#It's a red vial because idk I thought about it for too long | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anthonyed · 4 years

Note

Kissing prompts (gosh, i love em all): 45 and buckytony?

The only thing that came into my mind when I read the prompt was: 'losing you would be my villain story' trope. So remember that ficlet where Tony was scared to hug Bucky cause he won't be able to let go? Well this is from that verse. And I tried my best to execute it (don't know if I succeeded) and here it is:

idk how part of my reply got injected into the ask box but the link in there is click-able for the verse of the following story.

(from this list: Kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa, or bed.)

tw: blood, violence, mentions of body mutilation (basically a decapitated head that’s all)

-//-

Bucky’s already in the cradle when he lands; still clad in armour from neck down and he heads straight to where Helen Cho stands, manning the machine.

“Talk to me.” He orders, not bothering with manners, voice still battle-strained and he’d apologize to her later, buy her a bouquet or something but for now -

“How is he?”

Cho looks ill when she smiles, mouth working around dull words; if she was going for reassurance, it sure looks terrible on her face.

“Pending on the prognosis. Multiple organ laceration; I just drained his pericardial sac and stabilised his heart -,”

Tony grabs her by the shoulders, he doesn’t want to hear what more medical words she has to throw on him. He says what he needs her to do: “Save him.”

She opens her mouth, and he can already hear bullshit coming forth, “I can’t guarantee you anything at this point. I’m doing my part, his body is doing it’s -,” she wavers, her lashes flutter and then something shifts in her.

“Mr Stark. You have to understand -,” she starts in a practiced cold tone and Tony, he cannot deal with this now.

Gauntleted fingers dig into her lab-coat clad frame, and he shakes her once before they’re quickly intercepted.

Natasha’s cool gaze is fixed on him steadily even if she’s holding onto Helen Cho, six feet away from him. There’s someone arresting his arms from behind but he doesn’t care who, doesn’t put up a fight; that’s not why he’s here.

He needs Cho to know her priority. “I don’t care what it costs.” he looks into her eyes and tells her. This is between them and they both know what he means; there’s a vial of perfected extremis in the vault behind the wall. “I need you to save him. Do you understand?”

Helen Cho blinks, comprehension dawning upon her before she suddenly looks sick; lips pressed tight like she’s holding back her words from him. Good, Tony doesn’t want to hear her preach ethical violation to him. But he keeps looking at her until she agrees; because she has to. She has to know that he needs Bucky alive. No bargains in that matter.

Finally, she nods, quickly once. “I’ll do my best.”

And Tony leaves her to it, putting all his trust on her and he doesn’t wait. He has somewhere else to be. He shakes off the hands holding him back, and it’s Steve; his voice echoes his march; a pleading cry of “Tony, don’t!”

Two hours later, he’s standing on the rubbles of what a HYDRA’s bunker used to be. The fat plop of dripping blood onto a blown out wooden plank under his feet slowly stirs him back to reality; wiping his vision off of its angry red and he computes the extent of the damage he’d done with a strange detachment.

For a minute, he stares at his right hand where the blood is dripping from; relaxed in posture, gauntlet still on, fingers fisting around a clump of hair from a decapitated head of someone whose face he recognized flashing on his HUD earlier that day. When he scanned for the bastard who fired that lethal shot.

Good, he thinks. Good riddance.

His right palm whirs, flashing warning in blue and the satisfaction from blowing that head is -

He pulls in a breath and looks skyward. Directs energy into his thrusters and he flies to another bunker.

And another.

Three days after, he plugs in the armour to charge in a shitty hotel and stares at himself in the mirror; blank face, shirtless with a bloody abdomen and a bruised shoulder.

They should have captured him long ago, he realises. He’s been going rogue all on his own, disconnected himself from the team and Rhodey and Pepper and he knows for sure that he’s breaking more law than he’d memorised twenty years ago. Somebody should have caught him; HYDRA or someone from WSC. Maybe even one of his teammates.

And yet here he is, still a free man, staining borrowed towels red from his first flesh wound since he started this vengeance streak.

Somehow, that just fuels him to keep going.

Steve finds him underground in Kazimierz and he isn’t even surprised.

“I was wondering when you’d come,” he says, ready to fight, expecting an arrest.

Steve, however, looks at him all pinched and that is even worse. Tony wants to tell him, no. Don’t show me that face. But he doesn’t have to because that look vanishes soon after and Steve nods tightly.

“If you’re doing this,” he says, “I’m coming with you.”

In retrospect, maybe Steve follows to keep him in line; if they catch someone alive, he’d say, “Let me deal,” and Tony lets him. He’d already destroyed the guy responsible, here forth if Steve wants to play saint and ease their death, he can go ahead and do it. Tony doesn’t care.

Two days later, he finds out what actually Steve wants. Catches Tony numb in the process of washing dirt and the inside of someone’s cheek - from when he’d hooked his fingers too deep - under his fingernails when Steve leans against the bathroom door and says,

“Come home, Tony.”

He turns off the tap and wipes his hands dry with a towel. There’s still something under his fingernails, unwashed, but he ignores that to ask Steve, “Is he awake?”

Steve couldn’t give him a straight answer so, Tony chucks the towel on the counter, walks past him into the room they're sharing for the night and nods at the bathroom when Steve turns to look at him. “It’s all yours now. Unless you’re leaving, then I suppose you’d prefer to shower at home.”

He tears open the bag of chips, guzzles down two bottles of water before he shoves a handful of bland chips into his mouth. He knows Steve’s still looking, but he avoids his gaze, anyway. Keeps shoving more chips into his mouth even though he’s close to choking and only when he hears the bathroom door close, he stops.

They burn the fifth centre to the ground and leave to Chukotsky District for the sixth.

They share a room in another motel that night, vodka warming their insides and Tony shares a piece of him with Steve.

“I get it now.” He tells him, eyes burning as he stares at his bare feet intensely.

“What?”

Blinking hard, he empties his plastic cup down his throat and looks up. “Why you’d kill for him,” he smirks. Not an ounce of feeling under his skin.

Steve’s eyes flicker in the dim orange light. He says, “Not for the same reason as yours, no,” and he looks like he got something more to say following that. But whatever it is, Tony doesn’t hear it.

The next morning, he wakes up to Natasha at the foot of his bed, Steve still fast asleep in his own.

She rubs a thumb on the inside of his ankle and joins them for the last bunker.

“Come home,” she says later, wiping a bloody dagger in the inside of her left sleeve, watching grey clouds burst into the white sky next to Tony and she tells him, “He’s awake, you know. Asking for you.”

He’s stuffing clothes into his duffel bag, but hesitates when he’s about to pull the zipper. Not far from him, Steve pauses in rolling his socks. Natasha offs the TV; they’re watching him - both of them - have been watching him since they returned from that bunker.

Tony’s hands shake, and he buries one in his hair. “I’m not coming,” he tells them.

“Why?” Natasha cocks her head curiously.

Steve plops heavily down on his bed. Its frame creaks. “Tony,” he begins, but Natasha’s fluid movement from the foot of his bed to Tony’s side, stops him.

Tony’s knees buckle and when he sinks, she goes down with him; leans her head on his shoulder, drapes an arm over and she fills his sense with sweet strawberry smell while Steve looks wearily from across him.

Tony keeps his eyes fixed on him, his thoughts on the sweet taste of Natasha’s scent on his tongue and he says, “He almost died because of me.”

Steve frowns, scrunching the socks into a ball in his hands, and he corrects Tony stiffly, “He took the hit for you. It was his choice.”

“Well, he shouldn’t have!” Tony yells.

Natasha’s hand is soft on his cheek when she turns him around to face her. “You would have done the same,” she murmurs, levelled and calm, close to his ear.

Steve’s jaw is clenched hard, but his words are soft. “We protect what we love, Tony.”

Blinking back hot tears, Tony looks away from both of them and grits out, “He’s an idiot.”

Steve snorts. Natasha presses a smile into his temple, and she suggests, “Maybe he’d like to hear that from you.”

Returning home after a week and a half should feel relieving but all he could think is about Bucky and the last time he saw him; bloody in his arms in Central Park and then lifeless in the cradle, and he couldn’t help the anxiety that boils from his chest to the back of his throat.

That in itself buries his desire to check on Bucky, see for himself how he’s doing; make sure he’s all right.

“I’ve got to answer Pepper,” he blurts out, already stepping away from them; separating himself, and Natasha’s frown and Steve’s disappointed gaze accompanies him all the way to the workshop where he collapses on the couch.

“How’s he doing?” He asks into the throw pillow that smells like Bucky. “Friday?”

“Sergeant Barnes is healing well, boss. Although, he’d do better if he sees you.”

Bullshit. He doesn’t tell her.

“Did Dr Cho use the extremis?” He asks instead, pulse bursting through his arteries.

When Friday says, “No, boss. There was no need for that,” he buries his head into the pillow and breathes Bucky in deeply; relief spreading like a balm under his breastbones.

“But boss,” Friday carries on, “Sergeant Barnes asked for you.”

Before she could say more about that, he promptly mutes her.

Maybe he’s a coward. Maybe he’s afraid if he sees Bucky, he’d be accused to be the cause of his near death experience.

Or maybe he’s terrified when he asks why did you do that, Bucky would look at him like he’s an idiot, and say, “Because I love you, that’s why.” and Tony -

Tony knows he couldn’t handle hearing that. His heart would shatter into a million pieces.

So, maybe he’s a coward. Maybe what he’s really afraid of is breaking his own heart - call it a primitive reaction. He is a primate in DNA after all.

“Boss, Miss Potts is asking for you.”

“Tell her I’m busy inventing something that could triple her paycheck.”

“Boss.”

“What?”

“Sergent Barn-,”

“Is he okay?”

“Yes, but he’s asking for -,”

“Mute.”

Maybe he’s running away.

And maybe he’s bad at it.

“Jesus.” he jumps, well past midnight, a few days after he’d returned, in the penthouse kitchen, in the middle of his supply raid (because Pepper pulled her rights and cut direct deliveries to the shop).

He’d calculated the risk, knew there was a 95% chance of him being caught by the very person he’s running away from. That’s why he’d planned his approach, carefully ran over it multiple times, asked Friday over and over to make sure no one was in the kitchen.

Should have counted in the fact that his AI is in love with her Sargeant Barnes.

The same Sargeant who asks calmly, “Any reasons you’ve been avoiding me?”

Tony clears his throat, drops his hand from where he’d clutched his chest. “Not in particular," he tries for nonchalance.

He didn’t turn on the light, but the silver glint of Bucky’s metal arm is unmistakable; tracing trajectory motion of his leap from the countertop to in front of Tony, infusing heat from their sudden proximity.

“I wanted to see you,” Bucky says, eerily flat, head tilted sideways as his blue-grey eyes study Tony from top to bottom then up. “But you refused.”

Throat clamping around a lump, Tony looks down at his empty coffee mug. At their bare feet and then at the cold tiles they’re standing on. He avoids the topic. “How are you doing?” He asks instead, looking up with false cheeriness.

Bucky doesn't hesitate before he answers, “Better if I’d seen you.”

And Tony has to laugh at that. Jesus Christ, just how stupidly cheesy is this guy? Except he feels his cheeks warm, and he steps aside to get away with an airy, “Well now that you have, I hope you feel better.”

Bucky doesn't let him (of course he doesn't); blocks his path and his gaze bore into Tony when their eyes meet. Trying to pry something only he knows what and Tony, exhausted after two consecutive sleepless nights, lets him.

If not for an excuse to allow himself drink in the sight of the man who took a laser to his chest for him and almost died. The man he'd lost his sanity for, killed for and then ran away from because he is a coward.

His eyes fall on the lower left side of Bucky’s pectoral. If he looks harder, he thinks he could see a dark patch seeping inside out like spreading ivy. He shakes his head to clear his vision.

Bucky seems to read him well. He takes the mug away and catches his empty hand before bringing it to his chest. Then he places it over exactly where that wound had been last week; bleeding viscous blood all over them and when Tony looks up at him, desperate and scared like he was that day, he assures, “I’m fine. Still alive.”

And then, “C’mere,” he tugs. Pulling Tony closer, pressing his palm harder over his shirt clad chest; warm where they touch, and he asks, “Can you feel that? It’s still beating in there.”

And it is - His heart is. All healed and pumping serum tainted blood through his vessels; keeping him alive like he hadn’t been gasping for breath in Tony’s lap just last week.

“Fuck.” Tony exhales.

Bucky takes it as a cue to pull him into his chest. Wraps him tight in a hug, and he buries his nose in Tony’s hair. “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

Tony tries to inhale but ends up choking on air.

“I know.” Bucky repeats. Pressing lips to his forehead and then temple.

When he finds his voice, Tony fists the fabric overlying his left breast, head buried in warmth and he lets out a pained growl. “Don’t ever do that again.”

But Bucky, of all things, chuckles like he'd just heard a joke. “Can’t promise that, doll,” He drawls, grinning like the idiot he is. “If it happens another time, I’ll do the same thing all over again. Gotta protect my best fella,” he winks.

And it drives Tony so mad that he shoves at the man's chest and glares at him, venomous. Fingers shaking in clenched fists, locked inside white knuckles and he spits, “Fuck you.” At Bucky.

For a second, Bucky’s stunned. But something flashes in his eyes and he barks out a laugh soon after.

"Yeah," he snorts. “Kid you not, I would really like you to.”

And that - That shocks Tony into a stop; eyes blinking wide with disbelief, he stares at the man in front of him.

“What?” Bucky laughs, fingers raking through his long hair as he shakes his head and when he looks up again, whatever he sees in Tony, it makes him square up, and he exhales in a rush.

“Jesus, Tony. Don’t tell me you still don’t know how I feel about you. Choked on my blood and all I could do was look at you like you hung the moon - I saw that footage. The one they aired in the news? Sam showed me that thing, and Hell. The whole world saw how I feel for you baby, and you’re standing here looking at me like you got no clue."

He closes in then, urgent, and he catches Tony’s head in both hands; cradles his face like something precious and leans down to look into Tony's eyes.

“You’re breaking my heart, sweetheart," he pleads. “Tell me you know how you make me feel. Tell me you know, I’m yours.”

And Tony, refusing to be shaken in the face of hopeful eyes and gentle hands - one ice cold while the other blood warm - grabs the back of Bucky’s head in a harsh fist and asks him roughly, “And you? Do you know how I feel about you?”

Bucky blinks then, a slow smile spreads across his face, eyes twinkling with sadistic joy and he grins, “Stevie told me what you did. Said you didn’t spare even one.”

“All of them,” Tony breathes, lungs blooming fresh with the smell of Bucky this close, this warm and he could taste his scent on his tongue with every breath he takes.

Shivering, he glides his hand from Bucky's nape to the side of his neck, and he yanks him close until their foreheads press. “They can’t touch you now," he whispers into the small space in between them.

“Jesus, doll.” Bucky chuckles, dry and rough, palms pressing into Tony’s cheek, tilting his face up so their breaths intermingle and their noses bump, and the first brush of their skin that near is electrifying. Like stepping on a live wire; sizzling straight into the veins under their skins and it propels them to mash their mouths together in a desperate kiss.

Giddy as they are with something vile and raw, they didn't care if their teeth clashed in the rush; painful and sharp, or if their kisses were too messy and wet. Their heads are too heady with the taste of their love and they feed it into each other’s mouths, drink it out of them and fuck - They laugh through it all.

At one point, Tony yanks at Bucky's hair and hums, pressing harder in and Bucky presses equally hard in return. Neither wanting to give; only take, take and take until there’s nothing left and then more.

And they're greedy for contact, starving for each other. Trembling with wants so violent that it bursts through their pores; spilling like white hot lava, burning everywhere their skin touch and maybe they knock several furniture over -Tony doesn’t know for sure.

He’s too busy getting lost in Bucky and the biting way he kisses, the unforgiving way he squeezes Tony’s ass. Too busy pulling him by the collar, fingers fisting in his hair as he nips back harder, hissing and groaning ‘bedroom’ into Bucky’s mouth, and ‘this way’ as they stumble across the living room, stubbing toes on coffee tables and chairs, stopping to wince and laugh before resuming kissing even more passionately than before.

Eventually, after they knock over a vase and watch it break into thousand pieces, Bucky hoists him up and walks them to the bed, and it may be emasculating if he was in a different state of mind. But right then, head spinning from Bucky and only Bucky everywhere, Tony lets him have it.

Later, he watches the sun spill over Bucky’s closed eyes, spread from his sleep-slack face to his naked torso and sheet tangled legs and he reaches out a hand to press it over Bucky’s left pectoral.

Focuses in on the steady beat behind the ribs, listens to the sound of Bucky’s heart work its job; pumping life into his bones and eyes, and spreading pink to his lips and occasionally - like last night - blotting that lovely shade of red from his face to his neck and -

It’s staggering how close he’d come to lose that; how close Tony had come to lose his mind with that.

