should be arguing with Douglas about whether Batman or Ironman was the superior comic billionaire, his squeaky, seldom loud voice echoing through the station.

Dorotea knelt down and then awkwardly fell to her bottom. The cake bounced on its paper plate, Hayley’s beautiful icing work smearing. When she had shuffled into a sitting position that was decently comfortable in the snow, she set her items down. “I know this isn’t the happiest reunion,” she said as she pulled the party hat from her head, her voice thick from the cold. She set it on top of the gravestone. “But I didn’t want to leave you out of the festivities.”

She talked about everything and nothing while she picked a cake slice apart with a tiny plastic spoon she had pocketed. Her second piece of the night, but she had almost bled to death, so she felt she earned the extra sugar. She told him about the agents, how annoying they were, how much she was glad that none of them had been seriously hurt. She updated him on his mother, on his friends, on the changing of the weather as winter took hold and tumbled into spring. “We caught him,” she finally grasped, her plate full of crumbs. “He won’t hurt anyone else. And I’m not gonna let anyone else get hurt like you did. I promise.”

Dorotea forced out a low laugh. “There, all that serious stuff is over now. Since you were complaining about not going out to the bar-“ she fished the bottle opener on her keyring and popped the beer cap off, “- I thought I might bring you something.” She took a swig before clearing some snow away and pouring what remained onto the dirt. “Your first drink. Don’t tell your mother.”

She stood, eyes and nose burning, her wet jeans sticking uncomfortably to her skin. With stiff joints, she picked up her trash and shuffled back towards Lance, pausing only to brush some snow from her father’s headstone.

-

While she felt leagues better than she had only a few days ago, Dorotea’s body protested as she hauled herself up her steps.

The Agency had completely repaired her apartment, Rebecca had told her, patching drywall and replacing windows, and much to Mr. Brian’s delight, he hadn’t had to pay for any of it. A freak gas leak and resulting explosion, they had told him. Despite the lack of signs of any actual fire, Mr. Brian agreed and told anyone who would listen about the terrifying blast and the great savings he had managed to negotiate. 

Dorotea had to admit that they did a wonderful job. Every single thing was back in its place. The couch had been replaced with a newer one, the upholstery clean and vibrant. Her knickknacks lined the shelves, pieced back together with museumlike quality, the glue seams only apparent when she ran her fingers over its surface. The guitar seemed to bear the brunt of the damage. All of the strings had finally snapped, and its surface was covered in gouges and soot. It was the only thing not repaired or replaced.

Good, she thought. It had been placed lovingly back into its spot, proudly facing out to the rest of the apartment. 

Dorotea limped towards the kitchen but stopped when something caught her eye. It was the only thing out of place in the entire apartment.

The package left on her table was flat and wrapped in plastic. No postage or shipping address was on its front, but there was a note taped to it, written in a looping script.

We found no evidence of the supernatural in these. A copy has been sent to Greenland’s family as well. I know you’ll appreciate the beauty, even in their damaged state.

Thank you for everything,and looking forward to workingwith you further,

-UB

Brows knit together, Dorotea undid the plastic and moved a piece of thick cardboard to the side. She pulled a sheaf of glossy papers out, gasping as she leafed through the contents.

Janet Greenland’s photographs had been intended to be black and white captures of the Appalachian landscape, transporting the viewer back into a time of horse-drawn buggies and oil lanterns, the ancient forests remaining nearly unchanged for all of human history. But days at the bottom of Wayhaven’s lake had altered them completely. Entire swaths of some of the images were erased to white, while spots, swirls of ink, and other damage marred the other bits. Some were completely unintelligible, reduced to abstract shapes that left Dorotea guessing at their origin. Many, however, kept the ghost of their previous shapes. She could spot the outline of trees in between the wreckage, or a glimpse of a boat pulled onto shore, or the uneven slats of a rotting wood cabin. 

The focus was clearly on the natural world, on the flora that surrounded them, but the last image was different. To someone unfamiliar with Wayhaven it would have looked like another mess of ink spots and smears, but to Dorotea it was clear as day. 

The town square was largely faded and pulled apart into abstraction, but Dorotea had stood in this very spot enough times to know what every shaky line meant. That was Hayley’s bakery, the window decorated with painted-on snowflakes, willing winter to come on time. And there was Paul’s car, with his bent side view mirror that Dorotea had reminded him of countless times. There was the little library, the librarian’s shadow in the window, and the post office, the tiny grocery store.

It was Wayhaven in all its messy, ruined glory. Dorotea put the other photographs down on the table, keeping the last one in her hand. She held her arm straight out, switching from squinting at the photo to the wall behind it as she slowly spun around. At last she found a spot that satisfied her. Yes, it would be perfect. 

She’d clear that section of wall tomorrow, after a shower and a meal and some heavy sleep. And she’d have to get it framed before she could hang up.

Dorotea shucked off her boots and went about her tasks with a soft smile, ready for whatever tomorrow might bring.

[lavalamphoarder]

lord have mercy I FINISHED IT YAYYY🎉🎉🎉

Some fanart of @blackkatdraws’s Narrator, Black!! I’ve been wanting to draw him for a while and got smacked with some sudden motivation this weekend, so here we are! :] His color palette and design are so nice, I had a blast with this

[speckled-biscut]

DAY ONE- KNIGHT!

