#TDA whumptober

[myarmsaretoolong]

Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops.

Prompt #28: Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops - Accidents

Word Count: 801

Synopsis: Tony doesn’t understand memes. I don’t know how else to explain this mess.

Read Under the Cut | Read on AO3

“I still don’t understand.” Tony threw his hands in the air, a little overdramatic if you asked Peter. But then again, this was Tony Stark, aka the guy who announced I am Iron Man on a live press conference and, quite literally, shifted the world into a whole new gear of living. So yeah, maybe a few dramatics were to be expected.

“It’s quite simple, Mister Stark. There’s not really anything to get.” Peter put on his best ‘teaching voice’ and started his explanation all over again. “You see, in the very beginning there was only j-”

“No!” Tony waved his arms and shot up from his stool. “I’m not listening to this again. Not without another coffee at least.”

“Are you sure you should have more? Aren’t you already on, like, your fourth since I got here?”

“Yes,” Tony shot Peter a glare as he crossed the lab towards the door. “That’s just how tiring you are.”

“Hey!”

Tony hesitated in the doorway, one hand on the frame with one eyebrow raised. “Are you coming or what, kid?”

Peter folded his arms. “Thought I was too tiring to be around.”

“Suit yourself.” Tony shrugged and walked out, singing back, “I was going to give you one last chance to explain.”

Within a second, Peter had scampered across the lab and skided out of the door, running down the hall after Tony. “So, as I was saying-”

“Thought that would get your attention,” Tony muttered.

“As I was saying, it all started with jeans.” Peter spread his hands out in front of him as if the idea of jeans was an entirely new concept.

“Okay, that part I understand.”

“Then, there was jorts.”

Tony let out a heavy sigh. “Right.”

“Which, by the way, can be turned back into jants for the winter. You know, so you don’t get cold and all. Just gotta keep some glue handy.”

“Obviously…”

“There’s also jirts, joots - gotta love a good pair of joots. Oh! And I can’t forget jrocs, though only a monster would wear them with jocks.” Tony stared blankly as they walked and ran a hand over his face. “It’s not only clothes, though, you see. There’s a jambourghini, you should buy one of them. Jencils.”

“Jenciles-?”

Peter gasped and froze, holding his hands out. “Mister Stark, how big the Avengers Facility, square footing wise? And how expensive is denim?”

Tony shook his head quickly, “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say-”

“The Javengers Jacility. Oh my god…” Peter ran to catch up again, running his hand along the railing at the top of the stairs. He spoke in a whisper. “Jiron Jam.”

Tony visibly shuddered, his face contorting in disgust. “That’s- That’s something that’s never going to leave my head ever again.”

Peter grinned, “Welcome to my world.”

“I’m not sure I like it.”

“Do you understand yet, though? Like, if I showed you a denim candle…”

Tony took a long breath, before eventually whispering. “...Jandle.”

“Yes!” Peter exclaimed, he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Tony. “Jandles, exactly!”

Chuckling, Tony pushed Peter away. “I really don’t think this is a cause for celebration.”

“Oh,” Peter stepped back, still grinning, “This is definitely a cause for celebration. I tried explaining to Steve earlier, he didn’t even get past jorts.”

“Rogers doesn’t understand anything invented after 1940.” Peter rocked back and forth on his toes as Tony spoke. “Did I ever tell you about that time he tried to email me, but he’d never sent an email before? ‘Cause that was-” Tony’s eyes widened as Peter lost his balance and tipped backwards. “Kid! Watch out!” He lunged forward, fingertips scraping the fabric of Peter’s science pun t-shirt. J-shirt, he thought for the briefest of second. He’d have been suitably disgusted with himself if Peter hadn’t been tumbling head over heels down the flight of stairs.

Tony chased after him, heart hammering in his chest and blood rushing in his ears. He turned the corner to the landing where, thankfully, Peter lay, his momentum not enough to carry him down another flight.

“Kid?” Peter wasn’t moving, for a moment, Tony’s wasn’t sure he was even breathing, but as he got closer the steady rise and fall of Peter’s chest became clear. Tony let out a breath of his own. “Hey, kid, you awake?”

Peter groaned, rolling ever so slowly onto his back and revealing a bruise already forming on his forehead. Tony helped ease him into a sitting position, leaning back against the wall, as Peter massaged his shoulder.

“How you feeling? Do I need to get Doctor Cho? What hurts?” Tony ran through questions as fast as Peter rattled off his dumb jean memes.

“Urgh,” Peter moaned, his eyes half shut, “Mister Stark?”

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“I think I’ve got a joncussion.”

[icecubelotr44]

“Stay.”  (Whumptober 2018 Day 13)

For @la-vie-en-whump‘s Whumptober 2018 prompts.

What even are deadlines, anyway?

All prompts from last and this year: HERE Previous Days: Stabbed | Bloody Hands | Insomnia | Stop! | Poisoned | Betrayed | Kidnapped | Fever | Stranded | Bruises | Hypothermia | Electrocution

for Whump-etition, entry 1

Killian half expected the porch light to flicker on and off as if he were a teenager breaking curfew with Liam waiting impatiently inside.  He thought that his nosy neighbor might peek out from her curtain and chastise him.  There was always the possibility that one of his enemies was out there, biding his time and just waiting to make his move.

But Killian wasn’t a teenager, his nosy neighbor thought he and Emma were a cute couple, and… well, as for his enemies, he’d taken every precaution in choosing this neighborhood and this home.  And, after all, Liam was just inside should they need anything.

Until then, Killian was going to take another moment to enjoy the scratch of his wife’s fingers in his hair and the feel of her pressed up against their door as he, admittedly, made out with her like they were a couple of carefree teenagers.  If anyone had something to say about it, they could take it up with him in the morning.

“Killian,” Emma managed while he took a breath, “maybe we should-”

Killian slanted his lips over hers again before she could finish her sentence.  Emma giggled in a way that neither of them had been carefree enough in a long time to manage, so he continued his efforts to make her forget about everything except for him and the bubble of nothing that they could exist in on this side of the doorway.

Time had no sense of meaning as they lost themselves in one another, Killian with half an ear on his surroundings but no real notice of anything but the sweet sounds he could pull from Emma with just a little effort.  He’d learned them all before, would know them in an instant if he were quizzed, but it didn’t make a difference.  To Killian, drawing them from her was just one more perk to being in love with her.

“Come on, Casanova,” Emma finally managed, pulling back just far enough to brush noses with him.  “I want to check on Alice.”

Killian whined a little, leaning forward and chasing her lips.  “She’s been with Liam all night, luv.  The old worrywart would have called if her fever spiked.”  Before she could protest, though, he reached around her to unlock the door.  Emma wasn’t the only one who wanted to check on their princess.  He hated seeing any of his family ill.

The alarm wasn’t on.

The telltale beeping should have been insistently begging Killian to put it out of its misery, more adamant than Will Scarlet’s cat looking for attention as soon as the door was opened.  He was halfway through the steps by rote, plugging in the disarm code when he realized.

The alarm wasn’t on.

“Killian?” Emma asked with a quiver in her voice that he wanted to erase but couldn’t.  Not when his own hands were shaking in a way they hadn’t since he was a recruit being chewed out by his first drill instructor.  

He keyed in the emergency code that would summon the police and Will Scarlet’s attention, then pulled a gun he kept stashed on the shelf above the alarm box.

“Stay behind me, Sw-” he started to order when he smelled it.  The sweet, sickly smell of blood.  No.

This wasn’t supposed to happen here.  His family was supposed to be safe.  God, he’d made fun of Liam before they left for how vigilant he was being because it was supposed to be safe here.  It wasn’t supposed-

Liam was… God, his brother was…

Killian left Swan behind, taking the stairs three at a time once he saw it - his big brother’s hand, white and limp, outstretched but so, so still as it hung off the landing.  Liam’s eyes were mere slits, his lashes inky against his cheeks, but his gaze tracking the movements Killian made as he crashed down at his brother’s side.  Liam flinched away from the perceived threat, drawing a breathy moan that chilled Killian to the core but also buoyed him - if Liam was still making sounds, he was still alive.  

“Alice?” Emma’s voice echoed through the rooms - her whisper sounding like a shout for all that it moved the stillness of the house.  He wanted to quiet her; wanted her to run back to the SUV and take off for safety.

He wanted her to find their daughter hiding under their bed.

He wanted Liam not to be bleeding out on their floor, hot sticky blood coursing over Killian’s fingers as he pressed down.

He wanted this to be a nightmare.

“‘m sorry,” Liam managed, the words coming out in spurts of air.

Killian shook his head, pushing down harder over where the blood was bubbling.  “Shut up.  Stop talking.”

“‘liss…” Liam tried again.

Killian just pushed down even harder, the give of ribs under his hands terrifying.  “Shut up, brother.  Stop talking,” he ordered again.  His brother wasn’t supposed to be the one who… he was the one who should be put in the line of fire.  Not Liam.  Not Alice.

Never Alice.

God, where was she?

Killian snarled when a hand reached into his line of vision and plucked the gun from where he’d left it by his knee.  He didn’t have a hand to reach for it, couldn’t let up on the pressure he was holding for an inst-

“I’m going upstairs,” Emma told him, her fingers deftly checking the ammunition in his gun by rote before sidling around Liam and out of sight.

He didn’t want her to do that.  He wanted her safe.  He needed to know that one goddamned bloody member of his family was safe.  He didn’t want her to be the one checking the rooms upstairs.  He didn’t want her to find…

No, he couldn’t think like that.  Alice couldn’t be… she couldn’t.  Not his baby girl.  She was too little, too innocent to…

John had been little and innocent, too.

Liam’s weak cry was the only thing that drew him back; he hadn’t even realized that he’d shifted to kneel on his brother’s chest, desperate to stop the bleeding.  Desperate to keep one thing in his bloody control.

“Alice?” Emma shouted this time, her voice shrill in a way Killian never wanted to hear again.

God, no.  It just kept repeating in his head.  She couldn’t be… she wasn’t up there.  She wasn’t… his Alice was good at hide and go seek.  She never lost when she and her brother played.

Oh God, DJ.

He hadn’t had time to think of his son yet.  He didn’t have time to think about his little boy, now.  Everything was spiraling out of control and he was trying to hold onto some kind of sanity that currently felt like quicksand running through his fingers.  His brother.  His daughter.  His son.  His whole family.

Killian was supposed to be the one bleeding out alone somewhere, lost and alone with the only relief being that it was him in danger; not them.  Never them.

They were his anchor in the storm; they were his lighthouse, calling him home again.

“‘m sor…” Liam faded out, his eyes finally slipping shut with a tiny puff of air that made Killian want to scream to the heavens.

“No.  No!  No no nonononono!  Liam, you bastard!” he shouted instead, one hand sliding out from under his knee to slip over Liam’s pulse point, leaving a streak of bright red blood in its wake.  

Liam’s skin was cool, clammy, and utterly silent beneath the pads of Killian’s fingers.

Killian felt like he was choking, like someone had wrapped their icy fingers around his throat when he wasn’t paying attention and had begun to squeeze.  He couldn’t breathe.  He couldn’t think.

All his training must have kicked in by reflex, because he was pumping at Liam’s chest before he’d even realized his brother’s heart wasn’t beating.  One and two and three and don’t think of the shark song and eight and nine…

“Killian, she’s not here,” Emma’s voice stabbed him in the gut, an icy blade of sheer terror that nearly made him stop counting - nearly.  He risked a glance up, his hands still pistoning up and down as he counted in his head.