Hours earlier, with kiss-swollen lips and sex mussed hair, Bucky had kissed every one of his fingertip and whispered, “Turned you into a murderer didn’t I?”

Tony had combed his falling fringe back with his free hand and easily admitted that, “Losing you would evidently serve to be my villain story. No doubt in that.”

Right now though, feeling Bucky more than alive under his palm, Tony tips his slack jaw close and kisses him good morning.

#*fingers crossed* hope you like it #buckytony #winteriron #mine #prompts #i really enjoyed writing this and it may be vain to say i love this but fuck it idc

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mymoodwriting · 5 years

Text

Blooming Eyes

F!Reader x Poison Ivy!Suho

Genre: Poison Ivy AU

Warning: Murder, Science, Plants, Mind Control, Vines, Parasites, Infection, Flowers, Sex, Penetration, Plant Sex? (idk how you label that)

Words: 4.2K

Chapters:

Prompt: Meeting an alien is one thing, but it’s a whole other thing when such a creature seems to fancy you. There was so much you wanted to do, but one decision changes your life in a way you never could have imagined.

A/n: Time for just a little nugget of world expansion, just a bit.

You stumbled behind Suho a few steps, ultimately falling to your knees into the water. Suho chuckled before he decided to pick you up and carry you to the bedroom. You were still dazed, not fully aware you were home. He got you to the bed and laid you down, helping you undress.

“I’m sorry about what happened. I should have been more careful.” He wrapped you in a blanket. “I know we just got home but I need to know what you remembered.”

He leaned over and kissed your head, a hand cupping your cheek. Black veins started to appear on your face. They got darker as he went deeper into your head. You had tears in your eyes, your breathing becoming uneven, squirming a bit but he kept telling you to stay calm.

“Easy… you’ll be okay… I should pay more attention to when you remember things.”

“Stop…”

“Sh, you’re much happier when you don’t remember the bad things.”

“Suho… it hurts…”

“I know, but only for a moment. I’m sorry, this is my fault. I really shouldn’t be taking you out until you’re better. You need-”

You grabbed his hand, squeezing tightly. Your actions made him laugh. He grabbed your chin and kissed you. His lips had a sweet taste to them and you leaned in, wanting more. He laughed again, gently pushing you away once he parted his lips from yours.

“Easy now, don’t need to relax you too much.”

“Suho…”

“On second thought… how long has it been since our last time? Maybe a little fun is just what you need.”

Your head was a bit fuzzy so you weren’t fully aware of what was happening. Although you did know that you were enjoying it. Suho’s lips sparked pleasure wherever they landed, making you giggle and squirm with glee. You could vaguely see some vines around the bed, helping Suho undress while he peppered you with delicious kisses. Then you felt it, the vines wrapping around your legs and pulling them apart.

“I see they couldn’t wait…”

His hands caressed your body, as did the veins, which really were just an extension of him. Your head was still fuzzy, but in the moment you knew you wanted him more than anything. You noticed your skin had this sheen to it, even though you didn’t remember putting anything on. The vines wrapped around your arms, not restraining you but clearly wanting to hold you.

“You know you create such a wonderful aroma when you’re like this, as well as some special oils that the babies love.”

You could barely process his words, feeling really hot and needing him to do more. He might not have responded right away but the vines did, starting to tease you, making you whine. Suho smiled taking matters into his own hands, rubbing his fingers between your folds, teasing your clit, before sliding two digits into your heat.

You’re so lost in everything you didn’t notice what was doing until Suho entered you, rocking into you slow and soft, making you beg and move your own hips for more. It didn’t hurt, nothing hurt, not even when one of the vines decided to slide in next to Suho. You felt so full, something like never before, you couldn’t even remember if you had ever been with anyone until now. He started picking up the pace, every thrust bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Suho… ah… you’re so good…”

“I’m surprised you can still talk baby.” He chuckled. “You’re usually gone pretty quick.”

“Hm…”

“Nothing.”

You can feel him getting close but he pulls out before he came inside you. The other vine finished you off, others gropping your breasts and feeling you up. You didn’t want to reach your high alone, managing to sit up a bit and stroke Suho’s length, your lips meeting. You shook in his embrace as you climaxed, soon feeling his warm seed on your chest. You leaned against him as you came down, his hand softly petting your head.

“One day we can go all the way together, right now I don’t need to distract you.”

“Hm… but…”

“Sh.” He gently rubbed your belly. “We can experiment with that down there when we’re done.”

You whined, and then shot up when the vine inside you started moving again. He chuckled and kissed your cheek, having the vines move away.

“Easy, I should have made them go once we were done, if they had their way with you they’d fuck you silly.”

He held you in his arms for a while, not wanting to let you go, but his phone started ringing. A vine handed it to him and he answered. You could hear both sides of the conversation but didn’t care much for it. He mentioned something about calling back and then hung up. He laid you down, running a bath for you and cleaning you up. Afterwards he dressed you, seeing how sleepy you were, and tucking you into bed.

“Sweet dreams. And the rest of you.” He looked around the room. “Let mommy sleep.”

♥♥♥♥♥

You rolled over in bed, the sunlight hitting your face so nicely. You snuggled against the sheets, feeling some of the vines wrapped around you to keep you company. You probably should get up but you were too comfy and happy in bed to move. The only reason you didn’t was because the plants knew you were awake, and thought maybe they could get away with something. You felt one of them teasing you, making you giggled.

“No…”

It all came back to you at that moment and you bolted up. You pulled your legs to your chest, trying to process what you had just done, what he had just done to you. The plants were quick to notice the panic, moving away. After a while you got out of bed, going into the shower. You still had that glow to you, and you wanted it off.

You tried to hold back the tears as you washed yourself down with soap, to freaked out to stop yourself from scrubbing your skin till it went red. When the shower curtain was pulled back you screamed and slipped, hitting your head on the wall, holding it and curling up in the tud. Suho regretted being so forward, turning off the shower head and kneeling down, seeing how red your skin was.

“Y/n… what were you doing?”

“Don’t touch me!”

“I’m not gonna hurt you. What’s wrong? I just-”

“What did you do to me last night!”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“So I just decided to sleep with you and… and… what did you do!”

“We came home last night after the party. Well, it was a bit early since I could tell you weren’t enjoying yourself.”

“I couldn’t talk!”

“You didn’t need to.”

“So I’m just arm candy for you.”

“Sweetheart…” He sighed. “I had hoped we would be on better terms now... but I shouldn’t rush this, after all, you’re still human.”

“Still?”

“Sh, I need you in the lab, not hurting yourself.”

“What? No! No don’t-”

“I didn’t want to get wet, but anything for you.”

You yelled and tried to keep him away but he grabbed your face. The panic and fear was quick to fade back, replaced by a soft and comfortable fog. Suho stared at you for a while, having you look at him with those glossy eyes. You giggled at him, big smile on your face, leaning into his touch.

“Maybe a little too far there, but lets get you dressed.”

Suho healed your skin, getting a towel to dry you off, and then putting you in a dress. He led you down to the lab, the house actually felt a bit more familiar. You felt a little more like yourself there, feeling Suho’s hold loosen a bit. He grabbed a vial from the fridge, holding it up to you. It had a small amount of liquid in it, but you recognized it anyway and stumbled back.

“You know what this is, good.”

“Why… why do you have that?”

“It’s for you.”

“What?”

“I tested it out, and did a little examination, it’s exactly what you think it is. So, I want you to study it, reverse engineer it, figure out how it works, and then reverse the effects.”

“What?”

“Come on, you know what I mean.”

“You wanna wipe out… all the human life on this planet…”

“I know it’s not much but it’s all you need.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“No. I’m not going to… there are plenty of viruses that kill people, I’m sure you can get your hands on some of those.”

“Yes, but the thing about viruses, a vaccine can be created, and it can harm our kind. If you reverse engineer this, then it will only destroy human cells, and leave everything else untouched, there is no vaccine, there is no cure.”

“I’m not going to create a weapon of… genocide.”

“You’re not, the humans already did that, targeting it at us, you’re just going to give them what they deserve.”

“No… no I can’t…”

“You can, and you will.”

“No!”

He sighed. “I don’t get this. You have your own lab, dressed in the most luxurious clothes humans have, and live in a beautiful home, yet you can’t do this one thing for me.”

“I didn’t want this! I never wanted this! I didn’t have a choice!”

“We’ve been over this, you let me out of your own will.”

“I did set you free, but I never said I wanted to go with you!”

“Hm…”

The sudden silence from him was concerning. He put down the vial and walked towards you. It was probably smart to move, but you couldn’t, not because of him, but out of true fear. He caressed your cheek, admiring you the way one would a beautiful flower, his touch soft and gentle. You weren’t sure what he was doing, but you kept quiet.

“We’re almost there… and I’m not going to rush things… but I need you to do this.”

“Please…”

“Just do it for me baby, it won’t be painful, I’ll help you focus.”

You closed your eyes, feeling a few tears slide down your cheek. You were never truly in control of yourself, not since you met him. When you opened your eyes you felt more like a machine than a human.

“Why don’t you get started for me. I’ll come by later.”

The only thing you were familiar with in the house was the lab. It wasn’t really knowledge, but muscle memory. You went over to the computer, and once you got it on you saw all these files on the screen. It seemed like you hadn’t shut it down, that you abruptly left, and the files were dated from a few weeks ago. You wanted to look through them but were focused on the task Suho had left you, so you started fresh.

What you had to do wasn’t so hard, at least the first part, reverse engineering. You spent all your waking hours down there. At some point you wondered how you could even stay down there, away from the sun, for so long given how you reacted back then and how it feels, that’s when you realized the lights down there provided synthetic sunlight.

It wasn’t until then that it dawned on you just how inhuman you had become, the lack of real sunlight made you feel a bit sick, maybe Suho was punishing you a bit for your behaviour when he first assigned you the project. To make you feel like he felt when he was locked up, even if it’s only a fraction. Once you finished the first part, you were horrified by what you had done, moreso seeing what this thing did. It could destroy all plant life on the planet if released into the atmosphere, regardless of what it destroys, this would kill humans.

Since you had a bit of yourself back, and Suho wasn’t around, you found your way to the old files you saw before. They were about your first little experiment, merging two DNA strands. You knew you had done it, after all you were living proof, although at the time you couldn’t remember how you did it, so your own notes should help. While you were looking you stumbled upon something else, something that hadn’t crossed your mind until now.

You looked at profiles, human profiles, and the notes that went with them. Suho wasn’t a scientist like you, he didn’t practice, but he knew how changing the world worked. You always needed to test things out, and you couldn’t change human DNA without trial and error. Every profile you had on the computer ended with the same notes, deceased, except for yours, but you didn’t write those notes.

You didn’t care for your profile though, more concerned with all the others. You did it, whether you wanted to or not never mattered but you were the one who ran the tests who killed these people. You felt yourself hyperventilating, knowing you needed to go get out of the lab, get some fresh air. You managed the strength to get out and make your way outside.

The plants wouldn’t let you leave through the front door, but had no issue with you going to the back, into the garden. You ran with no direction in mind, but wound up in the green house. You collapsed to the floor with tears in your eyes and then the headache came. You knew what it meant but you fought it, so afraid to learn the truth, but you couldn’t stop it.

♥♥♥♥♥

Two Months Ago

You looked into the microscope, watching another failure before your eyes. You jumped a bit when you felt a small kiss on your cheek. Suho had snuck his way into the lab, watching you for a moment.

“How’s progress?”

“Um… slow… I’m sorry…”

“What seems to be the problem?”

“Well… both sets of DNA… they’re different, the sequences have gaps, and there is more to the plants DNA than the humans. I can create some gaps, fill them in both ways but… I can’t get them to work without making them both break down.”

“I see, well you don’t have all the details.”

“What?”

“You’re watching this happen with a microscope, to truly solve this you need to know how the rest of the human body reacts to such a change. Like this you only have part of the data you need.”

“But… I would need… any failure would result in death I can’t-”

“You can, you absolutely can sweetheart, I have all you need.”

“What…”

He got you some volunteers, well not volunteers, test subjects. They may have been infected to get them to you but not anymore, they had to be clean as Suho put it, in order for you to get real results. The idea terrified you, all the tests you had done so far, it would be painful for anyone to go through it.

“No… no! No! I can’t! Suho…” You had tears in your eyes. “This… no, no I don’t… Suho I can… I can figure this out without… I just need time, please…”

“I have no doubt you could, but the sooner the better.”

“Suho… no… no please… they don’t…”

“Sweetheart, I need you to do this. We’re going to change the world but you need to do this first.”

“Suho…”

“Your humanity… you shouldn’t care so much for them, they never cared for you…”

“I don’t… I don’t wanna do this…”

“These emotions… caring for humans… it’s getting in the way, love…”

“Stop talking like that…”

“Sh… you’ll be alright… it’ll only be for a while… you need to do this, for me, for us. You’ll be just fine.”

You always read stories, or seen these characters who were described as cold, emotionless, terrifying. Suho gently held your face in his hands and kissed you. His touch was warm and soft, you could feel the veins growing on you, darker and deeper than before. Then the warmth faded, you grew cold. You didn’t feel fear or anger or anything, you were empty, and yet so focused. All you cared for was getting results, giving Suho what he wanted, so you worked.

You ate when necessary, stepped out for some sun, and you used all your test subjects, even came to the conclusion to ask for more. At the time you felt nothing, you didn’t care for their screams or begging, those who tried to hurt you restrained, either by their confinement or the plants in the lab who kept you safe. You worked and worked, and all those deaths were undoubtedly by your hand.

“Any progress, love?”

“Some, I’ve figured out the proper modification to both DNA strands in order for them to fit together, like two puzzle pieces.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“Actually staying together. Despite fitting perfectly, they’re two pieces of a different puzzle. There is something missing, something I need in order to bind them together.”

“Perhaps glue.”

“Glue… yes, something to hold it together…”

“Do you need more test subjects?”

“Unknown at this time, but I have a request.”

“Which is?”

“I need your blood.”

“Why?”

“Your blood is similar to what I am trying to do. The pieces fit and stay together, perhaps by examining your blood I can find what binds them and recreate…”

“Recreate what?”

“It’s you…”

“Me?”

“Your blood… is already a combination of two strands… your initial test confirmed that human DNA could accept your genome, but only half of it, the absence of the other half caused death. I’ve combined both now, they just have no reason to stay together, but your blood could be that reason. It could be the binding agent since it’s already a combination of the two, it will fill in any gaps and allow both genomes to coexist and accept one another. Your blood is what I need.”

“Well then.” Suho pulled up a chair. “Let’s get started.”

♥♥♥♥♥

You stared at your hands, at yourself. You had Suho’s blood, alien blood, running through your veins as if it was your own. You didn’t need to remember the results to know that’s what happened, that’s how you exist now. That realization, those thoughts were quickly pushed away as you remembered what you had done to get there, all those who died because of you.

The tears started flowing on their own, and only one thing ran through your head. You were a murderer, you didn’t even know what happened to the bodies, Suho and the plants disposed of your failures while you just moved on to the next. You were a monster just like him. You felt like throwing up, you wanted to, but there wasn’t really anything to puke out. You tried to compose yourself, wanting to figure out your next move, but you finally noticed what was in the green room.

It was a lot bigger than you thought. You got up, your curiosity more present than your disgust. The place didn’t have rows and rows of plants as one might expect, instead it only housed these really big flower buds, nine of them. As you walked further in and closer to these plants you could see you underestimated just how big they were. There was no doubt these flowers could swallow you whole if they wanted to.

They were all up against a wall, except for the door, three in front of you and three on either side. You wondered what the point was about having such plants, was it some mutation or was Suho working on his own science project. If anything you started to get the feeling you should leave, but then you could have swore you saw something move in one of the flowers. You slowly got closer, seeing that the petals were a bit transparent. You reached out to touch it only to quickly be restrained and pulled away.

You were forced to your knees, being held in place by all the vines and roots in the room. You didn’t understand why Suho would do that, unless these flowers meant a lot to him, but then you realized he wasn’t the one in the green house with you. Someone else, another man, stood before you, wearing nothing but boxers and with a sort of glow. You were about to talk, to question him, when you felt a needle stick in your head.

It was sudden and definitely didn’t have Suho’s touch. You opened your mouth to scream but nothing came out, having some trouble breathing. It hurt more than before, and you tried to grab it but the restraints only got tighter. Your vision began to blur, and you couldn’t find your voice to beg him to stop.

Interesting.

That suddenly caught you off guard. He didn’t say anything, it’s like he thought it, and for some reason you could hear it. You felt like you were going to pass out and that’s when you were finally let go. You were dropped to the floor, curled up and shaking. You reached up to grab your head, seeing the blood on your hand.

Deal with it.

You hazily noticed him leaving, wanting to reach out to him, but that wasn’t the plan. A vine wrapped around your outstretched hand and pulled it back, others wrapping around your waist and pulling you away. That’s when you noticed one of the flowers had opened up and you were being dragged towards it. You fought with the little strength you had but that didn’t do anything to help you.

