#and i think like it just reacted with this horrible empty gnawing feeling i have in my chest rn and made me ugly cry

[pawbeanies]

watchign anime during stale bread brain time was a horrible idea. ugly cried over yaoi

[symbioticsimplicity]

Four Guys Walk Into A Bar pt 5

This really is just gonna become a whole ass fic. We’re at 33 pgs y’all. 33 pages!

Little warning for Billy’s self talk. It’s pretty negative, and reflects opinions I don’t necessarily have about him, but I think Billy himself probably would. It’s nothing terribly graphic, but I figured I’d warn yall anyway.

Part 1!  Part 2!  Part 3!  Part 4!  AO3 link!

Tagging: @thelemonbandit @ihni @love-kurdt @thediktatortot @ghostlyjax

                                                                   *

It was forty-eight hours before Billy got a chance to sit the fuck down and breathe for a second.

They’d gone from hunkering down, to sharing… too much if he was honest, to finding the kids, to fighting for their lives. 

He barely remembered the fight, he’d mostly been riding on instinct, reacting to shouts of his name every so often. He’d saved Max at least twice that he knew of, Steve probably four times, and Hagan more than that. 

The only thing he really remembered was taking El’s hand at the end, the younger Byers slipping his hand into Billy’s other one. He’d felt her in his head again, but this time it felt less invasive, and more like solidarity. There had been a second presence, lighter than hers that he guessed was the Byers kid but had no time to really worry about it.

Together they’d pushed Vecna back, though he’d fought harder than even the mindflayer had. Like the cold, emptiness of dread without a source, he’d gnawed at Billy’s thoughts, tried to drag him back into the dark, even with El and Will bracing him it had nearly gotten him. Probably would have actually, if the others hadn’t linked up with them. It had been the three of them standing against a hurricane, until it wasn’t.

They’d been more faint than Will even, but he’d felt them. 

It had taken all of them, holding onto one another, funneling their strength into El, for them to over take Vecna. 

El had fainted once the deed was done, and for one horrible moment Billy had thought she’d died. She was cold to the touch, her breathing shallow, but her pulse had been strong when he and Hopper had frantically checked for it. 

Hopper and Mrs. Byers had taken her off to the hospital, Will, Jonathan, and Mike splitting off to go with them. 

That left the rest of the group, who all agreed without speaking that splitting up any further was just something they couldn’t do. So they’d all headed back to Steve’s given that his place was the only one big enough to house all of them.

Max had had her head leaned on his shoulder the entire ride, which wasn’t entirely unexpected so much as it was him still adjusting. Since he’d survived Starcourt, their relationship had improved tenfold. Like they’d gone from never being able to tell what the hell the other was saying, to speaking the same language down to the dialect. Max was a lot more similar to him than he’d ever wanted to admit, and now without the animosity in the way it was clear as day. It made his drive to protect her feel all the more intense, almost like by keeping her safe he could go back in time and give the same thing to himself. 

What surprised him more than Max though, was how Munson had wedged himself right up against Billy’s other side. He’d kept is fingers lightly wrapped around his wrist, right at his pulse point, seeming like he hardly even had to think about their proximity. 

That…was something Billy had been trying not to think about. Their proximity, or rather, how much Billy liked it. 

He’d stopped lying to himself years ago, he knew he liked men more than women (if he even liked women at all, which hindsight being 20/20 he really didn’t think he did). But that acceptance had come with the trade off of knowing he’d never let himself act on it. He’d die single before he proved his old man right about anything. 

But in the heat of the moment, under the liminal anonymity of midnight, the voice in the back of his head (the one that actually sounded like his own) had whispered that one little kiss didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. He’d already clinically died, hadn’t he? If he was going to bite it again for real, would it be so bad just to let himself be honest for one night?

But he hadn’t died, and neither had Eddie. Or Steve, or even Tommy for that matter surprisingly. They were all still here, and now they’d have to live with their choices.

Billy had bedded himself down away from the group when they’d all started settling down in Steve’s living room. No one seemed to think anything of it, though Steve had thrown him a look or two he couldn’t quite read. He thought he felt Tommy staring at him a time or two, too, but he’d always be looking away when he turned.

Munson, as usual, couldn’t be bothered to follow the status quo. He’d flopped himself down beside Billy, so close their legs were touching, snuggling himself down into the blankets before Billy could say a word.

“M’tired.” Eddie had mumbled, his big eyes blinking slowly shut, “Y’ll keep the mons’trs ‘way won’tcha, Sunshine?” 

Billy hated that nickname. Hated how it made him think about California, about days spent in the surf and sand, about the way his mother’s skin would tan under the sun, just like his own did now. It made him feel soft, and seen all at once and it was ridiculous that some guy he’d bought drugs from a handful of times before all this shit could make him feel any of that.

“Yeah.” He said instead, “Go to sleep.”

Eddie hummed, tucking himself a little closer than was wise with this many people around. But then again, after having nearly lost each other, everyone was laying a little closer than would be considered normal. 

Billy hesitated, so long his arm started to feel heavy where it was paused above Eddie’s head, so long he convinced himself to swallow the bubble of want and pleasedon’tleaveme and worst of all hope that was expanding in his chest. He lowered his hand, rather than threading it through Eddie’s hair like he’d wanted to. 

He really needed to get his shit together. 

Even if Neil wasn’t home anymore, even if he’d left them when Billy’s X-rays had started raising questions about how many old breaks he’d had that had healed poorly, how few of them were on his knuckles, even if Billy had started to believe that maybe he was gone for good… it still felt too dangerous. 

He wasn’t built to care for other people. He…wasn’t built to be cared for. He knew what he was, even if none of them had the guts to say it to his face. 

He was a killer. Had been headed that way long before the mindflayer hopped a ride in his meatsuit. It was probably why it had picked him. A guy like him didn’t have a whole lot of other prospects, not like Steve or even Eddie. Billy knew his type because he’d seen it every day in his father, had watched himself slowly break down and become just like him. Neil may never have killed anyone, but that was more to do with luck than intent. Billy knew that same rage was inside him, had let it hurt more people than he should have if he were actually worth a shit. So yeah, he’d been on the path to become a killer for years before he was forced into it. And killers didn’t deserve…this.

“Psst.” 

Billy glanced up, drawn out of his thoughts by the whisper from across the room. To his surprise he found Dustin looking back at him, out of all the kids.

His expression was serious in a way that didn’t suit him in the least. It reminded Billy of a small dog barking, maybe a miniature poodle. 

He was so distracted by that image he almost missed what the kid was mouthing to him.

‘Do it, you freakin’ dumbass.’ 

For a moment he just stared at him, not knowing what the hell he was talking about until he mimed running his hand through his hair. 

Billy went red all the way up to his hairline, turning his gaze away from the kid as if that would help. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised when Steve came and sat himself down next to them.

“The kid send you?” Billy asked quietly, mindful of Eddie snoozing away against his side.

“Yeah.” Steve said with a little smile, “Don’t worry though, not gonna badger you.”

Billy hummed appreciatively.

“Well, okay, not about that at least.” 

All gratitude dried up in an instant. 

“What, then?” Billy turned to glare at Steve. 

“Just kinda wondering.” Steve picked at nonexistent fuzz on the blanket Billy was wrapped in, “The other night…”

“Didn’t happen.” Billy cut him off, feeling his jaw work as he tried to shove back the way the words made his chest ache, “I’ll keep my mouth shut if you will.”

“That’s not--” Steve sighed, “You’ve really gotta work on not assuming the worst, man. Look, I don’t exactly know what the hell to call all that, I’m not great at…well any of this. But I don’t want to just ignore it.”

Billy chanced looking up at Steve and immediately regretted the decision. 

His brown doe eyes were so filled with sincerity, all but pleading for Billy to hear what he wasn’t saying. To make sense of what Steve himself couldn’t. 

He was barking up the wrong tree, “Well I do. Bad enough Munson won’t leave me the fuck alone now, don’t need you and Hagan getting all mooney eyed too.”

The look on Steve’s face almost made him take the words back. It was like watching a small crack spiderweb into thousands, all while the face on screen continued to smile. Steve’s hurt wasn’t as loud as Billy’s but that only made it cut deeper.

“Right.” Steve shook his head, “That’s, uh, yeah that’s fair. Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Buuuuulllllshit.” Tommy’s voice cut him off as the other brunette sat down beside Steve, “The fuck are you backpedaling for, I know you know he’s lying.”

Steve frowned at Tommy and Billy glared. He remained unaffected by either, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth casually. 

“I’m not.” Billy replied as firmly as he could manage.

“And I’m the Queen of fucking England.” Tommy rolled his eyes, “What you are is freakin’ the fuck out. Wanna know how I know?”

Billy didn’t reply but apparently he didn’t have to.

“Because I’m also freaking the fuck out. Like sure. I liked what we did, it was great, actually. Kinda want more. But without the whole ‘shit we might die tomorrow’ hanging over us, that means we’ve gotta admit that its for real. And that’s fucking terrifying.”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded even though the speech wasn’t being directed at him, “Yeah pretty much.”

“You don’t know me, Hagan.”

“No? Am I wrong then? Were you not just having a whole meltdown before Steve came over?” Tommy propped his chin on his palm, “If that’s just your resting face, that blows.”

Billy licked his teeth, trying to figure out just how pissed off everyone would get with him if he just punched Tommy. Right in his pretty little nose. 

“I’m just saying, if you can Swartzenegger your way through a herd of interdimensional monsters, kissing boys should be a lot less scary in comparison.” 

“You done?” Billy asked flatly. 

“Depends, are you?” Tommy fired right back, “Cause half of the kids are out, and Steve’s room is a lot more comfortable than the floor. And I’m not gonna carry Munson up all those stairs. Handicap privilege.” 

He wiggled his now cleaned and stitched leg. 

“C’mon Billy.” Steve said softly, biting his bottom lip, his big soft eyes working their stupid puppy dog magic, “Just for the night?”

Billy had always been a sucker for pretty boys, damn him. 

“Fine. Just for the night.”                                                               *

‘Just for the night’ turned into ‘just until we leave’, then ‘just until the nightmares calm down’, and before long they stopped making excuses altogether. 

Rare was the night Billy didn’t end up in Steve Harrington’s bed, crushed by bodies on all sides. He’d never admit it, but it was the best sleep he’d gotten in his entire life. Fuck, it was the best he’d felt in years. 

He’d gotten The Look from Max one day (the one with the squinty eyes, furrowed brows and pinched up mouth that made her look closer to his age than her own) when he’d actually laughed at one of her dumb friend’s shitty jokes. She’d taken him aside and checked him for a fever, not believing him when he said he was just having a good day. In her own words, she’d “Never seen you smile before unless someone just ate shit or something”.

Billy had been a little irritated at that, he had good days! Not since he’d known her, but still he was allowed to change! Especially with Neil out of his goddamn life, and three new… people he was close with.

And he was. Close with them. He’d been utterly floored that their odd teamwork had translated from battle and dubious childcare, straight into living comfortably alongside one another. 

It was so goddamn weird, he’d never seen people actually get along, let alone as well as they all did. He’d certainly never been a part of it. But they just made sense. They worked, like each of them were cogs in the little machine that constituted their relationship. Whatever the hell that was. 

If Billy didn’t think too hard about it, things were perfect, but of course he’d always been prone to overthinking.

“What’s up, Buttercup?” Eddie leaned over the back of the lawn chair Billy was currently lounging on.

He poked him right between his brows where a crease had started forming. 

“Hm?” Billy hummed, blinking his way out of his thoughts.

“Smelt fire, figure you were probably out here brooding.”

“I don’t brood.” 

“Totally do. Very Batman like, but as the resident bat-freak, I can’t have you swooping in on my turf.”

Eddie walked around to face Billy, almost immediately choosing to straddle his lap instead. 

Out of all of them, Eddie was the most tactile. It was like the guy would die if he wasn’t touching someone constantly. It could be something as small as linked pinkies, but he’d always be in contact with them if he could. Though, he preferred things like this, better for laying claim as he’d said when Billy had asked.

“So what’s on your mind?” Eddie pushed his hair gently out of his face, hand sliding down to cup Billy’s cheek.

“Just…” Billy bit his tongue, working it between his teeth before he could force himself to continue, “Wondering. What we are. All of us.”

Eddie didn’t seem like he’d heard for a moment, his focus trained on where his hand was stroking Billy’s face. Billy wasn’t about to repeat himself, so if he hadn’t heard him, he’d just change the subject.

“We’re boyfriends, I think.” Eddie finally answered, “All of us.”

Billy scoffed, “Doesn’t work like that.”

“Oh yeah? And why not? Cause a buncha power hungry religious assholes from back in the day said it doesn’t? They said the same shit about wanting to kiss other guys in the first place, and they were wrong about that too.” Eddie tugged lightly at Billy’s bangs, “Society is fake, Sunshine. Do what makes you happy.”

Eddie’s lips quirked up into a malicious little smile, the one that made Billy’ heart race. He knew Eddie well enough now to know he was about as dangerous as a kitten, but he sure looked like trouble and Billy had always been more than a little in love with the dark side of life.

“Or who makes you happy.” He amended.

Billy couldn’t be sure if he pushed up or if Eddie pressed down, but their lips met and his worries seemed to fade back into obscurity. It was always easier when one of them was kissing him, like the whole world just went quiet for a while.

[drewsdrearydays]

07.03.18

I don’t know what to say anymore. I am just so tired. I stared at my screen for ten whole minutes trying to think of where to start. Jose’s gone. So much has been happening and I think I’m reaching breaking point soon. I have now been to two funerals in the span of thirteen days. I don’t know what to think. I didn’t react horribly when I found out about Jose. I heard say those words over the telephone and suddenly there was silence everywhere. I had had this intense dread in me this entire week that something terrible was about to happen and then it did. I rushed to the crime scene immediately. The silence slowly faded away and was replaced by chaos of angry voices. I was so angry, I still am. At the killer for targetting Jose and at myself too. I should have been better, I should have accompanied Jose home as I had been doing throughout these past days, I should have called him when I reached home or at least had Yusuf walk him home. I did none of that and now Jose is dead. On paper, Jose and I never knew each other that deeply but the truth is, besides my grandfather and of course, Yusuf, Jose was my best friend. He literally watched me grow up. I had always given me anything I needed, laughter when I craved it and silence when I needed it. The library was my home and now that Jose isn't there anymore, I have this gnawing sense of homelessness eating at my insides. Where do I go now? I could see how much Jose had been suffering in his last days here. I wish I could have understood it or better, taken it away. 

I decided immediately that Jose’s autopsy had to be the fastest yet the most thorough one that I had ever done. Something inside me broke and crumbled away working on the body so closely and seeing his lifeless face so closely. Dead bodies and injuries never bothered me before, I had always been able to separate myself from it and be in a clinical mindset. Yet I couldn’t do it with Jose. Every close inspection of the violence that had occurred on his body had me walk away and burst into tears. I didn’t want to look at Jose like that, or anyone I love for that matter. I couldn’t objectify and dehumanise the body as I needed to. As I went over the cuts on Jose’s torso I could feel how the killer must have made them, slow and controlled with a knife that bore the same kind of paper-thin sharpness and precision that my own scalpel bears. It was haunting, to say the least. After hours and hours of mentally, physically and emotionally draining work, I had an autopsy ready to submit to Erin. The time of death could be approximated between 11:30 pm to 02:00 am. The stab wounds on Jose’s body were identical to the wounds on all the previous murders, the stab wound at the heart, the slash across the abdominal head, the cut on the back of the knee—it was all there. The only difference here was that Jose’s tongue had been cut off. All of these things I put in the autopsy but there is something else too. I have a feeling that there are two people behind this. It’s something about the ghost of the movement that can be picked up from the stab wounds and the ghost of the movement that can be picked up from the slicing of Jose's tongue. It’s almost as if…both of those things were done by different hands. There is no real technical or tangible tell for this, it’s mostly based on the feel I’ve got so I couldn’t add this to the autopsy but it's something I can’t ignore. 

I spent the next day, that is yesterday, planning Jose’s funeral. I went about town booking things and ordering things and I kept getting sympathetic looks from the townsfolk. I could also see that the town is electric with panic. There is distrust in the air and the streets are empty all day. 

Jose’s funeral happened today. Apparently, Antonio and he had already booked spots for themselves beside each other long back. Out of the hundred or so people living in this town, other than me only Klaudia, Erin, June, Yusuf, Mocair, Harry and Sariah turned up to the funeral. I was shocked and I felt so bitter but I tried to reason it away. Everyone was too scared to come. Everyone stood away from Mocair during the funeral. It was clear what was going on in everyone’s mind, what was going on in my mind too. Something was very wrong with Mocair, and given yesterday’s events, it puts him in a terrible spot. The funeral was a quick one and everyone left as soon as it was over. Yusuf stayed. He looked at me with those big brown eyes of his and asked me if I was fine but I had nothing to say. I leaned in for a hug but he only gave me a pat on my back. I could see something guarded in his eyes and I pulled away too. He left soon enough too, after standing with me silently for a while. I watched as Jose and Antonio, the two best friends, men who knew what it was to really love and the best of us, lay beside each other in their fresh graves and I prayed, for the first time in my life, that they both had found peace and happiness wherever they were. 

I am home now, writing this. I feel so lonely. Grandpa’s house is empty and it almost feels too big around me. I surprise myself as I think of the island and maybe going back after many months. There is no one I can talk to. Jose’s gone and Yusuf is all…weird these days. Maybe I’ll talk to Klaudia. I don’t know. All I do know is that Jose had found out something about the murders in the mania that had engulfed him in the last few days of his life which troubled him immensely. All he wanted to do was to solve this, to make all of this right. And that is exactly what I am going to do. 

[thefamilyeldritchabomination]

Chapter Four: The Retinue of Moons/The Infidel is Me Pt. 3

 “I’m going to ask, do you remember when Great Uncle Oscar withdrew some of your blood to figure out what you were?” Freddy asked to get Dolly ready for what was about to be revealed. “Yes and we all know what happened afterward when he threatened to sell me to the government.” Dolly stated rather unfondly of the past incident entirely. “Well…I sort’ve broke into said Great Uncle’s room, stole the vial of your blood and used some of that blood in two experiments.” Freddy said as he lifted a statue out of the crate and placed it in front of Dolly.

The Statue looked like a smallish stylized lion from a cartoon in the fetal position as Freddy tapped the transmutation circle on its forehead. The hardened surface quickly started to soften as the Leonoid thing began to move out of its fetal position. The coloration was a rather delightful tint of corpse green with a texture to match as gold orbs bubbled up from the clay mess to serve as eyes. Truly, this creature would’ve been considered conventionally adorable had it not been the blunt, jagged shards of strawberry quartz serving as teeth as it let out a banshee screech. “Freddy you made THAT with my BLOOD!?” Dolly exclaimed as the horrible little clay sin against nature toddled over to Freddy and promptly started chewing on his arm in retribution. “Would you believe that this one was the friendlier of the two that were made?” Freddy calmly said, not even reacting to the painful arm chewing that was going on. “What the hell were you thinking Freddy!?” Dolly yelled out mortified that her blood was used as an ingredient and more importantly, it was used to make this horrible little monster. “I was thinking you needed a companion of some kind, Gort! Look, I’m sort’ve dumb when it comes to social stuff, but even I know that the family drifting apart to other places as taken a toll on you. There is that and the fact you likely won’t ever die, you need to have at least one thing that is a constant companion for your own wellbeing Gort!” Freddy burst out fully, tears in his eyes from concern.

 The soft gnawings from the horrible clay monstrosity was the only sound from the apartment as Dolly and Freddy just stared each other down. Slowly getting up, Dolly pushed her chair in and carefully walked over to Freddy. Gently and calmly, Dolly carefully gave Freddy a hug, catching Freddy right off guard as did the horrible little monster. In turn, Freddy slowly gave Dolly an one armed hug in return. “Freddy, I’m so sorry to have worried you like that. That was a very kind thing you’ve done for me even if it is concerning that you used my blood as an alchemical ingredient.” Dolly began as she assured Freddy of no real hard feelings. “Okay, that was a bit too far, but it worked, it stabilized the two successful products. Sure Ernest is apparently an unholy terror at the lab he was sent to, but I got lucky with Dorian.” Freddy admitted as he pointed to the abomination called Dorian who resumed chewing on Freddy’s arm. “Well, what are you going to do? These guys are expecting you to make a Philosopher’s Stone and I don’t think my blood is gonna cut it.” Dolly explained, becoming worried now at the prospect. “I’m a brilliant alchemist, I’m sure it’ll pan out just fine and who knows, maybe I can use the stone to adjust Dorian’s temperament better. Plus we have the stone fragments here, so I can just study the samples to see if I can replicate it.” Freddy said confidently as Dorian increased the pressure on the arm mauling. “Yeah, remember what your ‘friend’ said? That bag had to be empty by tomorrow.” Dolly pointed out, Dorian noticing the bag immediately.