[clerichs-xi]

klaus when he trolls the guy he's protecting/crushing on only to realize his crush really is that out of his depth

[sakras]

[skyblueartt]

Me when life

[mozzarellamint]

started that jet set radio future game. its pretty fun

[silvermizuki]

So normal about this comic page I'm making yup mhm yeah

[skeletons-in-ur-closet]

HOWWWW HAVE I SPENT 500 THIS MONTH ALREADY

[elmuvahva]

RAHHHHH ITS DONE ITS HERE

I THOUGHT ID GIVE YOU GUYS THE FINAL AUDIO INSTEAD OF MAKING YOU WAIT FOR THE YOUTUBE UPLOAD BC EDITING IS A BITCH AND KNOWING MYSELF IT WILL TAKE A WHILE LMAO

but anywho i hope you like it bc i love it ahhhh im so proud!!

big thanks to @somerandomdudelmao for making such a cool series that managed to pull me out of my writers block LMAO

i'll post again when i make the video and it goes up spotify, but for now... i sleep :>

EDIT: TOTALLY FORGOT TO ASK BUT WHAT SHOULD I CALL IT? PLS GIVE ME IDEAS IM SO STUCK

[dirtyvulture]

Darkest Knight - Part 2

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Mutant!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Summary: You meet a pretty woman in a bar...

Word count: 4954

AN: Click here for Part 1!

Thanks to everyone who read and interacted with Part 1. Things get a little wild in this one...

“I should have never come here,” Natasha cries. “You don’t deserve this, after everything you’ve done for me–”

“I can help you,” you insist. “Please, Nat. Just tell me who they are–”

She looks up at you, and even in the darkness the fear in her eyes is unmissable.

“The Red Room.”

The words send physical shivers down your spine. They weren’t ones you had expected to ever hear again, and you were shocked that this woman knew of its existence, let alone escaped. Now, you can fully sympathize with and understand her fear.

“Put your shoes on. We’ll go out the back door. Hurry.” You speak in short but commanding sentences, directing Natasha into the kitchen. The pounding on the door escalates to heavy, inconsistent thuds, and you know the “officers” are using their battering ram now. Luckily, you had assembled this cabin yourself, board by board, with the door built of solid oak, so that would buy you some precious time.

You stop at the freezer to grab a plastic bag that Natasha doesn’t even look at. She’s staring at the back door, practically shaking with fear, and anger fills you so suddenly you can’t see. But you can’t slip into one of your rages now, not with Natasha being in such close proximity and having no idea what you’re actually capable of. If she knew who you really were, what you were, she’d run happily into the Red Room goons’ arms and beg them to take her away from you. 

On the other side of the back door, you hear the crunch of boots on fresh snow, the anxious heartbeats, and the pump of a shotgun.

You don’t have any time to warn Natasha before you jump in front of her, shielding her body with yours just in time as a round of buckshot blasts through the door into your chest. The pain is like an explosion that takes your breath away, but luckily darkness engulfs you before it becomes overbearing.

Natasha screams when your weight falls back into her. You are ridiculously, unexpectedly heavy, almost pinning her down, but she manages to scramble back in time, leaving you to thud onto the floor. She stares at your body in shock, where lead pellets are buried in your chest, blood seeping out to soak your layers of shirts. Natasha instinctively gravitates for you, trying to find an area to apply pressure so she can slow the bleeding. 

“Y/N, Y/N,” she whimpers, ignoring the fist punching through the weakened door and opening the lock from the outside. 

“Hey, I found her!”

“And you took out the other one!”

“Natalia…” someone says in a mocking voice. “Natalia, come home to us…”

Natasha’s head snaps up and adrenaline fills her veins as she blindly launches herself at the soldier who killed you. She tears the shotgun out of his hands and clubs him on the head with it, knocking him down and smashing the butt into his helmet’s face shield until it cracks. She hasn’t felt fury like this in a while, putting her in an almost euphoric state, but her focus is a concentrated pinpoint, and she doesn’t see the second soldier behind her pointing a gun at her head.

“RAHHHHH!” 

Natasha ducks, wondering if someone let a large animal into your home. She catches a flash of silver as the muzzle of the soldier’s gun falls harmlessly to the floor as if sliced right off. You’re back on your feet all of a sudden, teeth bared in a ferocious snarl, three silver, knife-like claws protruding from your knuckles. You slash at the soldier, tearing through his body armor effortlessly and puncturing his heart. He crumples next to his partner, who’s shaking in complete terror while crawling away from you.

“Don’t look, Nat,” you growl and she turns away, flinching when she hears the man’s cut off scream. She jumps when you grab her shoulder, afraid that she’ll find herself on the other end of your knives, but you shake her gently. When she looks at you, your knives are gone and so are the buckshot holes in your chest. 

“How are you–What did you–” Natasha stammers.

“It’s okay,” you say, taking a step back from her when you sense her overwhelming levels of stress. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

Natasha slips her hand into her pocket, where your stolen pocket knife is. It would be like trying to fight you off with a toothpick, but Natasha Romanoff wasn’t one to go down without a fight.

“Nat, please. We can get away on my motorcycle. Come on.”

You’ve made no move to hurt her, keeping your hands where she can see them. Even though you had turned the Red Room soldiers into shish kabobs, you hadn’t let them suffer, taking them down with deadly accuracy and efficiency. Deep down, Natasha knows she can trust you, but her body is having a very resistant physical reaction to going with you. After all, anyone’s natural instinct would be to run very fast and far from away from a person who literally came back from the dead and mowed down two grown men with knives built into their arms. 

“Nat?” you prompt a final time, not sure what you’re going to do if she refuses to go with you. 

“Okay,” she says, wringing her hands together frantically. “I trust you.” 

It means more than you can explain that she’s put her faith in you and you lead her out of the bloodied kitchen. You race to the shed, where you tear off the padlock with your bare hands. There’s only one helmet, which you clasp around Natasha’s head. You throw one leg over the seat of your motorcycle and it sinks considerably under your weight. Natasha slides on behind you, wrapping her arms around your muscular torso, unable to resist the waves of body heat coming off of you.