He shouldn’t have looked up.

Emma, his strong Emma who had faced down terrorists with nothing more than her determination to rescue him backing her, had tears tracking down her cheeks as she stood at the top of the stairs trembling.  Alice’s bunny was clutched to her chest, the barrel of his gun jammed under the ratty animal’s chin as if she were holding it hostage.

“I called her and I looked everywhere.  I used the safe word. She should have come out.  Killian, why didn’t she come out?  It’s safe now.  We’re here.”

Killian froze for a moment, his hands coming away from Liam’s chest as if he could reach up the stairs and tear the gun away from where Emma had it pointed - at her own chin.  She knew better; he knew she knew better, but everything was wrong.  The world had turned topsy-turvy on them. “We’ll find her, luv.  Just, just lower the gun, yeah?”

Emma kept rambling as she turned away from him, moving down the hallway out of sight and calling for Alice again, but at least the gun was pointed away from her again.  He could hear the crash of doors slamming open and furniture being moved out of the way, but he couldn’t do anything.

Nothing except count and breathe air into his brother’s lungs and try to keep the damned Baby Shark song out of his head - he didn’t need the reminder that his baby boy was out there somewhere, too.  God, he hoped the security team was on alert after Scarlet got the ca-

The door crashed open, guns pointed at him and loud voices and Killian was scrabbling with one hand for the weapon he’d left by his knee while the other kept beating on his brother’s chest.

The gun wasn’t there.

Emma had the gun.

“Stand down, Jones!” a familiar voice cut through the adrenaline and the hopelessness that was threatening to paralyze him.  He couldn’t get to a weapon, he had to keep Liam alive.  He couldn’t move, he needed to protect… he needed…

As if moving through mud, his thoughts caught up with his reflexes.  That was Robin coming through the door, ordering him to stand down. He could go back to concentrating on Liam.

Maybe Robin could find Alice.  She was a good hider.

One and two and three and Baby Shark do do…

DJ was never allowed to sing that song again.  Ever.

Ribs splintered under the heel of his hand, but he kept going.  Too many years of training and too many combatants felled in the field with him allowed him to ignore the fracturing of his brother’s bones under his ministrations.  He could worry about the long term effects of broken ribs once Liam was goddamned breathing again.

Liam couldn’t afford for him to falter.  Liam was dead if he didn’t-

“Alice!  Where are you?  Come out!  Cheshire!  Cheshire, sweetheart!  Come out now!”  Emma shouted again, drawing Robin’s attention away from where he was ordering his men to secure the residence.  Startled eyes met Killian’s own panicked and pleading gaze as Robin took to the stairs and crouched next to him.

“I can take ov-” he started, but Killian’s head jerked spasmodically to wave him off.  He could do this.  This, he could control.  One and two and three and… he couldn’t poof Alice out of thin air.

He couldn’t give his wife back their daughter right now.

Alice wasn’t there.

Liam was.

Robin nodded once, rising to stand when the door crashed open again.  He stepped down one stair, putting his body in front of Killian and Liam, making Killian’s hackles raise for a moment before he finished the cycle of CPR and bent to breathe for his brother again.  The chain of command didn’t matter right now.  What mattered was that Robin had eyes on him.  He wouldn’t let them down.

“Boston PD!  Stand down!”

Killian ignored the standoff behind him entirely, letting Robin handle the logistics and the jurisdiction of the scene as he focused on his brother.  Emma was still tearing apart the rooms upstairs, calling for a little girl Killian was absolutely sure wasn’t coming.

He was pretty sure that Emma knew that, too.

“Medics are here, mate; let’s let them work, aye?” Robin ordered an eternity later as Killian finished his ninth round of CPR.

Ninth?  Was it only nine?  It couldn’t have been, he thought wildly as John Little appeared from nowhere and hauled him bodily to his feet.  Killian would need to know for the after action report; he’d be expected to fill in the details leading to his brother’s… to Liam’s…

Killian hit his knees again, the hardwood lip jarring whatever thoughts he’d had from his mind as he reached for Liam’s hand.  He couldn’t lose his brother.  He couldn’t lose Liam.  He needed Liam to tell him what to do next.  He needed orders.

He needed his big brother to fix the mess he’d found himself in.

Hands tried to bat him away, tried to keep him from grasping at Liam’s cold fingers and intertwining them together, tried to keep him from holding on tight to the one person who’d been there for him for as long as he could remember.

“Stay with me, Liam,” he begged quietly, his own fingers twitching in the air as Liam’s body jerked under the power of the defibrillator.  “Please, brother.  Please, just… please.  Stay.”

He needed help.  He needed someone to tell him what to do.  He needed-

“Killian?”  Emma’s voice again, somewhere above him.  Pleading with him for guidance of her own.

He needed someone to help.

“Aye, luv,” he called out shakily, watching as the paramedics loaded his brother onto a stretcher and made their way to the still-open front door.  It only took a minute for her to be wrapped in his arms, their combined tremors making it hard to tell where one of them stopped and the other began.

“Are you going with him?” she asked into his chest, her voice almost muffled enough to disguise the naked fear in her voice.

Of course he was.  That was a ridiculous question.  Liam needed him; he needed Liam.  He needed to pester bloody Victor Whale until his brother was on the mend.  Of course he was go-

Alice.

Bloody buggering hell.  He couldn’t go with Liam.  Of course he couldn’t. What a ridiculous thought.  He needed to get to the office.  He needed a status report on his son.  He needed Scarlet to move Heaven and Earth to get his little boy safely within the confines of JR Solutions and into his arms.  Safe.  God, he needed one of his children safe so he could concentrate on saving the other.

She wasn’t here.  That meant she wasn’t dead.  That was the only line of thinking he could entertain.

“Killian?”  Emma asked again, frightened green eyes boring into his soul.

The hospital was safe enough for her.  With Liam within its walls, the place would be harder to get into than bloody Fort Knox once Scarlet had his way.

“Can you go with him, luv?  I need to find-”

Emma nodded before he was finished, stepping back and drawing the armor - that he both hated and loved seeing - over herself protectively.  “Bring our baby home, Jones.”

He nodded once before watching her back as she jogged out the door and after his brother.  Half of his family was in that ambulance; whoever Scarlet had on the security detail for it better be up to par.  He’d tear them limb from limb if they weren’t.

“Orders, Boss?”  Robin asked from his right shoulder, as if his men weren’t already on patrol and hounding the detectives on scene for information.

Killian shuttered everything else out, pulling his own armor snugly around him and locking the terror of the last few minutes into a box.  He was going to make sure DJ was safe, then he was going to find his daughter and make sure the world knew never to touch his children again.

Whoever they were, they’d just made their last mistake.

  @killian-whump @gilliangrissom @gusenitsaa @pirate-owl @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable @ladyciaramiggles @cocohook38 @nonnyj @queen-mabs-revenge @eala-captian @crystalyte @kmomof4 @killianmesmalls @whumptober2018

[the-great-lightwood-bane]

Unscheduled Meetings

Malec | Rated general | tw for canonical MCD in Thule, but not in any of the other AUs

Summary: A (relatively) everyday trip to confront a warlock results in something decidedly not everyday.

Who would’ve thought Alec’s magic held the key to unlocking the multiverse?

A/N: Written for Whumptober day 1: A little out of the ordinary | Adverse Effects | “This wasn’t supposed to happen”

This fic is based on five alternate universe versions of Malec, all of which I’d suggest having some familiarity with before you read. They are:

Unforeseen AU Malec (my AU);

Malec from book canon;

Malec from show canon;

Malec from This World Inverted from the show;

and Malec from Thule in TDA.

Read it on AO3 or below the cut.

The warlock stood in the back of the alley, posture defensive, hands raised with magic swirling around them. 

Magnus was at the other end, hands held up to either side in a gesture of peace; Alec was standing beside him, carefully not touching his weapons although they were within easy reach. The warlock wasn’t evil, just spooked; they’d been raised by a pair of obviously abusive mundanes who’d kept them around purely to do magic for them. An uncontrolled blast of magic had alerted Magnus’ attention to the young warlock, and they’d arrived to see the house in flames with the warlock staring at it in shock. They’d unintentionally killed everyone inside. Wariness was only to be expected. 

Unfortunately, the armed Shadowhunter blocking their way out of the alley wasn’t helping matters. Alec didn’t want to move in case it startled the warlock, but Magnus wasn’t having any luck, so he took a slow, careful step backwards. 

It was the wrong move. 

The warlock’s eyes widened, and magic expanded from their hands to form a swirling portal which swept forward along the length of the alleyway, sucking in bits of dirt and litter as it went. Magnus threw up a hand to stop it, but the magic wasn’t working normally; Alec didn’t know for sure, but he guessed it was wild magic, uncontrolled and uncontrollable. 

He reached forward to pull Magnus out of the way just as the portal swirled brighter, and sucked Magnus in. 

Alec didn’t know if he was screaming, saying anything, breathing; all that mattered was Magnus, who’d fallen into an undirected portal without thinking of a destination — Magnus, who’d be trapped in limbo—

The portal was still open, still swirling, but the young warlock’s shock had halted its advance. Alec didn’t think; he thrust his hand into the portal, envisioning his golden magic spinning out of his fingers, finding Magnus, pulling him back—

It felt like there were multiple Magnuses, for a delirious moment, and then the portal swirled more sharply and Alec felt himself lose his footing, and fall, directly into the swirling, spinning lights. 

Desperately, Alec reached for Magnus, and the world dissolved in gold. 

~

Magnus couldn’t keep the smile off his face, nor did he want to. He thought his soul might bubble up through his chest from the sheer exhilaration of this moment. 

Alec was standing in front of him, smiling equally brightly with an element of earnestness in it, his gold jacket glinting in the light of the torches around them and the stars above. Waves lapped at the beach, one after another, soft and soothing, recalling memories of a sunlit childhood that might have ended in pain but had still been happy, as long as it lasted. 

For a long time, Magnus had thought of that childhood as the last time he’d been truly happy — before his eyes and magic showed themselves to disastrous consequences, before he’d learnt the hard way how cruel the world could be. 

Now, looking at Alec, looking at his soon-to-be husband, Magnus thought that this, right here, was better than anything else. Better than all the world. 

For a strange moment, Magnus thought he felt a tug on him, a tug that felt like gold and Alec, but he forgot it in a moment as Alec pulled out his stele, preparing to draw the rune on his hand that’d bind them forever. 

Smiling, Alec reached for Magnus, and the world dissolved in gold. 

~

“Dance with me?” Magnus asked, holding out a hand. 

Alec chuckled, the two of them both thinking of a few hours earlier, when Magnus had asked the same question. The wedding was over now, reception and all, but euphoria was still bubbling in Alec’s blood. “You sure your feet aren’t too bruised?”

“Walking on air,” Magnus returned with a huff, hand still stretched out. 

Alec reached for Magnus, and the world dissolved in gold. 

~

“You may now kiss the groom,” Raphael said, and Magnus’ soul felt alight with the love in his chest. Raphael’s presence at his wedding was one of the few strong opinions he’d had on the ceremony; Alec had organised nearly everything else, thanks to his time planning parties. 

There was a swell of light in Magnus’ chest, like Alec was holding out a hand through the dark. 

With a smile to outshine the sun, Alec reached for Magnus, and the world dissolved in gold. 

~

The dagger slid easily between Magnus’ ribs. Light drained from the golden eyes Magnus hadn’t been able to glamour for weeks, now. Alec pulled out the dagger in a fluid movement, and thrust it up into his own chest just as he’d done to Magnus. 