They picked you up and laid you in the flower. You quickly became soaked in this liquid substance the flower had. You had no idea what was going on but you wanted out. You tried to move again, only to have your arms pinned down at your sides, and then it got worse. You noticed a vine with a sharp point get closer and then dig itself into your arm, entering from the wrist. This time you screamed.

It wasn’t as bad when your other arm was cut into but it still hurt. You screamed, adrenaline giving you strength, You thrashed around, having your legs and torso restrained, then another plant was on your face. It covered your mouth and nose, acting like an oxygen mask, it probably was something similar as you started to get drowsy. You felt the sting of another needle in your head, two actually, and could vaguely notice the flower petals closing up. You couldn’t really do anything else, just close your eyes and let in the dark.

♥♥♥♥♥

“A meeting… yes… I can do that… when-”

Suho was in his office, in the middle of an important call when he suddenly felt that something was off. He lowered the phone, looking around as if the answer was in the room with him. He made his way down the hall.

“I’m going to have to call you back… don’t worry, we’ll meet.”

He went down to the first floor, hearing noises coming from the dressing room. He made his way over, thinking it strange for you to be anywhere but in your lab.

“Y/n?”

When he walked in he noticed your closer was shut, but not his own. He was about to look when he saw his intruder step out into the room, wearing his clothes.

“Oh, hey Suho. I hope you don’t mind, I borrowed some of your clothes after cleaning up. Very comfortable.”

“How are you… where is she?”

“Who?”

“Sehun, where is she!”

“I told the plants to deal with her.”

“What!”

“Why do you even have a human arou-”

“I know you were in her head since you can speak a human language now, so why don’t you figure it out. And she’s not human!” Suho stormed out of the room, glancing at the plants in the hall. “No wonder you’re all so quiet.”

Suho went out to the green house. As soon as he opened the doors some of the plants moved back, they knew they were somewhat in trouble. He looked around but could quickly tell which flower bud had you.

“Let her go. Now.”

“Wait what?” Sehun had followed him. “She’s not dead?”

“What did I tell you? They wouldn’t hurt mommy.”

“What!”

The flower opened up and Suho could see you laying in the center. He would be mad, probably should be but he knew why they did it. He grabbed your head, the vines slowly letting you go, but you remained unconscious. Since you had been in there, you were certainly way more connected to all the plants around you, and Suho. You whimpered when the vines slid out of your arms, Suho pulling you out and carrying you back to the house.

“Who is she…”

“Shut up, you shouldn’t be awake.”

“She woke me up.”

“Not on purpose. How about you understand this planet before doing anything stupid, and do not leave this house.”

“Fine.”

“Good. Now don’t bother me, I have to clean up your mess.”

“Suho.”

“What?”

“Sorry… I didn’t know she was… important to you…”

“Obviously.”

#exo #suho #kim junmyeon #exo imagine #suho imagine #xexo #xexo suho #exo au #exo scenarios #xexo au #xexo scenarios

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ice-magician · 5 years

Text

With Your Conscience As Your Guide

I made another AU off of the amazing AU @spaceiplier! (Go check them out if you don’t know who they are). Last time I did one for Matt, so now I’m doing one for our bud Nate from NateWantsToBattle (and if you don’t know who he is. Youtube.Go.Now.) The first part takes place before the events of Icarus, but soon brings you to our current screaming state. Another possible title for this was ‘The Price of Living’, but I landed on this one since his look is based heavily on the Puppet (conscience, Pinnochio, get it? ;) I have thoughts for a part 2, but idk...) BTW- sentence italics are thoughts, in case someone’s unfamiliar with this writing style. Enough stalling, here it is.

Five years ago

A quarantine- that’s what everyone had been told. For the benefit of the people, Atria was under a strict quarantine. Every known Atrian had been required to return to their home planet. All known Atrian homes were swarming with GAAP agents.

The people were given masks, air secure pods, GAAP’s “deepest condolences for the inconveniences”, and were booted back to Atria. A quarantine bubble was created to cover the entire circumference of the planet, immediately muting the song she sent to off worlders. Atrians didn’t carry some unknown, deadly disease. Atrians weren’t a threat to anyone or anything more than other citizens. Atrians were musicians; they were doctors.

As long as beings could strike a tune, music has been related to the soul. Certain melodies affect how people feel and react. Ordinary musicians can give audiences highs and lows with simple beats, for Atrians even more so. An Atrian’s music flows through the very souls and minds of their audiences.

As scientists linked music to brain activity, many Atrians found their way into the field of medicine. Simple strikes of a guitar could eradicate a tumor, and a complete song rose the deathly ill out of their beds. Atrian music had enough power to heal many of the galaxy’s complex diseases, and it scared GAAP. So, they locked the musicians up, claiming their healing energy had begun to emit deadly radioactive material.

With Atrians gone, medical advancements came to an abrupt halt. Viruses evolved. People needing an Atrian’s precise hand could no longer go under with a 100% guarantee that they would awake in a stable state of mind. No matter what people tried, nothing matched an Atrian’s abilities. Through it all, GAAP never budged on lifting the “quarantine”.

No, there was no disease. Atria had been sealed up because GAAP was afraid. Afraid of what Atrians were capable of. They were afraid of what might happen should the planet ever find the skeletons in GAAP’s closet. They were right to be afraid.

Closing off Atria wasn’t just to keep everyone in, either. Atria’s core is one of a kind. Above ground, she sings and dances to the energy created by her people. The further down ventured, the richer, and older the layers’ energy becomes. The lifesongs of any who live, and lived, on Atria flow through her veins, giving all inhabitants the energy they need to make the music required to survive. Finally, the core of the planet. A beautiful crystal sphere with the power of ten blazing suns. Pulsating with life, the sphere once reached into her world, to her people amongst the stars with crystals of their own.

When GAAP closed off Atria, offworld Atrians began to lose their power, their very energy. Any Atrian who managed to avoid GAAP would be forced to scavenge for their own energy sources. They needed energy to make their music, and their music to live. Music is like sleep to Atrians. Take it away, and the consequences are devastating. Atrians refusing to return home found their calm nature turn into something twisted; mangled into beings beyond recognition as they fought to live.

Nate reclined in his cushioned chair. Red light from fake windows made his black velvet vest almost appear to shine, the red button up underneath the color of blood. Black hair slicked back, black eyeliner, porcelain makeup, and an ornate cane. He really was working the part. An anxious customer sat before his desk.

A kid, late teens, probably. Poor thing’s legs were bouncing up and down so fast Nate was sure one would spring off. The boy’s skin was completely white, almost to the point of glowing. The only color was his practically neon green eyes, and matching green hair. Stark white, with eyes and hair of the same color- a Danacan. He wrung his hands, eyes affixed to the floor.

“So, you’re saying,” the boy began, “if I give you some of my energy, you’ll help me?”

Four tumors, that was how many the boy had left in his body after five medical extractions. The things just wouldn’t stop growing. Over the last two months, the monsters had become more aggressive; all had begun to converge on his brain. Doctors had given up hope on saving the boy’s life, and no one else would see him. Everyone believed he was a lost cause. When sayings like “lost cause”, or “no hope” arise in situations, people find themselves in places never before imagined. For instance, the underground shop of a mysterious healer.

“Look, kid.”

“Dan, my name is Dan.” The boy, Dan, offered a sad smile, for once looking up from the floor.

Poor kid. Nate knew he was Dan’s last hope. The medical field had failed him, so he had turned to a shady (but effective) businessman. It was too bad that Nate couldn’t offer his work for credits.

“Okay, Dan.”

Nate twirled his cane in his hands. The ornate rod held a perfectly sculpted crystal ball- Atrian crystal. Energy swirled inside in mesmerizing summersaults. If songs didn’t entrance you, Atrian energy certainly would. Stare long enough, and the orb’s bottled energy would be the center of your attention, the outside world no longer a bother. It was no wonder people mistook Atrians for workers of dark arts in older times.

Nate silently stood from his chair. His shoes didn’t make a sound as Nate glided towards a wooden shelf full of mysterious objects. Vials, scales, clouded jars, a small wooden box that flowed as a semisolid. Quite an impressive collection of mysterious trinkets Nate had assembled.

Nate spoke to Dan, “Life energy removal is no small matter, Dan. Your condition is serious. Doctors, nurses, therapists, they have all failed you...”

Nate spun on his heels, dramatically half sitting on the bottom shelf while leaning on his cane. A smile curled on his lips, white teeth shining, his eyeliner making his eyes’ devilish twinkle more pronounced, “... which brought you to me.”

Dan nodded. He was trying to look brave, but the flicker in his form quickly erased his false bravado. Desperation, nervousness, and a small sliver of hope. Nate could practically see an aura of energy radiate from Dan.

“Well, my dear friend,” Nate plucked a blue vial from behind his back, “you’re in luck.”

Dan’s eyes widened, “What is it?”

Nate gazed at the sparkling liquid. He held it at his eye level, showing its worth. The room’s red light made the glass glimmer more than it already did.

“This, dear boy, is what you came here for.”

Nate strode back to his desk. He slipped Dan the liquid. Its light danced in the boy’s eyes, but there was something more there. Dan held the vial so carefully, as if moving might break it. Hope; Dan believed the mystery serum would help him. Perfect.

“How much do you need? E-energy, I mean.”

Nate idly sat on the corner of his desk. He tapped his cane to his chin, pretending to think.

“Hmm… four months? Yeah, four months sounds good. Four months of life energy for a cure.”

Nate smiled. He pointed his cane at Dan, “What do ya say?”

Dan looked from Nate to the vial, then back to Nate, “I- I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on, kid! Four months in trade for a cure? It’s nothing! You won’t even need further medical hands for the formula to work. You take it, you go home, get rest, later you find that you’ve been cured. It’s a miracle!”

Nate threw his arms into the air, and winked for good measure.

Dan sighed, “Will it hurt?”

“Not one bit, kid.”

The boy nodded, “Okay. Okay, let’s do it.”

“Brilliant!” Nate patted Dan’s shoulder, causing him to flinch, “I knew you’d make the right choice. Just let me get everything set up.”

Nate quickly plucked the vial from Dan’s hand, “Here, hold my cane, will ya? I need both hands for this.” He patted Dan’s shoulder again, and turned to more equipment at the back of the shop.

The boy was still in the same position he had been in moments before, “Wait, what? How-?”

“Don’t worry, kid.” Nate pretended to fiddle with assorted props, “Just hold my cane. Mind checking if it needs polishing? I keep forgetting that.”

“But, I, what… about…”

Nate counted down in his head, Three, two, one.

Nate turned around to a familiar sight. His customer sat rigid at his desk, intently facing forward and holding the cane. From where he stood, Nate could see Dan’s expression trapped in his crystal, dead to the world. All was as it should be. Nate placed the fake liquid cure back on its shelf, along with the other props and knick-knacks he had accumulated over the years.

He tapped an obscure code into the wall. There was a click, and a part of the wall slid open, revealing a sleek blue electric guitar. A giddiness arose in Nate that only came with the excitement of performing. He hungrily plucked the instrument from its hideout.

Nate leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, relaxed his shoulders, and played. The words weren’t prepared, they never were in those situations, they just came to him like a calm breeze. The air in the room stilled. It was as if everything, possibly even the world itself, had stopped to listen.

When he opened his eyes the store was swimming with crackling white energy. The hair’s on Nate’s arms stood on end from the dancing white sparks. The guitar’s strings shined and vibrated from the force of his music. Everything was in a shimmering, twisting, beautifully chaotic state of raw energy. He took in a deep, satisfied breath.

Nate strode back toward the frozen Dan. Leaning down in front of him, he could see the boy’s eyes were glazed over, completely fixated on the Atrian orb. His mouth was still open mid sentence.

Nate quickly retrieved his cane from Dan’s grasp. Holding it high above his head, Nate focused on the exact amount of energy he needed. Being drawn in by some unseen force, clusters of Dan’s life energy swam into Nate’s crystal. Four months of energy, to be exact.

Most of the energy was stored into the orb, but a few crackling tendrils coursed down the cane and into Nate’s arm. Energy shot through his veins in twisting lanes. They rocketed upwards to his heart, vocal cords, and face. Finally, Nate felt the cracking parts in his being begin to mend. Lightning bolts of life restored what was crumbling in Nate’s mind. For a while, at least, the energy would keep him whole.

Rendezvous were almost always in public places. With plenty of people, a scene would cause many heads to turn. It gave the customers a sense of security. Of course, while large crowds can be an advantage, it’s easy to get lost in them. A whirlpool of chattering, towering skyscrapers with various programs, and news sprawling across their surfaces. A cry for help would be a soundless scream into a deaf void.

Nate drove Dan to meet his friends. After customers’... operations… they were disoriented, sluggish, their minds easily bent to believe, or forget, certain details. Nate played the role of the customer’s chauffeur; an employee of the mystery healer. With patrons never truly remembering his face upon recollection, he earned the street name of “Phantom”. It was cheesy, but in a good way.

Nate the Chauffeur always wore a mask to meet ups, his cane in the guise of an umbrella. It was a rusted-looking bronze, and covered his entire face. Anywhere else he would have drawn attention, but he was in the center of a bustling metropolis. A rainbow of different colored individuals, all with different shades of hair, numbers of limbs, and amounts of facial features clustered together in a flowing broom of passersby. No one batted an eye.

Only one customer was allowed in Phantom’s shop, but the customer could decide who took them home. Phantom Nate being the one to drive patrons home was too risky, for both him and his clients. A mystery man dropping you off at your doorstep was bound to raise neighbors’ eyebrows. No, instead he created the persona of Phantom’s masked driver. Pretending to be someone that he wasn’t had become disturbingly easy for Nate ever since he became a lone wolf.

Half the city’s skyscrapers were broadcasting on their windows’ holoscreens. Reruns of popular shows, advertisements, statistics on people’s income and more all flashed in erratic motions in the square. Behind him, Nate caught sight of a familiar face. He was on his independent news/theory show, cracking bad jokes at the camera. Nate’s heart sank. When was the last time he had even seen Matt and Steph, in person, of course? Too long, for sure. As long as they were on screen, though, Nate knew they were okay.

Behind his mask, Nate smiled.

Well, at least one of us is doing alright.

“You better not be bullshitting us.”

Dislodged from his thoughts, Nate sighed, “Phantom doesn’t “bullshit” his clients.”

Dan had two friends, both teen Danacans, pick him up. One was a timid, shorter boy with gray hair pulled into a ponytail. The other was rather vocal, with a purple mohawk. He stood before Nate with stubbornly crossed arms, and an irritated look.

Mohawk sneered, “Yeah? Well where is he?”

Ponytail, who was struggling to hold up Dan in his groggy state, shot Mohawk a warning look.

“Come on, we’ve got Dan. Let’s just go.”

So, you’re the voice of reason in the group? Nate thought.

“You should listen to your friend. Give him a few weeks of recuperation, and he’ll be alright.”

Mohawk stared at Nate, trying to pick any information he could off of Nate’s unreadable appearance. Good for him. Always question the motives of others, especially in Nate’s line of work. Mohawk opened his mouth to say something, when one voice rose above the others.

“As many of you know, I try my best to diverge from political topics....”

Nate, and half the street, turned to the nearest news- broadcasting skyscraper. Trillions of pixels made the image of a brown haired man in front of a holographic screen. The spokesman was facing the camera, eyes practically burning with anger.

Matt, what are you doing?...

“Moments ago the planet Atria’s quarantine bubble was rocked with a massive explosion.”

An image appeared behind him- Atria. A rock lodged itself in Nate’s throat. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually seen Atria; he had been off world when the quarantine was announced. The Atria on the screen he barely recognized. GAAP’s quarantine shield made seeing the planet’s surface hazy; what marked the planet that day wasn’t able to be covered up. A giant scorch mark blemished the quarantine’s western hemisphere. Smoke was traveling fast underneath where the explosion made contact. Someone on ground had nuked the sphere. Without thinking, Nate took a curious step forward.

Matt ran a hand through his hair- a tick, something he did while thinking, “Before the quarantine… good friends of mine were Atrian.”

Nate could practically feel Matt looking at him.

“I have overlooked many of GAAP’s actions, but Atria is my home’s twin planet. For five years now Atrians have been cast aside, out of view. What did we do? We didn’t question it. Atrians are not a violent race, but people are capable of anything in order to survive.”

Matt walked closer to the camera, so close that all you could see was from his shoulders up. An expression unlike any Nate had seen crossed Matt’s face. Anger? Determination? A bit of both? The wheels were visibly spinning in Matt’s eyes.

“I will be visiting Ahtret’s satellite station as soon as I can. If any GAAP agents wish to meet and offer a feasible explanation, that is where I will be, but I will not let this stand. That will be all for today.”

And just like that, the building’s screens went dark. Half of the formerly bustling street was staring up, mouths agape in disbelief.