She hardly notices the blistering wind as you take off into the forest, somehow finding your way around trees and rocks despite keeping the headlights off. Her fingers are clenched, almost frozen, to the plastic bag you had made such an effort to retrieve from the freezer. She has no interest in its contents now, clinging to you desperately and closing her eyes, hoping that when she opens them she’ll wake up from this nightmare.

You eventually turn the motorcycle onto a road and careen on. 

*********************************************************************** It’s probably not the wisest idea to stop at a motel, but you’re certain Natasha is still exhausted from the long night that’s not over, and you need some time to collect yourself. You park your motorcycle in the dirt lot and shake Natasha awake.

“We’ll stay here for a few hours, then keep moving,” you say, gently prying the plastic bag from her. Her hands are freezing and you feel awful for not taking care of her better. 

“But the men…they could catch up–”

“You need to get proper rest,” you interrupt. You’re not sure how many hours she had been awake before she met you at the bar, and while she’d already been looking better after dinner, you didn’t want to push her.

“This is too dangerous–” Natasha protests.

“They know you’re with me,” you say, and this quiets her. “So they’ll need to come up with a new plan if they want you.” You untwist the plastic bag, pulling out a soggy wad of cash. Her eyes grow wide. “This should keep us covered for a few days.” Then, you notice the rusty red splotches of dried blood splattered across your shirt. If you walk up to the front desk like this, the manager would call the cops. “Uh…shit.”

“Here.” Natasha takes her jacket off, despite your protests for her to keep it on, and she wraps the sleeves around your shoulders, carefully draping them in a way that hides the blood splatter. She fights back a visible shiver. “Much better.”

“Thanks. Let’s go quick,” you say, herding her into the tiny front office that barely fits the two of you side-by-side. “Two rooms,” you tell the pimply boy behind the dusty desk who smells like energy drinks and weed. 

“Huh?” he responds, blinking slowly at you.

“Two rooms. Please,” you say through your teeth, pulling out a few bills to show your commitment.

A long pause as you stare each other down.

“Uh, yeah we don’t have two rooms,” the boy says. “Just one–”

“That’s fine, then,” Natasha intervenes, as you can consider hefting the kid over your shoulder and dragging him out to the dumpster around the corner. “We’ll take whatever you have left.”

“Sure.”

You reluctantly hand over the deposit and he disappears into the back room to find the keys. Mumbling under your breath about the lack of hiring standards, you rub absently at your chest and Natasha looks at you in concern.

“You okay?” she whispers.

“Yeah.” You drop your hand back to your side. “Probably gonna cough up some buckshot later, to be honest.”

Natasha doesn’t know if she should laugh or leave. “How did you…” she trails off, searching for the right words.

“Heal so fast?” you supply. “Always have. I was literally just…born that way.”

“And the…” Natasha gestures to her own hands and forearms. 

“Claws?” you finish. “Been with me since the beginning, too.” Your answers are vague, almost useless in the new number of questions they spark, but Natasha knows now is not the time. The boy finally returns with a key hooked to rabbit’s foot, which you accept with a very judgemental scowl, but are very glad to finally be on your way to some privacy for the night.

***********************************************************************

Natasha startles awake, trying to piece together the traumatic memories of the past eight hours into a coherent storyline. She’s alone in the motel room, her anxiety skyrocketing at the thought that you might have ditched her, when the door creaks open and you step back in. You’re wearing new clothes and holding a crumpled white bag stained with grease. 

“Did you sleep okay?” you grunt, tossing the bag onto the bed by her feet. “I got you some breakfast. It’s probably shit, but everything else nearby is closed.”

“Thanks.” Natasha reaches for the bag, despite having almost no appetite. She takes out one of the sandwiches, but can’t bring herself to take a bite. “Y/N, I think we need to get moving again. We’ve hung around for too long–”

“Eat your damn sandwich, then we’ll leave,” you gruff, and it’s almost endearing to Natasha how grumpy and thoughtful you can be at the same time. “But you know, we can’t keep running forever.”

“We can run far enough,” she insists. You don’t respond and Natasha realizes you’re waiting for her to take a bite of her egg and sausage sandwich. Fighting back a smile of amusement, she nibbles off the edge of the dry muffin and you nod in satisfaction. 

“Look Nat, I want to help you. You know that, right? But I’m…familiar…with these Red Room goons and–” Her eyebrows shoot up as she keeps chewing. “That’s another story for another day.”

“Did you escape from them, too?” Natasha asks, her eyes wide. 

“Well, not exactly. But I know who they are. What they are. And what they do to women like you.”

Natasha tenses suddenly, sensing judgment from you. She’s ready to defend herself, that she didn’t let them break her or keep her hostage, when you add, “They should be burned to the ground. Just a bunch of psychopathic perverts.” She laughs out loud, startling you because you weren’t even trying to make a joke, but you let out a snort. 

“But they’re a damn smart bunch of perverts,” you continue. “And you know we can’t take them alone. I have some old friends that can help us. I’ll take you to them.”

“More old friends? Like the one who’s clothes I’m wearing?” Natasha says, wanting to join in on the lighter mood, but she immediately regrets so when she sees the sadness cloud your face.

“Not like that,” you murmur. “She would’ve helped us, though. But she’s gone now, so…”

Natasha doesn’t know what to say, guilt gnawing at her stomach for making such an unnecessary joke.

“They’re in New York. It’s been a while since I last saw them, but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind us stopping by,” you say to break the silence. “They’d help us without question.”

“Even against…the Red Room?”

“They’d have those Red Room schmucks for breakfast,” you chortle, the mood lightening once more. The knot in Natasha’s stomach loosens, and she takes another bite of the sandwich. “But it’s gonna take us a while to get there. And we’ll probably need a car…”

“I’ll handle it,” Natasha volunteers.