As the light faded, Alec reached for Magnus, and the world dissolved in gold. 

~~~~~~~~~

Magnus blinked his eyes open to a blank emptiness of space. 

A moment later, Alec was beside him, hand reached out and covered in golden magic. Magnus’ heart dropped; he’d hoped Alec could escape the young warlock’s out-of-control portal, but clearly not. 

Then, in a flash of gold, another Magnus appeared in the space in front of them, an Alec at his side — both of them wearing jackets in gold and blue, runes drawn around the borders, hands linked over the stele they held together. 

Magnus stared. 

The two of them stared back. 

The staring contest was broken when, with another burst of gold, a third Magnus and Alec showed up — except these two looked different. This third Alec was taller than he should’ve been, taller than any of the Magnuses in the room; the Magnus beside him was shorter than usual, too. Both had dark brown hair, rather than black; both were wearing black jackets, Magnus’ over a red vest and shirt with a ruffle, Alec’s over a white shirt and bow-tie. Alec had several runes visible on his skin — the deflect rune was prominent on his neck — as though he’d only just drawn them. 

The fourth Magnus-and-Alec to appear — Magnus was unsure how long this would go on — looked more like Magnus-and-Alec number three, although Alec was wearing a patterned suit jacket and Magnus’ hair was more subdued than Magnus ever let it be. Strangest of all, there were no runes on Alec’s skin — not a permanent Voyance rune on his hand, not scars from old runes, not Alec number three’s neck rune. 

When the fifth Magnus-and-Alec showed up, Magnus was expecting them, but he was not expecting them like this. There was a bloody hole torn in Magnus’ chest, and at his side, Alec was on the ground, a dagger buried in his ribcage with his hands wrapped around the hilt. 

Magnus’ world screeched to a halt. 

He darted over to their side, the other Magnuses moving at almost the same time, but it was clear that it was too late: this Magnus, this Alec, were beyond all help. 

“What is this,” two Alecs — three and four — asked in unison. 

Magnus swallowed back bile, glancing around at the four other groups and thinking of the gold magic dusting his Alec’s hands, the gold light each Magnus and Alec had emitted as they’d arrived here. “I think I know,” he said softly. 

~

Alec sat down heavily on the ground — was it ground? what was this place? — with Magnus (his Magnus) beside him. He felt like he was experiencing whiplash, too many emotions one after another; one moment he’d been on the beach in LA, in the middle of a wedding ceremony, and then he’d showed up here with another Magnus and Alec standing nearby, and then with more versions of themselves showing up, including one version where both he and Magnus were dead. 

The first Magnus he’d seen — the one who looked like his Magnus, unlike the two short Magnuses — apparently knew what was going on. 

“How much does everyone know about the multiverse?”

Alec nodded, thinking of Emma and Julian’s trip to Thule, but one of the Alecs — the tall one wearing a far more brightly patterned jacket than Alec would be caught dead in, and without a voyance rune on his hand, which was disorienting, because wouldn’t Alec be a Shadowhunter in every universe? — said “nothing”, so Magnus no. 1 explained. 

“Essentially, every time something happens that affects the world, another dimension splits off in which that thing happened differently,” Magnus told them, falling into the lecture mode Alec recognised from his own Magnus. “Think of it as, I don’t know, a bunch of bubbles drifting through the air. It’s actually four-dimensional, but it’s easier to think about in three dimensions, so just envision that. All the bubbles split off, at one time or another, from an original bubble, and so in each of them, different things are going on. Each one is a different dimension, a different realm; the air around the bubbles, to continue the analogy, is Limbo. We’re each from a different dimension, in which something went slightly differently and changed things.” His eyes flickered to the Alec and Magnus on the ground — in that universe, at least, things had changed for the worse. “Clear so far?” 

Alec with no runes nodded. 

“Good. Now, the interesting thing is that while there are many copies of us in different dimensions, there’s only one version of any demon or angel, and that demon or angel can travel between realms far more easily than anyone from a particular realm. Demons also have the Void, which is something like a realm but isn’t a version of this realm — it’s something totally different. One can speculate that angels have an equivalent of the Void, but there’s no proof of that.” Magnus no. 1 glanced around to make sure everyone understood, then went on. “I’m not sure if this happened in any of your realms, but a little while ago, my Alec and I fought Sammael.”

The two short Magnuses — both in suits, one wearing far more subdued clothing than the other — stared, as did the Alec with the deflect rune. Runeless Alec looked confused; if he wasn’t a Shadowhunter in his dimension, he likely knew nothing of Sammael. 

Magnus no. 1 went on. “Anyway, a lot of stuff happened — it’s complicated — but in the end, Alec gained some of Sammael’s magic, which allows him to teleport (not Portal, teleport; again, it’s complicated) and gives him some basic warlock magic, although he’s still working on mastering that.” The Alec sitting beside him raised his hand, letting gold sparks dance around in. 

Alec blinked. How come he hadn’t gotten warlock magic fighting Sammael? 

“As Sammael exists outside of the different dimensions, my theory is that every Alec, in every dimension you exist in, has a small seed of the same magic,” Magnus no. 1 continued. “Not enough to do anything normally, but I think my Alec might’ve pulled you all here using a combination of his magic and yours.”

“But how?” the two short Magnuses asked in unison, then glanced at each other in surprise. 

“I’m getting to that,” Magnus no. 1 said, eyebrow raised. “What happened to us right before coming here was that I fell into an undirected portal without thinking of a destination, and Alec fell through after me, trying to reach out to me with his magic.” 

“Limbo,” Alec’s Magnus breathed, eyes widening. “The way we portal one place to another — it’s through Limbo, which is the space between dimensions. So if you and your Alec fell into limbo while Alec was trying to reach you with his magic—”

“—he didn’t just reach for me, but for all the Magnuses in nearby dimensions,” Magnus no. 1 finished. “And the spark of magic in the other Alecs would’ve reacted to his magic, and pulled all of you here.” 

~

Magnus let out a slow breath. “You can’t portal out of Limbo,” he said, “so how are we supposed to, well, get back?” 

To his relief, the Magnus who’d explained the situation smiled. “The Alecs should be able to take you back. Coming here — using that spark of magic in them — has strengthened their magic, according to the scans I’ve done. While Portals aren’t possible from here, every Alec should be able to teleport back; they’ll just need to focus on something they’ve got an emotional connection to back home.”

Letting out a breath, Magnus reached out to tangle his fingers through Alec’s hand. He felt Alec’s ring against his fingers — the ring he’d given Alec before going to Edom, the ring Alec had put on for a second time only hours earlier. 

“Then we should go back as soon as we can,” the Alec who had no runes said, leaning forwards. He was the only Alec who looked like Magnus’ Alec — lighter hair than the others, hazel eyes as opposed to blue, tall — but he was also the only one without any runes at all. 

“It won’t matter when we leave here,” Magnus-who’d-explained-everything told him. “We’re outside of time here — we can go back to precisely the moment we left from.”

Runeless Alec let out a breath, relaxing slightly. “Good, ’cause my siblings do not know about the whole Shadow World thing, and I don’t think vanishing in the middle of my wedding is the best way to break it to them.” 

The Magnus beside runeless Alec — he looked the same as Magnus himself did, height and hair colour-wise, but his hair was abominably flat — nodded agreement. “I’d like to delay the interrogation as long as possible.”

“I doubt the interrogation will get any better over time, babe,” runeless Alec returned. “If anything, it’ll get worse since they’ll be mad we’ve kept it from them for so long.” Magnus blinked in surprised bemusement at babe. Alec — his Alec, at least — only used endearments rarely; aside from the occasional “love”, he preferred to use Magnus’ name. 

“I was talking about the interrogation on which myths are real, which superheroes each Downworlder is most similar to, and whether I’m basically Gandalf or not,” flat-hair Magnus told him. “Izzy and Simon are going to hound me.”

“Yeah, I don’t envy you,” runeless Alec returns with a grin. “Better brush up on your comic book knowledge—”

“Wait,” Alec — Magnus’ Alec — broke in, frowning. “Izzy is a comic book nerd in your dimension?”

Runeless Alec blinked and glanced over. “Yeah. It’s, like, an obsession with her and Simon. Isn’t that the case in your dimension?”

“My Izzy was raised as a Shadowhunter,” Alec replied. “We didn’t exactly have much exposure to mundane comic books.”

“Same with mine,” the two other Alecs — the shorter, blue-eyed ones — chimed in. 

Magnus leaned forward. “What’s your dimension like? I’m assuming you’re not Shadowhunters, but how did that happen?”

Flat-hair Magnus was the one to reply. “A couple centuries ago, the Shadowhunters used Raziel’s Wish to rid the dimension of demons. Shadowhunters essentially blended with the mundane world after that, since there wasn’t really any point to having them. I thought I’d seen the last of all this until another dimension’s Clary showed up—”

“Wait, that was your dimension?” Magnus cut in. “Our Clary went to another dimension, said there wasn’t any magic there—”

“Yep, that’s us,” runeless Alec put in. “I met Magnus thanks to that whole thing, so I suppose I should thank you.”

“None of that happened to us,” the two blue-eyed Alecs said, again in unison. 

“I want to know more about Izzy the comic book nerd,” Alec interrupted. “Do you have pictures?”

Runeless Alec blinked, then pulled out a phone. “I doubt I’ve got data here, but I’ve got a few photos saved.” 

Alec leaned over to look, and Magnus followed; the two blue-eyed Alecs leaned closer as well. This Izzy bore no runes; she looked like the Izzy Magnus knew, but she was wearing glasses — glasses — and a Star Wars T-shirt, far less revealing than her usual attire. Alec pulled out his phone to compare; runeless Alec’s eyes widened at Izzy in one of her Pandemonium dresses, which showed far more skin than it covered. 

“Yeah, that looks more like my Izzy,” one of the blue-eyed Alecs — the one in a gold jacket — commented. “But she’s so short.” 

~

Alec had no idea how long the eight of them spent talking. The others explained a bit about their pasts — all three pairs had been part of a war against Valentine, which was very odd, seeing as Alec knew him as Clary’s father and a tech company CEO. It was disconcerting, to say the least, knowing that in another dimension, he wanted to exterminate all Downworlders — including Magnus. 

More than that, though, Alec was feeling a bit… lame. Every other Alec was a Shadowhunter, trained his whole life to fight demons. One was Head of the Institute, apparently the highest position in New York; one was leading an international organisation called the Alliance which attempted to help with Downworlder-Shadowhunter relations; and one was something called Consul, which meant he was effectively in charge of every Shadowhunter, everywhere, in his world. 

In comparison, Alec’s job as party planner felt a bit ridiculous. Frivolous. 

As though he knew what Alec was thinking, Magnus glanced over at him, eyebrow raised. Alec smiled and shook his head; he knew Magnus saw straight through him, but he didn’t exactly want to discuss his insecurities in front of the probably-never-insecure Shadowhunter versions of himself. 

“What about those two, though?” the Alec with the rune on his neck asked, glancing over at where the two corpses still lay. “What do you think happened to make everything… worse?”

It was disconcerting, to say the least, to see himself and Magnus lying dead on the ground; Alec had been trying not to look at them. They’d clearly died just as they arrived here, judging by the blood that’d pooled from their matching wounds. 

The blue-eyed Alec who had Sammael’s magic leaned forward to look at them, then suddenly blanched. “I — it looks like they — look at the angle of their bodies,” he said at last. “I think — I think this Alec killed Magnus, and then himself.”

The other blue-eyed Alec, the one in a gold jacket, glanced at his Magnus and then back at the two on the ground. “I wonder if they’re from Thule.”

“Thule?” blue-eyed Alec number one asked, head tilted to the side. “I don’t think that’s happened to us yet.”

“Our realm’s Emma Carstairs and Julian Blackthorn accidentally ended up there a few days ago,” blue-eyed Alec two explained. Alec had no idea who these people were, but the other blue-eyed Alec nodded in comprehension. “It’s another dimension which split off when Clary died at the Battle of the Burrow. Sebastian and his army of Endarkened took over the world; the Blight showed up sooner than it did in our realm—” he cut off at the confused faces around him. Even the other blue-eyed Alec didn’t seem to know what the Blight was. 

“I won’t go into all the irrelevant details,” blue-eyed Alec no. 1 went on, “but the Blight’s a disease which only affects warlocks. At first it simply makes them weaker, but eventually… eventually they transform into demons. The cure is water from Lake Lyn; if anything starts happening in your worlds, try using that. Thule’s warlocks didn’t figure it out until it was too late and Lake Lyn was inaccessible. Thule’s Magnus got sick, started transforming; he begged Alec to kill him. Alec did so, then killed himself.” His lips were pressed together, voice slightly rough. Alec couldn’t blame him; if something like that were to happen to his Magnus…

The tall Magnus who’d explained the situation at the start abruptly turned towards his Alec. “You killed yourself? Why would you do that?”

His Alec — the one Alec had taken to calling blue-eyed Alec no. 2 — blinked. “That wasn’t me. It’s an alternate universe, Magnus!”

Tall Magnus no. 2’s hands curled around his shirt. “If I die, you are not allowed to do anything like that! Who would take care of our kids? How could you do that to them?”

“We never had kids in that world,” blue-eyed Alec no. 2 replied. 

Tall Magnus let out a breath, but his fingers didn’t loosen. “You are not allowed to hurt yourself, under any circumstances. Do you understand that, Alexander?”

“I would never,” his Alec said soothingly. “Never.”

The other blue-eyed Alec glanced at his own Magnus, then back to the two of them. “That’s… precisely the conversation Magnus and I had when we heard about it.”

“Same people, different universe,” Magnus said. “For now, though, how about getting back?”