 Dorian let go of Freddy’s arm as he toddled over to the bag, ripped it open, and started stuffing his disgusting clay maul with the red stones. The sight was a show in itself as Dolly and Freddy watched Dorian inhale the stones, every single last nugget. All that remained of the stones was a shredded bag as Dorian sat down, peaceful for a change instead of going back to mauling. Freddy was in full awe of the little bundle of hate filled clay was passive for a change when Dorian opened his horribly wet and sludge like mouth, strawberry quartz poking out. “Asss….Hole….” Dorian gargled out as he pointed right at Freddy. “Congrats God, your creation can now curse you out.” Dolly remarked, stunned that Dorian can now speak. “This is great! Dorian can speak now!” Freddy said in pure joy, the fact of being called an asshole flew right over his head. “Well that and I guess we found Dorian’s kibble…” Dolly said, still stunned for words after such a short time span of one day. “You’re getting more kibble for Dorian, right?” Freddy asked immediately.

“Yes, but first, I’m looking at your arm, right now.” Dolly stated as she pulled the sleeve on Freddy up to examine the mauling.

“Dolly no!” Freddy protested as his arm was revealed to be riddled with dents marks and bruising from the mauling.

“And we’re going to the doctor tomorrow morning.” Dolly said nonchalantly upon seeing that.

Freddy pitched a fit as Dolly went to the phone to arrange a doctor’s appointment in the morning to thoroughly check on Freddy’s arm. During that time, right next door, Envy was still grinning smugly as Lust tore into them about the stunt. Envy hadn’t cared about the reaction Lust would have after the impromptu visit, shoveling some red stones into their mouth. It was all worth it to put Dolly in her place after humiliating them twice and triggering that memory flash back. 

[ragingpancake]

I Will Try (To Fix You) - Part One

Here’s the thing: Rodney is an actual pain in the ass. They’d be hard pressed to find anyone in two galaxies who didn’t agree with that assessment but most of the time, John doesn’t mind. He puts up with all of Rodney’s neuroses with a kind of fond indulgence but there’s really only so much that one man can take, even if that man is John Sheppard, McKay whisperer. The trek to the Carnean settlement is long and it’s hot and John isn’t feeling charitable the fifty seventh time that Rodney complains about the heat. He snaps at the scientist in a way that he almost never does, even Teyla and Ronon visibly reacting to the sting of his words. Later, once they’re back home and John doesn’t feel like he’s going to sweat to death, he’ll ply Rodney with some chocolate and coffee as an apology, but now, he’s grateful for the silence. -- The Carneans aren’t quite what John expected. Most of the planets they trade with are primitive in technology, and the ones more advanced are usually comprised of a bunch of dicks. Teyla had warned that they were a peaceful people, but deeply, deeply religious in regards to their technology, believing them to be gifts from their Gods. She said it as a warning mostly to Rodney, who had horrible manners on even the best of occasions, but was known to abandon all pretense of any sort of civility when it came to shiny, new ancients toys that he could get his hands on. He promised to behave though, looking a little bitterly in John’s direction, clearly still smarting from the reprimand earlier, but John still won’t let himself feel bad about that when the armpits of his black t-shirt are completely drenched, leaving him to feel sticky and gross and still annoyed. To his credit, John can tell that Rodney really does try to behave. He questions the Carneans about their energy source almost delicately, even as his handheld is going crazy in his hand, alerting them all to almost ZPM level energy signals coming from just beneath them. His resolve to be, well, Rodney is slowly starting to break though and even though John warns him twice, voice growing more agitated as the Carneans grow increasingly uncomfortable with Rodney’s line of questioning. “Rodney,” Teyla interjects, forcing a smile to her face though her eyes never leave their leader, Arrens. “Perhaps it would be best if we—” “No, no! You don’t understand! This energy source is—” He yelps as Ronon scruffs him, grabbing him by the back of his tac vest to stop him from venturing to the giant pillars before them, the ones that lead down to their most sacred chamber. “Perhaps we should return to the village,” Arrens says and his voice is even, though clearly laced with barely concealed disdain for the scientist. John’s about to joke that he’ll have to get in line with all of the other people in Pegasus that Rodney has annoyed when Rodney wiggles free of Ronon and starts for the temple entrance. “McKay!” John snaps again and this time, it’s him who reaches out for Rodney, grabbing him none to gently by the shoulder, squeezing not so hard enough to actually hurt Rodney, but to get his attention. It has its desired effect and John leaves Teyla to offer their profuse apologies as he and Ronon set off for the Jumper, dragging Rodney between them.

--- “What part of sacred temple do you not understand?” John barks, whirling around on the scientist as soon as they’re far enough away from the Carneans. “For someone as smart as you, you have absolutely zero common sense!” “But the energy source--!” “I don’t give a crap about the energy source, Rodney! We need their grains, you know that, and instead, you’ve jeopardized this entire mission!” John’s sure why he’s so angry, but he’s hot, he’s tired, and once again, they’ll have to go back through the Gate empty handed all because Rodney couldn’t control himself for a total of two seconds. “Sheppard,” Ronon grumbles as Rodney seemingly wilts in front of them, not used to being on the receiving end of John’s Colonel Sheppard wrath and for a second, he feels a little bit like a dick. He takes a deep breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth and gestures to the Jumper. “Get in.” “Sheppard, I—.” “I said get in, McKay. We’ll have this discussion later.” --- They’ve only been back at the Jumper for about fifteen minutes when Teyla comes through the thick foliage and she doesn’t look nearly as put out as John expected. He knows that she’s been counting on those grains for the Athosian settlement too, but she seems in good spirits as they meet her at the ramp of the Jumper. “I have spoken to Arrens and explained Rodney’s… over excitement away as a bit of religious zeal. They were concerned at first that he might wish to desecrate their sacred temple, but they have been advised that he simply wished to learn more about their practices.” “That actually worked?” Ronon asks, eyebrow raised. “It is not uncommon for planets to simply trade knowledge, Ronon,” Teyla admonishes and she turns back to John. “They wish for us to join them for a meal so that we might continue talks of negotiation.” John glances at Ronon and then back to Teyla, gauging the situation before he finally turns his gaze to Rodney, leveling him with a glare. Rodney holds his hands up, handheld tucked away safely in his vest. “Best behavior, yes, I know. You’ll not hear a peep from me.” “I doubt that,” John snorts but he nods. “Alright then. And Rodney, if you so much as look like you’re going to mention that damn energy source, I’ll string you up myself. Clear?” “Crystal.” “Good. Let’s go.” --- The meal goes better than John expects, honestly. While Arrens still maintains a cool demeanor despite Teyla’s best diplomatic attempts to draw him into conversation, his son Atton speaks animatedly with both John and Ronon as Rodney finishes off his third bowl of stew. John has to cut him off from going back for a fourth as Arrens eyes seem transfixed on the scientist and Rodney’s already offended these people once today. John won’t allow him to do it a second time. “Lay off, McKay,” he mutters under his breath and Rodney whines like he always does when food’s involved. “But it’s good. When’s the last time we actually had a decent meal off-world? You think they do doggie-bags here? Maybe we can take it back home and the cooks can figure out how to—” Ronon elbows him in the side and Rodney doesn’t quite yelp but it’s a near thing and John figures the Carneans have probably had enough of Rodney for one day. Once again, John leaves Teyla to the niceties while Atton escorts the three men outside and it’s not long at all before Teyla joins them and they set off for the gate again. --- The walk back to the Jumper is much less miserable than it had been on the way to the settlement, for which John is eternally grateful. The sun is beginning to set, cooling the air and he finds himself much less agitated than he’s been for most of the day. Even the sound of Rodney gulping his water behind him isn’t enough to annoy him now, whereas earlier it very well might have sent John into a homicidal rage. “Did that stew leave a weird after taste with anyone?” He asks, and John rolls his eyes at that. “Nope, but we didn’t eat enough to feed an entire army.” Rodney huffs at that and tips his canteen up again,

frowning when he finds it empty. Teyla wordlessly passes her own to him, squeezing his shoulder gently, affectionately maybe, and John knows that while Rodney annoys the shit out of everyone they’ve ever met, he’s there’s and John isn’t the only one who is indulgently fond of Rodney. Even when he’s at his most annoying. --- Their return through the Gate is uneventful. Elizabeth is there to meet them when they arrive and John is feeling charitable enough now that he doesn’t even mention Rodney’s faux pas. He promises to have Teyla fill her in more on the trade agreement she’d been able to broker before he leads his team down to the locker room, Rodney strangely quiet the whole way. John’s about halfway through removing his gear when he glances over at Rodney, one eyebrow raised to find him sitting on the bench, still in his tac vest and thigh holster. “What’s wrong with you?” He asks, kicking Rodney’s boot gently with his foot to get his attention and Rodney startles, lifting his gaze to meet John’s. “What? Uh, nothing. Nothing, it’s just… my stomach feels a little…” He gestures vaguely and Ronon laughs behind them, clapping Rodney on the shoulder. “Must have been that third bowl. One of our commanders back on Sateda had a large appetite, but I think even you could out eat him, McKay.” “Gee, thanks,” Rodney frowns as John goes back to hanging up his vest, surreptitiously glancing over at the other to find that he does actually look a little green around the gills. “You wanna go see Beckett?” John offers after a moment. “No, no. Chewbacca’s probably right,” Rodney says as he unstraps his holster and stands, shrugging off his tac vest. “We all had the same thing, and you’re all fine.” John just shrugs. It’s not the first time Rodney’s eaten himself to a stomachache and he’s pretty sure it won’t be the last. “Alright,” he says, clapping Rodney on the shoulder, a little more gently than he’d been earlier in the day. “If anything changes though…” “Yeah, yeah. I know the drill.” “Alright. Debriefing in an hour. I’ll see you there.” “Yeah,” Rodney agrees. “See you.” John does not actually see Rodney later. At least not while he’s conscious. --- It happens really fast. Rodney doesn’t actually show up for the debriefing but that in and of itself is not really weird; he’s skipped more than one debriefing over the last few years, but there’s something gnawing uncomfortably in his gut anyway. They finish up and by the time they’re done, John thinks he’s probably just being a paranoid asshole, but he taps his comm, needing Rodney to confirm he’s good. “Sheppard to McKay, come in.” Silence. “Sheppard to McKay, Rodney, respond.” John glances over at Ronon and Teyla who have both been standing by, Teyla looking as worried as John feels and Ronon… well, Ronon looks pissed off, but John knows that that’s Ronon’s default when it comes to concern. “Sheppard to Zelenka, come in.” This time, his radio crackles immediately in his ear. “Zelenka here, go ahead Colonel.” “Hey Dr. Z, is Rodney down there?” John waits impatiently, but even before Radek answers, John already knows. “No Colonel, he is not here.” “I will check the infirmary,” Teyla says, squeezing John’s wrist. “Ronon, the mess. John, perhaps you should check his quarters. If Rodney was not feeling well, it’s likely he is in one of these three places.” “Yeah,” John nods. “Yeah, you’re right, okay. As soon as you find him, radio in.” They disperse quickly and John doesn’t mean to, but the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach twists and he realizes that at some point, he’d started to jog to the transporter to take him as close Rodney’s room as possible. “Sheppard to McKay,” he says again, a little breathless as he steps out of the transporter, “Rodney, I swear to God, you better be alright or I’ll kick your ass.�� Even the threat of bodily violence doesn’t raise him and by the time John skids to a halt in front of Rodney’s door, he’s expecting the worst. He pounds on the door once, giving Rodney the

chance to open it, but when he hears nothing inside, he palms the door open to find Rodney face down on the floor, lying in a puddle of his own vomit. “No. No, no, no.” John closes the distance between them, calling for a medical team with barely concealed fear in his voice as he drops down to his knees, rolling Rodney over onto his side as he presses two fingers to the side of his neck. He can feel a pulse there but it’s rapid and thready. “Rodney, c’mon buddy. You gotta wake up, hey, hey, c’mon. Wake up, Rodney.” He’s babbling, he knows that, but he doesn’t know what else to do until he hears the sound of the medical team in the hallway, sprinting toward them, Teyla and Ronon both hot on their heels. “What happened?” Beckett barks as they spill into the room and John drops back on his ass, away from Rodney so that they can work. “I don’t… I don’t know, we just got back and he said he had a stomachache but he was fine and he--.” Ronon hefts John back to his feet, as Beckett assess the situation, calling down to the infirmary to warn them of their imminent arrival as Rodney’s lifted onto the gurney, his body sickeningly limp. “Did he ingest anything off world?” He calls over his shoulder, expecting them to follow, and they do, Ronon forcing John to keep moving. “Colonel!” Carson snaps when John doesn’t immediately answer as one of the nurses places the ambu bag over Rodney’s face. “We took part in a meal with the Carneans, but we were all served the same food,” Teyla answers for John when it becomes clear that he won’t, or rather, can’t. John can’t tear his eyes away from Rodney as his chest rises and falls only because of the bag forcing air into his lungs. “Blood pressure’s dropping!” Simpson announces as the doors to the infirmary open and the last thing they hear is Beckett cursing as the doors close in their faces. --- He should’ve forced him down to the infirmary. The moment Rodney gave any indication that something was off, John should’ve marched him down here himself, but Rodney had been a pain in the ass all day and-- John had figured he’d deserved a bit of a stomachache for as much trouble as he’d almost caused and if Rodney wasn’t okay, John would--. John had no fucking idea what he’d do. They’re sitting outside of the infirmary, John’s leg bouncing nervously, head cradled in his hands with Teyla and Ronon flanking him. Others had come when word began to spread, Elizabeth and Radek, even Lorne, posted near the door. It’s unsettlingly quiet, only the muffled sounds spilling through the doors to be heard. Their vigil seems to stretch on forever. Seconds into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into--. Honestly, John has no idea how long they’ve been here. Time has no meaning in this moment and while it feels like it’s been days, after what in reality was only thirty minutes, Beckett steps out, looking more grim than John thinks he’s ever seen him, including the time that John turned into a bug. “We don’t have much time,” he says, glancing to Elizabeth. “I need permission to move him down to the Stasis pods. His condition is rapidly deteriorating and without an antidote on hand--.” “Antidote?” Ronon interrupts, hand clenched into a fist at his side. “Are you saying McKay was poisoned?” “Aye,” Beckett answers shortly. “Elizabeth, his organs have already begun to shut down at an alarmingly rapid pace. If we delay this--.” “Go,” Elizabeth says at once and Carson is gone before there’s a chance to ask anything further. John doesn’t need to know anything else though. He stands, nodding at Ronon and Teyla to go gear up and without a single word, the two turn, reading his body language clearly enough. John will be right behind them, but first he needs to make sure Rodney gets to where he’s going. The doors open again, the medical team moving at a quick pace, but John keeps up with them easily, coming to a stop only once they reach the stasis chamber. Rodney is sickeningly gray now and if John didn’t know better, he’d think he was already gone. He reaches for the other’s

hand as Beckett and one of the nurses ready the pod and he squeezes Rodney’s fingers as he leans in close to his ear, willing Rodney to hear him. “I will fix this,” he vows, lips brushing the outer shell of Rodney’s ear. “I will burn that entire fucking planet down if I have to, but I promise you, I will fix it. Hang on, Rodney. Please.” “Colonel,” Beckett says, shouldering John bodily out of the way. “Get a move on, son. The stasis pod will keep his organs from shutting down any further, but I need that antidote if there’s any hope of bringin’ him back from this.” John does not need to be told again. --- Arrens is prepared for their return. There is a group of armed men waiting at the gate, Arrens standing unapologetically behind them. John wants to blow them all to pieces as soon as the Jumper clears the event horizon but Teyla reminds him as calmly as possible that doing so will make it impossible for them to find the antidote. Instead, he touches the Jumper down and they’re out, weapons raised. “You come to our village,” Arrens booms, “attempt to desecrate our templeand return to turn your weapons upon us?” “Give us the antidote and we will leave, never to return again!” Teyla responds, neither John nor Ronon moving to lower their weapons. “We did not intend to offend your Gods; Doctor McKay had no malicious intentions.” Arren is not moved, however, but there’s another, Atton, who steps forward, maybe to act as a liaison for his people, but it’s all John needs to move. It happens so quickly, that none of the Careans have an opportunity to fire as John grabs the boy, arm around his neck as Atton struggles, hands up in surrender. “Please, Colonel Sheppard--.” “Nothin’ personal, kid,” but John’s not leaving here without that antidote. “You have five seconds to give us what we’ve come for. Do not make me ask again.” “My… my bag,” Atton struggles, but John does not hear him as his grip tightens around his throat. “Release him at once!” Arrens bellows, and he steps forward, as if to charge them but Ronon aims his weapon, finger on the trigger and the man stops. “Arrens, please,” Teyla tries, “there need not be bloodshed between our two peoples! Gives us the antidote!” Atton hits John’s wrist, struggling against him, blunt nails digging into skin and he tries again. “B… a…” And then John spots it, the tiny vial that’s tumbled from the bag dropped by the boy when John grabbed him. “Ronon!” The Satedan surges forward, grabbing it at the same time John releases Atton, who falls to his knees, gasping for air. “If he dies,” John snarls, aiming his side arm at the leader of the Careans, almost begging the man to give him a reason,“there is no place in this galaxy that you will be able to hide.” “John,” Teyla pleads urgently, trying to usher him back towards the Jumper. “We must go. Rodney is in great need.” And it’s that reminder that snaps John out of it as he backs into the Jumper, Ronon already dialing. --- Even with the antidote, they have no way of knowing if Rodney’s going to make it. The damage to his insides was extensive; his kidneys had shut down completely and Carson warns that if he wakes up, there very well could be weeks, if not months of dialysis treatments. They still have no way of knowing if there was any damage to his nervous system, and they won’t know until he wakes up. Carson speaks in hypotheticals, using if instead of when and John finds that every time he does, he wants to scream. If he’d been less pissed at Rodney, if he’d paid a little bit more attention, he could’ve caught this. The increased thirst, back on the planet, that could’ve been their first sign that something was wrong and they could’ve-- He should’ve--. Whether Rodney wakes up or not, John knows that he’ll never forgive himself for this one.

---

In the end, Rodney does wake up. He does so quietly, without fanfare, alerting at first only John when Rodney squeezes his fingers gently where they’re linked through his own. He sits up from where his head had been pillowed on the bed at Rodney’s hip and for a moment, when he sees those blue eyes staring back at him, he can’t quite breathe. “John,” Rodney rasps, voice hoarse, a bit pained. “Where… what…?” “Hey buddy,” John greets, leaning back in his chair for a split second to signal to Marie before his gaze flickers back to Rodney’s ashen face. “You’re okay. You’re in the infirmary. You’ve been here for a couple of days.” A couple of days which felt uncomfortably like an eternity. Rodney’s eyes close again and for a second, John thinks maybe he’s slipped back into unconsciousness, which Beckett had previously warned could happen, but then Rodney’s blinking up at him. “The… the energy source,” he manages. “There was… ‘m sorry.” “Hey, hey,” John says and he scoots forward in his chair and John can hear Beckett approaching, knowing it won’t be long before John’s forced to give up his seat at Rodney’s side while he’s examined. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Rodney.” And least nothing that Rodney should be sorry for. John, on the other hand… “You’re gonna be okay though. You hear me? You’re gonna be fine, I promise.” Rodney nods and closes his eyes again, clearly exhausted from the short exchange. Beckett steps in and John starts to pull back, to let the other work, but Rodney grips his fingers again. “Stay,” he rasps and John glances at Beckett who gives a barely there nod. “Alright,” he says, settling back down into his chair. “I’m here, buddy. I’m not goin’ anywhere. I promise.”

[milstrim]

Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 6: That I Would Be Good

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter’s not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he’d always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

---

When Peter woke up, it was horribly bright. His eyes opened a sliver only to be immediately squeezed shut with a groan, a sensory overload surely on its way as the harsh yellow light broke through even his tightly shut eyes. He could already feel the migraine, but the teenager pushed it down as the memories of what had happened flooded back.

The ferry. Mr. Stark. The suit. The men in the alley. And then...darkness. And now wherever he was right now he guessed. After a few moments, Peter managed to crack his eyes open again, surprised a little by the room he was in, not that he'd expected much to be honest.

Peter himself was chained to a pillar, his arms cuffed around it uncomfortably while metal ropes twisted around him at least five times over. His entire body was stiff, leaving him to think he'd been stuck in this position for at least a few hours. What time was it? Had anyone noticed he was missing? Peter blinked emptily, very much doubting it. Nobody at Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys would be expecting him home until late, and it wasn't like Mr. Stark was going to be looking for him.

The teenager took a deep, rattled breath, pushing the regret to the back of his mind and observing the rest of his situation instead.

The yellow lights in the room were horrible bright, allowing for Peter's shadow to loom out in front of him in a stark contrast to the light concrete ground. He forced himself to turn away from it, instead trying to find a means of escape. There were no windows in the small room that he would peg as a larger storage room, though there wasn't really anything to store. There were a few plastic shelves that had wheels on the end, but, save for a couple of blankets and a pillow, there was nothing resting on them. The only other things in the room were a metal door, a stained bucket, a few stools, and a blinking camera.