You look at her with a raised eyebrow, challenging but curious. “Okay. We’ll go when you’re done eating.”

***********************************************************************

While you clear out the motel room of all your tracks, Natasha triumphantly returns with the keys to a large blue Ram truck. You’re sad to leave your motorcycle behind, but it’s served you well, so you take it for one final ride to a strip mall, Natasha following in her menacing blue truck. You park in a shaded corner, saying good-bye with a caress to the faded leather seat, then join Natasha in the truck. 

With good weather and little traffic, the drive would take about 40 hours. And even though you’d be able to make the entire drive yourself with minimal stops, Natasha won’t let you. It’s a long first day, stopping for more junk food and bathroom breaks. You buy a phone from a gas station to text your contact in Westchester, and in the few responses you share, they seem eager for your arrival despite your circumstances. 

Another night is spent at a shoddy motel, and this time you don’t automatically ask for separate rooms. Natasha seems comfortable in your presence–tolerant, at the very least–and you’re starting to enjoy her company too. She keeps to herself for the most part and even though you can feel her studying you sometimes, she doesn’t ask anything inappropriate. She also tries to take care of you, though you think of yourself as the last person who needs it, but it’s cute how she picks up on your favorite gas station snacks (the jerky and Snickers bars) and buys you extra packets behind your back, and she offers to drive almost every time the two of you get back into the truck.

So on the third and final day of your trip, when Natasha begs to make a stop at a mall in Ohio, you agree, mostly because you know how happy it will make her. While the mall itself is disappointingly unimpressive, Natasha has the biggest smile as she drags you around under the pretense that she wants to find some clothing that wasn’t bought from a gas station, but she tries to browse every store, commenting which retailers have taken the old spots of familiar locations from her childhood. 

“Try this one on,” Natasha says, thrusting yet another checkered flannel shirt at you.

“They all look the same,” you grumble, feeling that you may be colorblind because you can’t tell what’s different about the prior three she’s made you try. 

“No, this one goes better with your eyes,” she says, her cheeks suddenly turning red when she realizes what she’s said.

You grin at her. “Then I’ll buy this one.”

You proudly wear the shirt out of the store, sneaking a glance to see Natasha’s expression and she does seem even more excited than when you first arrived at the mall. For lunch, you stop in the food court, and while you’re wolfing down a triple-patty burger with frightening intensity, Natasha suddenly reaches across the table and grabs your hand.

“What?” You stop mid-bite.

“Behind you,” she hisses.

Wiping grease off your chin, you drop your shoulder and turn your head subtly. But you know immediately who Natasha’s referring to. A woman with long black hair tied into an immaculate ponytail, not a single stray hair flying about, wearing a black overcoat and gloves, strides towards the food court with purposeful, powerful steps. You recognize her posture, her outfit, and the cold, emotionless expression on her face. 

“Holy shit,” you mumble. “They sent a Widow after us.” 

“We have to go!” Natasha tries yanking up but she isn’t strong enough. “How do you think she found us?”

“They’ve probably been tracking us the whole time,” you say, sad to leave the remainder of your meal. “They were just waiting for the right time to strike.” It’s hard to walk fast without making it obvious that you’re running from someone. You offer Natasha your hand and she takes it without hesitation. You drag her along a little, urging her without words. “It’ll be fine, Nat. We’ll take care of her and keep moving.”

“We shouldn’t have stopped here. This was all my stupid idea,” she says. 

“It wasn’t a stupid idea. I liked it.”

If the two of you weren’t running from a Widow, Natasha would have stopped and hugged you. Although she hasn’t known you for more than four days, she feels completely safe with you and has a deep admiration for you. You’ve never prodded about her past, you’ve never judged from where she came from. While you’re not such an open book yourself, Natasha can see how much you’ve relaxed around her from your first meeting. She likes your calmness, your willingness to drop literally everything in your life for her, with no expectation of anything in return. She’s never met someone like you before but hopes that you’ll let her stay around even after this mess is cleaned up. 

“Go this way,” you say, nudging Natasha into a maintenance corridor, having seen a sign for roof access on one of the walls. At least you could take care of the Widow without worrying about innocent casualties–assuming there weren’t more hiding up there. “Take the stairs,” you instruct Natasha, pushing her into the stairwell.

“I hope you don’t expect me to jump from the roof,” she replies.

“Well, if we have to, I’ll jump first and catch you,” you quip, but there is no time for her to linger on your comment. She dashes up the three flights of stairs with lightning speed, while you lumber up behind her.

“The door’s locked,” she says, stopping in her tracks.

“Move.” Your middle claw rips out of your hand and you slide it between the jamb and wall to cut the lock. Throwing your weight against the door, it pops open easily and you stumble out into the unusually bright outside. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Just hide somewhere and wait.”

Natasha is skeptical of your plans, not wanting to be caught in a dead end with another Widow, but she hurries towards an air conditioning unit. When she turns around, she sees you’re not following her and are facing the roof access door, your claws sliding out as the Widow makes her appearance, now wearing a gas mask.

“Y/N!” Natasha screams with no other way to stop you.

The Widow tosses a metal canister that immediately releases a thick, white fog. It hides the Widow and worse, burns your eyes until they water and destroys your sense of smell with a piercing, peppery odor.

“Shit.” You drop onto your belly, searching for a breathable pocket of air. You hear another canister clang to the ground, spreading the white fog farther and farther. As you crawl to where you think Natasha is taking cover, the unmistakable pops of gunfire ring through your skull. 