What was he thinking? Maybe that was it- he wasn’t. Years of not knowing what had happened to his sister planet, subsequently his own, and his friends, had finally pushed the Theorist to defiance. Part of Nate was proud of him, another felt guilty, and the last mortified. Matt might have been doing it for Atria, but Nate could tell he was doing it for him. Nate hadn’t contacted him since the quarantine. Matt probably thought he was dead, or down the broken path for survival. Most likely the latter.

“Damn”, a voice from behind- Mohawk, “if it’s enough to get Theory guy to cover it…”

He stopped, a devious twinkle in his eye. Mohawk turned to his friend, who was losing his grip on the drowsy Dan.

“Do you think this is the start of a space war?”

The smaller boy’s eyes widen in fear, “What?”

“Yeah, I mean, he doesn’t cover it unless it’s serious, right?”

“Space War? But dat’s just a theeory. A space theory!” Drugged Dan booped his friend on the nose.

Nate awkwardly cleared his throat, “Well, if that’s all, I’ll be off.”

They weren’t listening.

“Oh, come on, Hosuh! Don’t you want a laser gun?”

“... Stephen, I don’t even trust you to use a butter knife!”

“Nah, nah, nah. Knives are too informal for war.”

“Space war, pew peeww….”

Nate left as quickly as possible.

Two left turns, one right, one left, in through a bakery shop, out the side door, and the twists continue. Nate had truly mastered the art of avoiding capture, but that night his mind was elsewhere. He took the beginning twists and sharp corners, however, somewhere in the mess of crowded concrete and a cluttered head, Nate found himself far off his beaten path.

The sun had nearly set. He was on alone, one way street, apartments hugging the road. With an exasperated sigh, Nate slid to sit on the sidewalk. The glow from his cane/umbrella’s orb beat like a steady heart. He willed the orb to diminish its shine. A sweaty mask would do him no good if his umbrella was glowing suspiciously through the dark.

Nate thought back to earlier, the drop off, a moment that was supposed to be like any other closing for a client. Returning the customer just a formality, an act of humanitarianism on his part. If he wanted, Nate could let his clients wander outside of his shop, confused, gullible, their minds easily influenced. No, instead he went out of his way to ensure he maintained a clean image for his business.

All had gone well. He had his music, his energy, and the customer was satisfied. Then, disaster struck. The screens broadcasted his friend’s face to everyone. Matt’s determined expression, of utter disdain. He was walking a dangerous line.

Matt had always been so guarded with his information. When they spoke so long ago, even Nate had been unsure of everything Matt knew. His team was brilliant, one of the best in the galaxy, but did they know enough? Were they ready for GAAP? Call him crazy, but Nate doubted their ability to take on an intergalactic entity.

“Um, excuse me?” a male voice called from behind.

Nate started to turn, then thought better of it. His mask, he was still wearing the mask. In a city crowd, no one would care, but he didn’t have the luxury of apathetic passersby. He was practically in the suburbs, the close-knit part of town where everyone knows everyone, and everyone knows everything.

Nate cleared his throat. He stood up, dusted off his clothes, and readjusted his mask.

“Sorry to disturb you. I’ll be on my way.”

“What are you doing out here? It’s completely dark.”

There was an edge to his voice. He suspected Nate of something, as he should. A stranger idling on your street is something to take note of.

“Oh, nothing. Just got lost. You know how easy it is.” Nate tried to offer a lighthearted chuckle. The man did not reciprocate.

Part of him itched to reach into his coat pocket for the holo-guitar. A small, square object that would instantly project a holographic electric guitar. A few strums would be all he needed to calmly send the man back inside, but no. Survival instincts overthrew his desire to play. All that was needed was a cool retreat into the night.

“Anyway, goodnight, si-.”

Suddenly, Nate felt the muscles in his back tense up like taught guitar strings. Then came the electricity. It felt like the culmination of his entire being was on fire. His muscles started spamming. Nate hit the ground hard as he was sent into seizing convolutions. His mask flew off his face, bouncing until it stopped face down on the concrete, just like its owner.

A cloth was wrapped too tightly around Nate’s mouth. He had lost all use of his limbs. Nate was a rag doll on a side street in the middle of nowhere. His cane. Where was his cane?!

“... mask and a cane. Can’t miss him!”

Wait, who was talking?

A hand reached forward, and pulled down his sleeve. He felt utterly exposed. His veins glowed white in the dark of night, the energy from before still being fully absorbed. It took time for foreign energy to adapt to its new host, sometimes hours, sometimes days.

The sudden reveal of his unique biology caused his attacker to pause, “What are you?” he whispered.

Someone who’s gonna kick your ass if you don’t back the hell up!

Of course, rendered immobile, Nate couldn’t say these things. He was unable to protest as the attacker shrugged off his surprise, and inserted a needle into his arm. He was unable to object when the man examined his mask, then staggered back at the markings it had covered. He couldn’t call out for help as his mind went numb, and the world went dark.

The shop wasn’t as busy as usual. Nate was calmly fixing the newest guitar. He twisted the knobs on the once broken guitar. A simple job, really, but not to modern people. Sadly, Nate found that he was one of the few true music shops around in his town.

Nate struck a few chords. A soothing rhythm flowed forth. It was perfect, all fixed. Nate smiled to himself. Nothing was quite as satisfying as a perfect instrument. As he expertly polished the wooden surface, Nate glanced around. Guitars, electric and acoustic, hung for sale behind him. Various woodwinds remained silent on their stands across from him. The drums in the back waited for someone to strike a beat.

He bit his lip, and glanced down at the guitar. Its newly shining surface beamed back at him, almost in a mocking way. Nate gave the front door a sideways glance. The customer wasn’t supposed to return for another hour. Truly testing out the refurbished work would just be a part of the job, right? Ah, screw it. Nate slung the cleaning rag over his shoulder, and left the glass checkout counter. As he had left it, the “Sorry, We’re Closed” sign was still on the door.

Paranoid, he chided himself.

Nate lifted the beautiful instrument off the counter, and rested it on his leg. Outside, the setting sky of Atria wavered with spirals of blue and gray. Music glided through the streets, lifting up on the wind and flowing to all waiting ears. Such a tangible thing, Atrian music.

You didn’t need to see it to know that somewhere a celebration was underway. That was simply the way of Atria. Her energy met every soul, filling them to contentment. Nate closed his eyes, and smiled. He drifted into his music.

Nate wasn’t sure how long he had been entranced. When he opened his eyes the store was swimming with crackling white energy. The guitar’s strings shone and vibrated from the power of his music. Everything was shimmering, and twisting in beautiful chaotic swirls of Nate’s music.

He took in a deep, satisfied breath. Nate put the instrument down, and watched as Atria’s tangible energy danced across the store. It did tangos and ballets to the beat of whatever was playing outside. A large portion of the sparks concealed into a twisting mass. Without warning, the ball launched at Nate, sending him flying off his chair. He hit the wall, the guitar slid several feet away. Nate touched the tender spot, and recoiled from pain. The mass jerked from side to side, writhing, unsure of what form to take.

“What the hell?”

More and more energy was consumed by the mysterious bundle, each spark making its glow brighter. Nate shielded his eyes, and staggered to his feet. He felt the heap watching him as he hugged the wall, inching towards the door.

His hand was on the knob, ready to make a mad dash, when a massive weight knocked him in the gut. Glass and sparks flew in Nate’s vision. His body crashed into the concrete with a concerning “crack!”. Nate tried to get up, but he could no longer see; the orb had grown to completely swallow his vision. It felt like the light was absorbing Nate’s entire being. He let out a gut-wrenching scream.

His head hit the concrete again, but this time it was smooth and cold. Sparks danced behind his stone eyelids. Nate’s body burned with pain. Had someone reached into his body, pulled every muscle out, then sewed him back together? If so, they did a sloppy job. It didn’t feel like his hands moved when Nate called them to action.

Slowly, through the cotton in his ears, Nate began to make out human voices. They were all around him, fading in and out, whispering back and forth.

“Is he awake?”

Spoken in a normal voice, but it felt like the person shouted. Nate cringed from the growing migraine in his head.

“I believe so.”

“That guy really did a number on him, huh?”

Who was talking? What was going on? Curiosity won over pain in the end. Groaning with effort, Nate slowly lifted his head. At first, all he saw were a few blurry figures in a dark room. When his vision cleared all he wanted to do was run.

Nate was in a small room, handcuffed to a holotable, no cane to be found. Four people were in front of him. A man and a woman sat across from him, and behind them stood two very alert, very armed guards, GAAP guards.

Well, shit.

Sitting down, the woman was taller than the man by a few good inches. Her silver hair was pulled back into a neat bun, blouse immaculate and pressed. She had full brown eyes, so it was impossible to read her emotions. Her body posture was so rigid Nate was positive that it hurt. Her hands were clasped calmly on the blue, glowing table.

The man’s appearance was exactly the same- neat to the point of impurity. A button up green uniform, thick black mustache, and cold green eyes. His demeanor was more relaxed than the woman’s. The man sat a little more slouched backwards in his chair. The man knew exactly where he was and exactly what was about to happen.

A smug smile tugged at his lips. He held up a small device, “Shock collar. Jolted you pretty fast from dreamland. Hate to interrupt your slumber, princess.”

He twiddled the device, as if it weren’t something that could violently wreck Nate’s neck. Wherever Nate was, there was a good chance that the man was in charge. He was clearly sadistic, and didn’t look like he would be stopping soon; unease bound itself to Nate. He needed out.

The woman spoke up, “Hello, Mr. Sharp. It is Sharp, isn’t it?”

Nate didn’t move, and not just because every molecule hurt. He refused to give these people any kind of satisfaction from his response. GAAP didn’t own him, they didn’t own his people, even if they thought they did. Silence was a counterattack to their pretentious attitude.

A couple of words was all he needed. They had a shock collar, but he could deal. The last time hadn’t been too bad, in retrospect. Nate could subdue them, get his cane, and break out. Underground, deeper this time, maybe even another galaxy? Nihill was the opposite of desirable, but its streets were so crowded that one Atrian could surely make a little nook for themselves. His mind was already searching for the right words to the melody that would release him.

A spark of pain shot through his vocal chords, similar to the jolt from his dream, but stronger. Nate howled in pain. Tears rushed to his eyes while the pain spread up and around his entire neck. He instinctively reached for the injured area, but his hands were still cuffed. Across the table, the smirk hadn’t left the man’s face.

“The brace around your neck is restricting your vocal chords. You may talk, but a single hum will cause an electrical shock. Similarly, if you do not talk, there will be another shock. Each time you do not cooperate, the voltages will increase,” the woman explained.

A grin of deep satisfaction spread across the general’s face, “What she means is simple- you’re our little puppet.”

Nate hadn’t noticed before, but there was something looped around his neck. A metal, light, but a little heavier, and near his voice box.

Nate sighed, “Nice accessory. I didn’t know GAAP was into kinky stuff now.”

The man squinted his eyes. He looked about ready to shock Nate again.

“My name is Marxca. I am apart of the intergalactic crime division of GAAP.”

Marxca shot the man a look, pushing him to an introduction of his own. He sighed, and put down the remote.

“General Jobs. I am the overseer of illegal galactic crimes, and suspicious people.” He pointed a finger at Nate, “That means you.”

Marxca typed on the table. Images instantly sprung up. A birth certificate, his high school diploma, the names of family and friends. Nate’s entire life was being presented to him through an interrogation room hologram. Thankfully, they only had one recent photo- him in the metal mask, hiding the deep, purple Atrian markings that ran like thick tear trails from his eyes. No mentions of his clients, or workshops appeared anywhere on the screen.

“A few weeks ago, we received an anonymous caller informing us about a suspicious man in a mask,” General Jobs said, “but by the time we got there you were long gone. But thanks to that, we had a photo on you to go by. Of course, with a mask like that, we figured you were a criminal. We searched there, and the surrounding cities, until a certain civilian managed to trick you with a taser. Imagine our surprise to find that you weren’t just a crook- you were an illegal Atrian.”

Nate ground his teeth, “I haven’t committed any crime other than living!”

Jobs reached for the remote again, but Marxca stopped him. She typed again, and the images receded. Unlike before, Nate could see her clearly now. She was GAAP, they both were, and GAAP wanted him gone, but where? Back to Atria? No one could get in or out of the planet. Even if he could, with God knows what happening on the surface, Nate wasn’t sure he wanted to. So, where did that leave Nate?

“Exactly what charges are you holding me here for? Being Atrian, is that it? Because of your fake-.”

Time stopped. Nate felt his heart pounding in his ears. None of the people, no one in the room, was wearing radiation protection. Even basic GAAP soldiers wore some kind of protection, the minimum being masks. Everyone in the room- the agent, the general, the two guards, they weren’t protected by anything. Nate knew that the Atrian cover up was deep; it left only a few of the higher ups aware of the truth. If the people surrounding him weren’t basic GAAP agents and police, then who was he dealing with, and how afraid should he be?

“You cannot return to Atria, you know that, Mr. Sharp. However, this doesn’t have to mean jail time.”

Jail time. Oh, God, if someone found an Atrian in jail what would they do? Kill him out of fear? Would the guards muzzle him for the duration of his stay (life, presumably)? Nate wouldn’t just be a fish out of water- he would be a fish on the chopping block, ready to be made into old-fashioned sushi.

“What would be the other option?”

General Jobs grew a wide smirk.

“Then,” Marxca said, “you would work for General Jobs and his scientists. You would help them create new weapons.”

All the blood in Nate’s veins turned to ice, “New… weapons?”

“Yes.” Marxca reached below her seat, and retrieved an old friend. Nate’s one constant, the only thing keeping him alive was right in front of him, in a GAAP agent’s hands. A rag covered the orb, but just being within close proximity to it breathed life into Nate. His body involuntarily took in deep breaths of air. Energy from his previous client, and leftovers from others, sat within the beautiful crystal. The inside swirled as a storm, sometimes energy flashed like lightning in a bottle. Nate wanted it. He needed it. He needed to live. General Jobs chuckled, jolting Nate out of his daze. Only then did he realize that he had leaned so far forward, that he was out of his seat.

“What would you need me to do?”

“Sing for us.” her response was immediate.

Nate blinked in complete shock, “I’m sorry?”

Marxca examined his cane, the orb in particular, “The universe is expanding, Mr. Sharp. New dangers are arising, and we need people to be prepared. So, you can sing, play instruments, whatever you have to. You will create bombs imbedded with the energy that is held inside of this.” She pointed to his crystal.

Nate couldn’t believe his ears. Work for GAAP? Create weapons through his music? It was all so crazy, so beyond impossible, but that’s what made it a GAAP idea.

“You’re joking, right? You- you can’t just recreate Atrian energy! Our music is something we’re born with. It’s apart of our biology!”

Marxca nodded in sad understanding. She took back his cane.

“I see, Mr. Sharp. Atrian music is a part of you, yes? Well, I guess it’s Mr. Jobs’ turn to take over.”

Marxca stood from her seat, and with it a deep sinkhole in Nate’s chest.

“Wait, where are you going?”

She shrugged, “Isn’t it obvious? You say music is your biology. If that is the case, then I suggest that General Jobs’ scientists start working.”

No words, there were no words that came out of Nate. Plenty were locked inside, exploding, reemerging and creating in a mad cyclone of unbelief. Nothing in him could properly connect the dots into verbal communication. Nothing, no complex argument that was boiling. No screaming fit that he just about fell into.

“Why?” was all he could manage.

The GAAP agent smiled, “Because we need you. You may not realize it yet, but your contribution is invaluable.”

Through his inner turmoil, he hadn’t noticed Jobs’ absence, until a strong arm wrapped around his throat. Nate felt something penetrate his skin. His body went limp on the table, his entire life waiting to be shown just beneath its surface.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Sharp.”

Nate rammed against the black wall of his cell. His body burned from, what he assumed were, hours of hitting the wall.

He had been blindfolded for the entire trip to his prison, but the trip had seemed to drag on forever. Upon arrival, Nate had been carried out of the containment ship, a little more carefully than he would have preferred. The saying “Don’t damage the goods” arose, and continued to linger in his mind.

Finally, Nate was given his sight back. Two GAAP agents had dropped him in a room made entirely of black crystal, and left him alone with General Jobs.

“This is the most durable, and soundproof, material in the universe,” Jobs had smugly said over Nate.

“You should feel honored. Only a few of these cells exist. They were made just for your kind. You special little Pipers.”

Pipers. Nate had felt like spitting on the man. Paralysis had robbed him of the opportunity, and Jobs had sauntered out the door. Nate had been a crumpled heap, alone in a dimly lit room where no one could hear him. In that moment, Nate had sworn he would survive. He would survive if for no other reason than to see the look on that bastard’s face when he escaped.

As soon as the paralysis wore off, he was in action. First, he screamed at the guards through the small, one-way mirror/hatch in the door. When that didn’t work, he resorted to pounding his fists against the walls, then his shoulders, and at one point Nate used his entire body as a battering ram. Nothing worked.