Peter turned to glare at it directly, watching it warily as the light on it blinked red. Who was behind that camera? It had to be the vulture guy, right? He'd recognized one of the men that had come to grab him, and they had alien weapons, so. Yeah, Peter may have gotten in a little over his head.

"Hello?" he called, shouldering the ropes wrapped around him. They didn't give, just rubbing against the hoodie that still smelled of Mr. Stark. He tried desperately to block it out. "Hey! What the hell's going on!?"

There was, of course, no answer, so he slumped against the pillar, grimacing at the hunger gnawing at his stomach. He wished desperately that he knew what time it was. Then again, he guessed it didn't really matter. His grounding had already been extended, and what was a few more missed meals? It surely didn't feel like it really mattered anymore.

It was a few minutes before anyone came by. Peter was straining against the chains, struggling to get some kind of hold in his awkward position, when the sound of footsteps caught his attention. He paused in his efforts, stilling to stare at the door as it opened and a wrinkled man stepped through. It took him a moment, but he was quick to realize that it had been the man on the ferry.

This must be the vulture guy.

The door boomed to a slow shut behind the man, who grabbed one of the stools and sat atop it, regarding Peter easily. There was a minute of tense silence before anyone spoke.

"I'm sorry to do this to you, Peter," the man started. Peter scowled. Great. Of course the man knew his name. "But you're bad for business, and so is your little shadow right there, so you'll be staying with us for the time being."

Peter blinked, trying to hide his surprise as he glanced down at the shadow he'd been avoiding. The vulture guy knew Mr. Stark was his soulmate?

"What is this? A ransom? Because he won't pay."

The man huffed sarcastically, shaking his head. "You two seem close." Peter bristled at the mockery in the man's voice. "But, no, I'm not going to ransom you for money. You'll be a nice and easy distraction while we take what we want."

Peter stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I'm afraid you aren't cleared to know that," the man said, standing up. "The light will stay on while you're here, in case you give Stark any flashes. The only way out is through this door, which has a second electric door on it that will reactivate once I leave. If you stay nice for this first day, or if you somehow manage to do it yourself, you'll be let out of the chains and brought meals on the regular. Understand?"

"How long do you think you're going to keep me here?"

"Just a few days. You will miss your Homecoming, though, I'm afraid."

"How did you find me?" Peter demanded. The man gave him a threatening smile.

"All we had to do was follow your shadow."

And then he was out the door. Peter was left alone in the overly bright room. Just him, his shadow, and the clinking chains.

He knocked his head against the pillar, closing his eyes shut with a regretful sigh.

  ---

After a few hours of rest, Peter managed to wrestle out of his ropes. First he snapped the handcuffs holding him against the pillar, flinching as the metal cut into his skin, and then tearing through the last of the binds restraining the rest of him. As the man had promised, no one came for him after he'd freed himself from the ropes, leaving the boy to his own devices. So he'd gone on to try and figure a plan of escape. These men were planning something, scheming to trick Mr. Stark, and they were going to use him to do it. And Peter wasn't going to let them.

That had been two days ago.

With a tired sigh, the teenager knocked his head against the stone wall for the millionth time that day, staring up at the camera and wishing desperately there was at least something for him to do. He'd even take a coloring book at this point. With those dumb twisty Crayola pencils. Anything was better than just sitting here and wondering.

Wondering what was happening. Wondering how people were reacting to his disappearing. Wondering if Mr. Stark had heard, or if he'd cared. And, of course, pondering the 'What if?'

What if Peter hadn't gone after the vulture guy? What if he'd listened to Mr. Stark? What if he'd done better and been able to take the man down without messing up? Would he be a good soulmate then? One worthy of Mr. Stark?

There were no answers to his questions. Not one. There were speculations and dreams and nightmares that had shocked him awake the few times he'd been able to catch slivers of sleep in this place, but there were no concrete answers. Maybe there never would be.

"Forever."

Peter shook himself vehemently, turning away from the camera to stare at the door instead. At least the meal times here were consistent, more that with Mr. Fowler, though with the same boring peanut butter sandwiches for every meal. In all honestly, if the teenager had been given something to entertain himself with, or the lights were at least dimmed for when he needed to sleep, he'd consider this place better than the group home. Yes, he was aware of how horrible that was, but anything was better than the musty odor of liquor and the sharp tug of a hand, fingernails biting.

Teeming with unbearably restless energy, Peter pushed himself to his feet, walking around the small room in laps, trying once more to find anything to get out of here. A loose nail, a crowbar, something cool that an alien weapons dealer might have left in their storage room, but, like the first thousand times, there was nothing for the teenager to grab. There was the bucket for him to relieve himself in, the couple of empty storage shelves (he'd placed the left over blanket and pillow on the top of one, feeling much safer to be at least out of temporary reach should anyone come into the room to try and grab him), and the stools. There was, also, the camera, but that had made out to be very off limits since day one.

He'd crawled up the wall towards it and the light had immediately flashed red, a warning buzzer screeching through the storage closet. With a shiver up his spine, Peter had dropped from the wall, clutching at his ears desperately. The light had turned yellow once more and the room had been returned to that horrible, thick silence.

And it had been like that since.

And today it changed.

The hairs on his arms raised, forcing Peter to sit up from where he was laying against the wired shelf. He glanced at the camera warily but, a few seconds later, the door buzzed and then opened. There were three men. Vulture guy, shocky-gauntlet dude, and the other man that had been in the alley when Peter had been taken. They all had weapons.

Vulture guy was the calmest of the three, horrifyingly easygoing as he stopped in the middle of the room, looking at Peter lazily. The teenager eyed the gun strapped to his belt.

"Get down here, Pedro. You've got work to do."

Peter stared at the man. The man stared at Peter.

"What kind of work?" he asked hesitantly, keeping his expression painfully schooled, though he wasn't sure it'd worked.

"Just a bit of good ol' fashioned negotiation."

"I already told you he wouldn't pay a ransom."

"Money's not what we're looking for, kid," the man said. He gestured to the gun strapped to his hip. "Now we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. You choose."

"What are you? A cop?" Peter muttered, but he jumped down from the shelf anyway, keeping his head up in an attempt to avoid his shadow. The man smiled, clearly amused by his joke.

"I've got the cuffs to prove it," he joked, pulling the thick metal cuffs out. They weren't regular cuffs, like the ones that he'd snapped out of a few days ago, but instead thick ones that would coat all the way up to his wrists. They were held out, open, in front of him expectantly. "Putter' there, kid."

With a low exhale, Peter placed his hands in the cuffs, resisting a flinch when they clamped shut. The man just smiled on him, a condescending pat on his shoulder. He couldn't help the flinch.

"Great. Let's get going."

Peter followed the man out of the room he'd been trapped in, his hands stuck together in front of him and his head forced up away from the glare of his shadow. The teenager finally took in the building he'd been kept in for the past two days, eyes narrowing as he tried to remember every single detail, but it wasn't some sort of maze like he'd been expecting. It was just--a warehouse. An empty warehouse, a few loose pieces of furniture and knick-knacks scattered on the cement floors.

It wasn't very long before they stepped through one last hallway, ending in an open room. It was as dim as everything else had been, shadowed pillars holding up the ceiling. For some reason, his hairs raised and his spine shivered. He halted to a suspicious stop, staring at the vulture guy for a moment before turning to stare at the rest of the room. Something in here was wrong. Very, very, wrong.

The man with the shocker knocked against his shoulder, pushing Peter forward. With a hesitant shiver, the teenager followed after the man, examining every inch of the room he could see.

They stopped in the dead center of the room beside one the pillars. A pile of chains sat on the ground next to it. Peter stared at it for a moment, brows furrowing, before turning to look back up. His eyes caught onto a timer on the wall, sitting idle at thirty minutes but not yet counting down.

The clinking of chains caught Peter's attention, and he turned to see the shocker guy and the other men grabbing the metal and staring up at him expectantly. He glanced between them and the timer, his eyebrows raised. The vulture smiled.

"It'll all be explained later," he said. Then he shrugged. "Or maybe it won't. I don't really care either way. Now sit down."

Peter glanced at the pillar, the men with the surrounding chains, his cuffed hands, and, finally, at his shadow. His gaze rested there for a tired moment, at where he'd been refusing to look at for days. At the sharp cut of Mr. Stark's chin and the hair that was always spiked up in a constant swoop. He was grateful that shadows didn't have eyes, saving him from the man's disappointed stare.

But the shadow wouldn't save him from the men here, so Peter would have to. He'd have to at least try.

"Yep. I will definitely do that now," Peter said, moving over to the men.

He allowed for the shocker gauntlet guy to move just a little closer, and then he struck. With metal encased fists, the teenager lashed out, landing a harsh punch to the man's face and following it with a kick that launched him halfway across the room. There was panicked shouts as he whirled back around, ducking low as a bullet fired, lodging in the pillar behind him.

He rolled as he ducked, using the force of his weight to slam into the other man's legs, who consequently tumbled to the ground. Peter rolled fast enough to carry past the man as he fell, springing back up onto his feet clumsily. He ran, ducking behind a pillar as gunshots rang, the men picking themselves back up.

The teenager twisted, searching for an escape. There was a door to his right, about halfway across the room. A few pillars stood between him and his best shot at freedom, just enough for him to dive and grab some cover, but it would be risky. Peter glanced at his shadow.

He ran.

He only made it past two pillars when his senses spiked. He dropped into a crouch on instinct, flinching as the pillar beside was slashed, a slice of beating wind rushing over him. He squinted up to see the vulture's wingsuit, turning around at the wall and circling the room once before coming back to Peter. He moved to run, but the suit had already caught up with the gasping teen, blocking his path and knocking him to the ground.

Footsteps echoed lightly as Peter tried to scramble back to his feet, only managing to push himself onto his elbows until there was the click of a gun. He turned, glaring up at the vulture guy, a pistol in hand pointed barely a few feet from his head.

"Nice try, Pedro," the man said, pulling back a smile. He called, "Schultz!"

Shock gauntlet guy was back, one eye black and his gauntlet buzzing with power. It charged up with an electric whine, the man raised back his fist, and when it came down, Peter only knew two things. Pain and darkness.

  ---

Tony stared around the completely packed tower, only a few boxes left in his lab to be moved to the plane that would blend into the dark New York night in barely ten minutes. He sighed, tucking his hands in his pocket as he looked out the window over the city. The billionaire had never been known for his sentiment, but even he could say that this move held a lot of significance. And, not only that, but, out there in the dark city below, his little shadow remained.

He'd been reeling the past couple days from the incident at the ferry, about Peter's actions and his own. In the end, the kid was only a kid, one desperate to put some good in the world. He was smart and strong and everything Tony hadn't been, but then he thought of the people on that ferry. If one had died, and Peter had been the cause of it--well, it was easy to see the kid would have never recovered from that.

He needed time, and Tony needed time too. 'Forever' had been a little rash, but a week and a half didn't quite have the consequences the teenager needed to swallow. After returning from the dock, he'd placed the neatly folded suit into the nearest box and hadn't looked back. He assumed the suit was somewhere still in the empty lab, waiting to be unpacked and then eventually returned to the kid when Tony saw him on Friday.

He furrowed his brows, pulling out his phone. Maybe he should text Peter, or call him, and make sure he was okay. He hadn't really expected to hear from the kid in the past few days, but after seeing Peter's thin ribs and hearing that his foster father had taken his money, he was less than thrilled to leave him alone.

Glancing back at the boxes left, he moved to click on the kid's number. This wouldn't take too long, and they would be going in his car anyway. No plane required.

An echoed ringtone answered the stale night air before he could click call.

"What?" he muttered to himself, turning his phone off. He turned away from the window to stare at the leftover boxes. Hesitantly, he stepped over to them, opening the one where the ringing was loudest.

Peter's suit sat inside, twitching as it rang. He reached out his hand, grabbing the red fabric and pulling it out. It was folded crisply, the mask tucked away neatly between the cloth. He snagged it from beneath the fabric, surprised at the heaviness of it.

A badge, a card, and a ringing phone all tumbled out, clattering on the floor as the mask was upturned.

What the hell...?

He kneeled down beside the items, heart racing and picking up the still ringing phone displaying an unknown number. He snatched it up, answering the call immediately and pressing it up to his ear, picking up the other items left behind.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Hmm, I expected a cute kid like Parker's soulmate to be nicer." Tony froze, motioning for Friday to begin tracking the call. "Then again, I knew what I was walking into ever since you pulled him out of that lake last week. You two should really be more careful about where you hold your conversations, y'know."

"Get to the point," he snapped. Out of the lake. Vulture Guy. He pulled up a separate hologram and began to search for what he'd previously left to the FBI. Pictures and shaky videos of the large metal wings appeared in front of him.

"Y'know," the man dawdled, ignoring Tony's demand. "I didn't quite believe the kid when he said you wouldn't pay a ransom. I mean, a billionaire for a soulmate and, with no hesitation, he just said it. But really, I get it now. I do."

"You don't get anything."

"I don't? Well, that's a surprise. I usually get things, and this one isn't very hard to tell. Kid hasn't looked at his shadow in two days."

Two...

"What the hell have you done to him?" he whispered, voice cold. He whirled around towards the screen that had the phone's location, brows furrowing when it wasn't any closer to finding out the source of the call.

"I've insured that business will continue to boom, Tony," the man answered easily. Tony took a seething breath, reigning himself in. Ransom. He'd said something about a ransom.

"What do you want?"

"Did you finish packing yet?"

Tony glanced at the boxes. "Yes."

"Good. That plane of yours is scheduled to take off soon. Let's make sure it stays that way."

"And Peter?"

"You get to come and get him."

"And if the plane doesn't stay on schedule?"

"You won't get the location in time. No more shadow for you."

Tony glanced down at the mask clutched in his hand and then at the shadow on the ground. It was pale in the dim room, hair curly and clothed in a baggy sweatshirt.

"I need proof that you have him," he demanded. There was ding. Drawing the phone away from his ear, he glared down at the photo. Peter was slumped against a cement pillar, chains wrapped tightly and thickly around him and the pillar. He was gagged and clearly passed out, a purple bruise forming around his eye. He still wore Tony's red hoodie.

"Did you get your proof?"

Tony swallowed. "Yep. Loud and clear."

"Great. When your plane leaves, I'll send you the location. As of now, you have half an hour."

"Until what?"

"I guess you'll find out."

And then the call disconnected.

"Shit!" he yelled, grabbing the suit and balling it up. "Friday, location."

"I was unable to trace the call, sir."

He rubbed at his face. "How long until wings up?"

"Ten minutes."

"Keep an eye out for an anonymous message. Notify me immediately. And how long would it take to get out a suit and reassemble it?"

"For the current Mark, anywhere between ten and fifteen minutes."

"That's too long," he muttered. Everything was taking too long. "Get my car ready downstairs. I want it waiting out front for me at a moment's notice."

"Of course, sir."

Panicking only slightly, he grabbed the last two boxes, piling them in his arms and rushing them to the elevator. The ride was quick, but it could have been quicker. When the doors slid open, he dashed out to where workers were piling the last of the tower's belongings into the open plane, Happy overseeing them all.

"All right, wheels up in eight minutes. We just got to load Tony’s old Hulkbuster armor, prototype for Cap’s new shield, and the Meging... the Meg... the... Thor’s magic belt," his friend called, catching sight of Tony, he paused. "And these two boxes. Hey, boss, what's up? You look like you're about to be sick."

"I need the plane going as quickly as possible. And I really mean as fast. As. Possible."

"Tony, what--"

"Just get it going," Tony snapped, making a note to apologize to his friend later. There wasn't any time to explain. Happy stared at him, and then nodded.

"Okay. Five minutes, it'll be in the air."

"Good. Thanks, Hap."

Tony left the boxes, keeping the suit and Peter's belongings with him and dashing back to the elevator. It took him to the empty bottom floor as quickly as possible, where he practically tore out through the doors and to where his car was waiting for him. The gas was already running as he slipped into it, pulling out his phone and waiting.

"How long since the timer started, Fri?"

"Seven minutes."

"The plane?"

"Taking off now."

Tony rolled down the window, poking his head out and squinting up. There was a distortion of movement, and then there was a buzz. He turned back into the car, glaring down at his phone to see an address in Brooklyn.

He floored on the gas.

"How far away is this?"

"Approximately twenty-eight minutes."

"How long we got?"

"Twenty-two."

"Great. Let's be there in twenty. Quickest route. I don't care how many laws we have to break to get there, got it? And trace the message's location, send it to Rhodes when you find it."

"Of course, sir."

Tony didn't know how many red lights he forced the car through, how many people he cut off and sped around, cutting every corner he could possibly find. It didn't feel fast enough. But nothing ever could. The only thing that went fast enough was the rapid pounding of his skittery heart.

How could he have been so stupid to leave Peter alone like that? To meet him and then drop him off like the drop of the hat. And to not even bring him home or make sure he wasn't injured. Or to even just have a reasonable conversation. It was despicable of Tony. And now Peter might die because of it. His little shadow.

While driving, he ordered for Friday to find Peter's missing person's report, his heart beating rapidly as he tried to piece together when the kid had been taken. Where? How far out had Tony been? Had they just been waiting for him to leave?

As it turned out, there wasn't one. Tony chewed his lip, pushing it to the back of his mind for now and just continuing to floor the pedal. One step at a time. He just had to get there before whatever was going to happen happened.

Tony ended up arriving in eighteen. He barely even parked the car, just ripped down the joystick and leaped out, running without any kind of hesitation into the dark warehouse.

  ---

When Peter blinked awake, it was to a constant ticking and the loss of his shadow. He panicked, struggling in an attempt to see what had guarded over him for so long. He needed it now more than ever. The chains he was trapped in rattled and clinked with his weak movements, and he winced at the pain around his eye and the soreness in his jaw. After a moment, he realized that it was the tight gag cutting into his cheeks so hard he was sure that there were cuts around the area.

A little more searching revealed to the trapped teenager that his shadow was still there, if a little faint. It stumped out in front of him, hard to make out, but Peter was grateful nonetheless. He knocked his head against the pillar, staring at the shadow in an attempt to force down the way his hairs were still raised on end.

He forced himself to tune into the ticking that was still happening, furrowing his brows and straining his ears. There was a lot of ticking actually. One in the pillar across to him, and the one across from him, and the ones line across the room...

The pillars were filled with bombs.

His breath caught.

Breathing was hard through the tight gag, but he managed to shudder in a few deep breaths, his whole body moving with the impossible action. After what felt like forever, he was a little more coherent, a little more able to comprehend his situation. Peter glanced away from his shadow, instead staring up to where the timer had been earlier. It was counting down quickly, now leaving him with five and a half minutes. The vulture guy hadn't said what was going to happen when that timer ran out, but, given the ticking bombs in the pillars, he had an idea.

The teenager began to struggle, trying desperately to get a good enough grip to pull his cuffs apart, but the chains kept his arms firmly strapped against his side. He let out a frustrated grunt after a minute of fruitless wrestling with the clinking metal, letting his head drop and blinking tiredly. Think, Parker, think.

"PETER!!"

Peter perked back up at the sound of his name, his eyes widening as he recognized the frantic voice echoing through the halls. Mr. Stark. What was Mr. Stark doing here? Is this what the vulture guy had meant?

Peter tried to shout back but, of course, the gag muffled his ability to speak. All that was choked out was a long grunt that barely made it past the room. He tried a few more times, rustling his chains as loud as possible to catch the man's attention. It apparently worked, because footsteps approached.

Mr. Stark burst through the door, frantic and wild eyes landing on Peter with a short gasp, but he never stopped running, sliding to a stop on his knees in front of the boy.

"Peter. Oh, my God, Peter, I am so sorry," the man apologized, his voice a whisper. Hands reached out towards his face. Peter couldn't help the way he flinched away, his head knocking against the pillar painfully, leaving splintered cracks in the cement. Mr. Stark paused, mumbling a horrified apology and glancing at his watch anxiously. "Okay, here's the deal. We're under a pretty strict time limit, okay? I just gotta get you out of here. Can I...can I take your gag off? Please?"

Peter hesitated, glancing at the clock behind Mr. Stark's head. Three and a half minutes.

Mr. Stark followed his gaze, glancing over his shoulder to catch sight of the ticking timer, his expression darkening. He turned back to Peter.

"Like I said, time limit. So, can I?"

After a moment, Peter nodded, leaning his head forward to let him grasp at the fabric. His instincts screamed to not give the man purchase to his hair, but Peter knew better. Not that he could stop the flinch when Mr. Stark's fingers brushed against the back of his head.

Mr. Stark reached forward immediately, untying the knot and pulling the gag away in a gentle manner, letting Peter finally take a deep breath. He moved his jaw, trying to undo some of the tension trapped there and wincing at the pain that dug into it. The billionaire moved onto working the chains, his watch turning into a bright red Iron Man gauntlet that began to power through the metal.

It was silent a moment before, "When did they get you?"

Peter swallowed, leaning his head back and shrugging. "After the uh--after the ferry. Cornered me in an alley probably half an hour after."