Your sense of sight, smell, and now sound are completely unreliable and fear ices your veins as you think about Natasha’s safety. But she’s also a Widow herself, so you’ll have to trust that she can handle herself while you figure out the way to her. You force yourself up, wiping snot on the sleeves of your new flannel and hunkering down, focusing hard to feel the vibrations of movement on the roof. You pivot left, inching forward cautiously. The faint click of a rifle trigger alerts you and you lash out with your claws, slicing uselessly through the fog. But it was nothing but a ruse, as the Widow comes up behind you and stabs you in the neck with a pronged instrument that sends hundreds of volts of electricity through your body. Your muscles seize and you collapse to the ground, seizing uncontrollably.

You’re pretty sure you’ve bitten your tongue off as blood fills your mouth and you start choking, unable to roll to your side to cough it out. The Widow points the muzzle of her at your face, pressing the cold metal tip to your forehead. You bare your teeth in a vicious snarl, wishing you could will control back into your body to slash her throat out.

“Good night, mutt,” the Widow says. 

***********************************************************************

Natasha tucks her mouth and nose into her elbow, charging into the fog while wielding the tiny pocket knife she stole from your apartment. She tackles the Widow with her full bodyweight, puncturing the blade through her vest deep enough that the Widow screams, dropping her gun.  Knocking off the Widow’s mask and pulling her into a tight headlock, Natasha squeezes her arms as tight as she can, counting the number of seconds it takes before the assassin finally stops struggling and slumps to the ground. With watering eyes from the gas, Natasha strips the Widow of her equipment, despite knowing that at her peak, her bare hands would be deadly enough weapons. The gas starts to spread further and further and Natasha can finally see your convulsing body. 

She runs over to you, tentatively yanking the taser out of your neck. You take a huge breath of air, rolling to your side and coughing hard. 

“Thanks,” you mutter as your tongue grows back. Shakily you get to your feet, touching the side of your neck and feeling the jagged openings left by the taser slowly closing. “Where is she? I’m gonna–”

“No. Let’s go,” Natasha intervenes, grabbing onto a handful of your shirt to stop you, like you’re a dog on a leash. You push her away, stomping over to where the Widow is lying motionless. Your claws pop out. She won’t feel anything. 

“Y/N, STOP!” Natasha yells and you freeze, turning to glare at her. 

“They sent her to kill us,” you seethe.

“But she’s not herself,” Natasha begs. “She’s being controlled. You know that. Please don’t kill her. She was just…She was just following orders.”

You clench your fist, the muscles in your forearm rippling as you retract your claws. Natasha gulps and takes a visible step back from you. She’s never seen such rage in your features before, not that it would be unwarranted, but it almost seems like you’re on the verge of completely losing control. Your expression twitches when you smell the fear rolling off Natasha in waves. She’s not afraid of the Widow anymore. She’s afraid of you. 

“Fine. Sorry,” you grunt, backing up. You want to put your claws down your throat for scaring her like this. Your whole life you had fought to convince everyone that you were more than the animal you were born to be. It always felt like a losing battle. 

“No, I’m sorry,” Natasha says. “I said something that upset you.”

“Is that mine?” You’re suddenly distracted by the sight of a small knife poking out of the Widow’s side.

“Uh…” Natasha glances at you sheepishly. “I thought it would come in handy eventually.”

“Hmm.” You don’t dwell on it though, having other things to worry about. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

The parking lot is a jumbled mess as people hurry to leave as emergency vehicles enter the premises. You keep your head down, hoping you’re moving fast enough for no one to notice the few stains of blood on your collar. Natasha races to keep pace with you. She’s barely able to jump into the truck in time before you have it in drive, speeding out of the parking lot. 

“Thank you,” Natasha finally whispers as you merge onto the highway.

“For what?” you grunt, your knuckles clenched tightly around the steering wheel.

“For not killing her.”

You make another grunting noise.

“You know she doesn’t deserve that.”

“It’s not about what she deserves,” you snarl. “She was there to kill me and take you back to the Red Room. Which she failed to do. So if anything, the Red Room will probably kill her–”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Natasha interjects. “The Widows are huge investments. That’s why they want me alive.”

“Well, they don’t really seem to care if you get in their crosshairs of trying to kill me.” You don’t like how your words come out, but it’s too late to take them back now. You know none of this is Natasha’s fault–you were the one who willingly came to her aid, who insisted on driving her across the country, who offered your own friends to help. 

“You don’t deserve this either.” Natasha’s voice drops. She sounds small, and when you side-eye her, she’s curled up in her seat in a way that makes her look small too. You frown. “You were just trying to be a decent person, and now you’ve had your life threatened several times, you had to leave your home, you’re being chased across the country–”

“Stop it,” you interrupt. “If this is the consequences of my actions, then so be it. I’d do it again a thousand times for you. Because you’re worth it.”

“I am?” Natasha looks at you in disbelief, partially because this is the most emotional she’s ever heard you and partially because she wonders if this is you admitting you have feelings for her.

“Yes,” you confirm, giving her a slight smirk before focusing on the road. 

***********************************************************************

The final stretch of the drive is rough, but you make it. It’s nighttime now and exhaustion weighs on your shoulders from the entire day’s events. You shake Natasha awake as you park on the driveway.

“We’re here,” you say, cutting the lights and turning off the engine. Natasha gets out of the car, gaping at the enormous mansion you’ve stopped in front of. As you walk with her up to the front door, she stops to read the plaque.

“‘Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters,’” she says. “Hang on, this place is a school? Why would you bring us here? You’re putting children in danger, Y/N–”

“Hold on,” you cut her off. “The kids and staff here? They’re just like me.”

“Just like you? Meaning–” Before Natasha can finish her sentence, the front doors swing open and a woman with spiky gray hair appears, throwing herself at you.

“Y/N!” she cries.