Nate slumped painfully against a wall. The sad light overhead flickered. Crystalline walls made for a chilly interior. Nate hugged his body, rubbing up and down his arms in hopes of generating some sort of heat. So he was alone, no big deal. Nate had been alone for five years. He would get out.

This time isn’t like the others, though.

No, scrapes he had gotten into before had never involved direct GAAP contact. Dodging local police and curious eyes, sure, but nothing the size of an intergalactic superpower. No, the intergalactic superpower. Nate still had determination, hope that he would escape, but the severity of the situation was finally setting in. Determination aside, he knew, in some way, he wouldn’t leave the base without being royally screwed.

A clatter resounded through the crystal room like the echo of a deep base. Nate turned his head. A small cylinder sat on the floor in front of the door that seamlessly merged into the wall. Small and metal, it could have been anything. Of course, that was before the ends popped off.

White smoke erupted from both ends, spreading like a slick snake across the ground. Nate held his hand over his mouth in a vain attempt to hold his breath. He stumbled to the far end of the room, but it was no use. Within seconds, the vapor reached him. It was pooling around his feet, coiling up his legs like a living being. One breath was all it took for the chemicals to do their jobs. Nate’s eyelids grew heavy, and the world slipped away.

The smell of rubbing alcohol. White, everything was too white. Masked forms shuffled around, never staying in one position for too long. The world was cold; its air sterile. His back was frigid; whatever he was laying on was unforgiving to the cold. Metal, Nate was on a metal table. He blinked his eyes a few times, trying to get his bearings.

Hands swooped in and held open his right eyelid. A cotton swab stroked away fluid from inside his eye. Nate tried to pull away, only to find that his head was strapped to the table. He tried his wrists, his knees, his ankles, nothing. He was completely imobile.

“What… what’s going on?” Nate tried to ask, but he found a metal gag restraining him from speaking.

One of the people in full scrubs leaned over him, “Mr. Sharp? My name is Doctor Visca. We are going to run some tests to evaluate your anatomy. We haven’t had many Atrians, so if these sensations become too painful, let us know. I will be talking to you, describing what we are doing”

Nate’s eyes widened in horror. Painful? What?

Doctor Visca strode away, only to be replaced by another doctor. They attached a strange metal device over his voice box where the shock collar had been. Out of his view, Nate felt stabs of pain in his hands. He tried to squirm away, but his efforts were once again thwarted.

“The object around your neck is a vocal receiver.” Doctor Visca said, but it sounded like she was talking through a microphone. Was she in another room watching him? Were there other people there?

Doctor Visca continued, “The nurses have just inserted microtubes into a few pressure points on your hands. Most Atrians seem to… ingest... outward energy into their bodies through their hands. Of course, we cannot use music to create energy, but we have a few substitutes. Depending on the level of energy your body receives, you will hum softly or powerfully. The voice receiver will take your excess energy. The more you give us, the sooner this will be over.”

That’s not how this works! There are no “substitutes”, and I won’t help you!

Of course, Doctor Visca, nor the other doctors and nurses milling around, cared. Nate relaxed his body on the table. He closed his eyes, preparing for the pain. None of their tests would work, and Nate knew that there was no easy out for him. However, he would make it out. They wanted to play hard ball? Fine. They’d get hard ball.

Hit me with your best shot, motherfuckers.

A nurse administered the first energy surge.

The battery of a small communicator did nothing. So, they moved to a holoscreen’s- still nothing. The power required to move a cyborg arm, a hoverboard, a small transportation vehicle. After that, the doctors decided it was too dangerous to try higher levels of electricity. The only results they were getting were sudden spasms through Nate, and some subtle laughter that the voice receiver picked up.Nate would have laughed more, if the last one hadn’t hurt so much. GAAP had never had the true legal ability to test an Atrian, but Nate was practically a dead man on Atria, and GAAP didn’t know about his business as “Phantom”. No one would miss a dead man.

Over the weeks, frustration began to overflow. Doctors moved from electrical stimuli, to “biological exploration”. Through it all, Nate refused to sing. Whenever they allowed him to speak, they were met with creative intertwining of expletives, and the occasional bird.

However, despite his tough act, Nate felt himself wearing away. Each visit became more and more blurry. Every time he refused them he was a broken record. The number of people in his room dwindled, and their tests sloppy. Doctor Visca remained when others left. She was determined to find what made Nate tick.

Nate tried to explain, without giving away too much, the necessity of his cane. He maintained his resolve, but Nate felt his mind begin to trickle away. Nate could feel his veins try desperately to pump any kind of substantial energy to his body. Without his cane, he was barely running on fumes. Still, somehow, a little voice would always boost him up. He would get out. He was Nathan Sharp, the musician, the Atrian. He would beat GAAP.

Nate tried to hold onto his sanity, the good in him. He could feel the black hand of chaos, of utter destruction, try to claw its way into his psyche. He pushed his temple against the cool rock wall. He would escape he had to.

Nate had been locked away for weeks. He assumed, of course. Time didn’t pass for the imprisoned, but Nate felt every itching moment. Weeks were eternity for him. He hadn’t touched a guitar. Every sliver of energy a song might generate was absorbed by the traitorous crystalline black walls. Lord only knew where his cane was, the life of Atrian adorning its head.

He was sweating profusely, black hair covering his face. Nate could barely sleep at night because of violent tremors. Nightmares haunted his mind and sanity. The darkness of the night began leaking into his waking world.

Get the cane.

They’ll be sorry.

Insanity became an almost tangible being. It was a speck in the corner of his eye. He could see the outline, its shifting form, but if he focused too much it would fade away.

Nate slammed his hand against the wall. No. No, he would not give into the madness, no matter how much it beckoned him.

Fall into me, into blissful darkness. It’s much quieter here.

No.

It’s just a little ways. They won’t hurt you anymore.

Nate could practically feel the hand of insanity resting on his shoulder. He imagined the void as a humanoid, but made of utter darkness. Its body would sway without it even moving. It reached towards Nate’s mind.

“So, what do you think?”

Ash fiddled with her baton nervously, “You know we aren’t supposed to talk about it.”

Barry’s shoes squeaked on the pristine floors of the base, while his comrade floated anxiously. They made their way forward, but Ash’s mind was stuck in the past, to the… event. The video continued its replay over and over in her mind. It was a loop that Ash was confident would never cease.

He scoffed, “Oh, come on. It’s just me. All the doctors are prepping the examination room.”

Ash bit her lip, “I… I don’t… I don’t think it was right.”

Barry’s carefree strides halted outside the prisoner’s room. He gave her a questioning look, “And why’s that? I mean, he was a criminal, and what happened after… I have no doubt that… that monster was on his side.”

Ash’s tail shifted back and forth, and back and forth. She shouldn’t have shared her opinion. Barry could be so close minded and stubborn sometimes. Plus, she had no doubt that he was right. The horrified look on the doctors’ faces before the man lunged. The fact that he attacked after…

Ash sighed. She didn’t want to think about that day, about the carnage, about his death. What was done was done. Be that as it may, Ash knew deep in her soul that it had been wrong. She closed her eyes, thinking of the best way to make her friend understand. Best to dive in head first.

“Because I met him.”

“You what?”

“I met him, him and the entire crew.”

Ash opened her eyes, and turned to her friend. His skin was pale with shock. Would he believe her? They were friends, right? He should trust her judgement.

“Two months ago Iyton and I were sent to out for security. Nothing special, really. Jobs just wanted to ensure that the perimeter hadn’t been breached. So, Iyton and I took a stealth pod and set off.

We circled the area three times, just to be thorough. Of course, no one was there. We started to head back when we were hit. Those ships can be so slow, you know?...”

Ash shuddered at the memory. The ship had tilted so far sideways that Ash’s seatbelt was the only thing keeping her from falling onto Iyton. Alarms had bathed the room in red. Sirens screamed in their ears, as if to emphasize how bad the situation was. The force of the jolt had knocked Iyton sideways. Pink blood oozed from a sizable gash in his head.

They were soldiers; they were supposed to be the epitome of fearlessness. However, in that moment, she had seen the look of despair that flashed in her colleague’s eyes.

Damage to ships wasn’t uncommon in space. Debris and chunks of rock were bound to hit eventually, but that trip had been different. One of those one in a billion chances that crews end up talking about during down time.

“So sad,” they would say.

“I mean, what are the odds?”

Then they would go back to their daily routine.

“Our CO2 converter and left engine had been hit,” Ash continued. “This base isn’t exactly well known and we were in a stealth pod. Iyton and I were practically in dead space. Hours away from a true repair station.

I mean, we tried our best. Iyton checked on the damage while I sent out distress call after distress call, but no one came… GAAP wasn’t there, and, honestly,” Ash gave Barry a stern look, “I don’t think they would’ve risked a rescue even if they had heard us.”

Her friend was speechless. His skin was a shocked gray. She could see the wheels turning in his head. He knew what was coming.

“Then, then they showed up. A cyborg lady, an android, a weird robot, two dogs, a purple lady, a Graeldur, and… him.”

After all this time, I still remember their names: Amy, Ethan, Bing, Chica and Henry, Kathryn, Tyler, and Mark.

“They rescued us, even made us food afterwards. One of the dogs wouldn’t stop asking them how we were, and the other got so much goop on Iyton.” Ash chuckled a little at the memory.

“What happened next?” Barry asked.

Ash shrugged, “They fixed up the converter and engine. He… Mark, insisted on getting us back to base, but, of course, we couldn’t tell him. So, they repaired our ship, and left. They saved us… They’re good people, all of them. So, no, GAAP didn’t do the right thing.”

It was Barry’s turn to stare blankly at the floor. He was silent for a minute, absorbing everything. Recalling that day, yes, she did get a shiver of horror. Those blazing lights, the feeling of utter hopelessness. Then, thinking about the Barrel crew, their kindness, gentle natures, willingness to listen, that almost made the fear go away. Plus, there were the dogs. Ash had always wanted a dog.

“Kinda, kinda makes you think, doesn’t it?” Barry, finally speaking, pulled Ash out of her thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“... I mean, we’re here, guarding a man we’ve never truly met. Why? Because GAAP said he’s a monster. That his kind radiate some awful disease, but you know… in all my time here, I’ve never seen the doctors wear any kind of radiation protection. I don’t even think Jobs wears anything.”

Ash was taken aback by her friend’s words. He was right. Ash hadn’t noticed it before, but hardly anyone on base wore any kind of protection. She and Barry wore masks, which she had assumed was enough. Then again, they were the only two that hauled the prisoner in and out of his cell. They administered the gas. They dragged him out through the smoke.

Was it really to fight disease, as they had been told? Or could it be simply to protect them from smoke inhalation? How had the conversation veered so off track? She had barely expected Barry to believe her, let alone fuel her doubt.

Ash gazed through the small slot in the prisoner’s door. Looks can be deceiving, but Ash could feel that something had changed. He just sat there, head against the crystal wall. The wall made just for his kind.

“His”, “him”, “he”? Ash had guarded the Atrian for weeks, yet she hadn’t even bothered to learn his name. A deep pit of regret opened in her stomach. It was so powerful, painful even. She thought it might swallow her from the inside out.

“Ash,” the same regret in her veins was mirrored in Barry’s voice. “Ash, what if we’re wrong?”

The guard couldn’t take her eyes off the prisoner. His shaking form, the exhausted slump. When was the last time he had even fought them as he was dragged out? He was broken, and part of it was her fault.

“I’m- I’m going to the console room. I need to check on Masters.”

Barry was still talking, but Ash couldn’t hear him. She couldn’t make herself tear her eyes away from the shaking form in his cage. Barry’s words rang like a gong in her soul.

“What if we’re wrong?”

Nate was strapped onto the operating table, like every other day. The guard’s smoke sedative made his soul like it was floating out of his body. He knew it would only last for a few more moments, but he found his muddled mind wander to other things- the guards’ words. Something had happened, something big, but it seemed that only the two guards wanted to talk about it. Inside the operating room there was no sound but the shuffle of feet, and adjustment of equipment.

There were two doctors in the room. Nate had never learned their names, so he settled with calling the bald one “Spot”, and the small girl “Ditsy”. Perched in a viewing room overhead behind a one-way mirror, Nate knew Doctor Visca was there. A deep tug pulled at his gut whenever he looked at the glass. It wasn’t dread, nor fear, but something else. It was something Nate couldn’t describe.

“I wish I could’ve been there.” Spot grumbled as she took Nate’s vitals.

Ditsy sighed, “You would’ve been a red splat on the wall, thanks to that maniac.”

Spot adjusted the overhead lamp. He flicked it on, and the machine whirred on. A blue light spun out, taking a peek into Nate’s insides. If only they had known that the inside didn’t matter. Madness had followed him from his container. The humanoid void was a ghost on the edge of his vision. The more Nate tried to get a good look, the more it inched away, but it was there. Its thoughts itched to fully leak into Nate’s mind.

They’re going to kill you, just like they killed him.

There had been an execution, but who? Who was he, or more accurately, who had he been? Nate had never actually gotten a name through his eavesdropping.

“Who died?” his voice came out hoarse. Nate sounded like a rusted gear grinding noisily along its track. Lack of use, and electrocution had taken their toll on his vocal cords.

Spot and Ditsy froze. Their eyes were wide with shock and fear. The only times the doctors had heard his voice were muffled screams from Jobs’ at their hands. His speaking voice, as far as he could recall, had never been properly utilized between the three. Nate had always been too busy convulsing in pain to make conversation.

“Uh,” Spot glanced nervously at Ditsy, who showed no signs of moving. She started breathing heavily, her hands slightly shaking. Was she, was she afraid? Interesting.

Spot cleared his throat, “No one, um, no one of your concern.”

“Ah, so someone I should be completely concerned about. Things really are escalating, aren’t they?”

A smug smile tugged at Nate’s lips. What was he doing? Speaking still felt like he was gargling wet gravel, but there was something in the way they responded. They were afraid of him. He was weak, had no cane, and was barely running on fumes, but their fear… It sparked something deep inside him. An electric giddiness, like he was a child opening the first present on his birthday. He had nothing, but his very DNA still made them quiver. Nate hadn’t noticed, but his smirk had widened into a mad grin. Insanity was smiling back.

“Sir, if- if you keep talking, we’ll have to put the collar back on.”

Spot straightened his back, but his facade of strength was quite pathetic. Still, if that’s the game they wanted to play, so be it. Nate hadn’t had true entertainment in weeks.

“His name was Mark. Mark Fischbach.”

Ditsy’s words came out timidly. Her face was practically lodged in a holochart. She turned her back to twiddle with the vials on the counter, but her hands were shaking so bad she nearly dropped one. She was obviously doing everything she could to not look at Nate.

Mark, Mark Fischbach. Where have I heard that name before?

“It doesn’t matter now. He’s gone, and we’re all the better for it. Hand me the-.”

A memory, so dusty it was like an ancient artifact, resurfaced. Nate had almost forgotten about it. A play, no, a musical, the Summer before everything went to Hell....

Nate was in a small workspace. A friend had contacted him about a short series he was doing. A horror musical based on some old Earth story he had dug up. Admittedly, the musical was odd, odd, but interesting. Interesting enough to make him say yes.

Nate gave a deep yawn, a small part of him regretting his decision.

Two in the morning. It was two in the morning. Nate had wrapped on his single scenes forty-five minutes ago, but they were still waiting for his absent co- actor to show.

Nate rested his head on an old computer prop, “You sure he’ll be here?”

The director, AJ, shouted from behind a fake wall, “Yeah. He’s done stuff like this before. Don’t worry about it!”

Nate fought to keep his eyes open. One more minute and AJ’s other actor would find himself working with a rag doll. He had been working all day on the project. His eyelids felt like two ton weights, his body weak from exhaustion. Would one nap really hurt?...

The door burst open. Nate jumped to attention far too quickly. His head swam around and around. Spots danced in his vision. Nate’s groggy haze did nothing to stop the newfound pounding in his head.

A newcomer stood in the doorway. His black hair was in a mad upheaval. He was panting, as if he’d made a mad dash onto set. Donning a snazzy gray wrinkled shirt, sweatpants, and tennis shoes it was clear that he was well prepared for a day of filming. Under his left arm was his wadded up costume.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I’m normally not like this. I’ve just been busy filling out GAAP papers all day, and I didn’t realize what time it was until…”

The frazzled man noticed Nate taking an assessment of him. Nate shook his head, “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get these scenes done, and we’ll be good to go. Right, AJ?”

“Uh, yeah, but I will need you later for your full scenes.” AJ shouted from behind the wall.

He visibly relaxed, “Ok. That’s good. I can do that.”

Nate held out his hand, “I’m Nathan, well, Nate. Nate Sharp.”

He smiled and shook Nate’s hand, “Mark, Mark Fischbach.”