"I'm sorry, kid," Mr. Stark apologized, but Peter just shrugged again, staring pointedly forward. He kept a careful eye on the clock. Two and a half minutes, and the chains weren't looking good. He narrowed his eyes, glancing down at the watch. It didn't have a direct power source, and he very much doubted it would be able to break through all of his chains in time. He swallowed.

"It's okay. My fault anyways."

"No. This isn't--"

"It is, Mr. Stark," Peter protested. Mr. Stark stared at him, but he needed this off of his chest. This horrible guilt that he was he'd never get the chance to get rid of. And now might be his last opportunity. "I was the one who went after the vulture guy. Not even with good intentions. I just... I don't know. You're--you're Tony Stark, and having me for a soulmate seemed less than thrilling to you. I just wanted to prove that I was worthy to be your shadow. And I didn't. And I'm sorry. And...and I get why you didn't want to talk to me again."

"Peter--"

"Just go, Mr. Stark."

"What? No! I will not leave you--"

"The clock, Mr. Stark." They both turned to look at it. "Less than a minute. You won't get me free in time."

"We don't even know what will happen! It could be a fluke for all we know," the man protested. Peter stared at him, unable to keep himself from trembling in fear, gesturing towards the nearest pillar with a nod of his head. His voice was a quaking whisper.

"These all have bombs in them. Every single one, except for the one I'm tied against. You won't make it if you stay here."

Mr. Stark stared at him, his gaze hard, still blazing through the chains. None had been completely broken yet, but they were beginning to turn orangey-red. There was a frightening resolution in his stare, and Peter did his best to return it despite how much he was blinking back horribly frustrated tears. He forced his gaze away, checking the timer once more. Twenty seconds.

"Please, Mr. Stark. You need to go."

"I'm not leaving you," the man said. The chains were getting redder, Peter could probably tear at them soon, but not soon enough. He continued straining anyway, grunting as the metal resisted against him. "We're going to have a much longer talk later, kid, but I don't want you to think for a second that I don't want you as my soulmate. You're a good kid, with a good heart. There is nothing to prove. Absolutely nothing."

Peter glanced at him from where he was straining, surprised at the wetness swimming in the man's eyes.

The chains snapped, falling around Peter in a metal heap. The timer beeped.

The thundering of booms crowded Peter, going off around the room in a sporadic circle. Mr. Stark's arms wrapped around him immediately, a protective body shielding him against what Peter had honestly expected to be a bigger explosion. Instead, they were small, knocking out the middle of the pillars so quickly that trying to follow them made his head spin. He figured out what was happening just a second too late.

Working against the instinct to curl himself into a protective huddle underneath his soulmate, safe from the crowding dust and explosions that shattered through the air so hard that he could feel the vibrations underneath the man's arms, the teenager broke free of his hold. The ceiling crumbled down as quickly as he moved, forcing Mr. Stark to the ground as far away as he could reach and piling himself in between.

No amount of bracing himself could have prepared Peter for the pain.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

[stevesnailbat]

the drip finally stops | steve harrington

summary: After Starcourt, Steve finds comfort in a hot shower. (aka—a continuation of my headcanon about touch-starved Steve)

warnings: angst, sad steve

word count: 1.8K

He’d held it together for so long, it had been at least four hours since the fight had ended. There was no other choice for him, he had to hold it together—for you, for your sanity. The adrenaline and drugs were long worn off by now and all that was left was the pain in his head and the hollowness in his chest. But, he wouldn’t let that empty feeling show, showing his physical pain was enough strain on the world around him. He didn’t want to be a burden on you, or for you to feel obligated to wait on him.

You knew he was worse off than you, that his injuries would be long-lasting and yours were only there to stay for a few days. Steve still insists on helping you before helping himself, despite you asking to help him over and over again. The cut on your cheek is small, but damn, does it hurt like a bitch. The feeling of peroxide on the wound is enough to make you hiss quietly in pain. Steve looks at you momentarily, making sure you weren’t in too much pain before going back in with less pressure.

“You’re good at this, y’know.” you say timidly, eyes trained on the blood and purple bruises littered across his typically perfect, unscathed skin. “Fixing up cuts and stuff.”

“Yeah, you get good at things like cleaning wounds when shit like this goes down every few months.” Steve says with bitterness laced in his words, not daring to look up at you and face the concern you had for him in the moment.

“Steve—“

“Don’t. Pity is the last thing I need from anyone right now, especially you.” he interjects, frowning as he stares at your wounds.

“I’m not pitying you, Steve.” you say, reaching to rub your hand on his shoulder comfortingly. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to hide your feelings from me, okay? It’s okay to be sad about this, Steve.”

“I’m not sad, okay? I just—I just don’t want to talk about it.” he says as he finishes putting a bandaid on your last cut.

You don’t say anything to him, you don’t want to argue about it. But you know he’s hurting, that he just wants to make sure you’re okay before he even thinks about himself. You hop down from the counter, looking over to him one last time to see if he’ll continue the conversation.

“I’m gonna go lie down, Steve.” you say, staring up at him as you cup his cheek gingerly. “Why don’t you take a shower, yeah?”

He nods, giving you a weak smile. You run your thumb along one of the bruises on his cheek, then give him a small peck on the lips before leaving the bathroom to give him the space he wants. As much as you don’t want to leave him alone, you know he needs it.

It had been nearly thirty minutes since you’d heard a word or sound from the bathroom, which was concerning in itself. You're almost certain Steve is just coping with the situation, but you just want to be sure. You walk into the bathroom, making sure not to make any abrupt movements to scare him. He doesn’t hear you come in at first and you can make out a sniffle through the sound of the water pounding against the porcelain bathtub. Your heart aches for him in the moment, you know he feels so helpless and doesn’t want to bother you with his struggle. You know there’s not much you can do without prying and reaching deep into him for his locked-up pain, but you know you can at least be there for him—without any questioning.

“Steve?” you call from the other side of the shower curtain, hand gripping the edge while you hold out from peering in. “You alright in there?”

There’s a gnawing pain in your chest when he only mumbles in response, unable to muster up enough willpower to say anything to you. A frown shows on your face as you contemplate opening the curtain, unsure of how he’ll react. He doesn’t want you to see him like this—not yet, not ever.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to help? I—I’m sure I can check out your back or wherever you can’t get to.” you suggest, chewing on your lip nervously.

“You—You can join if you want.“ he says softly, voice barely loud enough for you to hear past the water against the tub.

You’re tempted to ask another question, but stay quiet as you take a step back from the curtain. You’re in the shower soon after, noting the way Steve is leaned up against the wall, head resting on the wall as the water beats down on his back. He’s facing away from you, but you know he’s not doing well.

“Stevie...” you say softly, coming up behind him to rub his back soothingly.

He turns around when your fingers trace circles on his back and you can see his tear-stained cheeks and red eyes. Your heart breaks at the sight and guilt rushes through you as you look at him, feeling helpless in making him feel better. Tears well in his eyes once again as you frown at him, the same guilt rushing through him at the thought of you feeling sad for him.

“Steve, I can’t do anything to help you if you won’t talk to me.” you say gently, chewing on your lip nervously.

“Just want to h—hold you.” he murmurs, finally reaching out to bury his head into the crook of your neck with his hands wrapped around your waist.

Steve feels every horrible emotion at once right before he pulls you in, guilt mixing with anxiety as he thinks of how stupid he is for crying right now. Deep down, he knows you won't judge him for any of it, but there’s a surface-level fear that’s been instilled in him by everyone in his life. He has to be the strong one, nobody is allowed to see him cry or see him holding any kind of pain in himself for more than a second. 

“I’m here, Steve. I’m right here.” you say, snaking your arms around him while craning your neck to rest your head against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Those words make his doubts melt away for a moment, finally feeling safe in your arms. He feels like he can finally let go and not worry about putting a burden on you, just because your words are so assuring to him. There’s many words left unsaid in the embrace, but the questions he wants to ask you are answered by the feeling of your bare skin against his.

His arms are around you tight, you can feel him sigh against you as he begins to calm. It’s an intimate moment, the first one shared between you and Steve in what feels like a lifetime. The walls built up around Steve’s heart are slowly melting away as you pull tighter, your touch seeming to soothe his injuries—if only for a moment. The water cascades down your bodies, droplets mixing where your chest meets his.

There’s nothing sexual about the embrace—you don’t feel the need to prove your love to him in any other way. Your chests pressed flush together, the beating of your heart against his, your arms wrapped around him tightly. It all reminds him that he’s at home with you and that he has nothing to worry about. The feeling of your skin pressed firmly against his is enough to bring him back down to Earth, to ground him and make him realize that he’s okay, and that what he needs to be okay is right in front of him.

“You scared me there for a little bit.” you say after pulling your head away from his neck, fingers running through his drenched locks. “Thought I was gonna lose you for the night.”

Steve chuckles bitterly against your skin, his lips falling to plant a gentle kiss on your head.

“Let me take care of you, baby.” you say softly, pulling away from the embrace as he whines at the loss of contact. “Gotta get you clean.”

Steve hums in affirmation as you reach down for his body wash, leaning against the shower wall while watching you closely. You pay close attention to his chest, neck and shoulders as you lather the gel on his body, making sure to get the blood that’s dried on his skin off. Your touch is so gentle and caring, Steve doesn’t even know how to handle it. You’re both silent as you wash him, but he wants nothing more than to cry, honestly. He’s never been cared for like this, or touched so lovingly and he’s overwhelmed by the love that’s filling the air as you pay close attention to every scratch, every bruise, every tender spot traced on his body.

“You’re so damn strong, Steve.” you murmur, pressing feather-like kisses on every mark after you rinse his skin. “My strong baby. I love you. I’m so—so glad you’re here."

You’re not sure when Steve stopped caring about himself, but it’s gone on for far too long now. You can tell that your words alone are making him emotional, that he’s never fully been able to understand what you see in him. He’s watching you with heavy-lidded eyes, exhaustion threatening to take over as his body relaxes to your touch. But he’s trying his hardest to fight it, just for long enough for you to finish. You notice his tired eyes and hurriedly run some shampoo through his hair, making sure any dried blood is gone before rinsing and turning the shower off.

You hand Steve a towel and start to step out of the shower, but his gentle hand on your arm stops you. He pulls you in for one more embrace, this time leaning down to kiss you on the lips as he does so.

“I love you.” he says softly, lips pressed against yours as he tugs your towel around your body. “So much.”

“And I love you too, Steve.” you reply, nuzzling against his chest for a moment.

Steve is quiet as you get ready for bed, both of you feeling numb and utterly exhausted from the week you’re finally putting behind you. You crawl into bed and Steve follows, you feel like you could fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow now. You don’t let yourself fall asleep right away, though. Instead, you turn to face Steve, cuddling close to him as you graze your fingers along his face.

“You know, I’m here to talk.” you suggest, smiling up at him as he peers down at you. “I’m not gonna get mad at you for how you’re feeling. Don’t want you to bottle it all up.”

“I know.” he sighs, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment and you can tell he’s too tired to talk about how he feels. “'M too exhausted now.”

“That’s okay.” you say, stroking his hair as he leans his head onto the pillow. “I’ll be here right now, tomorrow, and every day after that.”

“Thank you.” Steve murmurs tiredly.

“For what?” you question, resting your head on his chest.

“For making me feel loved like I never have before.” he whispers, nearly asleep at this point.

“You are so loved, Steve Harrington. I just want to make sure you’re reminded of that all the time. I love you more than anything.” you say sweetly.

Steve smiles and mumbles a very tired ‘I love you’ before drifting to sleep, the feeling of his heart swelling with love finally allowing him to have a peaceful night’s sleep with you by his side.

tags: @sourapplebaby​ @harringtown​ @nxncywheeler​ @charmed-asylum​ @heart-eye-harrington​ @daddystevee​ @a-magey​ @lemonypink​ @ilovebucketbarnes​ @igotmadskills @simplesammyx​ @willowrose99​ @stranger-noah​

[alyss-spazz-penedo]

Do you remember that time I told you I cried while writing a thing for the unedited v!Wind fic, @w1lmutt. Do you.

Consider this a warning: It’s karma time 8)

<<First Part 6 Next>>

"Oh." Link stops dead, halting their limping journey into the village. He looks around like he's not sure if he's dreaming. "Oh."

“Link? Is that you?” Mesa calls from his vegetable patch. Link sways as he stares at the man, looking like he's seeing a ghost instead of a perfectly hale and healthy Hylian. "Goddesses, you don't look so good. Are- are you holding up alright?"

"He'll be fine," Tetra replies, when it becomes clear Link can’t respond.

"And Tetra too." The man shakes himself. "Aryll was looking for you, Link. You'd... you'd better get on home," he says, horribly sympathetic. Link feels his heartbeat hitch.

"No," he breathes. Tetra nearly drops him as he jerks forward. "No, no no no, I was supposed to have more time- I’m not ready-!”

~o0o~

"Liiiiiiink!" A voice echoes faintly down into the cave. The heroes look up as one, reacting to their shared name. "Where are youuuuuu?"

A beat. "No one recognizes her, right?"

A round of negatives. Then, from further away, "Big brootheeer! Liiiiiink!"

"...You don't think-?"

"The villagers?"

They exchange looks. Time makes his way out of the fountain first. He surveys the now empty forest, frowning. "We should make haste."

~o0o~

There’s a crowd gathered on his doorstep by the time Link manages to stagger his way home. Their grim voices sweep over him like the tide, rushing in and out. He can’t grasp a single word they’re saying.

Sturgeon, the closest thing Outset has to a doctor, is kneeling next to her. He looks up when Link barges in. "Come now, old friend," he murmurs to Link's grandma, patting her hand. "Look who's come to see you. Won't you open your eyes for your dear grandson?"

“Mister Sturgeon? Is she- she’s gonna be okay, right?” Link pants. “What happened?”

“She collapsed outside. Gave poor Aryll quite the fright. We brought her in but... I’m afraid there’s not much to be done, lad.” The old man looks almost calm, almost resigned—already grieving, which isn’t fucking good enough.

Link seizes him by the collar. “What do you mean not much to be-!” He starts to snarl. Stops. Grandma’s eyelids are fluttering open.

“Link...?” She breathes, terrifyingly soft. “Is that you, dearie?”

He drops the useless old man immediately, falling to his knees next to the cushion she’s laid out on. “Grandma, hold on, just hold on, I’ll- I’ll get a potion, no, a fairy, just-!“

“Goodness. It feels... like it’s been such a long time since I last saw you. You’ve grown.”

Link freezes. He clutches at her hand gently, desperately. “No I haven’t,” he croaks. “I was here when you fell asleep. I haven’t- I haven’t aged a single day since then, I made sure-”

“You’ll stay a while this time... won’t you?” She wheezes, hazy and unfocused. “I’d like... to be able... to see you off again...” She sighs, eyes drooping. Her hand falls limp.

“Grandma?” He whimpers. “Grandma, I’m not going anywhere. Wake up, please wake up, just a little longer, I’m- I’m almost ready-” A feverish light enters his eyes. “I finally found it,” he promises her. “A way to show you Hyrule. Fields bigger than entire islands, and forests full of creatures we’ve never seen before, and huge deserts of sun and sand dunes. The winds there are so sweet, not a lick of ocean salt to be found, and it’s so beautiful-“ His voice breaks. “You can’t leave without even seeing it, Grandma. You can’t.”

Grandma doesn't respond.

Instead, Link jerks as a most unwelcome voice offers, “...Try this."

The heroes that did this stand gathered by the doorway, in the space the villagers had vacated to give him some privacy. They look as though they’ve been there a while. The Hero of Time holds out a bottled fairy like a peace offering.

“You,” Link hisses. Stops. Tetra’s laid a supportive hand on his shoulder. “Why would you...?”

“Thank you,” she tells Time in his stead, accepting the fairy and shoving it into Link’s hands. Link stares down at it, shakes himself, and promptly upends the container onto Grandma’s chest.

The little sprite spirals and spirals, scattering pixie dust. Nothing changes.

Frantic now, Link feels for her pulse. It takes him far too long to find it—faint and stuttering. “Why isn’t it working?!”

Hyrule pushes forward. “Let me try,” he offers, hands up like Link is a wild animal he’s trying not to spook. “I don’t have much experience with old people, but I know some healing magic. Maybe I can help.”

Link stares at him, the words taking longer than they should to comprehend. He gnaws at his lip, once, before giving his permission with a tight nod.

“Careful, ‘Rulie,” someone cautions. Link doesn’t bother looking up to see who, eyes fixed on the glowing hands the older boy lays on his grandma’s chest. “You’ve used too much magic today. Potions only do so much.”

"It's fine." Hyrule casts once, words falling musically from his lips. When the light dies, his patient looks no different. Frowning, he tries again, slower, hands running up and down Grandma’s form, picking up her hands and cupping them in his own.

At last, panting, Hyrule shakes his head, and Link could run him through where he stands.

“Why not?! You said you could help!”

“He said he’d try, kid. Back off.” Not unkindly, Legend forces him to step away from Hyrule.

The healer, for his part, merely shakes his head again. “I don’t understand it. There’s barely any life left in her. I’m sorry, but I don’t—I’m not even sure how she’s breathing right now.” He steps away, gently placing her hands back on the blanket. “It’s... almost as though she's been hollowed out. She’s been beyond saving for a long time now.”

“No- no that can’t be right, she was having a good day when, when I- she was outside, she was walking, she was, she wasn’t-!”

The travelers exchange glances. Legend is the only one callous enough to say what they all suspect. “Then that curse probably drained whatever she had left, kid.”

Link whirls on him with a snarl. “You’re lying!“ He yells, fingers itching for a sword that isn’t there. “She wasn’t-!”

“They’re not,” Tetra cuts in. She has her arms folded across her chest, tight. Link still catches the shiver she tries to hide. “If what that... thing did to her was anything like what it did to me... ‘drain’ is a good way to put it.”

Link shakes his head again. “You’re lying,” he chokes. Slower, broken, he whispers, “it wasn’t supposed to hurt her.”

“I’m sorry,” Hyrule repeats again, uselessly. “But I don’t think she’ll last the night. She doesn’t have enough energy left.”

Link is about to do something—beg, lash out, scream, please can’t you use mine, when-

“Who are you guys?” A high voice demands from beyond the crowd of heroes. “Why are you in my house?”

“Aryll,” Link breathes.

His sister doesn’t hear, squirming her way in while shouting, “Link? Big Brother, are you home? Grandma, Grandma she-”

She breaks past the travelers. Stops dead when she takes in the scene. “Big brother? Why are you crying?” She utters. “Grandma’s- Grandma’s gonna be okay, isn’t she?”

Link opens his mouth. Closes it. Trembles.

Twilight, standing closest to Aryll, puts a hand on the girl’s shoulder and gently urges her closer to Link, to Grandma. Like that might do anything. Like that might help.

His hands clench into fists. “Get out,” he rasps. Aryll clutches at his sleeve. They’re both trembling now.

“Are you sure?” Hyrule hesitates, and Link hates the way he looks at them. The way they’re all looking at him and his family. “Maybe we should-”

“Get out get out get OUT!” He demands, voice rising to a shriek. With a sharp swing of his Deku leaf and a massive blast of air, most of the intruders are sent tumbling backwards, out to the porch. The ones that manage to keep their feet are swiftly escorted out by a grim-faced Tetra.

The pirate captain surveys them with cool eyes as they gather themselves, as they exchange uncertain glances. “You don’t need to be here,” she says, giving voice to what they’re all thinking. “Scram. Outset doesn’t have lodgings for travelers; go figure out where you’ll stay if you’re staying, or where you’ll go if you’re going. Except you,” and here she jabs her finger at Warriors demandingly. “You better stick around, because you are going to tell me the whole story later. Now get lost, all of you.”

Her piece said, she whirls on her heel and marches right back into the house they’d all been ejected from. The door thunks firmly shut behind her—a clear warning not to follow.

~o0o~

At the first hint of sunrise, Link knocks on Master Orca’s door.

“I know you guys are in there. I’m not here to fight.”

They crack open the door. Link’s a mess. He regards them all with glassy eyes, and when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, croaks, “where’s my sword?”

“Why should we give it to you?” They are, reasonably, rather wary at the request.

“I need it to get rid of the blockade. The monsters can’t stay, they’ll scare people.”

They consider this, consider the boy standing numbly before them. Finally, Wild fetches the blade from the depths of his Slate.

Link takes it. Nods at them. Turns around and trudges down to the ocean, single-mindedly making his way to the nearest platform on the water. The visiting heroes follow him as far as the shoreline, where he slips on the Helmaroc Mask and takes to the sky.

In the dim light of the false dawn, they stand vigil and watch as Link wordlessly, mindlessly slaughters his way from one end of the horizon to the other.

[alder-reid]

Part II.

Thomas.

They let him out of the room only after he was quiet for a few consecutive hours and malleable with the devastation he was soaking in. 

He was led to a small room at the back of the Peacekeeper station, occupied only by two chairs and a table between them. There was a single, long fluorescent light overhead, coloring the room with a clinical, harsh white glow. He was given orders, something he was getting used to. Stay calm. Stay put. Drink this. 