~~~~~~~~~

Gold spun into Thule’s red sky, and two figures appeared on the ground. Both dark-haired, clinging to each other even in death. Nobody saw them come; this world had almost, but not quite, fallen. 

It would fall soon enough. After, though, a girl named Livia Blackthorn might help it rise. 

~

Gold spun into wedding decorations, bright colours replacing blankness. Magnus pulled Alec into a kiss, and the crowd cheered: it had been no time at all since they’d vanished, it seemed. 

He pulled back for a moment, just long enough to meet Alec’s eyes. “You know,” he murmured into the fragment of space between them, “you’re definitely my favourite version of you.” 

Alec smiled. 

~

Gold spun into the comfort and safety of the loft, and Alec let out a breath, nearly stumbling. Whatever this golden power was he held now, he rather liked it. 

Magnus grinned at him, but before he could speak, a fire message flashed through the air and into Alec’s hand, followed almost immediately by a second one to Magnus. 

They opened the messages at the same time. Alec huffed, while Magnus remained silent and still. “They’re trying to get me to be Inquisitor, again. I already said I wouldn’t go to Alicante without you—”

“But what if,” Magnus said softly, staring down at the message, “you didn’t have to?”

~

Gold spun into a night sky scattered with stars and a beach in LA, waves crashing one after another on the shore. 

Alec still held the stele in his hand, and with a smile, Magnus reached forward to curl his own fingers around it. It lit up white with the faintest hint of red. 

Without hesitation, Alec moved the stele towards his own hand. Magnus traced the rune with him, strokes and curves he’d imagined drawing a hundred times, a thousand times. He might never bear a Wedded Union rune, but Alec would, and that was enough. 

Then Alec pulled something out that flashed gold and showed it to him: a pin in the shape of the same symbol. 

Magnus wondered if he might explode from all the joy inside of him as Alec pinned it to his chest with careful fingers. He’d never take it off. 

~

Gold spun into the alleyway where they’d left, just as the portal swirled shut. 

The warlock was gaping at them — they had just gone through a portal and then reappeared unharmed, Alec supposed — but the most important thing was that the warlock wasn’t throwing around random spells anymore. Alec doubted if they’d resist Magnus’ help any longer. 

Sure enough, they listened to Magnus as he told them that they weren’t at fault for anything they’d done in a burst of wild magic, and Alec guessed that he and Magnus would soon end up with (yet another) Downworlder protegé. 

Once the young warlock had settled down, Magnus opened a portal, and Alec followed him through — not to the loft, as he’d expected, but to a landscape he recognised immediately as Idris. 

“Why are we here?” Alec asked, glancing at Magnus as he began to walk, but Magnus only raised an eyebrow at him. 

They crested a rise, and Alec understood as he looked down at the lake below him. 

“I figured,” Magnus said with a smile, “we should probably start stocking up on Lake Lyn water.”

[bytheangell]

Happy Friday, friends! 

This sure was... a week. Not going to lie, outside of finishing up a few fic things and venturing into the land of procrastinating things I should definitely be doing over making moodboards with starting to learn how to make moodboards, I was not very productive. I definitely stalled out this week and functioning was happening on a very minimal, survival sort of level, and I just have to accept that at least I managed that much and today is a new day, and there's a whole weekend ahead, and a new week after that, and there's infinite time to be better and get back on track. <3 I think I hit the panic mode of 'gotta be productive again, but also bonus productive to make up for the lack of previous productivity' because I woke up at 4:30 this morning and did some writing and job applying, instead of falling back to sleep, lol. 

I did post some things that I finished up writing this past week, which was good! I have two collaboration projects I'm working on this weekend for a scavenger hunt list of tasks, and two other fic-related tasks that'll be finished and posted by the end of the month, so there should be quite a bit of content rolling out the next 6 days from me to wrap up that September hunt event! And after that Thursday beings THE MONTH OF OCTOBER PROMPTS. I am starting to think doing flufftober and whumptober, both on a daily basis, may be a bit much. I might have to pick one, or accept that they won't be daily and probably stagger-finish posting them throughout November too, but still do all 31 for each in the end. We'll see, I have a few days to debate on that. 

It's going to be gorgeous out for the next week so I hope to get a lot of outdoor time for reading or writing or just generally existing outside the apartment before it gets too cold. <3 I'm making my way through my TMI re-read not quite as fast as I want to be at the moment since I paused for CHoG and TRSoM when I finally got them in, but hopefully I can knock out the last three over the next few weeks here so I can start TLBotW and then finally get to read TDA, which I'm so excited for! I'm watching a lot of Critical Role and also horror movies/shows lately, because I've had some serious horror cravings lately. Maybe that'll encourage some things for Whumptober, who knows! 

And that's my update for this week. Not much to note, a lot planned to get to this week, and I can sense a lot of energy drinks in my future. I hope you're all having a great week, and have a fun weekend ahead, and get to do whatever it is that makes you happy and brings some light to your lives <3 My asks are always open, and I had a lot of fun with the ones I got this past week (and have a few prompt requests to get to still, I haven't forgotten about them I promise!) so if anyone wants to shout about Shadowhunters or TSC stuff, or life, or music and movies, or anything at all, feel free to toss me some messages! <3 

[myarmsaretoolong]

Let’s Hang Out Sometime

Prompt #1: Let’s Hang Out Sometime - Waking Up Restrained | Shackled

Word Count: 2596

Warnings: Blood | Non-Graphic Violence/Injuries

Synopsis: Peter wakes up in a cramped, stone cell, shackles clamped around his wrists. He only has one thought on his mind, escape.

Read Under the Cut | Read on AO3

Peter’s head pounded, the thud, thud, thud so loud that he could barely think straight. Groggily, and with great resistance from his muscles, he managed to lift his head and peeled open his eyes. He expected to be faced with blinding lights and have to squeeze them shut again, but he hadn’t prepared for the possibility of the room being just as dark as his closed eyes. In fact, he could hardly make out the wall opposite.

It was stone, that was for sure - the whole room was besides a heavy, metal door embedded in the wall to his left - ragged and uneven and so, so cold beneath his hands and feet. The air was musty and stale and smelled strongly of mould as if it, too, was trapped with Peter and had been for years before him. Now that he thought about it, the stone floor was definitely damp, and he could hear the drip of water falling from the ceiling in the far corner of the room. Not that the corner was far away in any sense, he could probably reach out and touch it if…

If his wrists weren’t shackled to the wall behind his back. Peter twisted around, the cuffs were thick, and the chain itself buried inside the stone, but they didn’t look to be vibranium. That was something. Then again, he wasn’t wearing his Spider-Man suit, and no one apart from Tony knew the truth about the Stark Internship.

Did they?

Sure, Peter hadn’t always been diligent guaranteeing no one discovered his secret identity, but that was because no one paid attention to a kid from Queens when superheroes were out pretty much every other day taking down hordes of aliens. Not even most other kids from Queens, only Ned really-

“No,” Peter muttered, “no, no, no.” He thought back, trying to remember how he got into this situation in the first place. He and Ned were walking home from school, talking about their plans to build his new Lego Deathstar and ignoring Flash speeding past them in his father’s car, when something collided with the back of his head. That would explain the throbbing. After that, there was only black.

Peter considered calling out for Ned to see if whoever these people were had taken him, too, to see if he was even still alive, but decided against it. There was a chance that could make everything worse; he wasn’t going to let that happen. Instead, he strained his ears, hoping super-senses would come in handy and earn some information from the captors.

Sure enough, a couple of gruff sounding voices floated down the hallway outside his cell.

“How do you know he’ll come?”

“We took his intern. Stark will take that as a personal attack. He’ll swoop in like he always does to play hero and save the day, and then…”

“Boom?”

“Boom.”

Peter swallowed. Boom didn’t sound like something he wanted to stick around to see.

“And what about us?”

“We’ll be long gone, dumbass.”

“Those kids?”

“Collateral damage.”

So, Ned was here. And they had to get out, sharpish. Without a second thought, Peter tensed his arms and yanked them apart, ripping the chain between them clean in half. He leapt to his feet, taking a second massaging his stiff muscles and jumping on the spot to psych himself up, pretending each bounce didn’t send a jolt of pain up the back of his head.

Even if his identity was a lost cause, Peter still wanted the element of surprise when it came to the upcoming fight, so he stepped up to the door and examined it closer. Metal. Again, not vibranium so he could’ve easily kicked it off its hinges had he wanted to; instead, he opted to take hold of the medieval style sliding lock and jerk it backwards, making sure to catch the shattered chunks of metal before they clattered to the floor. Tentatively, he reached out for the handle and pushed. The door edged open.

Peter took a breath, shaking out his hands. “Come on, Spider-Man,” he whispered under his breath. “Come on.” The rusted hinges of the door wailed as he opened it further and Peter dived back into his cell, back flat against the wall as scuffling sounded from down the hallway.

“What was that?”

“How should I know? Go check it out.”

Peter closed his eyes and took a few deep, steady breaths as he listened to the sound of their heavy boots creep closer, the rustle of their clothes and thump of their heartbeats.

“The door’s open.”

“What?”

“The door. It’s open.”

“It’s old, probably broken. The intern’s still shackled, just go close it again.”