Nate’s memory froze. He felt his blood run cold as ice. There, in that moment, he couldn’t move. Lively brown eyes looked back at him. He had a crooked smile Nate could tell was used often. Mark, how could he forget Mark?

Mark had helped Nate on a few of his songs. He wasn’t Atrian, but Mark had a voice worth listening to. Up until his acceptance into GAAP’s school, they would collaborate. They weren’t close- knit family types, but Nate considered him a friend.

Nate knew someone who had worked for GAAP.

Nate knew a man who could fly almost any spaceship.

Nate knew a dead man.

He was back in the operating chair, but stuck in the past. How had it happened? Was it painful? Did his friends know? The doctors were talking, Mark was acting, and Nate was caught somewhere hopelessly in between.

AJ yelled, “Action!”

“You’ve got the new antiseptic, right?”

Mark stumbled over his line, “Uh, what exactly is this scene?”

A wetness slid down Nate’s arm. Something cool touched his skin, then a deep burning sensation. Nate was suffocating. He couldn’t get the lyrics right. The doctors were reaching for metal clamps. Mark had started his lines. Spinning round and round. A cane, a guitar, a martyr.

They’re going to kill you. You’re just a broken music box to them. They’re going to kill you just like they killed him, but they won’t stop. Oh, no, no, no, no. They will never stop. They won’t stop until every one of our kind is bleeding on their own tables.

No, Nate’s mind pleaded.

Yes, Insanity hissed.

“No.”

A screeching halt. Mark’s faces faded into memory. AJ’s set disappeared. Nate felt something in his mind, something dark, almost otherworldly, snap to attention.

The world was sharp, sharper than it had ever been before. White walls, aluminum floors, everything was far too… fake. Nate’s left arm flaunted a deep, precise cut. The skin was clamped open; the bloodied hand of a doctor still held on.

Cold darkness fell over the room. The type of cold when clouds are the color of ash, and the air makes lips numb. Horror, bone chilling, unfathomable horror had fallen over the operating room.

The world around shifted and swirled in consistently darkening colors. Nate felt his eyes go black. His cheeks ached; it felt as if someone had taken a molten rod to the purple lines down his face. Nate found himself enjoying it. Pain meant he was alive.

Dark smoke began a graceful cascade over his eyelashes. A beautiful waterfall of black vapor pooling at his lashes, then falling down his purple Atrian lines. Insanity no longer danced in his peripheral. No, the beast had won over a new home. Unadulterated rage burned inside of him.

Nate saw it in the man’s eyes- the solid panic he was bleeding into the room that was once a prison. The doctor’s soul- twisted, pathetic. A being that tortured and broke simply because he could. Nate felt dirty just looking at him. He turned to the woman.

Similar to her colleague- she hadn’t moved. She was a statue from the fear Nate was exuding. Terror personified, a ghost for the lack of color in her face. Mouth agape, horror racing through her eyes.

“Undo my cuffs.”

Despite the absence of his cane, and barely having proper energy, Ditsy moved towards his table. With quaking hands, she unfastened the wrist restraints, then the ankle ones, the knees, the head. She took several hasty steps back after finishing her work. Nate cautiously removed his right hand, flexed it, then the same with the left. He gave Ditsy an unnerving grin.

A crash, glass flew across Nate’s vision. He felt a dull throb in the back of his head. Whatever had happened, it was enough to push Ditsy over the edge. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed in a heap.

Nate turned towards his attacker. Spot held the broken end of a glass beaker in his hands. The doctor had assaulted him? Nate touched the back of his head, but was only mildly concerned when his fingertips came back a little red. In that moment, his only focus, his only rage, was centered at the doctor.

Nate stood from the table, rubbing and shaking the numbness out of his once bound hands. The doctor reeled back, only to hit a metal table. He was trapped.

“STOP!”

Doctor Vasca stood behind him at the stairs leading to her observation room. Seeing her, Nate’s heart stopped. It wasn’t because she snapped him out of his stalk towards the other doctor, or the fear in her eyes. Nate stopped because what stood before him was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Held high above her head, Doctor Vasca held Nate’s cane. She reminded him of an Earthen statue he had seen a picture of. Draped in a massive toga, chains broken at her feet, she had held a torch on a tiny island- a beacon of hope for travelers. Frozen in that moment, Nate supposed he felt what people seeing the statue from a forgeign boat had felt- hope. Nate had hope, pure hope, a hope that might was the darkness of his mind away.

Doctor Vasca was in terrible shape. Her hair was undone and in knots. Dark bags showed that she hadn’t slept for nights.

She had probably been up studying your anatomy. What she had done to you.

Nate felt the seething rage boil inside him again. His hands clenched tighter. The waterfall of darkness flowed steadily down his face.

“I-” she stumbled, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what we’ve done to you, but please. He has a family- two daughters. They need him.”

A family. Nate glanced back at the cowering man. A family…

“Does your family know what you do, sir?” Nate spat.

“It- I… I’m under oath.”

“Ha! “Under oath”, that’s a “No”, then. What would your daughters say if they knew what you did today?” Nate held up his bleeding arm. “What if they knew what you have been doing? What would they say? Would they be shocked? Appalled? Too afraid to even touch the monster that had been their father?”

Scenes were visibly playing through the man’s head. Of course his family would see him as a monster. He had cut a man open with no remorse, for weeks. He had cut through skin, ignoring Nate’s squirming to get away. He was a sick, vile monster.

“Tie him up.” Nate told Doctor Visca.

“I- I’m sorry?”

“You heard me. Tie him up, and nothing will happen to him.”

Doctor Visca gingerly set down Nate’s cane. She held up her hands as she made her way to the man. Nate watched as she tied him onto the table. He watched to ensure that every strap was as secure as they had been for him.

Without taking his eyes off the two, Nate walked sideways towards his cane. It took everything in him not to snatch it hungrily. He had to be alert; he had to make sure the doctors didn’t try anything. Nate slowly bent down sideways, and picked up his cane. The effect was immediate. Like water from a cool spring, energy ran from the orb, down the cane, and into Nate’s veins. His mind began to clear. The well of emptiness in his mind was being dried up.

“Where is Jobs?” Nate asked.

Brown eyes emerged through the darkness. The black vapors stopped rolling, and his face resumed its natural form. Nate wore his purple Atrian stripes and clear mind once more.

“Fascinating.”

Doctor Vasca’s words pulled him out of his serenity.

“I mean, I knew there was something to the Atrian crystal, but I never expected something so, so, vigorous. I mean, you look good as new!”

She took a step towards Nate, who took one step back.

“You’re right- you didn’t know. You didn’t know because you wouldn’t listen. Now, where’s Jobs?”

Vasca didn’t appear to even hear Nate, or she didn’t care. Still rambling on about the possibilities his cane could have, Nate didn’t pay attention until she mentioned him.

“... and of course, you’d be at the forefront!”

Nate blinked in confusion. “What?”

Doctor Vasca beamed, “This is a whole new level of potential to aid GAAP you have! One without the other is useless, but I didn’t understand the true purity of its power until now! Think of the possible advancements- faster communication, upgraded weapons-.”

“No.” Nate held out his cane as his own weapon. “I will not be used by GAAP anymore. You finally listened to me, great, but you won’t get a single Atrian to do your work. Now, tell me where Jobs is.”

“I’m so sorry, Nate…”

Doctor Vasca reached into her pocket, and retrieved a thin holoboard. With one press, the door leading to the observation room, and Nate’s freedom, closed. The click of it locking felt like someone had slapped Nate across the face. His back was to Doctor Vasca, it didn’t matter anymore. He wasn’t escaping. That woman, that, beast…

“I wasn’t just going to give you the cane, Mr. Sharp. You were dying, and I was desperate. But it worked out for the better.”

Nate could feel her smiling, “You’re going to bring in a new age for GAAP. All the equipment you want... ”

Nate’s ears rang. Everything was buzzing. Little dots twinkled in his vision. He grasped his cane even tighter.

She lied to you. Darkness emerged once more, You were going to leave this place. You were going to forget everything, but look what she did! Think of what she’ll make you do! She made you dance like you were a puppet. The question is- what are you going to do now?

“... everything will be set right!” She exhaled, obviously proud of her speech, as if Nate had been listening. “What do you say, Mr. Sharp?”

Nate was on her in a moment. His hand was a vice grip around her throat. The pools of hatred were overflowing again, but he didn’t care. Hate, rage, power, that was how he was going to get out of GAAP’s Hell.

Doctor Vasca’s face and neck were red. Nate wasn’t holding on hard enough for her to suffocate, just enough to be uncomfortable. She gasped for air, and kicked at Nate in vain attempts to escape. Pathetic, just like her friend on the table. These people wouldn’t change. Their kind never do. So far in themselves, their “intelligence”, the belief that the odds justify every mean. All of it blinded them. Nate was going to let them see.

“Hmm,” Nate tapped his cane to his chin, as he had being a phantom healer what felt like decades ago. Phantom, maybe the street name had more weight than he had given it credit for. A shadowy figure, something you can almost see, but not quite. A being always in the edge of your view. He wasn’t Nate. He wasn’t “Mr. Sharp”. He was Phantom.

“You know what I say, Doctor Vasca? You want to know what I say? Well,” Phantom chuckled at her horrified face, “I say GAAP can kiss my ass. Also, I say…”

Phantom swung the top of his cane at the man on the table, knocking him out cold. Vasca’s eyes were wide with terror, “.... I say that was for Atria. Finally,” Phatom flipped his cane around in a quick circle. He dug the orb as hard as he could into the woman’s chest. It wouldn’t penetrate skin, but it would get close enough. Phantom began singing a bittersweet tune. He didn’t go so deep as to put the doctor under, just enough to do the job. He wanted to know what happened when you push an Atrian too far? He would show her.

A few sparks of white emerged from her lab coat, then a few more. The sparks condensed and merged until they formed three lines of raw energy- energy streaming from her heart.

Doctor Vasca tried to scream, but there was nothing anyone could have done. Phantom leaned in, “I say- this is for Mark.”

Her skin shrivelled and hung loose from the bones. Her eyes sunk into her head, the terrified expression in them never faded. Her hair turned gray and brittle. Parts began to fall in clumps onto the otherwise sterile floor. Phantom never looked away as the light, however tainted it had been, drain from her eyes. Doctor Vasca’s mouth hung open in a silent scream through everything, and it would stay that way.

Phantom dropped her mummified corpse onto the ground unceremoniously. He dug into her coat pocket for the holoboard. One click, and his escape route was restored. Phantom glanced at the unconscious man on the table. He wasn’t worth his time. The head restraint Doctor Vasca had secured prevented him from seeing Nate’s healing act. As for the good doctor- she was a smoking pile at his feet. The personnel and cameras? They were no concern. He would deal with the security footage on his way out.

Phantom looked into his crystal. Its once translucent interior swarmed with dark clouds. Gray energy surged off and on.

Stolen energy.

Phantom shook his head. He would have to deal with that annoying “still, small voice” later. Survival came first. Survival, and clothes. Phantom quickly wrapped up his bleeding arm, then turned to the still doctor on the operating table. He undid the straps holding down the unconscious doctor. He slipped on the man’s scrubs, fastened back the restraints, and covered the doctor with his old hospital gown. Might as well let him have some dignity when he woke up.

As Phantom strode out the door, he recalled an old story from Earth. A tale of a man with a magic pipe. It was actually where the derogatory term “Piper” had originated for Atrians. So the tale goes, a man was hired to extract all the rats from a village. When the people refused to pay him, he used his pipe to lure the children away. Some versions say the children were never seen again, others say they were led to their deaths, another that they were returned after the Piper had been paid his due several times the original amount.

Ascending the laboratory steps, Phantom finally understood why Atrians had been branded as Pipers. Not just because of their magical music, or that they used their gifts for work, it was something else. People thought they might end up like the rats, or the children. Racists referenced a potential murderer when they thought of Atrians. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps Atrians shouldn’t wear “Pipers” as a brand, but a badge of honor.

“Atrians are not a violent race.” Matt’s voice rang back in his head.

“... but people are capable of anything in order to survive.” Phantom verbally retaliated.

Saying it out loud made him feel a little better about his past. All his actions were justified. He was trying to survive. Adapting to a changing, well, universe, it would seem, was what he was doing. Surviving during war got gruesome. That was what he was surviving- the carnage of battle.

GAAP had called Phantom to war. They had sealed off his planet, killed a friend, and had torn him apart. No, they had torn Nate apart, but Nate wasn’t going to war. Nate had been left in a dark cell where no one could hear him scream. Phantom had risen as the poltergeist to nip at GAAP’s heels. Phantom was the avenger of his people, his friends, and who he had once been.

Phantom would make GAAP sorry for what they had done to all those before him. He would be the hand of justice for those GAAP had wronged. He idly twirled his cane, the smoke from his black eyes slid like ice down his Atrian markings. Fresh, dark energy spurred him onward. GAAP would regret the day they saw his face.

#spaceiplier #natewantstobattle #fan fiction

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furiousqueenmarmaroth · 5 years

Note

HC for the horsemen and Azreal assisting or just being friends with an expectant human mom-to-be? Doesn't have to be romantic if you dont wanna, but im all about the wholesome shit yo these guys deserve all the love in the world, just like you~ have a wonderful evening (or whatever timeit is, idk

((Here you go, love. I think I’m going to make Azrael his own thing, just cause he was the one holding me up. Anyways, I hope the others are okay because I’m kinda sleep deprived.))

Death:

“So yeah… I don’t want you to feel obligated to co-parent or anything. I know you don’t like change and if it’s ever too much for you I’ll be happy to move out.” Fingernail polish certainly didn’t last long with the nervous woman, as the littered flecks of paint that accumulated on the wood floors could attest.

“For you, I can make adjustments.” Death finally said, crossing his legs and returning to his book.

“Wait, really?” He took it much better than she had anticipated. It was so suspicious that she felt certain he would pee in her shoes like a cat she used to own. She didn’t know much about the Horseman, as no one seemed to, but she knew him well enough to know that “adjustments” weren’t a part of his skill set.

“We should probably start with child locks on the cabinets.”

“You’re joking.”

“The scar on War’s lip would say otherwise.”

“No I mean… What I’m trying to say is…” Oh boy, he really wasn’t easy to talk to. “You don’t have to be involved at all if you don’t want to be.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You are important to me, as you were before we started this little experiment. I would lay down my life for you, and as such, I would lay down my life for your child as well.” His eyes spoke of sincerity, a rare and vulnerable moment indeed.

“Well… Thank you, Death. You’re sweet.”

“I know. That’s why we’re not calling it Alice or Richard.”

“Those are my parent’s names and you can’t change my mind about them.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s good luck.”

“They both died before 30 how lucky can they be?” He knew he had went to far, but giving people permission to refer to what he considered his son as “Dick” wasn’t an option.

Fury:

By the pale tint to Fury’s face, she knew she had gotten to the part of the parenting book about childbirth. Probably the part about mucus plugs and placentas and the picture of a baby’s head crowning. You know, the gross stuff that no one told her about before her and her wife agreed to become pregnant.

When the Horseman’s face turned toward the human, she wasn’t sure if her expression was one of concern, pity, or disgust. Knowing her, it was probably both. There wasn’t anything exchanged between the two of them except a handful of pleasantries during breakfast.

“So… you knew about this?” The vague gesture toward the ‘gross’ chapter of the book was indication enough of what she meant.

“Yes. I am an OB/GYN. Kinda my job to know about it.”

“And there was no… man?”

“There was, but he wasn’t there during conception if that’s what you meant.”

“How…?”

“Well, you have three brothers. It’s just like that, except it goes in a vial instead of a sock.”

Fury’s face scrunched before concluding in a shudder. “At least we’re having a girl.”

“And you’re going to be an amazing mom.” She pressed a quick kiss to her partner’s temple, “Once you finally let me paint the nursery pink.”

“You know what,” she flung the book across the counter, “you deserve to punish this baby however you see fit, since your going to have your vagina ripped to your betty button anyways.”

“That’s not how a C-section works, Fury. Read the book.”

“I don’t want to anymore.”

She sighed and laughed, “Well at least come help me paint the room and get the to-go bag ready.” Wiggling fingers beckoned her to follow, and she did.

Strife:

“It’s like a fish bowl.” Strife concluded as he stared at the fuzzy image in his hands that only vaguely resembled something that would turn into humans. He was told the babies looked healthy for twins at 12 weeks. About the size of kumquats, the doctor said. Whatever the hell kumquats were. And the mother? Oh, even bloated and fatigued he still thought she was the most perfect woman in all of Creation.

She giggled and hooked an arm under his. “I can call one Fineas and one Finwick.” She sobered quickly, “Thank you for coming with me today, Strife. It means a lot to me.”“Always. I’m sure the father will be very happy to hear the news.”

“I called him a few weeks ago but he said he didn’t want anything to do with them. Happens, I guess.”

A hand appeared in his periphery and beckoned the picture back. Roused from his stupor, he realized the red box in front of them was her car and it was time for their brief time to end.