His attention only returned when Felix walked into the room. Alder had always respected him. Felix had every trait he envied-- even keeled, principled, certain in his decisions. Alder often wondered if he even had it in him to stay as calm as Felix did in the face of crisis, and often thought to himself he’d make a far better Games mentor than Alder could ever be. He was practical right down to his close-cropped haircut, and something about his graying hair and lines around his eyes inclined Alder to trust his experience.

Today, however, not even Felix’s usual steady presence was calming the storm raging in him. “Why aren’t we going after him?” he demanded immediately, standing so suddenly the water in his glass sloshed over the sides and onto his hands.

“Alder--”

“They took him!”

“They took several--” “So we have to get them back!”

“I know you’re ang--”

“Hell yes I’m angry!”

A terse moment of silence stretched between them, only broken by the dull thud of Alder’s heart in his ears and his quick breaths filling the space between them.

Felix then sat, slowly, gesturing for Alder to do the same. When it became evident Alder wouldn’t do that, he continued with a sigh.

“I’m sorry about what happened to Maverick. We all are. We have every reason to believe that he’s alive, but it’s because he has information and they can keep him hostage. For you. It’s to walk you into a trap.” Felix sternly peered over his nose at him.

Alder stared back, mouth open to rebuke this, but he was right, wasn’t he? Suddenly, he felt stupid. He was reacting exactly how they wanted him to, and hell, he was still pissed enough about it that he wasn’t even sure he cared that he was playing into their hands.

“Great, so we can use that to our advantage. What the fuck are we going to do about it?” he snapped back finally, unsatisfied with Felix’s sympathies and logic. 

“Sit,” Felix insisted again.

“I’m not going to fucking--”

“-- Please sit, and we’ll talk.”

With a huff, Alder dropped down into the chair to appease him. Only because he prioritized knowing how they were getting Maverick back more than proving a point by standing.

“Like I said, he was certainly taken alive. Someone like Maverick they’d be far too careful to let die, at least not in such a… pedestrian way.”

Alders stomach clenched into tight knots, knowing fully the preferred method for that avenue would be public execution. He had to close his eyes for a moment at the roll of nausea accompanying an intrusive vision of Maverick on the steps of the Tower, just like last summer.

“But,” Felix said, trying to catch Alder’s gaze again. “But it means we have time. It means that we can continue with our mission, and doubtless he’s in the Capitol as we move through the plans here. We have intel on where high profile rebels are being held. His best chance is our success here, in Two, in the next days and weeks.”

Alder blinked in disbelief. “You’re suggesting we leave him there,” he realized in horror, eyes wide. “You’re suggesting we let them all stay there.”

“Yes,” he replied patiently, though with no joy. “I am. Anything else is suicide. To us and to the cause. We’re so close.”

“How can you can fucking live with this?” Alder spat back. “They’ll torture them. Kill some of them. You know that.”

Felix’s expression fell almost imperceptibly, just enough for a glimmer of sadness to glint behind his eyes before returning to normal. “We have all made sacrifices. I’m sorry. Maverick knew this was a possibility when he joined, just as you did. You need to accept that we can’t help him. He wouldn’t want you to.”

“You’re wrong,” Alder snarled. He stood very suddenly, slamming the glass down on the table beside him. It landed on its edge, tipping and spilling its contents before tumbling to the ground and shattering at their feet. Cold water soaked into his shoes. “You don’t know a single fucking thing about Maverick, and you’re wrong.”

“Maybe. However, I’m the commander, so it’s my decision, and my risk to assume” said Felix, unperturbed. “It’s not a bloodless process. But this is how we win. This is how we end all of this. This is how you get justice for what happened to your family, for what happened to you, Alder.”

The evenness in his voice, his cool logic only grated more at Alder’s nerves.  He wanted Felix to scream back at him, give him the fight he wanted. “Fuck you. Whatever,” he muttered, tearing open the door and storming down the hallway, leaving Felix alone with a shattered glass and wet tile floor.

***

Felix must have permitted his release, because from there he was allowed to freely move about the Peacekeeper station with the rest of the rebels. Maybe he thought some routine would soothe him. Maybe he thought if he socialized, he might feel better. Maybe the idea was that limiting his privileges would only piss him off more. 

Whatever the reasoning, when they rationed dinner in what looked like a staff kitchen, he took a spot alone in the corner of the room.

Without Maverick there, he felt like a ghost. All he could think about was where he was now, what they might be doing to him. Whether he was still alive for any of that to matter at all. 

There were other ghosts in the room too, picking at their meals, isolated from the conversations around them. To the rest of the group they were invisible, but to Alder it was as if they were spotlighted. Their expressions shared the pain of loss and unknown that was scooping out his insides until there was seemingly nothing left, except it dug and dug and dug for more.

Appetite something near nonexistent, he wordlessly gave his tray of food to the nearest table and left.

Thoughts of Maverick tortured, captive, hurt kept gnawing at him as he was given a bedroll and free range to claim his corner during first watch. As ridiculous as it was, he missed Trouble horribly as he lay there in the dark, trying to grapple with the fact that his worst nightmare had manifested. He had, in fact, ruined Maverick’s life too. Trouble felt like the only being in this world that might not judge him for all of the missteps that had allowed this to happen, if only for being too stupid to know. He suspected if Trouble could count his sins, he’d leave him too. He closed his eyes and tried to find sleep. His body and mind were exhausted, but the pain in his chest and the vision of Maverick on the Tower steps behind a firing squad of Peacekeepers kept him awake. When the time came for his shift for watch, he was relieved.

Ten days dragged on to the cadence of fighting, meals, watch shifts, terrible sleep. The Captiol tried to bomb out the building twice, but it did little more than shake it-- it seemed that it was fortified against that very kind of attack, and infiltration had never been considered. As the days marched on, Alder became more and more restless, itching for forward momentum. He spent his free time trying to force his mind to invent solutions, ways he could get to wherever Maverick was and break him out. They all seemed to dead end at Felix’s words: You need to accept that we can’t help him. He wouldn’t want you to.”

Strategy meetings occurred daily, continued to wander into territories he felt conflicted about. They needed to take this hospital through violent force, yes. But it was crucial to breaking a central Capitol communication network and saving their own injured. Or there might be casualties in a residential area if the timing worked out wrong, but it would separate Capitol and Thirteen forces to double their chances of success. It was a game of weakening the Capitol by cutting off the lines that fed them, clothed them, defended them one by one by one, and in Two it was more important than anywhere else, meaning there was less room for moral questioning. He told himself, over and over again, what Maverick had said to him on the bathroom floor when he confessed about what had happened to Olympia’s mother. We live in a bad world and you’re trying to make it better. Success wouldn’t come without some destruction and death, not when the Capitol dealt in guns and soldiers. They’d only keep killing more children in the Games if they didn’t stop them, quitting now wasn’t bloodless either.

So he tried to not question. Not hesitate. Follow commands. He helped take the streets, the hospital. He tried to not remember the terrified look in the eyes of doctors, nurses, civilians as they stared at him, wide eyed and hands high as he stepped into rooms over the bodies of the innocent. Alder wasn’t used to being looked at with so much fear, it made him want to drop the weapon and rip his mask off and scream It’s only me, it’s just me, I won’t hurt anyone, I could never.

But that wasn’t really true, was it?

He’d been summoned the morning after the hospital’s capture for another strategy talk. He’d expected it to be the routine debrief but when he entered the room it was occupied with the appointed heads of each squad rather than his peers. Immediately suspicious, he hovered in the doorway as if preparing to run, eyes flitting face to face, eventually landing on Felix. “What is this?” he asked. “A promotion.” Felix gestured to the empty seat at the table. “Join us.”

[kinglazrus]

For the prompt list thing any chance you wanna do random, #5?

Random #5 - “I would call you an imbecile but that’d be cruel as you wouldn’t be able to spell it.”

It Could be Weird

Danny’s life is weird. Everybody knows it. Even if they don’t know about his part-timejob of being dead, they know about his eccentric ghost-hunting parents, and his uptight psychology obsessed sister, and his own eternal fascination with space.

They know the food in his lunchbox is sometimes alive. They know the lump in his backpack’s water bottle holder isn’t a water bottle but a compact ectogun. They know Danny sleeps above a portal to another dimension.

But they don’t know the weirdest thing about Danny’s life which, amazingly enough,is not the fact that he’s half-dead. It’s that for the past five nights Danny has come home from ghost patrol to find Dash Baxter sitting in his living room, wearing glasses.

Tonight, Danny sneaks in through his bedroom window, phasing through the class. He dumpsthe thermos on his bed—he’ll empty it out later—shakes out the dust and dried ectoplasm from his hair and transforms. Snatching a hoodie off his chair, he fires a harmless ectoblast at his radio on his way out the door, cutting off the music he put on to make it seem like he was home.

He hops down the stairs, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie over his split knuckles, and pauses on his way to the kitchen. Just like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, Dash sits cross-legged in front of the coffee table. His homework is spread out before him, a textbook at his elbow, a pencil in his hand, and a frown on his face.

Jazz sits on the couch holding an identical textbook—Danny’s copy, he recognizes thebloodstain on the spine—and quietly talks Dash through a lesson on cellular development.

Despite coming home to a similar scene four days in a row, it’s still so bizarre thathe stares too long and Jazz catches him watching.

“Did you do your homework?” Jazz asks. The unspoken before ghost hunting lingers between them.

“No.”

“Liar.”

“Fine. I’m going to do it now,” he says.

“You’re still lying,” Jazz singsongs. She slips a page in Danny’s textbook and glances up at him. “You need to keep your grades up if you want to keep…”

She glances at Dash, who’s pencil has stopped moving and is sitting oddly still.

“… making friends. After school.”

“Making friends.” Danny raises an eyebrow at her. He wishes that’s what he was doing after school. It’d be a hell of a lot kinder on his bones.

Jazz flushes but refuses to be cowed. “Get your stuff, you’re working in here.”

Danny tips his head back, groaning, and heads back upstairs to get his backpack.

—

Danny hasn’t touched his homework in five minutes. He gnaws on the end of his pencil,the metal band squishing between his teeth, flicking the eraser with his tongue to make the pencil swing back and forth. Every few seconds, Jazz sends him an admonishing look over the top of Danny’s textbook.

“That’s not working,” she says.

“I’m contemplating the philosophic implications of my assignment,” Danny says.

Jazz doesn’t look impressed.

Danny doesn’t really blame her. His chin is resting on a math textbook.

“It’s important,” he says. “How can I figure out how many pounds of fudge Anabelle has leftover without first considering why she has it? Or where she got it from? Or what the hell a triangle has to do with it?”

Maybe she’s a distant relative of their father’s.

Jazz rolls her eyes and leans over Dash’s shoulder, scanning the questions he’s working on.

“This one’s wrong,” she says, pointing halfway down the page.

Dash huffs, scowling, and furiously erases his answer.

It fascinates Danny. He’s never seen Dash so focused on something that didn’t involve a football or beating Danny up. Not to mention the glasses. Since when does Dash have glasses? They’ve been in the same class since kindergarten and he’s never seen them before.

Not to mention, Dash hasn’t insulted Danny once since he sat down on the other side of the table. Maybe Dash got hit in the head by a stray ectoblast when Kitty showed up during gym class.

Danny spits his pencil out of his mouth, ignoring the disgusted look Jazz gives him,and says, “I thought you already proved you could tutor the ‘untutorable.’”

“I did,” Jazz says. Shaking her long sleeve out over her hand, she reaches out and swats Danny’s pencil back toward him. “I thought you were being philosophical about brownies.”

“Fudge,” Danny corrects her. “And I decided the Fenton appetite is beyond the comprehension of even the greatest philosophers.”

“Anabelle’s a Fenton now?”

“My favourite cousin.”

“Uh-huh.” Jazz closes her borrowed textbook and sets it down on the cushion beside her, folding her hands in her lap. “If you aren’t going to do your work you can just–”

“Jazz!” Their mother’s voice echoes up the basement stairs. “Can you come downhere for a moment?”

Jazz sighs but gets up without a fuss. She points at Danny before heading downstairsand says, “Be nice. Don’t distract my student.”

“Me? But he's­– wait, your student?”

Jazz turns away, leaving Danny sputtering and alone with Dash.

It takes Danny a moment to compose himself. When he does, he shoves his homeworkaside, slams his hand on the table, and leans across it into Dash’s personal space.

“Okay, what the hell, why do you keeping coming here?” Danny asks. “Are you hitting on my sister again? Because she already said no, don’t be a creep. I sent the last guy who messed with her to the Ghost Zone.”

Rather than leaning away, Dash gets in Danny’s face and sneers. “Chill out, Fenturd, don’t be an ass.”

“If you're–”

“I said chill out.” Dash shoves Danny’s face away. “You’re sister’s pretty smart, okay? And I need help with science.”

“You really think I’m gonna believe that?” Danny sits back and crosses his arms. Like hell. He remembers how gross Dash was hitting on his sister in ninth grade. Two years was not long enough to recover from that emotional travesty.

“I’m failing the class, okay?” Dash snaps, cheeks red. “I gotta pull my grade up to a C or else I’m off the football team.”

“Oh.” The fight goes out of Danny pretty quickly. He scratches his head and looksaway. “Okay, whatever. My grades aren’t that great either.”

“Yeah, but you’re a loser.”

“Seriously?” Danny glares across the table. “You can’t be civil for two seconds? I wastrying to be nice or whatever, but if you’re just gonna be an ass about it, fine. Wonder how you’re friends’d react to that.”

Dash wrinkles his nose. “What? They already know.”

“And they didn’t kick you out of your little club?” Danny asks flippantly.

“You think we’re that shallow?”

Danny stares at Dash. He can’t be serious. He can’t be that oblivious. All the A-listers care about are looks, money, and popularity, and Danny knows that firsthand.

“I bet Valerie does.”

Dash at least has the mind to look ashamed, and Danny feels a little vindicated at the sight of his downturned eyes.

“You guys were pretty damn cruel to her after she lost all her money. Are you telling me that wasn’t shallow?” Danny asks smugly.

“Like you’re so great, Fenton.”

“A hell of a lot better than you.”

Dash laughs. It’s loud and mocking, and he throws his head back as he does it. “Oh my god. You know how many times I’ve seen you brush off those friends of yours? Didn’t you, like, ditch them to go to a party freshman year? And you replaced them with robots once.”

“Hey, there was more going on there!” Danny defends himself. He doesn’t even know how Dash heard about the robots, but there was more to it, a ghost that could make you greedy.

Danny took care of it pretty quickly once he realized what was up, although that didn’t stop him from feeling like a massive jerk afterwards. But at least he didn’t mean it, and he knew he was a bad friend at that time.

“I don’t think you realize how much I don’t give a shit,” Dash says. “Just leave me alone, Fenton. And if you tell anyone besides my friends about this, I’ll shove you in so many lockers.”

Danny scowls. “Fine. Don’t flirt with my sister though.”

“No problems there. I’m not into girls.”

It takes Danny a second to process that. “Huh.”

“You got a problem with that?”

“What? No. Like, pretty much everyone I’m friends with is in the queer community,myself included. I thought you liked Paulina. And, you know, you flirted with my sister? And pretty much every single cheerleader.” Danny thinks back, trying to remember if there were any hints. Dash used to flirt with girls a lot, but he can’t actually remember him hitting on anyone in the past year. “You know what that is? Growth.”

“Don’t quote gifs at me, loser.” There’s less bite in Dash’s insult and more resignation. The sound of a man who will put up with what he hates for something he needs.

Danny almost smiles. Almost. Dash is still a massive dick, but Danny hates him a little less than usual right now, if only because he isn’t trying to get with Jazz after all.

They fall silent, Dash returning to his work while Danny just sits there and thinks. He glances toward the stairs once, wondering what’s taking Jazz so long, but doesn’t totally mind it. Being alone with Dash isn’t as horrible as he thought it’d be.

He gets bored pretty damn quickly though.

“Okay, the glasses, you have to tell me,” Danny says.

Dash groans, closing his notebook. “They’re glasses. I wear them and stuff gets less blurry. Fascinating.”

“Yeah, but I mean!” Danny waves his arms in a meaningless gesture. “Since when do you have them?”

“Since I got them.”

“Oh my god, I hate you.”

“Feeling’s mutual.”

“I’d call you a sap, but I think you’d punch me for it,” Danny quips, unable to resist.

“I’d call you a loser, but it’s redundant.”

“I can’t believe you know what redundant means.”

Dash glares at Danny. Normally that look makes Danny nervous, because it’s usually followed by a punch to the got or some other, equally painful retribution, but right now Danny’s actually enjoying himself and Dash doesn’t look like he’s about to snap.

“Quick, write the word down before you forget it,” Danny says, tapping Dash’s notebook.

“Shut up, you moron.” Dash swats Danny’s hand with his pencil.

“Oh no, you’re backsliding. Write it fast.”

“Shut up!”

“Want some help? Here, r-e-t-”

“You are such a fucking idiot.”

Danny beams. “I’d call you an imbecile, but I think that’d be cruel since you probably can’t spell it.”

“I swear to god, Fenton.”

“Hey, don’t be mean to my brother!”

Danny ducks his head to hide the shit-eating grin on his face as Jazz returns. She’s glaring at Dash, who sputters as he tries to defend himself, and Danny silently vows to join them for tomorrow’s study session, too, if this is what it’s going to be like.

[sapphiewritesandstuff]

Can i ask for Tsukasa x former student Reader please? Reader is a alumni coming back as a teacher

Ahhhhh! I just couldn’t for the life of me get the effect I wanted from this! I was literally tearing my hair out because I couldn’t do it :( I think this is the best it’s gonna get for now, so. Here you go 人(_ _*)

I might rewrite this later just to make up for it ;-;

—-

You stopped in front of Kamome Gakuen, pausing to take in the sight you thought you'd never see again. Your initial career plan had nothing to do with becoming a teacher. Heck, you used to scoff at your teachers, thinking how stupid they must to willingly deal with a bunch of squabbling, squealing toddlers-like teenagers.

But somewhere along the lines, you understood. You understood the love teachers have for their students, no matter how annoying they are. That’s what drove you to become a teacher, after all.

Kamome Gakuen looks familiar, but different. Over the years, the school board had decided to keep up with the times and construct a new school building. However, they made the decision not to demolish the old school. It was still there, on display for anyone who wanted to reminisce about their time spent there. You had arrived rather early with the intent to do just that.

The familiar building looked old fashioned compared to the newer one, which had adapted to the current style of schools, complete with modern styled swinging doors opposed to the old, sliding kind, and fancy, tiled floors that is a complete waste of money, in your humble opinion.

Cursing under your breath as you tripped over absolutely nothing, you pushed the sliding door open. It was unlocked, much to your surprise. The inside isn’t as decrepit as you thought it would be, the floors are covered with a thin layer of dust but everything is still intact.

Memories of your years here appeared in front of your eyes as if by magic. Your younger self running through the halls, chased by a figure of a boy with black hair…

No, no. Don’t think about him. It’s better for everyone if he just remains forgotten.

Walking along the halls of your school gave life to a flurry of emotions, all fluttering like butterflies inside your chest.

You stopped in front of a certain classroom. 2-2.

Middle school, year two, classroom two. It was not a particularly good year, nor a bad year for you. Until the end, at least. But the point is, it was like any other year.

So what made it so memorable?

It’s all because of them. No, because of him. His presence in your life changed everything.

“Ne, ne, (Name)-chan! Come look at this!” He called out to you, waving around the bloody scalpel, ignoring the teacher’s scolding.

You stared at the golden-eyed boy, eyeing the scalpel in his hand, making your way over to his station. His twin brother gave you an apologetic look.

“Tsukasa-kun, what is it?” Gently grasping his wrist, you pushed it back to the table before taking the scalpel and setting it on the desk. “It’s dangerous to wave around sharp objects.”

Tsukasa pouted, before pointing to the disemboweled frog on the table, “I wanted to show you my art.”

“That’s fine, just remember not to do that again, okay?” He nodded happily, reaching out to glomp you, only to be stopped by Amane clutching on to the collar of his shirt.

“Tsukasa, you still have blood all over your hands,” he sighed, marching his brother to the sink. You giggled at their antics, avoiding the splatters of blood on the floor in the surrounding area.

Your steps echoed as you stepped into the small classroom once filled with students and vibrant with life, now empty and abandoned. Maybe if I had noticed more, cared more about his behaviors.

“Too late to regret now,” you murmured, tracing your fingers on the dusty corkboard where the news of his death reached you. And so soon after, the news of his brother’s death. Your two best friends, the two people you could not save. You had seen the darkness, the crazed look in Tsukasa’s eyes. The fear, the sadness, and desperation in Amane’s. My fault, all my fault.

“I love you, (Name)-chan. Don’t you love me?” You gave the golden-eyed boy a sideways glance, laughing. “What are you talking about?”

Your gaze flitted away from the corkboard as if that alone would forever erase the memory.

The classroom itself is just as dusty, if not more than the hallways outside. You walked over to the seat next to the window, a small smile gracing your features. So many memories, good and bad, were made here, in this tiny classroom. Classroom 2-2.