Peter took one last breath and pressed his hand over his mouth, not daring even to blink as the captor’s shadow slunk into the cell. A moment later, the man himself. There was a brief second where the man looked at Peter, and Peter looked at the man. He was dressed all in black, a bandana covering all but his eyes and a hat pulled covered his forehead. At his hip, a gloved hand hovered over a knife sheath.

But it was only a second, the man’s eyes grew wide, and Peter used the momentary shock to his advantage, reaching forward and clasping his head in his hands before bringing his knee up to meet it. The man crumpled in Peter’s arms, not dead, but certainly not getting up anytime soon. As quietly as possible, Peter dragged him further into the room and propped him against the corner with the drip, just for that small win of knowing he’d be annoyed when he wakes up.

“Sullivan?” Peter’s heart hammered in his chest, that voice was closer than he’d hoped, and he didn’t know how many more people could be outside. “Sullivan, what’s taking so long? Just close the damn door.” Peter looked at the cuffs still around his wrists, the remains of the chains hanging down. He didn’t dare move for the sound they would make. “Fine, I’m coming in.”

Peter grinned, announcing your entrance? Rookie move. That gave him a little boost of hope.

This guy was clearly on edge already, not only from their unsure voice, but he already had his knife tightly gripping in his hand. Still, there was a second where he froze at the sight of Peter standing over his teammate’s body. “Hi,” Peter smiled, “I’d love to hang out a little longer but-”

The captor lunged forward, knife out as if he were in a fencing match. Peter’s spidey-sense forewarned him, he stepped to the side and twirled around so he’d switched places with the attacker. “That was rude.” Peter aimed a roundhouse kick at their outstretched arm, foot connecting with their wrist with a crunch. The knife fell to the floor. “I wasn’t finished.”

With all his strength, Peter shoved the man back against the hard stone wall. He whimpered as he went down, Peter followed him, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him slightly off the ground. “Tell me why you did this,” he demanded, lip curled in a futile attempt at appearing intimidating. “What do you want.”

The man spat. Said nothing.

“You got a bomb. I heard you talking. Where is it?”

He let out a gargled laugh, a twisted smile on his face. “Stark will never know what hit him.” Peter faltered at the thought, the man used it to overpower him and lurched for his knife, twisting out of Peter’s grip and slashing at his calf. Peter bit back a yelp as blood seeped from the wound, he couldn’t risk alerting any other guards.

A scream echoed down the hallway, both Peter and the man turned to face the door. It was, unmistakably, Ned.

“Alright,” Peter growled, fixing back on the man. “I’ve had it.” He leapt up, fingertips sticking to the ceiling, and swung his legs forward so his feet his the man square in the chest. He stumbled and fell back, smashing the back of his head against the wall and fell limp to the floor.

Peter lowered himself down carefully and examined the gash running the length of his calf, it was deep and bleeding steadily, but Peter could still walk so it must be okay. Probably. Right now, he had to focus on Ned. He crept back to the doorway and peered both ways down the corridor, gentle gas lights swayed from the ceiling and lit the way. Empty.

Silently, Peter padded down the hallway. For some unknown reason, the attackers had taken his shoes and socks, leaving the rough stone to cut his bare feet. Identical doors lined the hall; Peter hovered outside each one listen out for breathing or heartbeats from inside.

A thud, followed by another scream. Peter sprinted towards the sound and flung the door open without a second thought. The room was the same as Peter’s only Ned was still shackled to the wall, blood trickling from his forehead, wide eyes staring at Peter. Also staring, three more captors, all dressed head to toe in black, all armed with knives.

“Peter?” Ned’s voice was small, but hopeful. The single word seemed to launch everyone into action. All three ran at Peter, wildly swinging their weapons as Peter bounced from wall to wall - to ceiling - to avoid them. Almost, at least, while Peter aimed a punch to the side of a captor’s head, another sliced open his side. This time, he let out a scream of pain and allowed the adrenaline to aid his fighting.

One guy was already down. Another, charged forward, knife raised, Peter dodged to the side and their knife plunged into the abdomen of the other. The assailant jumped back, into Peter’s fist, while the injured hobbled away. Peter let them. They weren’t making it far, anyway.

“Peter,” Ned said again, though his time his voice was filled with awe, maybe a little fear, “What the fuck, dude?”

“Uh,” Peter knelt beside Ned, gripped the chain of his shackles, and yanked him free. “This wasn’t the way I planned to tell you.”

“You’re Spider-Man?” Ned exclaimed, rubbing his wrists as Peter helped him to his feet. “Like the Spider-Man? Fought the Rouge Avengers, Spider-Man? Hero of Queens, Spider-Man?”

“Yeah, I guess I am. But we need to go before Mister Stark get’s here.”

Ned’s eyes grew wide. “Shit, yeah. They said something about a trap-”

“Explosion, I think. They want Mister Stark dead, and don’t care about who gets caught in the crossfire.”

“Yup,” Ned nodded furiously, already bee-lining for the door. “Let’s get outta here.”

Peter clutched one hand to his side as they jogged down the hallway, a fruitless attempt at stemming the blood flow. “Are you alright?” Peter asked. “Did they hurt you?”

“Nothing too bad,” Ned said grimly. “Coulda been a lot worse. Coulda been stabbed,” he looked Peter up and down, “twice.”

Peter grimaced. “I’m used to it, let’s just hurry.” He picked up the pace and led Ned towards the very, very, distant sounds of the city.

“That’s terrifying, Peter. Terrifying.”

“You sound just like Mister Stark.”

“He knows? And he still lets you intern?”

They came to a fork in the tunnel, one path heading left, the other veering right. “Ned, this is the internship.” Peter ran to the left; the bustle of the city was louder that way. 

“Right, That makes sense.” Ned followed close behind. He eyed the way Peter hobbled up the inclining tunnel. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yep,” Peter replied a little too quickly. “Anyway, It should be right around-�� They turned a corner, and were greeted by the sight of the tunnel exit, far off city lights glittering in what looked to be a river, obscured by thick trees. “Here.”

“Great.” Ned went ahead. Peter couldn’t blame him; he was more than eager to get out of this damp, musty old cave they appeared to be in. As Ned neared the mouth, Peter’s spidey sense exploded out of nowhere, he dived forward and caught his fist in the back of Ned’s shirt, stopping him midstep.

“Look,” he nodded down at a thin, all but invisible wire running the length of the mouth, a few inches off the ground. “Must be the trap they laid for Mister Stark.”

“Shit… I nearly tripped it.” Ned’s foot hovered over the wire. He made a deal of stepping over it, Peter followed. “We’re free!”

“Yeah, but we need to contact Mister Stark before he goes and gets himself blown up for me. Do you have your phone?”

Ned tapped his pockets, face falling. “They must have taken it.” 

“Mine too,” Peter sighed. He looked across the water at the city he could recognise from anywhere. “We‘ll just have to get to a phone box or something.”

“Do they even still exist?”

“I don’t know, Ned.” Peter threw his arms up, adrenaline wearing off and leaving him tired and cranky. “It’s that, or go all the way to the compound and hope he’s still there.”

“Or not…” Ned pointed upwards towards the city. A faint dot of light, steadily growing larger. As the Iron Man suit became visible, the boys jumped and waved their arms, trying to attract Tony’s attention, but the trees were too dense and Tony too laser-focused on the cave. “He’s not gonna see us.”

Peter ran towards the cave, yelling for Ned to stay put. Ahead of him, Tony landed in his signature pose before straightening up and heading for the cave mouth. Peter closed in. “Wait! Mister Stark, don’t-!”

Tony tripped the wire. Peter’s warning came too late to stop it... but not too late for him to react. Tony whirled around, thrusters already engaged, and flew directly at Peter, scooping him up under the arms and flying high into the air. A fireball chased them up, and Tony climbed higher still so Peter remained unharmed.

“Kid,” Tony flipped open his faceplate once the blast had dissipated. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine, Mister Stark.” Peter glanced down, the trees closest to the cave’s mouth were burning, flames licking along the branches and illuminating Ned beneath them, the force had knocked him back onto his hands, and ash coated his face. But he was alive. “Could you, um, put me down now?”

“Right,” Tony cleared his throat, “of course.” He lowered them down, the second Peter’s feet touched the ground, Ned enveloped him in a hug. Tony dematerialised his suit, standing awkwardly to the side. 

Pete reached out and grabbed Tony’s arm. “Come on, Mister Stark. You’re not getting out of this one.” He pulled Tony into the hold, smiling at how normal it felt.

A female voice cut through the moment. “Boss, I hate to be a killjoy, but Mister Parker requires urgent medical attention.”

Tony sprang back, already assessing Peter for injuries and swearing under his breath. “I thought you said you were fine!”

“I am fine!” Peter shot back. He looked down at his blood-soaked shirt. “Ish.”

“Fineish is not good enough, Fri, get me medical over here, now.”

“It’s not that bad, really-“

“It’s pretty bad, dude,” Ned admitted. “You could barely walk outta that cave.”

“Snitch.”

“What! I don’t want you to die. I just found out my best friend is Spider-Man! This is the best day of my life.”

Tony turned to Ned, an eyebrow raised. “You got kidnapped.”

“Yeah. And then Spider-Man saved me.”

Tony sighed as the sound of the Quinjet approached, shaking his head. “Kids.”

[myarmsaretoolong]

Today’s Special: Torture

Prompt #31: Today’s Special: Torture - Left For Dead

Word Count: 1284

Warnings: Mention of PTSD

Synopsis: Tony wakes up in the middle of a desert that looks eerily similar to the one he escaped in Afghanistan. Can Rhodey find him once again?

Read Under the Cut | Read on AO3

Whatever this was had to be some kind of joke. A sick, twisted joke designed to turn Tony insane. And it was working. 

He’d woken up in the dead of night, a fine sprinkling of sand covering his face and bare arms. At first, Tony thought it was a PTSD induced nightmare from his stint in that Afghanistan cave, but this was real, oh so real. It looked the same as that desert, huge sand dunes, zero shade, and absolutely no one in sight. Surely it wasn’t the same desert, though? Or was it?

After waking, he’d sat up and brushed away the sand before setting off in a random direction. East, it turned out when the sun rose and basked Tony in its blazing heat. He ripped the bottom of his shirt to create a makeshift mask and kept on walking, because there had to be something somewhere in his place.

The sun was setting again, now, it heat turned to Tony’s back. He could feel his skin blistering and every movement caused him pain, but he couldn’t stop. Having had nothing to eat, Tony’s stomach growled constantly and his muscles felt weak, as if they would collapse at any minute. That’s not to mention the lack of water.

Three days, everyone knew that was how long a person could go without water. But the boiling heat of the desert, mixed with the non-stop walking, caused a lot of sweating. At his current pace, and if he didn’t find water soon, Tony estimated he had another half day at the most. He’d be lucky to see the sunrise.

His thoughts drifted to those he loved back home. A small part hoped they were looking for him, but then again it seemed like they’d only find a body, maybe not knowing was better. That way they could make up stories about how he was still alive somewhere. He thought about Pepper, she was strong, stronger than Tony ever could be, and she’d raise Morgan excellently on her own. Morgan, Tony hoped she’d remember him, if only in the vaguest of memories, and if not, she’d remember him through countless stories.

Peter, he’d only recently got the kid back. So much missed time already, Tony wished they could have more. Happy and Rhodey, Tony’s closest friends for thirty-ish years. His silent goodbye to them felt the hardest - not that the others weren’t gutwrenching - but to sum up that many memories in such a sudden way. Well, it simply wasn’t possible.