“Well, if you ever need anything, or nothing, you know, give me a ring and I’ll be here. For the baby or for yard work or something. And I’m totally fine being the guy you bring to these things.” Air sucked in between his teeth to make an awkward hissing sound. “Yup it’s… totally fine by me.”

“Okay…” Strife’s stomach sank as the car door popped open. “Bye, Strife.”

“Yup. Okay. Bye.” He held up his hand and turned away with a sigh. Lovely to spend time with her, as it always was.

“Actually, Strife?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you wanna… come with me to pick up my prenatal vitamins?” Her grin was intoxicating, “If that’s fine with you, that is.”

If it wouldn’t have been completely weird, he would have done the happy hippo dance from Fantasia. “It is.”

War:

War had become distant since the revelation of the new roommate that would be joining the house, even more distant still as he realized that her ever-expanding belly held this new life. His hands had crushed things significantly less fragile than the petite woman, and their few nights together proved that even at his best he still left bruises. And, worse still, the thing that was growing inside of her.

As to how he was able to sire an offspring was beyond him. Between his hybrid status, their differing species and centuries of horseback riding, he had considered the possibility unlikely, to say the least.

Neither his brothers nor his sister minded the addition to the Nephilim family, seeing as it would be taught the values of a human they considered level headed, for better or worse. But War minded. He minded quite a bit. But the decision was ultimately hers and there wasn’t much he could do about that except keep her somewhat entertained during the mandatory bedrest that began a few weeks into her pregnancy.

“Oof.” She clutched her stomach.

He was to her side and leaning over to examine her before she could finish a deep breath.

“It’s fine.” She pat his arm. “Just a kick.”

The father grunted and moved back to his shadowed seat to sulk and pretend like he wasn’t watching the show that was on. Quite frankly, he ate those reality TV shows up like Skittles.

“Do you want to feel?” Her grip on his hand was surprisingly strong as she pulled the only hand he had down towards the obscenely stretched and visibly moving skin.

“No.” He wasn’t about to fight against her, though.

“Just feel and I’ll stop bugging you.”

And so, he did if only to be done with it. But he was in love by the first kick. There was no way he could explain the sudden surge of emotion when the little warrior to be jutted a foot against the gentle pressure of his hand. What he was certain of though, was he had to turn away lest anyone should see the tears that suddenly attacked his eyes.

“The doctor says you can see that she has hair on the ultrasound.”

“She?”

“Yeah, she. Did you want to say something to your daughter? She can hear you, you know.”

“Is that why you’ve been reading out loud like a mad woman?”

“Yeah, that’s the reason.” She offered the shoddy book of poetry to him, “This is all we have with rhymes. Though with all the detective shows I’ve been watching I’m sure that’s had more of an impact.”

#ask #ask me anything #darksiders #death #fury #strife #war #pregnant human #fluff

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thewhorecruxes · 6 years

Text

Black Magic

Hogwarts!Michael

Word Count: 2k

Rating: smut? is it even good enough to be considered smut? who knows

Warning: drugging sort of? idk it’s a potion (i can 100% confirm it is not rape tho)

A/N: i love harry potter more than 5sos so if y’all dig this i’m 100% up to write more also i got a couple of requests that i’ll try to do soon?? idk how to write super kinky stuff y’all

Masterlist

In the almost seven years you had attended Hogwarts, there was little you hadn't done to get Michael Clifford's attention. No matter what, you were just never on his radar.

As a Slytherin student, Professor Snape had you on his list of favorites. You were a good student, particularly gifted in potions, and willing to go to extremes to get what you wanted. Sometimes that was a good quality, sometimes it was not. This was one of those times.

Snape trusted you enough to the point where he allowed you to stay after class to "practice" potions without him in the classroom. You knew brewing the potion was illegal but you weren't about to tell him and lose your privileges.

You gathered the necessary ingredients: Ashwinder eggs, rose thorns, peppermint, powdered moonstone, and pearl dust. Carefully following the steps written in the Advanced Potion Making textbook, you worked for almost two hours perfecting the potion.

Pouring it into a couple of glass vials, you could smell your favorite and most familiar smell emanating from it. That's how you knew it was perfect.

Luckily, by the time you were done, the Great Hall was serving dinner. Most students were already in there and you were hoping Michael and his friends still were.

As soon as you stepped into the hall, you immediately scanned the Gryffindor table for the misplaced Slytherin who always managed to escape the emerald table of horrible people.

You quickly spotted his green hair. He may not have liked the others in Slytherin, but he still showed lots of house pride.Training your eyes on him, you made your way to the Slytherin table, dropping down next to some semi-tolerable people.

You watched as him and his other three mates were joking about, none from the same house. You envied how well he could get along with the other houses despite how he came from Slytherin. It seemed as if everyone, even the other Slytherins, coined you as a manipulative bitch without even truly knowing you.Calum Hood, Michael's Ravenclaw friend, stood up.

Reacting too quickly, you jumped up from your seat, knocking your knee against the table. You were too anxious to feel the pain.

The rest of Michael's gang stood up, and began lumbering towards the exit.

You took your chance and "accidentally" bumped into him, spilling your love potion into his glass of pumpkin juice while pretending to be not paying attention.

"Oh my gosh," you faked, "I am so sorry!"

He shook his head, waving you off, "It's my bad, really."

You smiled at his kindness, internally knowing it was completely and utterly your fault.

"Sorry again," you told him, speeding off towards the library with your homework where you knew him and his friends would never go.

You didn't know if the potion had actually worked until you were sitting in the Slytherin common room with a couple of other girls.

Everyone's head turned towards the stone slab that was sliding open to see who was entering.

Most rolled their eyes and continued talking when they saw it was only the traitorous green-haired boy.

You also turned away, guilt clawing at your insides. You were unable to meet his eyes.

All chatter ceased, every teen's eyes trained behind you.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and froze.

"Y/N," the voice said, "Can I talk to you?"

Whispers echoed throughout the room as you stood up and faced Michael.

He cleared his throat when you didn't make a move to leave the common room. "Alone."

The whispers intensified but you ignored them.

"Uh, should we go outside?"

"Let's go to my dorm," he said, taking your wrist lightly in his fingers and drawing you away from the other gossiping Slytherins.

The nerves in your stomach felt like dragons as he led you passed all of the boys' dormitories.

Michael finally opened the door furthest from the entrance, closing it behind the two of you.

You glanced around the room, immediately noticing the singular four-postered bed. "How did you get in the prefect's room?"

"He and I have a little deal going on," Michael winked at you.

"Anyway," you changed the subject nervously, "What's this about?"

Michael let out a love-struck sigh. "Y/N, I'm in love with you."

Even though you'd always been the number one potions student in your year, you almost choked knowing that your potion worked and hearing the words you've been dying to hear from your crush.

"What?" You struggled to speak.

"I love you so much, baby, will you accept me?" His green eyes looked directly into yours, showing nothing but pure affection.

"Of course, Michael!"

A large smile crept onto his face and he crashed his lips to yours, tossing you both on the bed. As you felt his tongue probe your mouth, you couldn't help but feel bad that he was only doing this because you gave him a love potion.

You shook off the negative feeling–your long-awaited crush was finally kissing you!

Just when you thought you were the one taking advantage of the situation, Michael slid his hand down to your ass, squeezing it gently. You let out a little yelp against his mouth and he chuckled.

You weren't sure how or when it started happening, but soon both of your shirts were on the floor and all you had on was your skirt and stockings.

Michael licked his lips as he stared at your breasts. His eyes held a hunger that made it seem like he could eat you right up.

He began by trailing kisses down your jaw, your neck, in the valley between your breasts. He pressed kisses there, sucking a little bit as he held you in his hands.

Your fingers were twisted in his green hair, attempting to pull him impossibly closer. The sight of his green colored hair kissing down your chest had you more turned on than you thought possible.

"I wanna eat you out," he murmured against a nipple. The raspiness of his voice had your panties wet in an instant and you thought no idea could beat the one he just came up with. "Do you want me to show you how much I love you? Tell me," he commanded.

"Yes," you breathed, "Show me how much you love me."

His kisses were trailing lower and lower, reaching the hem of your skirt. He didn't bother taking it off, rather he just desperately flung it up around your waist and pulled your panties down around your ankles. You kicked them off for good measure.

"Oh, love," Michael groaned, sliding a teasing finger down your slit. "You're so wet for me."

You let out a groan.

He pushed you farther up on the bed, making room for himself between your legs.

Biting his lip, he rubbed a finger against your clit, sending shivers up your body.

Tentatively, Michael stuck his tongue out and licked it. You let out a low moan at the sensation, motivating him to continue. His lips latched onto your clit while his fingers delved inside of you to find your sweet spot.

He made little noises of happiness that rumbled into your opening, causing more sparks of pleasure to shoot through you. Michael's tongue quickly lapped up your juices as his two fingers sped up.

At this point, you all you wanted to do was show Michael your gratitude. For what, maybe not entirely his doings, but he was helping you live your pre-teen fantasies.

You reluctantly pushed his head away from your thighs and he made a discontented noise.

"Did I–did I do something wrong?" He sounded like a child afraid of being scolded.

"Of course not," you told him, "It's your turn."

His eyes widened in understanding, and Michael quickly pulled his trousers down to his knees, allowing the bulge in his boxers to be visible.

You got eye-level to his twitching erection and placed one hand over it. Michael let out a hiss at the contact.

"Put your mouth on it," he pleaded. You weren't about to deny your six-year-long-crush his wishes–you slowly slid the waist band of his boxers down, leaving his cock exposed.

The head was a bright red, the same as his kiss-bruised lips. You let out a little noise of awe before Michael got restless and pulled your head towards his throbbing member. His cock pressed against your lips and you obliged, opening your mouth to him.

Michael groaned, savoring the feeling of the hot mouth around his cock.

You licked around the head, tasting the salty precum. His hands found their way into your hair and eagerly pushed you down further. You let your tongue press underneath his cock, feeling the throbbing veins on the underside of his shaft.

It went on for a while; you would take him almost all the way down, then pull back to where his head was only between your lips. You were about to take him in again when he pulled away.

"Woah," he complained, "If you keep going at it I'm gonna cum and that's not what I want right now." He pulled you back up, pressing his lips against yours once again.

You melted into his grasp, not even caring that you could still taste yourself on his lips.

He walked you into the bed, causing you to fall backwards with him on top of you. His kisses never ceased as he jerked as his cock, preparing himself to enter you.

You pushed his face away for a second, murmuring, "Condom?"

He shook his head and felt around the bed for a second. Muttering a little spell, he responded, "No worries."

With that, he pushed forward into you.

You felt so full and you were happy that it was him that you were full of. You could feel him bump into your walls, and he hurried his pace once he found the thrust that gave you the most pleasure.

"Michael," you gasped when a thrust was surprisingly powerful.

The headboard was knocking loudly against the wall and you prayed the room had a silence charm on it.

It wasn't long before his pace was more erratic and his animalistic grunts became louder. You could feel his member twitching inside of you. He was ready to cum and you weren't going to take that away from him.

"Cum," you told him breathlessly, "Cum inside."

That was more than enough for Michael who, with one last hard push, let it all out. He jerked at least four times inside of you, and you felt his warmth fill you up.

Michael brought his thumb around and rubbed it into your clit, urging you to cum alongside him. You felt the pleasure growing inside of you and, between the feeling of him shooting inside of you and the mission his fingers were on, you felt yourself unravel beneath him.

His hands came up to stroke the sides of your face as you came, trailing kisses across your jaw.

Once you both realized you were thoroughly exhausted, Michael slipped out of you and rolled onto the bed next to you. He pulled the covers up near him and burrowed into them, pulling you next to him and throwing the blankets over you as well.

Wrapping an arm around you, he pulled you tight to his chest. He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead.

"Before you fall asleep," he began, "We should probably talk about you not slipping me anymore potions, huh?"

You shot out of his grasp in a rush to sit up. "W-what? How did you--"

Michael chuckled before reaching over and tugging you back into your arms. "I'm not an idiot, Y/N. But it's okay because I've liked you for a long time, too."

You smacked his arm as he continued to laugh and exclaimed, "Why didn't you tell me that?"

He shrugged. "Same reason you didn't tell me. But as soon as you tried to drug me, I knew it was my chance to make a move."

"I did not try to drug you!"

Michael raised an eyebrow. "There's a reason Amortentia is illegal, dear Y/N, did you forget? It would've made me an unwilling slave to your beauty."

You scoffed, crossing your arms and squirming away from him.

"Hey, hey," he soothed, "Don't run away. Now I'm a willing slave, isn't that better?"

You punched him lightly. He only laughed and pulled you closer, glad that you had sort of made the first move.

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nasatshirts · 6 years

Text

The Good, the Bad, and the Dirty part 1

A/N: So uh. This is my first Wolfstar FanFiction and the first one I post on this account so like…lotsa firsts here. Pls be nice if you comment…I worked really hard. Inspired by The good, the bad, and the dirty by Panic! At the Disco

Summary: Sirius messed up. Only he has no idea how to mak things right.

Warnings: Panic attack, crying, negative thoughts, umm…idk tell me if I need to add anything else

He screwed it up. He always screwed it up. That’s it. It was over. He shouldn’t have even tried to be in a relationship because he knew it would be doomed from the start and—

“Get on with it, Padfoot!” A very annoyed-sounding James said. “Why’d you even do that to him in the first place?”

Sirius felt a stab of annoyance mix in with the guilt already threatening to take over. “Hmm, let me think Prongs. I actually did it to hurt him, I mean, why wouldn’t I? OBVIOUSLY I HADN’T MEANT TO, IDIOT.” Sarcasm dripped from his words like water from a leaky faucet.

And he hadn’t meant to hurt Remus. All Sirius had waned to do was sell a couple items to some of the other Gryffindors, hopefully obtaining some extra money to buy Remus something for his birthday! But everything started to go wrong when Sirius sold something that couldn’t ever be replaced.

*^/^*

~The day before~

Sirius walked into the dormitory to nothing short of chaos. Clothes were strewn all about, somehow ending up on the ceiling way above their heads. A chair was on its side, halfway across the room from its original location. One of the curtains that hung from the beds was ripped and flung onto the floor in a sad heap, along with a trunk completely open and empty with its contents dumped on the floor. Random objects floated in the air, even snapped quills and smashed vials of ink haphazardly hanging completely still in the tense atmosphere.

Sirius let out a low whistle. James, who had been a few steps behind him on the stairs, suddenly entered and stopped dead in the doorway.

“Sirius,” he said slowly. “What. In. Godric’s. Long. Furry. Beard. Happened. In. This. Dorm.” Sirius opened his mouth to retort before the answer made itself known in the form of Remus skidding out of the bathroom and sliding into the floor, having slipped on a shirt that had been torn in half.

James took a deep breath. “Remus. I’m going to ask you a simple question, and I want a simple answer.” Another deep breath. “What the hell?”

Remus, however, wasn’t exactly paying his utmost attention. His eyes were wide and were everywhere at once, glancing at multiple points around the room in a matter of seconds. He was hugging himself tightly, scratching at his arms every few seconds.

The other two, becoming alarmed, approached him slowly. “M-moony? You okay?” Sirius asked softly. James could only gape, eyes nearly bulging out of his skull.

Remus didn’t seem to be paying them any attention, only shaking his head, muttering insanely to himself. He scratched harder at his arms, worrying Sirius further.

Moving slowly and keeping his hands in Remus’s eyesight, Sirius gently took his hands in his own, stopping him from clawing at his skin.

Though Remus, thankfully, was not scratching at his arms anymore, he still was muttering crazily to himself, glancing at everything so quickly, it made Sirius dizzy. His breathing was coming in short gasps, nearly at the point of hyperventilation.

“James?” Sirius asked. “D’you mind stepping back a bit? He’s having a panic attack, this isn’t good.”

James swallowed and nodded, going back a few paces.

“Moony.” Sirius said, directing his attention to Remus once more. He didn’t look at him. “Moony.” He tried again, firmer. “Hey. Look at me.” Sirius took Remus’ face in his hands, benignly directing his gaze onto his own face.

Remus’s panicked expression met his own concerned one. “P-Padfoo-oot?”

He was stammering horribly and his voice cracked in the middle, but that single word brought relief like nothing else could ever provide.

“Yeah, Moony, it’s me. I’m here. What’s wrong?” He added.

Remus was clutching at Sirius’s arms like Sirius was his savior from all the evil in the world. He whispered something. Too low for him to catch it.

“What’d you say, baby?” He was caught off guard when Remus started sobbing, almost hyperventilating again.

“I lost it I lost it I lost it. Sirius. I lost it,” he whimpered.

“Lost what, Moony? Tell me.”

“The locket. I lost the locket, Padfoot, I l-lost it. Tha-at was the th-thing that helped me, P-Padfoot. Before you gu-uys started coming w-with me ok those nights.” Another wave of tears was shed, and Sirius felt his blood run cold. It couldn’t be the same locket, could it?