“Hey, Ororo,” you mumble, returning her hug with a little less passion. “Sorry to arrive so late. Ran into a little trouble earlier…”

“You made it safely and that’s all that matters.” She pats your shoulders affectionately. “Hi there. I’m Ororo,” the woman introduces herself to Natasha, awkwardly standing off to your side. “But the kids around here call me Storm.”

“I’m Natasha.”

“Please, come in. It’s freezing and I know you’ve both been on the road for days,” Ororo invites. “Your room is all prepped, Y/N.”

You hadn’t even thought to ask her for another guest room, but you have a feeling Natasha won’t mind sharing again. You gesture for her to enter the mansion first. She seems in awe, and a little overwhelmed, that this building had been converted into a boarding school. Maybe later you’ll take her to the basements to show her the other half of the school. 

A man wearing ruby sunglasses despite the midnight hour stands at the bottom of the staircase, a beautiful red-headed woman by his side.

“Jean,” you breathe, almost frozen in her presence.

“Hi, Y/N,” Jean says in a sultry voice that makes your heart beat embarrassingly faster. Natasha feels a prick of jealousy when she sees the way you’re looking at this new woman. 

“Y/N!” the man barks.

“Good to see you too, Scott,” you add, not noticing the way Natasha moves closer to you, almost brushing against your arm. “This is Nat. She’s been traveling with me for the past few days, and–”

“You’re the one who escaped the Red Room,” Scott says, and Natasha cringes.

“Yeah, she is,” you answer, annoyed by his tone of voice.

“And how do we know that we can trust her?” Scott asks.

“Because I trust her.”

There’s a pause while Scott accepts this answer. 

“I just finished heating dinner up for you two. It’s in the kitchen,” Ororo interrupts. She’s the only one thrilled to host guests, you think. 

“Thanks, Ro,” you say.

“Well now that you’re back, Y/N, we actually need a substitute P.E. teacher tomorrow morning,” Scott teases, his arm going around Jean’s waist. “How about filling in, for old time’s sake?”

You raise your arm, extending the middle claw only. Everyone howls in laughter.

“Put that away,” Ororo chastises. “Come and eat now, before the food goes cold.”

You and Natasha start walking after her, but you stop when you hear the whir of wheels, an older bald man zipping up to you in a wheelchair. 

“Professor,” you greet, for the first time taking the initiative to hug, leaning down to embrace him. “Thanks for helping us out. We really appreciate it.”

The man smiles, a twinkle in his eye. “Of course. Welcome back, Y/N.”

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

AN: Click here for Part 3!

Hopefully, going to the X-Men was a wise decision on R's part...

Let me know what you think. :) Please leave likes, comments, and reblogs.

[jwonsite]

STOP I JUST JAD THIS THOUGHT IM DEAD

thinking about how you'd randomly have the urge to suck jungwons dick, like out of nowhere.

you've never done it before so when you ask jungwon he gets surprised..

“Are you sure?”

you didn't want to back out, you really wanted to do it do you'd get onto your knees infront of him, surprising jungwon.

“Please.”

about 5 minutes later, his cock was twitching in your hands, his pink tip glistening from the kitten licks you've given it.

AA PLEASE CONTINUE THIS I DON'T HAVE THE BRAIN TO 😭

RAHHHHH ANON UR BRAIN I WANNA GIVE IT A KISS MWAH. i saw this ask while i was in the car w my mom i had to stop myself from giggling so she didn’t ask me what i was looking at💀💀

you and him would just be sitting on the couch, him facing forward while you sat with your legs over his lap, watching some random show he put on. jungwon was super immersed in the show, while you couldn’t care less, more distracted by the growing heat between your legs

you don’t know why you’re getting like this, but the whole day you couldn’t stop thinking about your boyfriend and his beautiful body

it’s not like you guys haven’t done anything before; you’ve had many heated make out sessions seated on his lap, and he’s even fingered you a couple times, but nothing more than that

you couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to suck his dick. it always looked so big and pretty in the outline of his sweatpants, it almost made you dizzy anytime he walked around the house so nonchalantly, having no idea what he was doing to you

you stared at your boyfriend, looking at his side profile as his watched whatever was on the tv. you contemplated asking him to let you suck him off, but you weren’t sure. you hadn’t done it before and didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, especially since its so out of the blue. while you were lost in thought, jungwon turned to look at you after feeling your gaze on him

“what’re you thinking about pretty girl?” he asks, snapping you out of your thoughts with a sweet smile

your eyes widened a bit after getting caught staring, before offering him a smile back

“nothing, just how pretty you are” you say, bringing your hand up to caress his cheek

he blushes a bit at this, the tips of his ears turning red as he giggles, turning away from you in embarrassment

he goes back to watching the show, his hand rubbing small circles on your legs. you continued to stare at him as you finally spoke up about what was on your mind

“won”

“hm?”

“i wanna suck your dick”

he whips his head to look at you with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape

“what did you just say?” he says in a whisper, almost like he’s scared you’ll repeat it. you become embarrassed at his reaction, thinking you made him uncomfortable

“nothing, sorry. nevermind” you say, voice and face filled with embarrassment as you moved to get up from the couch

before you could walk away he grabbed your hand. you looked back at him to see what he was going to say

“no baby that’s not what i meant, i was just- suprised is all. you caught me off guard. i didn’t mean to embarrass you” he says softly, intertwining your hands as you stood between his legs, him still sitting on the couch

“just- are you sure?” he asks, still holding your hand, looking up at you with the most caring eyes in the world

“please wonnie” you say, small pout on your face as you lowered yourself to your knees in front of him

“fuck, love you have no idea how long i’ve been waiting for this” he says as he runs his thumb over your cheek

you begin palming him through his sweatpants, growing wetter as you listen to his pretty noises

after palming him for some time, you feel his fully hard dick begging to be released from the confines of his pants