Tony was still walking, or at least making forward progress. Walking was too strong of a word. Stumbling, floundering. They were more realistic. The steadily setting sun casting a single, long shadow before him as darkness closed. He’d say his silent goodbyes, but he wouldn’t give up, not on his family.

He’d keep going until he was found, or until his legs gave out beneath him.

* * *

Whatever this was had to be some kind of joke. A sick, twisted joke designed to wreak havoc on Peter’s mind.

He’d heard about Tony’s experience in Afghanistan, both from the news and, briefly, from Tony himself. And now, if Friday’s last known location was anything to go by, history was repeating itself. The one difference now, Peter wasn’t leaving Rhodey’s side until they found him.

The swoosh of the helicopter blades so close to Peter sent his spidey-sense haywire, the constant ‘danger’ swirling over his head. He tried to tell himself the blades were not, in fact, a threat, but his spidey-sense always played up when he was anxious. And Peter was so far beyond anxious.

Rhodey was up in the cockpit piloting the helicopter, the setting sun glaring in his face. Friday’s last know location dropped them in the middle of a desert, the same desert Rhodey had scoured for his friend once before. He and Peter spent the night travelling, leaving the second they found out Tony was missing, and used the best part of the day flying over the desert in a spiral pattern starting at Friday’s location. That way, whichever way Tony had started walking, they’d find him. Presuming Tony had indeed been ditched here and not taken elsewhere in the world.

“You see anything, kid?” Rhodey asked, moving the microphone on his headset closer to his mouth.

Peter leaned so far out of the helicopter that any normal person would have fallen down and scanned the ground, straining his eyes to see something, anything, other than great dunes of sand. “Not yet,” he sighed back.

“Me either,” Rhodey sounded defeated.

It wasn’t lost of Peter that Rhodey had been through almost this exact experience once before. The knowledge that last time Tony had been missing for months must weigh heavy on his mind, as must knowing all that the Ten Rings put him through. There was no evidence the Ten Rings were behind this kidnapping, they hadn’t been heard from in years, not since before the Snap, but never was not an option when Tony Stark was involved.

Peter’s eyes were starting to glaze over, the monotonous sand and constant straining giving him a headache he was struggling to shake. “Hey, Uncle Rhodey?” Peter rubbed his eyes, blinking hard before returning to his watch over the ground.

“Hm?”

“We are gonna find him, right?”

“Of course we are, kid. I’m not stopping until we do.” The previous defeat from Rhodey’s voice was gone, replaced with determination.

Peter nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Good. Me too.”

They kept searching, evening dragging into the night. Through the dark, Peter’s mind played tricks on him, showing him a small spec against the sand that disappeared when he blinked. If he was hot up in the helicopter, he couldn’t imagine how Tony must feel down there, exposed to the unrelenting heat with no shade in sight.

“Wait, Pete, do you see that?”

Peter looked down to where Rhodey was pointing, yet another spec slowly drifting through the sand. He blinked, rubbed a sleepy hand over his face, and peeled his eyes open once again. The spec was still there. “No…” he breathed.

Rhodey brought the helicopter lower, flying over Tony’s head as he fell to his knees, a peace sign raised to the air. They landed a few meters away on a flat piece of land, Peter jumped out before they’d hit the floor and ran towards Tony.

“Mister Stark!” He yelled, sprinting forwards and skidding to his knees as Tony collapsed. He caught his head on his shoulder and wrapped him in a hug, pulling away as Tony moaned in pain. “Sorry, sorry!” He rushed to get the words out and, gently, moved Tony into an upright position.

Despite everything, Tony had a grin on his face. “Hey, kid.”

Peter could’ve cried right there. Rhodey joined his side, also with a smile on his face. “What did I say about riding with me next time?”

Tony chuckled dryly and leant his forehead against Rhodey’s. “From now on, I’m always taking your advice.”

It was Rhodey’s turn to laugh. “You best remember that next time I drag you from the lab. Pete, help me get him up.” Peter jumped to his feet and moved to Tony’s side, taking his arm and lacing it around his shoulders as Rhodey did the same. Together, they helped Tony to his feet and guided him into the helicopter. Rhodey jumped in the cockpit while Peter remained in the back, slowly helping Tony sip some water.

After getting some fluids, Peter snuggled up against Tony, head resting on his shoulder while Tony brushed a hand through his hair. “‘S’all right, kid,” he muttered. “I’m safe now, I’m with you.”

[myarmsaretoolong]

In the Hands of the Enemy

Prompt #2: In the Hands of the Enemy - “Pick Who Dies” | Kidnapping

Word Count: 2601

Warnings: Major Character Death | Blood | Gun Violence

Synopsis: Tony receives the call no surrogate father wants to hear, Peter’s missing. His captor delivers the be-all and end-all of ultimatums. It’s you, or the Spider.

Read Under the Cut |  Read on AO3

Tony looked up from his work when his phone buzzed; he picked it up in his free hand to check the caller ID. ‘Forehead of Security.’ He chuckled and tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear so he could return to tweaking Peter’s new web-shooters. It was the kids sixteenth birthday in a few days, and Tony wanted to surprise him with a little upgrade.

“Hey, Hap. What can I do for you?”

“I don’t suppose Peter’s with you, is he?”

Tony shook his head lightly, “Don’t mess with me, Harold. It’s Friday. You pick him up on Fridays.”

“I’m not messing.”

The screwdriver dropped from Tony’s hand, and it hit the metal workbench with a loud clang. His eyes darted to the clock on the wall. They should’ve been here by now. Tony’s voice was low when he spoke. “What are you saying, exactly?”

“The kid just never turned up. He texts when he’s going to be late, you know he’s always texting. I’ve heard nothing since he left school.”

Tony shot to his feet and started pacing around the lab, working out some of his nervous energy. “That doesn’t necessarily mean… Does it?”

There was a pause; it spoke more than words could. “I’d agree with you if it were anyone other than Peter.”

“Shit.” Tony raked a hand through his hair and bolted from the lab. “Can you search around? Check his usual patrol routes. See if there’s anything to give us a clue where he is.”

“Of course. And Tony, don’t worry, we’ll find him.” With that, Happy hung up.

Don’t worry, Tony thought, racing towards Rhodey’s room - the only other one currently occupied, damn Rogue Avengers - it’s a little late for that. His mind ran through a hundred possibilities, the kid bleeding out down some dark alleyway, tied up and thrown in the Hudson…

“Tony? What is it?” Rhodey rose from his desk, concerned eyes seeking Tony’s face for answers. Tony didn’t even remember opening the door.

“The kid,” he choked out, “Peter, he didn’t show-”

Rhodey crossed the room in three swift strides. One hand clasped on Tony’s shoulder, the other held up Tony’s chin and forced him to look Rhodey in the eye. “Let’s go find him then,” he said calmly. “What’s his last known location?” Carefully, Rhodey steered Tony out of the doorway and towards the armoury where they kept their suits.

“Uh,” Tony dragged his hand over his face and took a moment to think. “He sent me a selfie from the top of the Unisphere in Flushing. Must have been close to an hour ago.”

“We’ll start there.”

“Wait,” Tony stopped, one hand gripping Rhodey’s sleeve and halting him halfway across the lounge. “I can’t ask you to- I mean, you haven’t flown since-” Since I let you fall.

“I know, but the kid needs us.” Rhodey could read Tony like a book; he’d always been able to. It was probably the reason they became friends. He saw through the cocky, playboy exterior to find the guilt and dread inside. “This isn’t like that, okay. Listen to me, Tones, we’re going to save him.”

Tony nodded, steeling his nerve as best he could. “You’re right-”

“Boss, I-I’m afraid my protocols are getting overridden-”

“Friday?” Tony looked to the ceiling as if it made a difference. “Fri, what’s happening? Talk to me.”

Silence.

Rhodey and Tony shared a glance. “This isn’t a coincidence,” Rhodey muttered.

“Correct.”

Tony flinched from the emotionless, almost clinical voice reverberating over Friday’s speakers. Rhodey remained as stoic as ever, Tony, however, knew it was an act. 

“Let me cut to the chase. I have your little Spider, I’d love to say he’s here and unharmed… but he’s a struggler. Choices had to be made. Consequences…” Whoever it was stretched out the final word, the kid would’ve made some sort of reference to Severus Snape. It sent a shiver down Tony’s spine.

Rhodey took charge, lifting his chin and straightening his back. “Where is he.”

“Safe, for now. So long as you all behave. Follow my demands.”

Tony stepped forward, about to speak, but Rhodey silenced him with the wave of an arm. “You can’t go making demands without proof of life. Let us speak to him.”

“Oh, I’m afraid speaking is out of the question.” There was a momentary pause before one of the holo-screens on the wall flickered into life. Tony clutched the back of the sofa so hard his knuckles turned white.

“You let him go,” he snarled. On the screen, Peter grappled against the restraints holding him to a metal chair. Muted sounds came from the brown, cloth bag masking his face, his usually blue Midtown Tech hoodie stain a horrific, dark red colour. Metal chains coiled around his wrists, securing them to the arms of the chair, the same around his ankles.

“I don’t think so, not yet…” A figure strolled into view, wearing a long black jacket with the sleeves folded halfway up their arms. They hadn’t made even the slightest attempt to hide their face. “Maybe we can have a little fun, first.” They ripped the hood from Peter’s head, the kid looked around wildly, still fighting his bonds.

“Peter, kid, it’s okay. I’m here.”

Peter found the camera, eyebrows knitted together. “Mister Stark?” For the first time, Tony got a good view of Peter’s face. His eyes were wide and fearful, a gag stuffed in his mouth. Blood drained from a deep gash above his left eye, a dark, purple bruise on his right cheekbone stuck out against his unusually pale skin.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s me. I’m going to come and find you, just hold on. Hold on for me.”

The figure moved to block Tony’s view of Peter, a twisted half-smile on their face. “As you can see, alive. Now I make my demands.” Tony wanted nothing more than to dive through the screen and hug Peter in his arms. He clenched his jaw, fingers digging into the fabric of the sofa. “It’s simple. You, or the Spider. One will live, the other will die. The decision lies entirely in your hands.”

“What do you mean?” Tony spat, fear gnawing away at him from the inside out. “Me, I pick me. I die, leave the kid alone.” The muffled screams from Peter doubled, as did the sound of metal hitting metal.

The captor continued as if Tony hadn’t spoken. “You have one hour, plenty of time to make it here. I trust you’ve already tracked my location.” It was true, Friday’s protocol was to trace any and every communication made with the facility. “If you’re here, you’ve chosen for the Spider to live. If not, he dies.”

“How can I trust you? How do I know you won’t kill us both regardless?”

“I’ll give you my name. Listen up, now, little Spider. You’ll want to remember this.” Peter stopped struggling. “Avery Remington, do with that what you will. One hour, alone, no suit. Else it’s goodbye Spider.”

Tony swallowed. “You’re on.”

The feed turned to static, Friday turned it off and filled the room with a deafening silence.

“Tony?”

“Don’t,” Tony couldn’t face looking at Rhodey, he kept his back turned. “Don’t try and talk me out of this. That’s my kid, and I’d do anything-”

“I know.” Rhodey’s voice cracked. “Let me come with you. I’ll keep my distance. Peter’s going to need someone to bring him home.”