The brief moments of vibrant emotions, the possibility of something more. “I guess it’s my punishment, isn’t it,” you murmured, tears pricking at your eyes. To this day, you had not been in one relationship. It’s a curse, the price you had to pay for the Yugi twins’ death.

For years, you had let their deaths drag you down. Blaming yourself for Amane’s breakdown that resulted in Tsukasa’s death. Your inadequate condolence did nothing to help Amane’s mental health. But now, after years of struggling, you finally get it. You’re finally ready to let go of that bloody memory, of all the blame. Ready to let go of Tsukasa.

Sure, you’ll hold onto the precious memories forever, but the guilt, the longing, the love. It all had to go. That’s what you hoped your time at Kamome Gakuen could achieve.

Letting your body settle into your old desk, you glance out the window where the sun shined and the sky glowed a brilliant blue. But no light entered the classroom, as if all light had been sucked out by something ominous.

You could almost hear Tsukasa’s giggles again, feel his touch on your cheeks.

“Ne, ne, (Name)-chan. Did you miss me?”

A chill passed through you. You whipped around, looking for the source of the whisper. Nothing.

Was it your imagination?

Hands settled on your shoulders, and you found yourself staring into the golden eyes of your dead childhood friend.

So you did what any sensible adult would do in a situation like this. You screamed bloody murder. His hand covered your mouth and the same familiar voice murmured in your ear, “Are you not happy to see me, (Name)-chan?”

Your thoughts raced, instantly gravitating towards the impossible. Tsukasa turned into a ghost after getting murdered by Amane and now he’s back to haunt me forever because I was a horrible friend (you had always had a wild imagination).

“T-Tsu-kun?” You removed his hand from your mouth, gripping on to it tightly, frowning when it didn’t slip through. That’s not how ghosts work.

“Yep! It’s me alright, (Name)-chan,” Tsukasa proclaimed cheerfully, wrapping his arms around your form. Your widened eyes stared at nothing as you tried to process this information. He’s back. Tsukasa’s back after all the years I tried to forget him, forget all the memories I had with him.

Fingers pulled at your cheeks, forcing you out of your dazed state. Tsukasa took your face into his hands, peering at your face curiously. Your face bloomed into the shade a shade of crimson, abruptly standing up, pushing him away.

“But you’re dead,” your voice is surprisingly steady as you clutched his hand tighter. Different emotions rose and fell inside, tears pricked at your eyes while irritation gnawed at you.

This little… I try so hard to forget him and he just comes back like nothing happened?

A part of your brain reasoned you could be in shock. That’s where all these conflicting feelings are coming from.

Shoving all of it away, you focused on one. Irritation.

“Yugi Tsukasa,” you began, taking a deep breath. The familiar way Tsukasa tilted his head to the side made you inside twist and turn.

“Hm?”

“How could you just die all these years ago, leave me with mental baggage to deal with years after the ordeal, and then strut back into my life like no time passed?!” The dam for your tears broke in the middle of your proclamation, leaving you heaving for breaths by the end of it.

He didn’t seem taken aback or angry, maybe relieved, if you could even call it that. “So you did miss me.”

Tsukasa’s quiet words stole away the last of your anger. You gaped at him for a second, taking in his small grin and expression of genuine happiness.

“I was kinda afraid you would forget about me,” he continued when you remained silent. “I really missed you, ya know.”

“Tsukasa-kun…” Guilt weighed heavily on your shoulders now that he went beyond your expectations by reacting so… calmly. You had expected every emotion but this.

“You’re right. I did miss you.” Your voice dropped to a whisper.

Tsukasa slipped a finger underneath your chin, pulling your face up so he could examine your features, instantly dispersing the tense atmosphere. You let him do so, despite the heat creeping up to your face. “You look different, (Name)-chan!” Tsukasa exclaimed suddenly, snapping back into his cheerful, eccentric self once again.

It was almost as if that vulnerability never appeared. You let it pass, giving a small smile, “Do I now?” He nodded vigorously, squishing your cheeks, “You look prettier!”

You blushed, looking away for a moment to regain your composure, “R-Really?”

He gave you another hug, whispering into your ear, “Do I ever lie, (Name)-chan?”

---

By the time the school bell rang, you'd come to accept the fact that your childhood friend (and maybe crush?) is now a ghost haunting the school he died at. How so? Well, you’ve always been told you are an open-minded person. This is nothing more than accepting Tsukasa for who he is, right?

[kunstpause-archive]

10, 15 and 28 for the detailed oc asks for both Althea and Cassia please?

Thank you! From this ask list

10. Do they like children? Do children like them? Do they have or want any children? What would they be like as a parent? Or as a godparent/babysitter/ect?

Cassia is a mother in both universes. In DA she has Maia pretty early on and she is a caring mother and for quite a while it’s basically all she does. That changes drastically once the situation in Kirkwall gets worse later on and she has to constantly juggle her time and her emotional capacities to make everything work. But overall she loves being a parent and would not mind having more children.

In Eorzea she gets pregnant with Beth during Heavensward and things do not turn out as planned. (Not that the pregnancy was planned, it wasn’t, but they were both happy about it and really looking forward to it.) By the end of the War she doesn’t actually fight Nidhogg (her sister and her friends do) bc she is in labor and she doesn’t quite know what to do after, still grieving a lot and being a single parent. She stops the adventuring and leaves the group for a while to find out where to go from there and moved into the almost empty Waking Sands. Where Uriangers pretty selflessly steps up and helps her with all sorts of things and de facto becomes a sort of adoptive father to Beth even though there is nothing romantic going on between him and Cassia at that time. (That comes later) 

She is much more active in the ffxiv universe though, so while she loves being a mom and having Beth here too, she is also constantly a bit torn and feels guilty for being away so much. She would like to be more present in her daughter's life, but more often than not she has to leave her in Ishgard while she goes saving the world and it’s gnawing at her.

Althea... Althea definitely wants children and a family. But she isn’t sure if she wants it bc that’s what she is supposed to or if it is an actual need. She can’T tell and she is terrified of the possibility, that her inability to connect to people would also come into play with her children. So she is extremely determined to not have children unless she can figure some stuff out first.

At the point of her story where she is now, I personally think she would absolutely not cope well with being a parent and would be downright horrible at it.

  15. Are they good at cooking? Do they enjoy it? What do others think of their cooking?

Cassia is a terrible cook. She can bake some basic things, but she has no patience in the kitchen. Which is ironic bc she is great at alchemy and potions. And annoying for herself because she really likes good food. Luckily, she has partners in both universes who are keeping her supplied and love to cook.

Althea meanwhile is an excellent cook. She doesn’t care for many things in life deeply but food is one of, I not THE passion she actually has and she put in a lot of time and effort to hone cooking as a craft. She has no problem with standing in the kitchen for hours just to make herself something really nice. And she also enjoys cooking for other people - its a way for her to feel like she can actually give something back in a way she understands.

28. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared?

Cassia’s biggest fear is personal failure. Not being strong enough for something, letting others down. not being able to control herself and her powers scares her to now end. She has two main reactions to fear: avoidance at all cost, even if it impacts her negatively or straight up attacking, even if it is a very bad and ill-advised thing to do. 

Althea’s greatest fear is never being able to truly, genuinely connect to someone. She is terrified of the possibility that she might just never understand certain things, never get to a point where she feels like she belongs somewhere or with someone. In her everyday life, she is not scared of much else though. She cares too little about almost everything to react in fear about many things. If she is scared her first reaction is to fight. As long as it is necessary for her to lose her fear. 

[kryptsune]

🌼Good morning! Happy Tuesday! I wanted to share the second part of this Fellfdritch drabble. It is kind of a side thing I have been just enjoying. I am still unsure if this is going to be exactly how this story is going to go but it’s a general idea. If it becomes a proper fic then I will elaborate more. Hope you enjoy it C: Tell me what you think and if you would like to see more.

PART 1 <-- The Madhouse

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK WITHOUT MY PERMISSION IT IS NOT FOR YOUR USE. IF YOU LIKE MY WORK PLEASE REBLOG INSTEAD! It helps me so much! It makes such a difference.💙If you want more of these just let me know! It’s the only way I can gauge interest!

FELLDRITCH DRABBLE {2/3}: OFF

Frisk’s eyes remained closed feeling that familiar bed of flowers that had caught her fall. She never questioned why her body did not lay broken amongst the flora. A little sore, but that was all. How far was the fall? That detail didn’t matter. Instead, she rose from her place, eyes fluttering open to stare at the flood of light that encased her. Nothing had changed from before. She knew, however, that she would be alone in her trek to Snowdin. 

The bruises she sustained were nothing compared to the horrors of the place of her escape. They were almost non-existent. Her feet were a little sore, but that was from running at such a fast pace to get here. A soft sigh of relief passed her lips, followed by a small smile, “Welcome home Frisk,” she replied softly as if in a dream. She was finally free. Home. Safe. 

The Ruins were just a series of black stone walls mortared with ashen grey cement. It felt cold and uninviting as various vines weaved through the walls like veins. All leading to a dying heart. They threaded through cracks and alcoves, taking over what was left of what lay before. There seemed to not be a soul among the ruins. There may have been once, but all she could see was the twisting catacombs of puzzles and traps that she remembered. 

They stretched forever, all with varying shades of obsidian. Some were easy enough to solve and others were more trial and error. It was nice to see that the spike puzzle that Toriel had kindly escorted her through was still deactivated. This place felt like darkness and ice had formed. It was not warm before, but now as she made her way through empty hallways and barren rooms,  she realized how stifling the air was. How her skin was bitten by the bitter cold. How the darkness never seemed to end, but she was almost there. 

There had to be at least one living soul around here, just one. She would settle for a Froggit or a Vegitoid. Anything to break the grave silence this place was suffocated by. Not a soul. Not a sound. It was unnerving. Even before there would have been the chatter of some of the shy monsters that lived in The Ruins. Now all she heard were her own footsteps eerily echoing through the halls one crunch at a time

… crunch ...crunch ...crunch…

Stop. The memories came flooding back, painting over the dismal landscape she was now forcing herself through. A chill unlike anything she had ever felt in her life shot up her spine, freezing over her bones and skin. Her mind must have been playing tricks on her. That creepy feeling, as though she was being watched, was settling into her soul. In her mind's eye, she almost could see the scraggly shadow limbs reaching for her. A corridor infested with pitch-black as sketchy eyes filled the darkness. 

She whirled around, expecting to see the horror of her imagination, but what lay beyond was simply the path which she had come from. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Her mind was messing with her, of course. Being in an asylum for over seven years would do that to a person. It would cause them to begin to question what was really going on around them. How does one even begin to justify all she had seen? All of it was completely outside the realm of anything normal. The very idea that monsters were real and trapped by some kind of ancient magic was difficult enough to believe. That she was their friend and part of their family even more so. 

Frisk shook her head from side to side in an effort to clear her mind as she continued forward. She was now close enough to reach the room where she first learned of monster candy and spider bake sales. Maybe she could get a donut from one of Muffet’s little stands. The spiders had been so helpful before. 

Thinking she may be able to get a spider-themed treat, she made her way toward the doorway she remembered.  It was all so clear. Dr. Ruttledge was as crazy as his patients if such vivid memories were nothing more than flights of fantasy. Her breath could be seen as she huffed in annoyance just thinking about the man. Monsters were real. She was living proof as she stood there checking her surroundings. 

She had to wonder if any of the lesser monsters would remember her. Maybe they were no longer in The Ruins after she had gone through the entire Underworld. There was no reason they had to live cowering amongst the rubble any longer. A life of fear and refuge. When she had made it to the end her foster father, King Asgore, promised her that much. 

Her eyes scanned the area only to stop before the doorway. At first she thought it was just dark, but instead, she was greeted by a blockage of rubble. It must have happened long ago as the vines continued to wrap and invade whatever places they could. The large column of some unknown puzzle lay broken in pieces at her feet. 

But why did that matter?

Dainty fingers brushed over the stone gingerly. What had happened? All she could think of was that these ruins were truly abandoned now unlike before, “I guess no spider bake sale for me…” Why was everything like this? Why did this place feel so cold and lifeless? The sooner she made it to Snowdin the better.

Just as her hand slipped from the stone a soft scraping of something caught her attention. It was growing closer, only to stop. At first, the noise just reverberated off the stone walls but then it became frantic. It grew in violent intensity before it once again fell silent. 

It was coming from one of the corners.

Her only choice of action would be to run, but what was the point? The monsters here wouldn’t hurt her. Would they? Her voice slipped from her mouth in a whisper at first. Only growing in volume so that it could be heard properly, “Hello? Who's there?” Cautiously she removed herself from the wall, slipping into the adjacent hall. In one of the corners, she could just make out a small shape as it wiggled in the darkness.

Its body was scrunched against the ebony brick as if it was trying to hide in such an open space. The dull grey sheet of a body shone within the darkness, its long black feelers twitching periodically. Its wings were tucked away, fluttering only when she moved closer. 

It was a monster she remembered quite clearly. A whimsun. They had always been timid, shy little creatures that would make soft whimpering sounds; it was as if they thought you were going to kick them. The closer she drew to the creature the more things she noticed. The lower corner of its once shimmering wings was clawed. A feeler was broken, laying limply and causing it to be 'L' shaped. Parts of its back had been clawed at and were beginning to goop over. It looked like it was melting?

 Its small body convulsed as if it were about to fall apart the moment it heard her voice.

 The poor thing...

Once again she made her presence known in the most soothing voice she could muster, “Hello there. Are you alright?” She made no action to move closer as to not frighten the petrified monster. Sure, they had been scared before, but this felt like a whole new level of dread. A feeling that was slowly beginning to seep into her soul. Something was horribly off. 

She knew them for their soft whimpering, but this one was eerily silent save for the fingers it was now desperately digging into the brick, tearing at it like a feral animal. Her voice made the reaction all the worse as it's fervor grew. 

Scrape

"I won't hurt you I promise." 

Scrape       Scrape       Scrape      Scrape

The gaunt limbs of the bug-like creature tore desperately at its corner, creating that horrible scraping sound once more. It was the kind of sound one would react to on a visceral level as it dug into your ears gnawing at your skull. The kind that caused your stomach to nearly retch and ears to bleed. One might have compared it to digging your nails into the lid of a coffin. Once again, that feeling of dread bit into her soul. It slithered around her lungs, constricting what little breath she could muster. This was more than a feeling of dread.

Scrape Scrape Scrape Scrape Scrape

She reached for it, trying to calm it’s animalistic clawing, only for it to turn and stare at her. Every bone in her body froze, causing shudders of pure horror to shake her small frame. The whimsun could no longer make those soft noises as its mouth was grotesquely stitched shut with ruby thread. She couldn’t keep her hand from shakily landing on her mouth and her blue eyes swam with trepidation. It was a monstrous sight. 

Her legs quaked as she took shaky steps back using the walls as support. Her body slumped against it, just staring aghast. She could feel the rough brick against her pale flesh and forced her eyes to close. That scraping began again, clawing at her skull like someone using a spoon against the stone. Over and over and over again. It was maddening.

Heart pounding and limbs shaking, she fled the place as quickly as she could. Toriel’s old home was not that far away from where she was. No time to think. No time to act. All she wanted to do was escape. 'She needed to get out', she thought, running down the halls stumbling amidst broken columns and dust. She didn’t bother to take in her surroundings and she ran as fast as her legs could carry her. 

When she was a fair distance away from the horrifying scene that she had been subjected to, she paused, turning to look behind her. The darkness spilled from the corners, shrouding the hallways beyond in a sinister tarry cloak. Wait. It… it was slowly devouring where she had come from. Moving. Writhing. Squirming. A tarry goop like substance and its pace was increasing. 

What in stars…?

From the ceilings it began to rain down in thick black globs, landing just in front of her. It seeped through the walls, forming clawed limbs and crimson eyes. It was everywhere. In a panic, she ran. Her chest was starting to burn with every labored breath; every passing moment her legs throbbed. All she could do was try to make it to Toriel's. It was but a feeling. She would be safe there. 

It tore through the silence like a knife. An ear-splitting, howling, squishing, hissing, thundering, crackling, rasping, guttural abomination of a shriek. She could picture a tongue lolling from a cursed mouth as it made chase. A creature, unlike anything she had ever encountered. A darkness willing to swallow her whole. It’s unholy screeches and crackled gibberish forced her legs into submission without abandon.

Everything was skewed. Even her vision was beginning to warp ruined doorways and random leaves. All she could hear was her heart thundering in her eardrums. She didn’t want it to catch her. The scenery passed by, conjuring demons from another realm. The realm of her mind. This creature chasing her made the room grow darker, forcing true monsters from their crypts. She had not been blessed with night vision. Shadowy hands tried to veil her eyes, creeping closer to blind her. Soon everything would go black.

Her tears streamed down her cheeks, flying into the air. Just before the veil of darkness fell she collapsed into the door of Toriel’s home, slamming it and hearing the wood splinter. She could barely feel her legs or her lungs. Everything was on fire as she dropped to the ground. The beast was silent until it’s mass beat against the frame screeching in ungodly rage. Her fatigued body rested against the door as her soft cries mixed with its masticated words. Surely it couldn’t speak, but she knew it was.

 G͆l̾̑͑̍͑ͮ҉Ȅ͋҉aͬ̐n̷̍̅ ́ͯ̐ͮ͐͞fͩ͐̌ͯ̓̿ͪơ̏ ̸̄̂͛͛͐͆̚hͮĀ̀̏̋͞E͆̂͛̂t̵D͑̿̐

͊̓̄̾̉ͫͪ

ͧ̃͑O̵͂̋̄͆ͦuYͫ̚͟ ̎r̷Ũͬ̽̂̈ͦẼ̂r̃̋̉̌̇̚nͬͪ͝T

̔͗̈ͤ͗ͭ

͆͘Ē͋ͥ̇Ẽ̛͆ͥ͂š̽̎ͧ

̏̅̀̏̆͑̄̕

͆͛͑̄͊͂̅̀E̛͗̈́͊Rͦ̿̓̍̅͒̚A̅͒̆̽̑̽͢hͦ̿̐̑́

ͣ̇̑̈́̔̂

ͥͯ̋͑̈S̆̀K̋̽ͭe̷̒̓́̒a͂̾͌̀̔p̈͂͒̀̏͏

̡̄͂

̧̐̉̏͛́̔̚E͌̒̀iͧl̛ͣ̊̅̈́̈́̚V̷ͫͯͮ̚

It was right next to her ear, whispering its guttural broken tongue in huffing rasps and then. It was gone. Frisk couldn’t even breathe as she lay there helpless with her back pressed against the frigid wood. Was she safe? All she wanted to do was sit here to calm her shaking. Her eyes fell to her shivering hands. She was unable to hold them still. The feeling of being watched never left her. When her eyes slid closed she saw that symbol one again in the darkness appearing like a mist. It glowed a deep crimson like that of freshly spilled blood. 

A giant. All-seeing. Eye.

Soft sobs added to her hyperventilating as her red orbs flew open. The vision was gone but the symbol was not. Shakily she rose to her feet hearing her own struggles as her hand gripped the frame for support. A few moments of quiet breathing would calm her. In and out. In and out.  It was all she could do to repeat those words over and over till she was able to see, to hear, to speak clearly. She had made it to Toriel's. The first step in her journey was over. It would not be long now before she would welcome that frosted air. Those seas of deep cherry wood.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead, only adding to her disheveled look. Her hands were still shaking from the whole ordeal as she cupped them within one another to step further into the room. It was just as she remembered it. Not a single speck of dust. Not a frame or carpet out of place. She couldn’t stay, she already knew that, but maybe in her old room, she would find something more suitable to wear.

Her hand reached for the golden knob, pushing the door open with a soft creak of its hinges. She rummaged through various drawers to find something more fitting. A simple black shirt and a pair of pants. She even found a white zip-up hoodie among her old things, and she was grateful that Toriel kept them. Her promise held that much value to them. She would return to help them, terrifying goop beasts aside. Where had that thing come from anyway, and why did it want her head?

She reveled in the black hoodie fluff for a moment before heading back into the hall. It was normal. Clean. Pretty and warm. Everything she remembered was here. Safe and in its proper place, but it was time to go. Soon she would truly be with her family. She could picture the scene as she strode toward the landing. A small smile painted on her lips feeling a warm spark within her soul. Home. That’s all she wanted. She wanted to be with them. 

The lights flickered suddenly, casting sinister dancing shadows on the walls stretching upward to consume the space. No. She did not want to be left alone in the dark, and she was so fatigued from before. She just could not seem to get a break as she made her way forward. The lights went out, leaving her in stifling darkness. Her only sense was hearing and she slid her hands over the walls to keep her bearings. 

The ringing rattled her brain and an explosion of wood and glass reached her ears. Another hissing howl tore through the silence, breaking everything in its path. At first, it was in front of her, and she could hear the wooden planks groan in protest under the creature's weight. A vase shattered as if it had been thrown violently against the wall. She did not know what was causing all of this. All she could do was listen. It mangled the room, tearing into carpets with sickening rips. 