“Remus, what did the locket look like? Was it silver, Moony? With a large red gem in the middle?”

But Remus didn’t answer. His jaw got tight, and a look of betrayal slid its way into his face. Shaking his head, eyes narrowed, he shoved Sirius away and sprinted out of the room and down the stairs.

It could have been a figment of his imagination, but Sirius could have sworn that he heard something; a very small, very hoarse voice whispering “How could you?”

*^/^*

“Well? What are you going to do about it, Padfoot?” James’s voice cut through the silence that had occupied the flashback.

He jumped, having forgotten the present world momentarily. He could still feel the guilt piercing through him like a stake through a vampire’s heart.

“I…I don’t know.” He stared determinedly at the floor, purposefully avoiding the exasperated gaze that he just KNEW was studying him as if he were a particularly fast snitch he had to figure out how to catch.

“You don’t know. You must have some idea of how to fix this! I’m sorry, Sirius, but you can’t keep hiding here forever, praying to Godric that Remus just magically forgives you.” James loved all his friends—with his whole heart—but he was getting tired of having this same conversation a million times over.

He knew that all Sirius needed was a little nudge in the right direction. Or perhaps just flinging him in the right direction instead would be more effective since otherwise Sirius would take two steps back for every one step he managed to go. If only he had a good metaphorical catapult (in the real-life form of words) to aid him.

“Don’t you understand,” Sirius started, and his voice contained millions of unshed tears, “that I have been racking my damn brain for the right way to fix this?” He took a step towards “I have spent literal hours thinking of what to do. And I have nothing.”

James’s eyes widened behind his glasses as he realized the implications of what he had just said.

“I’m falling apart, James.” James’s heart broke a bit.

They stood in silence for a while, each too caught up in their brainstorming to speak.

Then it hit him. And, though he would deny it until the day he died, his voice cracked with desperation as he yelled out a single idea that he remembered his own father had done for his mother when they were young.

“A LIST.” Sirius blinked, and then looked at him through narrowed eyelids.

“A what.”

James saw a gleam of hope in his eyes that sent a wave of excitement through him. “A list, Padfoot, keep up! You know, with the words after the numbers and they look organized if ya do it right and—“

“I know what a list is, Prongs.”

“Shut up for a second, Padfoot, that’s not my point.”

“Then get on with it, you moldy onion.”

“I will if you shut up, Sir Rotten Grape.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, giggling slightly. This might be his only chance to make things up with Remus and he felt giddy with relief.

“Now. As I was saying, a long time ago, you can make him a list of, I don’t know, all your favorite things about him or some cheesy crap like that. Maybe list how many ways you’re sorry or the different sized animals that are smaller than your love for him—just. Be creative. And make. Sure. He. Knows. How. Hecking. Sorry. You. Are.”

James, expecting Sirius to laugh at his idea, looked up to find him nodding thoughtfully.

“Yeah. That—that sounds great. Thank you so much, Prongs, I’ve gotta go,” He hugged James quickly, much to the other’s surprise, slinging an arm around his neck abruptly before dashing out as fast as he could.

“You’re welcome, I guess.” James said to the empty room, scratching the back of his neck.

Next part

#wolfstar #sorta angst #with a happy ending #mah writing #my fics #this is my first fic #heh #*sweats*#its probably really bad #but like #i tried #so #yeah

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inkstainedfanfics · 7 years

Text

I Still Exist

Requests: Omg your stories are awesome! I was wondering if I could suggest a newt x reader with the song "Where Do We Go" or "Shatter Me" by Lindsey Stirling? Where the reader feels kinda neglected and depressed for quite some time and newt fails to notice because he is in a lot harsher mood and snaps a lot as a result of working on his book? And one day she goes "missing" and worries newt? Lots of angst pls!(Idk it sounded a lot better in my head)You can come up with the rest. Thanks! AND hi !! i really love your stories, and i was wondering if i could request an v angsty one where newt is under a lot of stress and snaps at reader? ❤️❤️

Word Count: 2,701

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Part 2 | Part 3

Requested by Anonymous

Requests are currently open! Feel free to one in

The workshop smells about how you’d expected when you crawl into the case. A burning mixture evaporates somewhere nearby, partly covering up the odors of the various feed bags for the creatures and the plate of raw meat rotting on the table. You shake your head, disgusted, and slip past the shed. Scanning the field, hand over your eyes to block out the blinding sun, you spot Newt next to a murtlap. He’s on his knees saying something to the snarling creature. You swallow down the heart breaking in your chest. He’s exchanging more words with that beast than he has with you in the past month.

“Newt. Newt!” You shout, crossing through tall grasses and kicking stones out of your way. For God’s sake, “Newt!”

He twists enough to ensure it’s you before turning his back on you. “One minute, love.”

Hands on your hips, you wait as he chatters with the beast. It’s not that you’re against his research, it’s that he’s trying to cram chapters worth of new material into the book. You’d supported his idea when he first told you a month and a half ago. Now, though, you’re not sure you would’ve been so encouraging had you known he would spend every waking minute in the case without you.

“I don’t have all day, Newt. I have to get to the bakery with Queenie before it closes.”

He shakes his head, facing you. “I’m busy, love. Can’t it wait?”

You can feel the tension in his voice, strengthened, no doubt, by the bags under his eyes. “I just need to know if you’d prefer apple or peach pie for dessert.”

He mumbles something that sounds like ‘that’s it?’ but when you question him, he simply says, “I said it’s your choice. I’m sure you’ll make the right one.”

“All right. How about a bag of flour? I was thinking we could make some doughnuts together tomorrow morning.”

Newt sets his quill down on his paper and stands, brushing the dust from his knees. “I wish I could.”

“But you’re busy with your book?” It’s more a sentence than a question.

He reaches down to pick up the dirty journal at his feet. “I’m sorry, love. You know I want to. I just need to finish this study on the murtlap’s instinctive reactions to mishandling.”

“He bites you. There’s your answer.” You cross your arms over your chest. “Now will you please spend some time baking doughnuts with me tomorrow morning?”

Newt frowns. “You know it’s more complicated than that.”

“It’s been ages.”

“I know. It’s been ages since we’ve had time together. But my book is being published soon.” He starts forward, leaving you to follow him. “I need to be sure the information in it is as precise as possible.”

You step next to him and wrap your arms around his side. “Please, babe?”

Newt shakes his head. “I don’t have the time.”

“Newt-“

He pulls the door to the workshop open. “I told you this would take a lot of work. You were fine with it then.”

“I didn’t realize it would mean that I’d lose all of my time with you.”

He tosses his journal on the table and rushes toward the heated liquid that you’d first smelled when you’d walked into the shed. “I will try,” he murmurs, lifting the vial from the flame with a pair of tongs, “to find some time.”

“Try?”

He raises his eyes to yours as he sets the vial in a cooling rack. “That’s the best I can do.”

“I miss being with you.”

“You’re with me right now.” He quirks an eyebrow at his dry joke.

You groan. “That’s not what I meant.”

He wipes down the table with a rag. “I know what you meant. I don’t want to promise anything.”

You step forward to stand across the table from Newt but gag at the plate of rotting meat in front of you. “Why not?” You ask as you round the table and lean against it, next to Newt.

“I don’t want to disappoint you, love.”

You would consider that sweet if you didn’t see his left ring finger tap the table twice: his tell. “Don’t lie to me.”

He swallows, staring at the table. “I would never.”

His finger twitches. “Why the hell don’t you want to promise anything?”

Newt sighs and turns, rolling his eyes when he thinks you can’t see, but tries to keep his tone light. “It doesn’t matter, love. Don’t you have to get to the bakery?”

You suck in a long, slow breath. “Tell me the truth.”

He’s silent for so long, you almost ask again. When he does speak, though, you know why he was so hesitant. “I’m tired of your whining.” The words are quiet but harsh.

The long breath leaves in an instant. “My whining?”

Newt braces himself against the window’s wooden sill with two hands. “You have a tendency to complain more than is necessary.”

Your cheeks flush. “I’m so sorry I want to know if you even care anymore. I’ll try to keep my worries to myself from now on.”

He scowls, eyes flashing in anger. “You asked me to be honest.”

“I didn’t realize that my boyfriend would have an issue with me asking for him to spend a second of his time with me.”

“I am right now.” His voice hardens as he turns toward the tube. “Looks how that’s turning out.”

He stares at the vial like it holds the rest of his manuscript, completely ignoring the crack in your voice. “I’m sorry to waste your time. I’ll just see my own way out.”

“Please do.”

You want to both scream and cry and the result is your crimson face and puffy cheeks. You spin on your feet and march out, muttering curses at him beneath your breath.

You miss Newt. You miss joking with him, miss cooking burned suppers with him, miss late nights stargazing and sipping butterbeer until the sun comes up. This Newt, though, you wish would just go away.

Slipping on your jacket, you grab your purse and head into the kitchen, hoping Queenie will be ready to head to the bakery. The kitchen is empty, so you shout for Queenie twice. You’re about to head out the front door to see if she’s outside already when you notice the note stuck to it.

Something came up. I won’t be able to make it to the bakery with you. So sorry. Could we go tomorrow? Xo Q.

You step into the hallway alone. Your feet thud along the ground, one heavy bang at a time as your fury melts out, replaced by nothing more than a heavy despair. Newt doesn’t want you around. Queenie made other plans without consulting you. You’re little more than a shadow on the wall.

You continue down the staircase, growing tired and slower with every step. There’s no reason to hurry. No one’s waiting on you anyway.

The steps seem endless when you’re not pounding down them in a race against Newt or gossiping with Tina about the residents on each floor that you pass. By the time you reach the landing, the familiar feeling of hopelessness has wormed its way into your heart and made its bed.

As you trudge to the bakery, you wonder if it even matters if you return to the apartment.

Newt casts a charm on the final candle, sending it floating into the air around the blanket. He sets two plates on it, flicking a pebble off the nearby pillow he’s going to sit on later tonight. The basket of biscuits floats over, settling on the checkered setting. He looks over everything else one more time. The sun is already halfway finished with its descent when he stands. He chose this spot on the flat stone outcropping because of its view of the midnight sky. You’d loved stargazing with him on your first date, pointing out random shapes and making up stories for whatever you saw. It was all you had talked about for the next month.

Newt rubs his neck as he leaves the spot to go find you. He hadn’t meant to say what he said. Sure, maybe you could be persistent, but it isn’t your fault the two of you hadn’t had a date in so long.

He’d felt terrible the moment he’d calmed down, but when he had climbed out of the case and searched for you, you’d already left for the bakery with Queenie.

The next hour of his research had been worthless; he’d spent the entire time wondering how to properly apologize for what he’d said.

Now, though, the picnic is ready and you’ll be back from the bakery.

Crawling out of the case, he notices your jacket isn’t strewn across the bed. Odd, but he continues forward. Queenie sings in the kitchen, swaying along to the jumping record playing in the corner.

“Queenie?”

“Hey, honey, I was wondering about you. Will you join us for dinner tonight or are you gonna be too busy in that case?”

Red tinges his cheeks. So everyone feels the same. “I’m afraid I’ll be in the case again. How was the trip to the bakery?”

“Oh, apologize for that, would you? I feel horrible for having to cancel.”

Newt’s face screws up in confusion. “Wait, you two didn’t go together?”

“No. I had a work situation.”

“So you’re alone? You don’t know where she is? She’s not with you?” Newt’s innate protective side pesters him.

Queenie giggles. “Why would she be? I thought she was with her ‘handsome, clumsy boyfriend.’”

Newt ignores Queenie’s use of your thoughts and asks when she last saw you.

“This morning at breakfast. When you would barely look at the poor girl.”

Newt’s guilt digs deeper. “Do you know where she is?”

Queenie stops dancing as she sets a pot of food down. “Probably with Tina.”

“Who’s with me?” Tina calls from her room, appearing in the doorway.

Newt tries to calm his heart before it begins pounding.

Queenie steps to Newt’s side. “She’s probably just running late at the bakery.”

“Impossible. It’s getting dark out. It’ll be dangerous for her to walk alone.”

Tina interrupts. “She’s probably in the case. You just didn’t notice her.”

Newt nods. Of course. He could’ve just passed you when you were standing behind some trees or feeding a large creature. “I’ll check again.” He’s back in his room and in the case in a minute.

He walks through the fields, calling your name from habitat to habitat, but the further he gets without a response, the faster he moves, until he’s jogging, running, sprinting back toward the apartment. He smacks his head trying to hurry out.

He rolls across the bedroom floor, yanking the door open and dashing to Tina and Queenie.

They take in his red face, terrified eyes, and hands on his knees as he pants. “She wasn’t down there. Anywhere.”

Tina can’t hide her nerves when she peeks through a curtain and spies the black sky. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Newt spits out. “We need to find her.” He stands and strides toward the door.

Tina reaches a hand out and grabs his arm. “Newt, wait. We don’t even know where to start.” “We’ll figure it out.”

“If she’s really in danger, we need a plan.”

Newt is quiet. “I have one: Find her and save her.”

“One more developed than that.”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have time to wait around thinking.”

“Stop and think!”

“She could be hurt!”

“Wow,” you interrupt meekly from the now open front door, “you were really going to give up some of your precious time to try to find me?”

Newt’s shoulders sag when he sees you. “Where were you?”

“Out.”

“Look at what time it is. You could have been hurt.”

You walk in and shrug the grocery bag off your shoulder. “Why would you care?”

“I care about you.”

“Yeah?” You walk past him, sliding your jacket off your arms. “What a great line to pull out anytime it seems like I might leave you.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Please let me explain.”

“Let you?” You hang your jacket on a hook and turn, eyebrows raised. “I should do something for you? Why, exactly, should I when you can’t even give me five minutes of your time to talk?”

Newt winces at the blow. “I know I haven’t been paying you enough attention lately. I’m sorry.”

“Lovely. It comes at the perfect time.” You run a hand through your hair. “Whatever, Newt. I don’t want to fight right now.”

He follows you into the bedroom. “Where were you?”

“I was leaving.” You pull open the case, voice flat.

Newt’s shoulders curl in. “To where?”

“Wherever the wind blows me.”

Newt climbs into the case after you. “Why did you come back?”

“I didn’t feel the wind, and I don’t know where I’d go on my own.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad the wind stayed still.” He tries to smile at you.

You don’t reply.

Eyes flickering between you and the ground, he breaks the silence. “Are you going to leave again tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, Newt. It’s not like it really matters to anyone.”

He blinks. “What?”

You can barely meet his eyes when you face him. “How long did it take for anyone to realize I was even missing? Four hours? Five? It wouldn’t matter to any of you if I just vanished one day.”

He stops you by grabbing your hand. “You matter to me. So much more than you understand.”

You swallow at the pain in his eyes, but you’re too exhausted to fight tonight. “You can’t just act like this after a month and a half of pretending I don’t exist.”

“I know I don’t deserve forgiveness, but will you give me time to make it up to you as best I can?” His sincere pleads almost convince you. Almost.

You draw your hand from his grip. “I need space for now.”

His voice shakes and grows quiet. “Please don’t leave me.”

The little flame of anger in your chest burns your next words. “I won’t make any promises.”

He flinches at the words. “I’m sorry.”

He leaves, shoulder drooping low, when you turn your back on him without so much as a nod.

You look over your shoulder to be sure he’s gone before you slouch to the ground and close your eyes, letting the grief take over. You sink into the ocean of it, letting the waves drown you until you’re not sure if you’re awake or dreaming. You lose track of time as the ocean consumes you. Hours may have passed by the time the wind tickles your face and slowly blows the ocean of grief from your chest.

You prop yourself onto your elbows, peering around. Hours have definitely passed. A pink sky has replaced the midnight black. A pack of diricrawls waddle nearby, pecking at seeds. You rub your eyes and push yourself to your feet. The air is surprisingly cool and you just want to curl up in your bed.

You reach the shed and are about to leave when a beaten journal catches your eye. Newt’s collection of notes for the book. He treats it like a child treats his favorite teddy bear. He’s never even let you flip open a page before.

You lift it and examine the outside. Streaks of dirt cover it, results of carrying it everywhere. The corners are rounded from wear, and ink splotches are dotted around it like a design.

You open the cover, expecting the table of contents, Newt’s way of knowing what page he’d need to flip to. Instead, it appears to be the dedication page.

To my love,

You freeze, reading and rereading the final sentence five, ten, twenty times before you accept it. Your name is right next to Scamander. Written in the same messy scrawl. As though he hadn’t picked up the quill, as though he had meant to put the names so close together.

As though … as though he means to marry you.

#newt scamander #newt Scamander x reader #newt Scamander imagine #newt Scamander one shot #angst #fbawtft #request #I hope y'all like this #ennnnnnjoyyyyy #some of the lines are references to the song #I hope you can pick them out!#I used where do we go #I feel like I'm forgetting something #but idt I am #lovely song btw #I saw she did a Dragon Age video #which was sick

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