“Look after him for me. He has a habit of patrolling instead of doing his homework, so make sure he doesn’t let it pile up. Don’t let him blame himself. And-” Tony sucked in a sharp breath. “God, Pep… Tell her I never stopped loving her, I’m sorry for everything.” Tony didn’t wait for a reply, he ran to the armoury with Rhodey on his heels and jumped into the first suit he saw. Friday already had the flight plan set.

Tony’s mind wandered as his thrusters burned at full power, bringing back memories of Peter. Watching those YouTube videos, he hadn’t realised Peter was only a kid, that only came when he stepped foot in May’s apartment - Ross’ ultimatum hadn’t left time for a full background check.

When you can do the things I can, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen… They happen because of you.

That hug after they got back from Germany, Tony wished that hadn’t been the only time, that he hadn’t pushed Peter away, hadn’t thrown up boundaries like Oprah handed out cars. He thought he’d have all the time in the world to mentor the kid, help him grow into the hero Tony saw him to be. It turned out he barely had months.

He hoped the kid wouldn’t blame him for that when he was gone.

“Tones, we should land here. No suit, remember?”

Tony said nothing, but followed the instruction, landing heavily at the edge of a forest. Friday’s flight plan led them to a small wooden shack, barely able to hold itself up anymore. They were barely fifteen minutes from the Avengers Facility, fifteen minutes. All of this happening right under Tony’s nose, if only he’d been able to put a stop to it sooner…

“Stop it,” Rhodey stepped out of his suit. “You couldn’t have known. No one could.”

Tony, too, stepped out of his suit, though still kept his back turned to Rhodey. They’d known each other near on thirty years, and they should’ve had another thirty more. How do you say goodbye to that, how do you sum up those thirty years, the ones that will never be, into a single sentence?

Behind him, Rhodey sniffed. “Just come back to me, man. Do whatever you gotta do to come home with the kid.”

Tony broke. He turned and wrapped his arms around Rhodey, he returned the embrace with his strong arms, holding each other close as tears fell freely.

“Promise me.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Tony whispered into Rhodey’s shoulder.

“I love you.”

“You need to let me go.”

“I can’t.”

Tony paused. Swallowed. “I love you, too.” He pulled away and walked towards the shack without looking back, head held high. He’d greet death with grace and dignity.

The door to the shack practically disintegrated in Tony’s hand, coating his palm in dust and rust from the handle. Inside was dark, only a single corner illuminated, both Peter and Avery visible. Peter saw Tony first, his escape attempts doubled in effort, though they were weak. Avery’s beating was clearly weighing on his body.

“I’m here,” Tony forced his voice to remain flat. “Now let him go.”

Slowly, Avery turned to face Tony. “All in good time. Come, join us.”

Tony did as he was told, remembering Avery’s threat about behaving themselves. “Just get it done.”

Avery reached out a hand, pulling a handgun from within the folds of the jacket, turning it over in their hands. “Some interesting information came to light.” Avery’s eyes flicked up to meet Tony’s. “You didn’t come alone.”

A jolt of fear ran down Tony’s spine, there was no point denying it now. “Rhodey’s a mile off, that way.” He pointed the direction he’d walked in from. “To take Peter home, nothing else.”

“That’s against the rule.” Avery levelled the gun at Peter, the kid froze. His Bambi eyes were wider than Tony had ever seen. Tony took half a step towards him, to block the shot with his body, when Avery spoke. Raising their voice for the first time. “Move, and I shoot.” 

Tony held his hands up, returned to his spot. “Rhodey’s a mile off,” he repeated, trying to emphasise how little importance it was. “I came here alone.”

Avery stayed silent, seeming weighing up the options. Eventually, they stepped closer to Peter and pulled the gag from his mouth. “It seems, Little Spider, that we have a problem. Be honest, now, did he break the rules.” Avery stepped back, gun still aimed at Peter’s chest. “Remember, your life hangs in the balance.”

“Pete, look at me.” Peter pried his eyes away from Avery and met Tony’s. “That’s it, you’re doing so good. You know what you have to say, don’t you?” Peter’s eyes flooded with tears, Tony’s too, and he nodded. “You have to say I did everything right. Then you can go free.”

“Mister Stark,” Peter whispered. “I’m sorry I let this happen, I’m sorry I got you caught up in my mess.”

“No, you don’t need to say that. Everything’s okay.”

“Hurry, Little Spider. Yes or no, did he break the rules?”

Peter dropped his chin to his chest.

“Did he break the rules?”

Slowly, Peter lifted his head to Avery; jaw clenched, eyes lit with determination. “Yes.”

“No!” Tony roared, he dived forwards as soon as the word left Peter’s mouth. A single shot rang out, the sound filling every inch of Tony’s body. He’d never be able to forget that feeling. The explosion of pain in his chest, how his knees felt so weak it was a miracle he still stood upright, the knowledge that this was it, that everything was over…

The sight of blood steadily flowing from Peter’s chest and pooling in his lap. His scream of pain, every ragged breath he sucked in through gritted teeth. The colour drained from Peter’s face, Tony knelt beside his chair and cupped a hand to his cheek. 

“Hold on, for me. Please, Peter, hold on.”

Somewhere, Avery shuffled around. There was a loud click, and all Peter’s restrains released simultaneously. He crumpled into Tony’s arms, and Tony cradled him, gently brushing a curl of hair from his bloodied face, one hand clamped down on the seeping wound over his heart. That hand stained red the second he placed it there.

“I’m so-rry,” Peter whispered, blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, bright red against his stark white skin.

“Shh,” Tony hummed, not caring as tears slipped down his cheeks. “I’ve got you. I’m going to get you out of here. Stay with me, can you do that?”

Peter’s body gave an involuntary spasm, Tony held him tighter. “My fa-ault, don’t blame y-yourself.”

Despite everything, Tony laughed. A wet chuckle. “You know me too well, kid.”

Peter smiled, his eyes slipping closed. “I’ll be okay.”

“Me too.” It was a lie, but Tony would’ve said anything at that moment if it gave the kid even an ounce of ease. Peter fell limp in his arms. “Pete,” Tony tapped his cheek gently. “Kid, come on. Don’t mess with me.” He shook Peter’s body.

Nothing.

“No,” Tony whispered, a fresh wave of tears tracking down his face as he folded protectively over Peter’s body hand hugging him close. “No, please. No...” 

The ghost of Peter’s grin still rested on his face. Even in death, Peter smiled.

“I thought I’d feel something.” Avery stood over the pair on the floor, looking down with an utterly emotionless face. “I thought I’d feel… completed. The job is done, after all.”

Tony laid Peter down as gently as possible, not wanting to disturb his sleep, and got to his feet. Avery observed each of his movements, head tipped to the side.

“What does it feel like, do you think? Death?” Avery nodded at Tony. “You came close. How could it feel to lose everything? Feel it all just… slipping away.”

“I’ll show you how it feels,” Tony growled, hands balled into fists and eyes burning with hatred, rage, pain. With grief. “You can count on that.” He didn’t need his suit to make Avery suffer.

[myarmsaretoolong]

Running Out of Time

Prompt #4: Running Out of Time - Caged

Word Count: 980

Warnings: Drowning

Synopsis: Tony came home to find Peter’s mask nailed to his front door, a note reading time’s running out taped to it. With the clock ticking, he fights to reach Peter before it’s too late.

Read Under the Cut | Read on AO3

“Mister Stark?” Peter’s yell ripped his throat raw as he hammered his fists against the glass. “Help, please! Is anyone there?” It didn’t give, didn’t even crack. Peter braced his back against the opposite side of the infernal cage and slammed his feet into the glass. 

Nothing. It must be laced with vibranium.

And then a trickle of water dripped down from the roof.

“Tony?”

* * *

Tony ran forward, his heart hammering with every step. This had to be the place that psychopath had Peter hold hostage. He’d sent Rhodey off to deal with him while he focused on rescuing the kid.

He found himself in a maze, literally. A mixture of spiked wrought iron fences and thick hedges of holly and rose created a series of twisting pathways, barely three steps long before he came to yet another fork in the trail. Deep red rose petals littered the ground, leading Tony further into the madness.

Frantically, he turned corner after corner, all too aware of how long had passed since he saw the note. Time’s running out, that’s all it said. That, taped to Spider-Man’s mask and nailed to his front door, was all it took to thoroughly rattle Tony Stark. His hands shook, knees so weak it was a miracle he was moving at all. The only thing louder than the blood rushing in his ears was the sound of his watch.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

“Peter?” He cupped his hands to his mouth, praying for a reply. “Kid? Can you hear me?” Straining his ears, he listened through the darkness. Only rustling of leaves spoke back to him.

He turned at random. There was no clue, no hint which way led to Peter and which way only took him farther away. Left, right, left again. Should he have gone right? Maybe he should go back? Was he just running in circles?

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Rose thorns scratched Tony’s arms as he brushed past them in his haste. His legs screamed out for rest, though Tony wouldn’t grant them that until Peter was safely in his arms.

The sun had long since set. A full moon now visible overhead and casting the faintest of glow down to the earth below, surrounded by stars. Peter always liked the stars. With the Avengers Facility being out of the city, he’d often sit on the roof and just stare up as they shined down on him, uninhibited by the blinding city lights.

Right. Right. Left. Straight ahead-

Tony froze. Before him, in the centre of the maze, stood a wooden shed, slightly larger than the average size, and much taller. He flung the door open and raced inside. “Peter?”

A single light illuminated the room, and it took Tony’s eyes a second to adjust. The sight knocked the air from his chest. Peter stood, trapped in a glass cage, water already up to his chest and more pouring down on top of his head. His curls flattened against his face.

Peter hammered his hands against the glass, his mouth moving wordlessly. Tony hit the cage with his fist, “Peter! It’s okay. I’ll get you out.” He wasn’t sure Peter could hear him but hoped that he could. It took a second to realise that if Peter couldn’t smash the glass, Tony stood no chance. He stepped back and tapped the nanobot housing unit on his chest, materialising his suit.

The water reached Peter’s chin. He titled his head back to gain more time before it overwhelmed him, treading water. Tony raised a hand and levelled it at the glass, firing a shot from his repulsor. A minuscule spiderweb of thin, white cracks appeared. He shot again, and again, each hit growing the cracks a painfully small amount.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

By now, Peter had one cheek pressed against the roof of his cage, only seconds left to breathe. He took one gulping breath before being submerged. He floated down, eyes wide and fearful as his hair drifted on its own accord, cheeks puffed out, and hit his hands hopelessly against the glass once more.

Tony kept firing, focusing only on the fact that the cracks were spreading, almost covering the entire middle section of the cage wall. With every second that passed, Peter’s attempts at freedom weakened, his lips starting to tinge blue. Whether from the cold or lack of oxygen, Tony didn’t know. Probably both. Then they stopped altogether, and Peter’s body floated limply in the tank.

With an almighty yell, Tony strode forward and kicked, aiming for the dead centre where the cracks were most numerous. He put all his remaining strength into it, every last ounce he had put into saving Peter.

At first, he thought it hadn’t worked. Then the cracks started to widen, spreading further and allowing a dribble of water to leak out. The more they grew, the more water escaped. With barely a seconds warning, the glass exploded outwards and bounced off of Tony’s suit, water spilling out and cascading across the floor. Tony lunged forwards and caught Peter before he could get washed away, falling to his knees as his legs finally gave out beneath him.

The suit dematerialised. Tony tapped Peter’s cheek gently, whispering, “Come on, kid. Don’t leave me. Come back.”

Peter spluttered up water, Tony turning him to the side so he didn’t choke, and coughed violently, gasping in great lungfuls of air.