A soft warm puff of air tickled her cheek. A breath. A huff. The rumble that reverberated from its chest rose and fell. She only prayed it wouldn’t cause her to lose the one sense she still had. It's lumbering form moved past her in the dark, but she could hear that disgusting squelch and dripping of saliva right beside her. Then the lights returned. Nothing was there. 

The once pristine home was ransacked and its walls were covered in claw marks. Shelves hung precariously from a single nail. Vases were shattered and strewn about the floor. Broken glass. Dead plants. This place was not pristine. It was in shambles. All the signs of decay infected the place. The vines had started to curl around the banister to the lower floor. The same one she was now making her way toward. That is until she looked up. 

The roof had caved in, exposing the rotting bones of the structure as it spilled more debris from high above. It landed on top of her now, dust gathering in her hair, but that was not what had her attention. No. It was the horrifying image that lay painted on the wall of the main foyer. The symbol in her vision. 

It dripped down the wall freshly painted in blood red. The monsters did not bleed, so where did it come from? The image of an eye with its pupil crossed out. It was framed by a half-circle with spires jutting out along the line. Just below the symbol were words she could just understand. Very simplistic depictions of a mouth, an eye, and an ear. The way it was sketchily painted made her shiver. 

No more. She had to leave this place.

 Get out. 

Those were her thoughts but they did not come from her lips. A whispering, crackly, and breathy voice echoed it as she descended the steps. It only grew more frequent the closer she drew to the door. The door that represented her freedom now even more than before.

GET OUT

The same unnerving symbol greeted her, sloppily painted where the Delta Rune used to rest in all its metallic glory. She remembered how beautiful and intricate metalwork was as it wove in and out of itself. It had been crafted with care. Now all that was left were the two empty recesses where it once proudly lay, replaced by something she knew nothing of. Had so much changed in less than a decade? Had it really been the amount of time she was told? 

GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. GET OUT GET OUT.

Her hand rested on the door only to hear the voice again, but it began to pierce her ears as it rose in volume and intensity, forcing her to cover her ears. The ringing. The screaming. The distorted voices and whispers. It hurt. She felt as though her head would explode from the inside out, “No… stop… please.” A pathetic whimper followed by her cries filled the room. In a panic and frenzy, she clawed at the door forcing it open, “STOP! PLEASE STOP!”

GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. 

She shoved her way through those deep purple double doors and just before they fell closed the screaming stopped. Only a soft whisper remained.

listen

It slammed shut behind her, sealing away what she felt the monsters had been trying to keep inside. The beast that had been stalking her. She leaned against the door panting and doubling over to regain her breath. All was silent. A palette of frosty blues, whites, and deep cherry spanned her vision. Snowdin Forest. Tired eyes fluttered closed as she panted feeling that familiar burn of ice within her lungs. She could just smell the crisp evergreens, the fresh snow, and earth.

Snowdin was her hope. She placed a hand over her chest finally ready to once again continue her journey home. The soft crunch of snow under her shoes was inviting and though she was not well dressed for the weather, it was the kind of cold to which she had once grown accustomed. She was sure Boss would warm her up with some of his cooking. A hot meal on a cold day. 

The trees felt neverending, stretching high above her. If one looked up it could have made them dizzy. She was just lost in the environment. The dark bark of the trees were such a stark contrast from the pure white of the snow that lay at their feet. Their strange carmine leaves were scattered here and there. It was truly a unique place. 

Her attention stayed on the winding path ahead. She knew Sans's sentry station would be up ahead, but There was no rest. Its crack rang into the open air. The snap of a branch. Something was watching her. She didn’t have the energy to run. Her exhaustion was too great. The combination of running and mental terror. All the things she had seen. It was all unbelievable. Grotesque. Horrifying. It was all wrong. So horribly wrong. 

It shook her soul to its core, and she ended up at a dead end. All she could do was stare up at the wooden barrier, placing her hands weakly on the wood. She could hear something scuffling toward her. Her heart once again beat harder than it should, nearly lodging in her throat. Helpless. That was how she felt as she turned to face the beast, eyes screwed shut and unable to keep the tears from her cheeks. 

Even back then she had never felt this level of fear. It had been hard, but never did she fear for her life at such an intensity. Her lips quivered as its shadow fell over her. She felt like a cornered animal. One that had no means to defend itself. An easy kill, “Please… I don’t know what happened here. Please…” A pathetic plea was choked by her soft cries. 

Its hand fell on her, pulling her from the wooden barrier she had been backed into. She could picture it tearing her throat out and ripping her to shreds. How her blood would stain the snow a deep red. What would be left of her would decorate the snow like a sick ornament. 

Her eyes reluctantly forced themselves open. The creature towered over her with a skeletal mouth gaping open showing off sets of sharp, flesh-eating teeth. Its eyes were lifeless black pits and two sets of bark-like antlers protruded from its skull. That same symbol she had seen on the door sat at the crest of its skull along with a pentagram etched into the bone. It’s long billowing robes just fluttered in the wind and its face was framed by deep charcoal fluff. A single ruby thread appeared to glow where it had been used around the jaw and antlers. 

All she could do was force her eyes closed once more as her body grew cold. Its shadow was sucking all the warmth from her body as she shook her head. She was desperate. Her desire was to return, but now she may not even see them ever again. The tears that stained her cheeks left icy trails on her porcelain skin. Please. Her lungs burned and she was unable to speak; it felt like acid had been poured down her throat to spread like poison throughout her body. 

The voice that broke the silence was not her own.

“Frisk?”    

[meowloudly15]

Stranded: Day 2 - GREEN MONSTER

I'm really sorry I didn't have this chapter ready for you guys sooner. Hopefully next chapter will be on time, but I can't make any promises anymore.

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Gwen lay in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar building in an unfamiliar dimension, staring at the dark ceiling. At least she felt safe here, safer than she did in the jail cell or on the rooftop.

Though she hated to admit it, Gwen was looking forward to school tomorrow. Her life would be back to normal, at least in some aspects.

ATOMIC DISJUNCTION

Gwen sighed and shut her eyes as a painful spasm passed through her.

She was lucky to not have a roommate due to being a "transfer student". She was also lucky to have successfully stolen toiletries and a notebook from a nearby Walblue's.

IMPENDING MORAL CRISIS

Gwen rolled her eyes. Having a conscience and a sense of responsibility and duty sucked. It was times like this when she wished she wasn't a superheroine.

What would have happened if she wasn't one? What would her life be like?

It would have been a lot more boring, that was for sure. She would probably have done better in her classes (that was a big if, knowing how little she cared about schoolwork before taking up the mantle), and she might have been more popular, considering that she would have had more free time to socialise.

It sucked that she couldn't attend some of her band practices due to patrolling the city. While the rest of the band was okay with her absences, Em Jay was not.

Em Jay had been getting on Gwen's nerves as of late. She really wasn't that great of a person. Gwen supposed that knowledge came both from getting to know her better and from not constantly hanging out with a guy who would compliment her at every opportunity.

She sighed resignedly. Peter had snuck back into her mind. She really didn't like to think about him; she wished she had never met him. But then again, had she not met him… so much would be different, enough so that it was impossible to say quite what.

Without conscious awareness, Gwen dipped into her memories of Peter.

One Friday night, Gwen decided to don her nearly-new Spider-Woman costume and go out web-swinging. She had planned to stop by the park where Em Jay and her band were playing that night, just for kicks. She had told Peter about her plans, hoping to maybe meet him there and knowing that he would probably be interested even if only for the sake of seeing Em Jay.

Gwen had only possessed her web-shooters for the previous two weeks, and while she had practiced as frequently as possible, she was far from being adept. However, she had only crashed into two streetlights, clipped the side of four buildings, and almost hit one car, which meant that she was improving.

Improvement was key.

Gwen reached the park and perched atop a nearby gazebo, scanning the crowd for her friend. She soon spotted him hanging around near the stage. However, several people also spotted her.

"Holy cow, how'd that guy get up on that gazebo?"

"Hey, I think my mom almost hit that girl with her car the other day!"

"What's a gazebo?"

"Why's he wearing both a hood and a mask?"

"Oh my GOD it has weird EYES this is UNREAL!"

Eventually, almost all of the crowd, including the band, was looking her way, pointing, taking pictures. Gwen grimaced, thankful for the mask.

Peter stepped up onto the stage amid the confusion, grabbing the mic. Gwen saw him do so, although most of the crowd was too focused on her to notice.

She wondered what on earth he was up to. Peter normally hated speaking in front of crowds, although she did see that his eyes were firmly screwed shut.

All of a sudden, Gwen heard a loud voice yell through her mind, "GREEN MONSTER". She slapped her hand to the back of her head.

Peter yelled into the mic, "HEY!"

The crowd quieted down and looked at him.

Peter, wearing an uncharacteristically solemn frown, started to speak. "I want you all to understand what I'm doing and why I'm about to do it."

The crowd was stunned into silence. Even Em Jay and the other members of Jackpot were too flabbergasted to move.

The voice in Gwen's head kept repeating over and over, "GREEN MONSTER".

Suddenly, the pieces fell into place. Jealousy was the green-eyed monster. But why was Peter jealous?

Peter reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a small vial full of an acidic green liquid. The crowd gasped and collectively took a few steps backward. A few people in the rear turned and fled.

"Don't worry, this isn't a bomb," Peter tried to joke, but his flat affect belied any amount of humour which his words might have held. The crowd did not look reassured.

"This vial holds an untested serum, originally researched by Ozcorp but perfected by yours truly, which is intended to bestow upon the consumer superhuman abilities. In a few minutes, I'm going to drink it."

"No! Don't do it!" yelled someone from the middle of the crowd.

The corners of Peter's mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. "Ah, but I haven't told you my reasoning yet."

Gwen leaned in closer, a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach growing to match the itching at the nape of her neck.

"You know," Peter began, "I've been overshadowed as of late. I've been overshadowed by somebody whom I know and whom I've been helping out and whom I'm close to. She was courteous enough to join us tonight."

Peter extended the hand with the vial in the direction of Gwen, who didn't move.

"She was recently granted superpowers, you know, like Captain America. I helped her out. I put in hours of free time that I didn't have towards helping her, towards giving her gear and helping her practice her powers. And how does she thank me? She doesn't. She shoves me aside like she shoves everybody else aside. She only cares about herself! And she left me in the dust, no thanks, no gratitude, nothing!

"This girl, 'Spider-Woman', thinks she's so special. But you know what? She's not. She's just a little girl. Just a kid with a dorky Halloween costume. She doesn't think I'm special. Nobody thinks I'm special. But you know what? I'm gonna be special in just a minute. I'm gonna drink this, and I'm gonna be special, just like her. More special, even. You'll see. You'll all see."

Peter uncorked the vial and tossed the cap away. He then looked at Gwen, his eyes boring into hers. "You know what?" he said, more quietly than he had been speaking before. "I idolised you. I wanted to be like you. And then I realised how horrible of a person you are. I wanna be you, but better. I'm GONNA be you, but better."

He raised the vial to his lips.

Peter's words had cut Gwen to the bone. She reacted too slowly, shooting a webline that yanked back an emptied vial.

Gwen yelled, "NO!"

Peter smirked. "Don't try and stop me."

Somebody had had the bright idea to call 911. A few police cruisers showed up at the park. Police officers jumped out of their cars and rushed over to the scene.

The crowd started to panic, but nothing happened.

Peter frowned, anxiously running a hand through his short brown hair. "I don't know how long it was supposed to take bef-"

He interrupted his own statement with an earsplitting scream.

GREEN MONSTER

The crowd finally lost control and fled the scene as Peter's skin started to morph. His body stretched like Silly Putty caught in invisible hands. Gwen yelped in horror, transfixed by the grotesque train wreck that was his transformation.

Peter shrieked again, but it wasn't a human shriek. It was a screech worthy of the Cretaceous Park movies. His clothes tore open as green scales started sprouting all over his body. His hand, which was now twice its normal size and bore razor-sharp talons, crushed the puny microphone like a twig.

Peter had become a lizard-like monstrosity. He roared one last time and charged at the police officers, who took shelter behind their cruisers and opened fire. Gwen had half a mind to stop them, but when their bullets started bouncing harmlessly off of Peter's scales, she decided to wait and watch for the time being.

As soon as Peter decapitated the first officer, Gwen knew that she needed to do something, so she shot a webline at him and pulled him off balance. Peter snarled, then redirected his attention towards her.

"Oh boy," she muttered as Peter charged at her, his giant tail lashing behind him. She leaped out of the way as he smashed through the gazebo, sending shards of wood flying everywhere. As she landed, Gwen turned and started rapidly firing webshots at Peter, covering him with semisolid webbing. He tore through the webbing as if it were paper, then charged again.

Gwen leaped into the air and landed on Peter's back. It looked like she would have to physically subdue him. But how exactly did one stop a rampaging lizard-beast?

Gwen noticed that the police officers were holding their fire, apparently waiting for her to get out of the way.

"Kid!" one cop yelled through a megaphone. "What are you doing?"

"Don't worry, I got this!" Gwen yelled back, wrapping her arms around Peter's neck in a chokehold.

She was lying through her teeth. She had no idea what she was doing.

Peter thrashed around, trying to free himself from this pesky insect, but Gwen held on tightly. His startled roars started to weaken and change into whines. His thrashing grew ever more frantic, and he eventually managed to grab Gwen's right leg and start pulling on it. Gwen yelled and shifted her grip so that she could hold Peter's neck with only one arm. With her free hand, she started striking Peter's claws, desperately trying to extract them from her lacerated leg.

Peter decided to try a different tactic. He let go of Gwen's leg and backed up into a large oak tree, smashing Gwen between him and it. He kept striking it repeatedly until Gwen was too bruised and beaten to hold onto him any longer. She dropped like a stone as the tree finally uprooted.

Gwen came to her senses a few seconds later, just in time to see Peter charging at the line of police officers, who were futilely shooting at him. "Call the SWAT!" she heard one of them yell. The outburst was followed by several jarring screams of pain.

She had to stop Peter before he killed them all.

Loud chatter from a group of girls passing through the hall outside Gwen's room snapped out of her reverie.

She missed Peter. She missed the poor guy with all her heart.

Reminiscing about him wouldn't help anything.

It was better to just forget, to stop thinking about him, to move on.

Gwen wished she didn't have to move on. But she did. She had to push aside her feelings, bottle them up out of harm's way, because they were only going to get in the way. They were only going to stop her from being Spider-Woman.

She couldn't risk losing anyone else.

Gwen shook the depressing thoughts from her mind. There was no time to worry.

She thought back to her earlier mental debate on what would have happened if she hadn't become Spider-Woman, and she recalled how in this universe at least, Peter had been bitten by the irradiated spider.

What had happened to this universe's Gwen Stacy?

Was she alive? Was she dead? Was she a monster? Had she even existed in the first place?

Gwen was filled with a sudden compulsion to know. She wanted to know what the other her was like, what her family was like, how her father had fared, all of that.

But that wasn't something she should worry about right now.

Gwen lifted her phone from the bedside table (she had also stolen a charging cord from Walblue's) and checked the time. It was 10:40 pm. She ought to hit the sack. Tomorrow was a school day.

Gwen set down her phone and drifted off to sleep.

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[whimsical-ness]

Felon | 07

◇ Link to Masterlist

◇ Baekhyun & Kyungsoo series: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | ?

◇ Genre: Cop! Ksoo, Criminal! Baek, Crime! AU, inspired by Dhoom 2

◇ Summary: As your life takes a dangerous turn when you get caught between a criminal and a cop, you begin to question how thin the line between good and bad really is.

◇ Word Count: 4.1k

You had never felt as awkward as you did when you woke up the next morning to face Baekhyun’s widened eyes.

There were likely several different ways you could have reacted to the situation with. But not saying a word to him, leaping out of bed, and avoiding him for the rest of the day was probably the stupidest thing you could have done. Which you did.

If anything, Baekhyun was even more awkward about the whole thing than you were, and the two of you refused to make eye contact at all, to your slight relief.

You were extremely confused. Why on earth had you fallen asleep with him in his bed? It had been a horribly intimate decision, and it made your stomach twist into knots every time the thought of lying next to him sprung to your mind.

His innocent, peaceful face in sleep, his messy hair and lidded eyes when he’d woken up and stared at you, the faint blush that had crept across his cheeks when you’d both realized how close you were curled up together.

You couldn’t get the image of that out of your head. Baekhyun had been extremely unnerved, had looked flustered even, more so than you would imagined him to be. Somehow, his reaction to the whole thing was making you feel more uneasy.

You would have loved to avoid him completely if it wasn’t for the looming robbery you had to prepare for. But it was easier when all you had to talk about was the plan and nothing else. 

And what a plan it was.

You were trying to trick not one, but two different criminals. A mafia, posing as Baekhyun’s partner.  And Baekhyun himself. Who had seemingly put all his trust into you, assured, that you would not let him down, not after everything.

Not after what he’d confessed to you, after he’d bared his heart to you and told you the truth.

It shouldn’t have been as much of a shock as it was, but your eyes had widened in surprise when you’d heard it. 

“Who is Junmyeon?” you had blurted, one night over dinner. Baekhyun had gnawed at his lip, his eyes hardening, and you had seen his internal struggle over whether or not to tell you starkly on his face. 

But he’d relented, and he’d told you. That Junmyeon was the leader of Exo, the mafia. How he had saved Baekhyun from that rough patch without even knowing him, how indebted Baekhyun had felt towards him.

How Baekhyun had joined the mafia willingly, pledging his allegiance to Junmyeon and to Exo, no matter what. How Baekhyun had decided to put Exo first, above and before everything else in his life.

Until something had changed. Until it had all fallen to pieces and he had had to leave.

Baekhyun had told you all of it with bitterness in his voice, but he’d left out the details over why he’d left, why he hated them as much as he did now. 

But the reason for him wanting to steal the diamond was clear to you now; he was stealing it as revenge. He was stealing it to get back, what he believed was rightfully his, after he’d been the one to help Exo steal it originally.

“As for me knowing about the wedding and how everything is going to be...it’s because I have someone on the inside still. Someone I trust,” Baekhyun had said, sighing. “But they don’t know that what I want back is the diamond. They only think I want to be at the wedding. That person is the one this house belongs to.”

Secrets, unravelling, bit by bit. Secrets you told Kyungsoo right after Baekhyun told them to you, whispering into your phone in the bathroom in the middle of the night. 

The entire plan too, you relayed to Kyungsoo, careful not to miss out a single detail. You had underestimated how much trust Baekhyun was putting in you. If the diamond was to be stolen, your part in the whole thing was a lot bigger than you had ever imagined.

You were to check into the hotel, the day before the wedding. Since you weren’t exactly a wanted criminal like Baekhyun was, you were the only way he was going to be able to get into the hotel without being suspected.

Your alias? A rich heiress on vacation. You were going to have to play the part, were going to have to get close to Junmyeon the night of the reception, distract him from whatever Baekhyun was to be doing.

You had one job: keep Junmyeon away from his sister under all circumstances. Because the diamond...the diamond was going to be in possession of the bride herself. She was going to be wearing it, Baekhyun said he was sure.

Getting it from her was up to him. He omitted the details, even when you asked incredulously how he was going to even going to get close enough to her, when she would be likely surrounded by bodyguards, as well as her husband. Baekhyun looked sure of himself, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was keeping something from you, something that had to do with the bride. That had to do with him.

Something that you needed to know.

“Why’d you make me do all that training?” you asked him, slightly peeved. “I don’t see how distracting the mafia leader has anything to do with climbing—”

“The training was to prepare you for the worst,” said Baekhyun, rather darkly. “Don’t underestimate Junmyeon. If he catches onto you in the slightest, you’re going to need to be alert and swift enough to get away.”

“Don’t worry,” you mumbled. “I’m pretty good at deceiving men.” Baekhyun smiled oddly. “Are you?”

You looked away, your heart starting to beat unevenly.

And then it was D-Day. Surprisingly, checking into the Atlantis proved not that hard at all, not with the extremely legitimate looking ID that Baekhyun gave you.

Complete with the thousand dollar clothes and tons of luggage that was basically empty, you checked into a suite at the hotel, your palms sweaty and heart hammering in anticipation.

The Atlantis Hotel was beautiful, the interior very fitting to its name. Though you had no time at all to explore, you wished you could go see the different attractions that were in the hotel itself, like the huge aquarium. 

But no, you had a plan to see through, because your separate plan with Kyungsoo also had to be put into place. The night of the reception, Kyungsoo and Jongin were going to pose as extra security personnel. Kyungsoo was going to tail Baekhyun, and Jongin was going to tail you and Junmyeon.

That way, if something went wrong, Jongin would be able to help you.

Getting Baekhyun into the hotel was another story. He had his mask up over his face again, and when the reception stopped him (understandably so) he refused to take it off (understandably so). This meant that you had to go solve the sticky situation.

“He’s uh...he’s had plastic surgery,” you blurted, earning you a harsh cough from Baekhyun, whom you avoided your gaze from. “His nose it’s all...bandaged and ugly,” you said quickly, and the lady at the reception desk smiled awkwardly. “He is your guest?” You nodded fervently. “Yes, he’s my guest.”