“please baby, stop teasing” he whines, throwing his head back

you lean down to give his dick a kiss over the thin fabric of his sweatpants, before reaching your hands to the waistband of his pants, pulling them down as his lift his ass up a bit to allow you to get them down

you practically moan at the sight, being met with his pretty cock as he wasn’t wearing any underwear

“no underwear wonnie? you must’ve really been waiting for me” you say, licking your lips before you bring your hands to wrap around his length

jungwon groaned at the contact, throwing his head back

you rubbed his tip, loving the moans he was making as you teased him. his moans were always so pretty, feeling the heat in your stomach grow as you listened

finally, you took his cock into your mouth, licking all the way from the base to the tip. you may have never done this before but you’ve heard about a few tips and tricks

taking the base of his dick into your hand, you moved up and down as you continued to suck and kitty lick his tip

at this point, he was a moaning mess from the new sensation. he tangled his fingers into your hair, pushing your head gently

after you finished your teasing, you finally took his dick into your mouth, pushing your head down until your nose touched his base. he groaned loudly, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling slightly. you were slightly embarrassed on how much that turned you on. you gagged as his cock hit the back of your throat, squeezing your eyes shut as they started to water

"fuck love, you look so pretty gagging on my dick like that" jungwon says as he pushed your head down again, loving the way you were taking him in your mouth

you moaned around his dick sending vibrations through it, making jungwon buck his hips. you could tell he was getting closer to coming as his legs started to twitch and he continued to buck his hips up, shoving his dick further into your throat

you continued messily bobbing you head over his length, tears prodding the corners of your eyes as you dug your nails into his thighs

"oh shit- im close baby please dont stop" he moaned out, hand still securely in your hair

you sped up your pace, taking him as fast and as deep as you can while one of your hand reached to fondle his balls. this sent jungwon over the egde, moaning loudly as his hips bucked up into your throat frantically, shooting his load straight down you throat

you continued sucking until you had gathering every drop of cum he had, opening your mouth to show him his load on your tongue before swallowing it all, licking your lips after

he reached down and pulled you up to his lips, kissing you deeply. he could still taste his cum on your tongue and he swears it almost made him hard again. you pulled away, looking at him with a smile

"you're so perfect, my love" he says, pressing your foreheads together so the tips of your noses were touching

"i love you, won" you said in a whisper

"i love you more, princess" he says back, pressing another quick kiss to your lips

you sit back down next to him as he pulled up his pants before trying to cuddle into his side, but he quickly stopped you before you could get too comfortable

"you thought we were finished? oh no pretty girl, were just getting started"

an: ahhhh stop guys this ask was so🥰🥰🥰🥰 i literally loved writing it. i hope you guys enjoy this, it was a bit rushed but i actually kinda like it!!

[revelboo]

RAHHHHH the rammatra fic outta nowhere had me going ʕʘ‿ʘʔ

(Tbh I think he and genji were my gateway drug to robots)

Absolutely scrumptious as always

Anti-Gravity Pt 2

Ramattra x Reader

• Ankle screaming when you put weight on it, you use the length of rebar like a cane to pick your way closer to the pinned Omnic. He still has one good arm, so you’ll need to be quick. Drive that rebar deep as you can, through that baleful optic and out the other side. Omnic aren’t people, they’re not alive, just a clever impersonation of it. Except. You remember months ago, getting caught on the outskirts of a mob running down a lone Omnic. Watching them pull it to the ground, but doing nothing to stop them. It wasn’t your problem, you just wanted to go home. But it hadn’t begged or pleaded with its attackers. All it had said while it still could speak was that it was ‘seen in the light of the Iris.’ Like it believed it was more than just a machine. Raising the rebar, you stare down at it. Him, Ramattra. A machine. Just a machine.

• Servos curling in a fist, he tiredly watches the human poised to attack him. One side of your face smeared with blood from a sluggishly bleeding wound at your temple. Baring your teeth at him, rocking forward, but faltering. And your hands are shaking as you make to lunge and then stop yourself again. Finally meeting his optics. “You’re a monster,”you tell him, voice tired as you slump down on a pile of rubble nearby. Above the two of you something shifts and dirt patters down. He understands that hate in your eyes, but your mercy takes him by surprise. “You deserve to die,” you add, voice angry now. At him or yourself?

• “If I’m a monster, it’s because your kind gave me no choice,” that low, digitized voice growls as he tries to drag himself more upright before giving up. Head tipping back to stare at the rubble above them and you follow his stare even as his words whisper through you. Make you think of that Omnic dying for no reason at all, torn apart by that mob. What had it even done? Just been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Dared to exist?

• Growling softly, he knows that if they start messing with the debris above, it’s likely to come down and your mercy will mean very little when you’re both crushed. “There’s always a choice,” you counter, rolling up your pant leg to gingerly prod at your ankle and he watches your little shoulders hunch. From above, there’s another shower of dirt and rocks, the drip of water becoming a steady stream from a busted pipe.

• You’re afraid to take off your sneaker and see how bad it really is. Afraid you won’t be able to get the show back on if you do. The only thing you’re certain of it’s that you can’t stay here. You’re not sure if you’re in the sewer or in some kind of maintenance tunnel, but you don’t want it to become your tomb.

• “Your naïveté will get you killed,” he growls, watching you turn your attention back to him. To his trapped leg. While you can still walk, he can’t. Not alone. Doesn’t have the energy to swap back to nemesis form to try and free himself, too damaged to risk it. Ignoring you since you’re apparently not going to try and end him right this moment, he tries to free his pinned lower leg. Tensing when you limp over and drive that rebar under the broken wall crushing him and pushing down on it like a fulcrum. Too small to budge it at all, but still trying. Above them something creaks and scrapes. How long? Minutes or hours? And he follows your attention when it drifts toward the dark tunnel. “You can’t see in the dark, but I can. Find something sharp. Metal.”