“It’s okay,” Tony soothed, rubbing his hand on the kid’s back. “I’ve got you.”

Weakly, Peter rolled back, his head nestled in the crook of Tony’s arm. “Hey, Mister Stark.”

“Hey yourself. You had me worried for a second.”

“‘M fine,” Peter mumbled, cuddling closer as he sought out warmth. He peeled his eyes open and met Tony’s loving gaze. “Can we go home now? I’m kinda hungry.”

Tony chuckled. “Of course you are.”

[myarmsaretoolong]

Where do You Think You’re Going?

@whumptober2020​ Prompt #5: Where do You Think You’re Going? - On the Run | Rescue

Word Count: 1933

Synopsis: Peter’s been running ever since Beck revealed his identity. Everything is finally catching up to him.

Read Under the Cut | Read on AO3

Peter had been running for months. Running from everyone in the city who turned on him, running from Tony and May - Peter hadn’t seen them since that day, in truth, he was afraid to, afraid they’d believe Beck’s lies and turn him over to Ross. What was he running towards? Well, he hadn’t figured that out yet.

Ross sent his goons after Peter on a weekly basis; the one thing he hadn’t run away from was New York. It was all he knew, and Ross used that against him by sending out search parties to bring him in, and no doubt ship him off to the Raft for a life sentence. But Peter was still Spider-Man, outrunning a few ground-based soldiers was no task for him.

He’d holed up in an abandoned factory on the edge of the city, only leaving when he had to find food and moving every few weeks so no one would get suspicious and go snooping around. Winter started to drag in, each night leaving Peter just a little colder than the one before - not ideal for someone who couldn’t thermoregulate - so he was once again forced from the safety of his shelter in search of blankets or thicker clothes. Anything to stave off the chill wind.

Peter wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t wander through the streets in the light of day, no. He waited until nightfall, wearing his Stealth Suit - apart from the mask which, as far as he knew, was still in that Netherlands holding cell, not that it was necessary anymore - and swung across rooftops, or darted between darkened alleyways.

Now, he wasn’t exactly sure where to find blankets. And he wasn’t prepared to steal, no matter how bad things got. So he crouched behind a dumpster in an alley, thinking through his options. A tingle ran up his spine, making his hairs stand on end. Ross’ goons.

Peter shot to his feet and turned to face the end of the alley. Five armed goons blocked the exit, slowly closing in. Now for the fun part - the only fun part of Peter’s miserable life. “Hey,” Peter waved with a wide smile. “Nice to catch you again. Or, sorry, not catch, you’ve never quite managed that.”

“It’s different this time, Spider,” one of them growled, still slowly stalking closer. They were dressed head to toe in black, armed to the teeth with whatever Ross’ latest attempt at weaponry was. Peter could practically feel waves of anger rolling off of them.

He had to admit, after months of taunting, running, and taunting some more, it was starting to get a little boring. To spice things up, Peter handed out nicknames to some of the more memorable goons. Ani - the one who insisted on calling Peter ‘Spider’ - earned his nickname from his looks. One time, Peter knocked his helmet off and caught a glimpse at his face before retreating into the night, he bared a striking resemblance to Anakin Skywalker. Pre Darth Vader, though maybe that description wasn’t too far off, either. Besides, Darth Vader was a different goon. He was a loud breather. One Peter could hear him coming from two blocks away. Those two were by far the most common goons sent his way. There was probably a reason for that, a vendetta, maybe. It was always a vendetta.

“Well, they do say there’s a first time for everything. I wouldn’t bet on it, though.” Peter shot a web to the roof of the building to his left and hauled himself up in one swift move. He jumped a few rooftops away, putting a healthy distance between him and Ani, before stopping. It would take them a while to catch up, anyway, and running was no fun when he just up and disappeared at the first sign of trouble. He’d learned that pretty early on.

Now, though, a little game couldn’t hurt. It kept his skills sharp, senses tuned-in, and, well, it gave him someone to talk to. God, Peter missed talking. He missed May and Tony who put up with whatever his latest fixation was. His heart yearned for MJ and Ned, his only real friends. But then, he’d remember MJ’s face after the news broadcast. The way she looked at Peter with fear in her eyes, hands trembling by her side. He left right then, only returning to his apartment once in the dead of night to grab clean clothes and the Stealth Suit.

Peter shook the memory from his head. Leaving everyone had been the worst part, worse than everyone think he was a murderer. Fuck Beck, he ruined everything.

Hang on, what was that? Peter strained his ears and- Yep, he was right. Darth Vader himself. His breathing, mixed with heavy footfalls, made him possibly the worst goon going, bar that one guy who’d freaked out the second he saw Peter and tried to shoot him. That guy, Peter had never seen again. Thankfully.

Darth Vader and his band of goons closed in down on the opposite side of Peter’s building. It wasn’t too unusual for two groups to be chasing Peter at the same time, but it did make things a little more complicated.

“It’s over, Spider-Man,” Darth Vader called, “Come down.”

Peter plopped himself down of the ledge on the roof, feet swinging over the edge, and rested his chin in his hands. “You know what, maybe I will.”

“Really?” Darth Vader’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“No. Come on, man, that’s not happening.” Peter slipped over the edge, dropping down low before shooting another web and launching himself into the air, his feet practically touching Darth Vader’s head as he swung. He relished in the feeling of the chill night air bathing his face, blowing back his too-long curls. After all this was over, Peter wasn’t going back to wearing a mask.

Before Peter could make it far, something knocked him mid-air and sent him crashing into the side of a building. Luckily, he caught himself before he fell too far. He stuck to the wall and cast around, looking for whatever it was, but there was nothing. Peter hadn’t seen anything either. Could it just have been a large bird? A large, slightly blind and probably now concussed, bird? It seemed unlikely.

Below him, yet another group of goons amassed, all shouting up at him to give up. Three groups, now that had only happened in those first few weeks. Okay, so it definitely wasn’t a bird. Peter switched in flight mode, his one and only goal to escape the clutches of Ross. He fled, ignoring how his shoulder screamed out in pain with each swing, as fast as he could. But Ross had goons at every other street corner, forcing Peter to go the other direction.

He realised, with a jolt of horror, that they were herding him. Shepherding him. He tried to stray, to escape, but every time he got off course, another invisible thing would crash into him and force him back to the path they wanted him to take.

Beck’s drones. The thought hit him like a truck. That’s what was hitting him, the shockwaves from the drones concussive blasters. How had Ross gotten access to that? Tony must have given him access to Edith, to track Peter down.

Before Peter realised it, there were no more buildings. He’d reached the edge of the city; only a sprawling field laid before him. Not even a tree to catch himself on. Peter’s arms flailed as he tumbled towards the grass, at the last second, he managed to adjust his position and rolled, springing back to his feet and- Ouch, shit. He’d forgotten just how much those shockwaves hurt.

He stumbled along, one leg basically out of action from his run-in with the building earlier. He didn’t have an aim, there was nowhere to go, only the useless hope that Ross’ goons would just… give up. Just turn around and go home.

Home. Peter longed for home. Not his shitty old factory with the broken windows that let rain in and disgusting fish smell that hung around like a bad - well, I think you can see where I’m going with this. So no, not the factory, his actual home. His and May’s apartment that felt too cramped when he wanted to be alone, yet too empty when he was. With the curtains that didn’t quite fit the sitting room window because Peter measured it in a hurry and that one spot on the wall where the wallpaper refused to lay flat. The familiarity, the comfort.

Instead, he was out here, limping across a field, and hoping. That hope, however, shattered when he looked ahead. More goons, on all sides, closing in. Peter considered fighting, but they were all armed with those concussive blasters. No, he’d save his strength for the opportune moment.

Ross’ men surrounded him, Peter span in a lazy circle just in case a gap made itself evident. Of course, one didn’t. Ani stepped forward, grinning maliciously. “Told you today was different, Spider.”

“I suppose there really is a first time for everything.”

Ani opened his mouth to speak again when a rumble echoed out across the field. Everyone’s heads snapped in the direction from which it came, Peter’s too. What he saw… well, he wasn’t sure if he felt relief or dread. Maybe both, yeah. Both.

Tony landed beside Peter in the centre of the group and held out a gauntlet towards Ani; words weren’t needed to make his threat clear. “Hi, Spider-Man,” he said, “I have a quick question for you.” Tony looped his hands under Peter’s arm and shot up into the sky.

“Uh,” Peter looked down at the slowly shrinking circle of goons. “Go ahead?”

“What, and I cannot stress this enough, the actual fuck.”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, “I can see how you’d come to that question.”

“We’ve been looking for you for months, kid. We all have. Had to let Ross think he’d hacked Edith and track the drones.”

“So, you didn’t help him? You’re not gonna hand me over?”

Tony scoffed, at a momentary loss for words. “Does it look like I’m giving you to Ross?”

“I have to admit, this isn’t what I expected.”

“Yeah, no shit. Why did you run? Why didn’t you come to May, to me.”

“I, uh.” Peter squeezed shut his eyes and screwed his face into a ball. “I saw the way MJ reacted, and I guessed if that’s what she thought of me… then you’d all think the same.”

“Pete, she was in shock. Someone just told the world her boyfriend was a mass murderer and a psychopath. From what she told me you didn’t give her even a second to speak before running off and never being heard from again.”

Peter’s eyes shot open. “She’s not my girlfriend, Mister Stark.”

“Yeah, cause that was the important take away. Listen up, I’m taking you back to the compound where firstly: you’re going to take a shower, I can smell you through the suit, second, you’re going to talk to MJ, and Ned, and May. Then we’re going to put all of this straight.”

Peter hesitated. “So, you’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m mad, but more importantly, I’m just glad to have you back.”

A smile danced across Peter’s mouth. Finally, he had something to run towards. And he was going home.

[bytheangell]

Happy Friday, friends! 

The world is really giving me those chilly fall, rainy day vibes today because it knows I need it. I’ve got coffee now, tea for later, a candle to burn while I try and get some writing done, more reading to get through, and a bit of Critical Role to watch (and by a bit I mean, like, hundreds of hours but we gotta taken this slow)... all in all shaping up for a lovely, lazy Friday in. 

Writing-wise, I’ve made some nice progress in a few lingering WIP ideas this week which was really nice. I should have a thing or two posted over the next week. I’m also collecting some ship suggestions/ideas for stuff people want to see during next month’s Flufftober and Whumptober prompts, so if you have any of those (book characters up to TMI and Show characters) I can’t promise I’ll write them all, but I’m definitely willing to consider anything tossed my way, no matter how rare the rare pair ;) Just let me know if there’s any characters/ships you’d love to see more fics about! <3 

Reading wise I’m about 70% of the way through Chain of Gold and I’m really enjoying it! I’m absolutely in love with all the TLH characters and I can’t wait to see how this all plays out! After I finish this it’s on to The Red Scrolls of Magic, then back to finishing up the last three TMI books before I can move onto TDA! At this rate I may actually have all the books under my belt by the end of the year which will be really nice! SO MANY EXCLAMATION MARKS!!

Other than that, there’s the online con this weekend that I have access to a few of the free panels for, so it’ll be nice to get some show fandom content, especially with a lot of the behind-the-scenes conversations and aspects of the panels with the writers and crew! I’m definitely looking forward to that this weekend. I hope you all have something fun you’re looking forward to over the next few days, treat yourself to something nice, have a little (socially distanced) fun! <3 As always, my ask and messages are always open if you want to shout (or whisper, or discuss in normal tones) about fandom or life in general or literally anything!