• You stare at him, attention drifting back to his lower leg. Knowing you’re not going to get him free in time, but he’s right. It’s pitch deeper in and the only light is coming through the shifting rubble. You’ll never find a way out without him. Limping sends jagged shards of pain through your leg and knee, but you find something useable and carry it over. Feeling oddly squeamish as he positions it against the joint of his knee and you realize what he wants. Just a machine, you remind yourself as he tries to saw at the joint, making a low, snarling sound of very real pain. And you grab the sides of the metal fragment and drive it down. Again and again, feeling the edges biting into your palm. It takes both of you to sever the lower half of his leg and your palms are cut up and sticky with blood as you offer him a hand. “You’re still a monster,” you tell him as he lurches unsteadily upright with only one leg and one arm. Skin crawling as he leans on you and nearly knocks you both down with his weight. He’s silent as you grit your teeth and start moving, letting him use you for balance. Because even if he’s a monster, he doesn’t deserve to die like this. No one does.

Previous

Next

[kath-trashh]

when artemy was talking about that damn wound burning he was talking about MY HEADACHE RAHHHHH its done though

[peachyfnaf]

gamers its like 11 in the morning and im being unwell over nexus again /pos

They are just a walking tragedy and I love it. They have been pushed and pulled in every which way since creation, a ticking time-bomb made for the narrative to string along with promises of being enough, like a pig being led by a carrot on a stick. They make me JKFHSDF RAHHHHH

From the moment since being made they had to fill Old Moon's shoes. Whether or not the other celestial's wanted them to do that didn't matter to them because that's what Nexus felt like they had to do. They had to live in Old Moon's shadow and walk along the path his much bigger footsteps treaded, even if he has no idea how. And he has to do all that while still being better then him, in almost every way.

And things were going well, for a while!!!

But then Solar died. His chosen Sun. (and Nexus' and Sun's relationship w one another is a wholeee other thing I could get into because I also need to study that like a bug under a microscope kfhdsffs). So, as any Moon does when they lose their Sun, he started spiraling.

And he wasn't going to ask for help- no other Moon he's seen asks for help. Why would he ask for help?? Besides, he doesn't want to burden the other's with his problems when they're obviously suffering from Solar's death, too. And ofc Dark Sun was prolly doing something at this time as well- the hallucinations conveniently starting when Nexus was starting to tip, Dark Sun putting those virus chip things in Eclipse's/Ruin's heads, Nexus being open and vulnerable whenever he went to visit Old Moon in his head for the first time, the perfect timing of Dark Sun being there to scoop up Nexus at his lowest moment, when he was alone and floating in space.

AND now what Nexus is doing now. How do I word what I wanna say about him... He is like a walking unhealthy coping mechanism. Ik a lot of people (me included) have said they can relate to Nexus in some way, and what is going on rn truly makes me think of a "What If" scenario, a "What If" of what if everyone who relates to him chose to cope in a much worse way instead. He is choosing to do the wrong thing because it makes him feel free. Because it brings him comfort, in a way where he doesn't have to feel remorse about what he's done and what he's going to do. He is, to be blunt, going apeshit.

AND I LOVE IT BECAUSE WHO HASN'T WANTED TO GO APESHIT IN THEIR LIFE BEFORE??? He is making the wrong choices. And I want him to be stopped from doing that. I want him to be saved. I don't care if it's Solar or Sun or Ruin or whoever else, I want him to be smacked in the face with being alone again after Dark Sun inevitably betrays/abandoned/leaves him, and I want his ass to be scooped up and dragged back into the family kicking and screaming. And I want apologies from all sides, because while Nexus fucked up, so did the celestial's in their own way. I want him to feel the hurt he caused by betraying the family. And I want the family to feel the hurt they caused by locking him in a cage and throwing him into space. I want them all to feel regret and remorse for things they've done and can never take back.

Oh and I want him to cry. points at nexus. wail, motherfucker /aff

[scikeyuri]

SCIKE

ship it

1. what made you ship it?

tbh ive always liked toxic ships i just never embraced it due to all of the fandoms i was a part of before td had no media literacy or nuance so if you ever shipped anything that didnt fit peoples impossible standards of cutsey uwu smol beans who have zero problems youd be compared to people who shipped literal illegal and disgusting shit which i very much do not appreciate due to some prior experiences with those type of people that im not gonna get into just know it traumatized me so yeah maybe dont compare me to those type of people that i hate with a burning passion lol

ik that wasnt much of a why i do but the answer is simple besides me saying the obvious stuff that goes for basically all ships and i really just wanted to finally rant about that lol 💀

2. what are your favorite things about the ship?

this could be argued that this has nothing to do with the ship buttttt the fellow shippers ive met multiple people who are pretty cool and nice and who became my mooties all because we loved our little toxic boys 🫶

and the fact the ship has really brought out the worst in mike and really leaves no room for woobification like let that man go ham!!!

most of the things i could list are less about the ship canonically and more about what people have done with it and man people are so creative and aaaaa its so nice but tbf thats also the case for most queer ships cause yknow the show doesnt care about us stop pretending it does lol

3. is there an unpopular opinion you have with this ship?

shipping it is the unpopular opinion lol just cause i said this fandom has more media literacy and nuance doesnt mean EVERYONE has it lol theres still people who are pulling the shit i explained in the first answer lol (proof being that one ask i got that one time)

other than that dont really have any

anyways scike takeover 2024 RISE WHERES YOUR ANGER WHERES YOUR RAGE RAHHHHH