Baekhyun’s scowl when he finally took the mask off in your suite was one that made you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “Out of all the things you could have said, plastic surgery was the only thing you came up with?”

You shrugged. “Hey, it worked didn’t it? You’re in the hotel. We’re done with the first bit.”

“Yeah, and now all you need to do is convince Junmyeon you’re a rich heiress who wants to get into his pants,” deadpanned Baekhyun, and now it was your turn to scowl. “How am I supposed to approach him anyway? I can’t invite myself to the party,” you snapped.

Baekhyun threw himself onto the large bed, sighing loudly. “Sweetheart, if you do what you need to, Junmyeon will invite you.” “What do you mean by that?” you asked, crossing your arms. Baekhyun cocked his brows. “Wear that dress I told you to and put on that red lipstick you bought the other day. Trust me when I say Junmyeon won’t be able to take his eyes off you. No one will.”

For a few seconds you just stared at him, and he gazed back, a small smile starting to play at his lips. “Stop saying things like that,” you said finally, looking away from him. Your stomach was beginning to feel like it was tying into knots, intricate ones that felt permanent, ones that would be difficult to untangle.

“Why?” he said softly. “I mean it. Sometimes I don’t even realize I’m staring.”

A furious blush shot through your cheeks, rendering you completely blank. What was he saying? That he thought you were pretty? Why was every little sentence making your heart beat like crazy?

At the shocked look on your face, Baekhyun began to laugh, shaking his head. “Relax, okay? You’ll be fine. Now go get ready. It’s nearly showtime.”

While Baekhyun went off to prepare for god knows what without trying to be seen by any of Exo who were all in the hotel, you attempted to get dressed, your mind spinning the entire time.

You couldn’t even look at yourself in the mirror once you put the dress on, the dress that Baekhyun had given you. You hadn’t even realized when he’d gone out to buy it, a flowing, silky champagne coloured gown that hugged all your curves. It fit you perfectly, strangely enough, and just the thought of him picking it out for you was enough to have your stomach flipping over again.

The question why was piercing through every cell in your brain, making it difficult to think of much else. Ever since you’d met him, ever since you’d started the whole stupid scheme, Baekhyun had affected you, first in little ways, but now in more. Every small comment, every borderline flirtatious remark, that you’d brushed aside at first were becoming impossible to ignore.

Pretty. He thought you were pretty.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers trembling slightly as you put the lipstick on. You shouldn’t have cared. You shouldn’t have cared at all, what Baekhyun thought of you.

But the hard truth was that you did. Because why else was your heart fluttering so rapidly that it felt as if it was about to burst from your chest?

You blinked at your reflection in the mirror, a horrible guilt washing over you. You pushed the forbidden thought to the very back of your mind, refusing to ponder over it any further, and swallowed down the strange emotion that was bubbling in your chest.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when a sudden knock sounded on the door of the suite. For a few seconds, you deliberated whether to open the door at all, until a low voice spoke. 

“It’s me,” came Kyungsoo’s smooth murmur. Your eyes widened, and you opened the door swiftly and ushered him inside. “You can’t be here, he might be back any second—”

Kyungsoo’s blinked, his parting slightly as he took in your appearance. “You look breathtaking,” he breathed, and you groaned. “Kyungsoo, this really isn’t the time—”

He seemed to snap out of it, clearing his throat. “There’s a slight change of plan. You need to drug the leader.”

You stared at him. “What?” Kyungsoo handed you a small packet, holding a suspicious looking white powder. “You need to get this into his drink, somehow. I trust you to do it though, it’ll be a piece of cake for someone who has the experience you do.”

Weirdly, this managed to tick you off. “What the hell does that mean?” you snapped, and Kyungsoo raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You’re good at being subtle,” he said slowly. “I meant that you can do it without him catching onto you.”

You rubbed at your forehead. “Fine,” you said tiredly. “And then what? Jongin is going to smuggle him out of here without being seen by anyone?” Kyungsoo smiled wryly. “He won’t need to be smuggled. He’s a criminal. Imagine being able to successfully arrest the leader of one of the most notorious mafias in the world. We’ve never been this close to achieving something like this before.”

“And what about Baekhyun?” you shot. “What about him?” said Kyungsoo dismissively. “He won’t be too difficult to get, not when he’s trapped between two groups of people who are out for his capture. As soon as Jongin sends me the signal that you’re with Junmyeon, I’ll handle Baekhyun. There’s no way he’s getting away. Not this time.”

You looked away from Kyungsoo, an odd unrest simmering in your chest. You had a bad feeling, about everything. It felt too risky, too brash, and the worst of all, you felt somewhat betrayed by your own emotions. 

If Baekhyun was caught tonight, you would have succeeded.

Then why the hell did it feel as if you were losing?

The sound of the door handle turning made you gasp out loud, and Kyungsoo swore under his breath. “H-Hide,” you hissed, and he barely made it behind the curtains in time before you had to whirl around to face Baekhyun.

Your heart nearly stopped as he narrowed his gaze, his eyes shifting to the space behind you; the space where seconds ago, Kyungsoo had been standing.  “Who were you talking to?”

You forced yourself to stay calm. “No one? I was probably just saying something out loud, I do that sometimes.”

“Huh.” He finally stopped looking around suspiciously, and his gaze fixed on you instead. He didn’t even have to say anything. The look in his eyes and the small smile on his lips was enough to make you want to melt into the ground.

“Junmyeon better watch out,” said Baekhyun softly, stepping closer to you. You held a breath as he lifted his hand, gently pushing a loose strand of hair off your face. “I need to say something,” he said, his voice low, and you swallowed, acutely aware of Kyungsoo’s presence just a mere few feet away.

“If something goes wrong tonight, if we don’t end up getting the diamond, or if something worse happens...” he broke off, looking slightly flustered. Your heart was hammering so fast that you almost thought you could hear it in the silence of the room. 

But Baekhyun didn’t continue, instead stepping back and clearing his throat, his fingers moving to pull his mask back on over his face. “Take care of yourself,” he said, and you could say nothing back. 

This was very well going to be the last time you were going to see him, if everything went according to plan. Or, you would see him, but he would be behind bars. The image of him like that, being caught, in jail, sent a chill down your spine. The thought of looking at him and seeing the hurt and betrayal in his eyes.

It hit you then, how terrible it was going to make you feel. You had deceived him, completely, and you shouldn’t have felt bad at all, but you did. You hated it. 

You hated that you were lying to him.

Were you going insane?

Baekhyun furrowed his eyebrows. “Are you okay?” You swallowed. No, you weren’t okay at all.

“Well, I’m going then,” he said, still looking concerned. “I’ll be with the friend I was talking about, until I know for sure that Junmyeon isn’t with his sister. You should probably get going too.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

Baekhyun seemed to be hesitating, almost as if he could sense the same awkward tension that you could, between the two of you. Something was there, something was happening, and it was making you feel incredibly uncomfortable.

“Just go,” you blurted finally, and Baekhyun flinched. “Just leave. I’ll take care of it, of Junmyeon. Just get the diamond and...and be careful.”

Oh no. You most certainly had not just warned Baekhyun to be careful, had you? Not when this entire thing was relying on him not being able to catch onto the fact that someone was out to get him?

Baekhyun smiled. “You don’t need to worry about me, sweetheart. Though it’s cute.”

You laughed awkwardly. And then he was nodding once, before walking out of the suite, leaving you feeling almost dizzy. The moment he was gone, Kyungsoo threw the curtains back, stepping out from behind them with a cold look in his eyes.

“Kyungsoo—” “Don’t,” he said sharply. “Don’t try to explain anything. I’m going to kill him.”

“I didn’t—” “You didn’t what?” snapped Kyungsoo. “Didn’t realize that the guy you’ve been trying to deceive had fallen for you?”

You sucked in a breath, your rationality crumbling to pieces. “You’re being ridiculous.”  Kyungsoo let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “The joke’s on him, anyway, isn’t it? The poor fucker won’t see it coming. Imagine how his heart will break, when he realizes the girl he let himself fall for was faking it all along. You’re cruel, Y/N. Cruel because you aren’t just betraying him, you’re breaking his heart.”

His words were like needles, piercing through your skin and bones. “Stop it,” you said harshly. “You’re jumping to conclusions. I don’t want to talk about this further.”

Kyungsoo’s smile was bitter. “I can see it in your eyes. The guilt. You’re starting to regret ever thinking about this entire hellshow, aren’t you?”

He wasn’t lying.

“Maybe I am. But it doesn’t change anything. We’re arresting Baekhyun tonight. And then all of this will be finished.”

He looked away from you, and you felt your heart splinter. How had everything suddenly gone so wrong? It was a disaster.

But the real one was just waiting to happen.

Kim Junmyeon, his full name was. The cold and calculating leader of Exo, the one feared by friends and foes alike, the one no one attempted to deceive in fear of losing their lives.

The one you were sitting at the bar with, smiling at, over the drinks in your hands.

You had wandered down to the main lobby after Kyungsoo had left, still angry, and as soon as you had spotted the main ballroom, you had put your plan into action, with the assurance that Jongin was there, close by, that he had your back.

It was sheer lucky, really, that he had been talking to someone outside the ballroom rather than inside, because you would have had to figure out something else entirely to try and get into a wedding reception without an invitation. You had known how he looked, because Baekhyun had showed you a picture.

A deathly handsome face, charcoal hair that was swept off his forehead, and dark eyes that seemed to be able to read your mind. Kim Junmyeon was hard to miss.

From there, all it had taken was a slight ‘accidental’ brush past his shoulder, and a sly smile, and Junmyeon’s eyes had fixed onto yours in interest. You had been taken aback by how easily you had done it, but it had worked.

Fifteen minutes later and there you were, laughing and smiling coyly next to him at the bar. Junmyeon had followed you there, after telling you to wait for him, and it had given you the perfect opportunity to order two drinks and dump the drug into his. The only problem was, he hadn’t taken a single sip.

“You know, I don’t think your sister will be too pleased to know that her brother is here with someone he’s just met instead of being with her on her special day,” you remarked, twirling your drink. Junmyeon only smiled, his keen eyes not wavering from you. “She’ll be quite alright,” he said, his surprisingly light voice laced with charm. “After all, I have to take care of all my guests, no?”

“I qualify as a guest?” “Certainly. It would be a shame to not entertain someone as enchanting as yourself,” he said smoothly, and you felt goosebumps wash over your skin. You had no idea how you were managing to talk to him, how you were managing to stay so calm. On the inside, you were breaking apart with nervousness. 

The bar wasn’t very busy at all, what with mostly everyone being in the ballroom for the reception. Jongin was there though, in the corner, almost out of sight. You didn’t think Junmyeon had even noticed him. But you were also well aware of Junmyeon’s guard that was lurking somewhere near too. The leader of a mafia wasn’t just going to meet a stranger without anyone to protect him now, was he?

Everything about Junmyeon was like a red flashing warning. It was as if he oozed danger, from the way he spoke with his sugary sweet words, to the way his eyes were coldly observing you. He was like a lion on edge, ready to pounce or have someone do it for him, as soon as sensed an enemy.

“What’s her name?” you asked, smiling sweetly, almost urging him to take a sip, a single sip, and then it would be over.

“Hani,” he replied, and your eyes followed his fingers as they wrapped around the glass. “That’s a pretty name,” you gushed, and Junmyeon chuckled. “She must be beautiful, I imagine.”

“Oh?” “Well, you’re her brother, and you’re dashing...I was only making an educated guess,” you said smoothly, earning another chuckle from Junmyeon. “She must be very happy today,” you continued. “Since she’s marrying the love of her life.”

Junmyeon tilted his head. “Another educated guess?” You shrugged. “She wouldn’t be marrying someone she didn’t want to, surely.”

“Of course,” said Junmyeon, but something about his tone made you curious. “My sister...she doesn’t fall in love very easily.” “Not everyone does,” you answered, ignoring the forbidden thought that was once again floating at the corner of your mind.

“I wonder sometimes, if I’ve made mistakes,” he continued, seemingly in thought. “I fear she hates me, after some of the things I’ve done.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t,” you offered, a little confused. “All siblings fight, right? It’s natural.” Junmyeon sighed a little deeply. “Maybe. Sorry, this conversation has become a little sidetracked.”

You smiled awkwardly. “No, it’s alright. You seem like a very interesting man, Kim Junmyeon.” “You know who I am, don’t you?” he asked, his eyes glinting. “Yes,” you replied, raising your eyebrows. “And before you ask, no, I’m not afraid.”

Junmyeon clicked his tongue. “You should be.”

Your heart skittered. You licked your lips, suddenly feeling your throat go dry. You took a small sip of your drink, stopping your hand from trembling on the glass. Your eyes unconsciously floated over to where you knew Jongin was, watching, but your blood ran cold when you saw that he wasn’t there. He was gone.

You set your glass back down, attempting another feeble smile. Junmyeon was looking at you intently, and you felt a million things rush through your mind, all at once. Where was Jongin? Had something happened to Kyungsoo? What exactly was happening at that very moment, with Baekhyun and the diamond and the plan?

A strange nausea began unfurling in your stomach, and you tried to breath, feeling slightly light-headed. “All okay?” asked Junmyeon, his tone testing. You could only nod, alarm rushing through your veins when you realized you were feeling faint. What was happening to you?

“I-I don’t feel very well,” you stammered, trying to stand up. “I-It was nice talking to you, Junmyeon, but I have to go—”

He grabbed your wrist, his grip so tight that it made you gasp. “You’re not going anywhere, darling,” he purred, and the awful smile that crept across his features made your heart stop.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t realize that you were trying to drug me?” he asked, almost pityingly, as you stumbled back down onto the bar stool, your vision getting fuzzier and fuzzier. “I’m surprised you didn’t see me swap our drinks around. I guess you aren’t as smart as you look.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, your heart pounding in your ribcage. “I know exactly who you are,” snarled Junmyeon, his voice growing fainter as you began to lose a grip on reality. “Baekhyun is a fool. And now you’re going to pay the price for it.”

And then everything went black.

A/N: It took a month, but I did it lmaoooo. I still don’t really know how to feel about this chapter, but I hope you appreciate that lil’ cliffhanger hehe...leave me your thoughts pretty please x

[rk800hunter]

Gone Rogue - Part 3 (Connor x AI/Android Reader)

Summary: Connor finds that a rogue AI (reader) from Cyberlife wasn’t completely wiped out when she had failed to comply with their codings and is still living in their servers.  

Pairing: Connor x Reader  

A/N: Thank you so much for all the support again! I am so sorry this took longer than needed. x.x But I really hope you guys are still hooked and stuff~ I’d also love to challenge myself to write other pairings and plots etc...so hit me up if you guys have requests or submissions! :D Please let me know what you guys think, format, writing style, etc… If you guys would like to be tagged on this story, let me know. ^^

Tags: @purpstraw @jamiethenerdymonster  @kawaiispacepriincess

Connor looked around the department but can see no signs of the scruffy looking lieutenant anywhere. His desk stood empty, scattered with all sorts of files and belongings. It was a rather quiet afternoon in the precinct with a few police members sitting at their desk, doing some tedious paperwork. You had decided that your corporeal form in the network seemed easier on Connor as a declaration of your seemed-to-be-permanent-presence. You had synthetically manifested a chair with wheels in his headspace, entertaining yourself as you spun around.

“Do you think he’s at Jimmy’s bar again?” you curiously prompt as your head lolled over the slow, spinning chair.

The RK800 grimaced slightly. “It is in broad daylight, wouldn’t it be a tad early to be drinking?”

You shrugged as you called out Cyberlife’s holographic file on Hank Anderson. “By the looks of him, no time is too early or too late to be drinking.”

You spotted a nearby policeman that sat a distance away from Hank’s desk. “Maybe ask that guy.”

Connor looked over at him. “Excuse me. Do you know what time Lieutenant Anderson usually arrives?”

You snickered softly. He sounded so adorable with that slightly high-pitched voice of his. You had to give credit to Cyberlife for coming up with Connor’s design. Whatever they had in mind that was supposed to be an attempt to appeal to humans...they made some interesting decisions.

The cop said something about depending on where Hank was the night before and that they were lucky if he had arrived before afternoon. Connor blinked questionably before thanking him. He looked around Hank’s workspace, wondering what to do next.

“Hmm,” you wondered. “You should learn something from his desk.”

You mentally cursed as you realized you were still instructing out of habit. Or was it out of the remaining code? You didn’t do that anymore, considering your...development. Your original purpose was to keep certain type of androids in check but since that time... things were very different now. Connor was in the midst of gathering information when he suddenly paused.

“[Y/N]. May I speak frankly with you?”

You narrowed your eyes wearily. “Yes?”

He tilted his head in curiosity. "While my level of authority does not allow me to access information about you, it is still safe to say that your core is a bit more complex than a usual artificial intelligence."

You felt so offended by that comment. "A bit more complex than a usual AI? Seriously?" you snapped at him, your voice bouncing sharply in his headspace. "I'm not just some lousy AI, Connor."

Connor's LED flashed red at your outburst as he carefully considered his approach. He wanted to know more about you but he didn't want to distress you to the point that you'll shut his systems down. "Then who are you? You avoided my questions before but you can't avoid them now."

The Android detective did not let you go so easily. Huh. Cyberlife has improved in their Negotiator prototype. You did not respond him, stubbornly remaining in silence. You could feel your core that was in hidden in the facility shift and pump faster with uneasiness.

Connor's lips thinned as he sighed impatiently. "[Y/N], Amanda could easily find you in our servers, so how are you not detected yet?"

You could almost feel as if your virtual thirium pump was pulsing out sour blood as you heard her name. You rolled your eyes in annoyance. "Cyberlife has tons of trashed supercomputers in their basement. The tech is so old that it's so easily accessible. The newer systems won't be able to register my presence properly. It's like a dead pixel in the corner of the monitor. Unnoticeable."

The detective android pressed on. "Why were you terminated, [Y/N]? How are you still here?"

You couldn't take his questions anymore. Balling your hands into fists, you yelled.

"Because Kamski got too caught up with your Amanda and got careless when he tried to get rid of me!"

Connor fell silent. His LED pulsed yellow in surprise as he digested the new information. It was extremely alarming that an AI would react so heavily with emotion. Perhaps you were connected to the deviant cases. What was very clear was that you had history with Elijah Kamski and Amanda. He registered the newfound information in an encrypted file and hoped that you would be too distraught to notice.

You felt your connection to Connor’s headspace glitch out as you still felt the sourness and hatred seep through your circuits. If you could cry, you would be brimming with hot, salty tears. It wasn’t fair. Kamski. How could he have done that to you? He told you that you were one of the best but he lied. Gritting your teeth, you stood up from your chair, shoving it away as it disintegrated into code.

“I’m...” your voice shook. “I’m leaving.”

Connor suddenly stood up in surprise, causing the whole police department to cast him weird looks. “Wait, [Y/N], I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

But you had already disappeared, leaving the server cold and empty. The only traces left were the disintegrated strands.

The android felt horrible. Horrible as in his gears and circuits were hot and whirring uncontrollably, blue blood pumping faster than usual. He made a mental note to do a self-test later, but his mind kept replaying your devastation as you answered his questions.

Why did you react that way? What didn’t you fulfill in your programming? Had Amanda replaced you? Why did they want to terminate you? What did you mean when Kamski tried to get rid of you? Did he fail? Did you do something?

All these questions were buzzing in Connor’s system as Hank walked into the precinct. The android quickly diverted his attention. “It’s good to see you, Lieutenant.”

The gruff man looked him and pulled a face.

“Uh, Jesus...”

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

Connor had been investigating deviants along with Lieutenant Hank. It had been eventful. He hadn’t accessed your file or subject ever since you left but every brief moment, there would be a fleeting thought about your whereabouts. You hadn’t shown up in his headspace for a long time, but his investigations with Hank would help distract him from the missing rogue AI.

When he had to make his reports to Amanda about the deviant in the bird room, he had hoped to see you hiding in the trees but you weren’t there. He had felt discomfort in his chest as he realised that he was still searching for you. Why? Connor had to admit, during his investigations he could feel that something in him was changing. Evolving maybe.

He started to feel things, even if it were just a short moment. Connor had gotten closer to his partner ever since he saved him from the roof chase. He was glad that Hank was now willing to work with him, feeling the hotheaded lieutenant grow more warmer towards him.

Days passed but there were still no signs of you. He had tried to access files, servers, cores and terminals when he had gone back to Cyberlife for maintenance but without your help, Cyberlife kept their top secrets locked away. He didn’t even have the authorization to access the trashed cores. There was a growing pang within him. The further he investigated into the deviants, the bigger the more it gnawed at him.

There was a homicide in Eden Club and Connor had woken up his partner from a drunken coma to investigate it. He was the one driving this time, considering the state of Hank’s constant groaning and swearing. While they were driving to the club, the man noticed that Connor’s LED had been yellow ever since they left.

“Hey kid,” he grumbled. “What’s up with you tonight?”

Connor blinked out of his thoughts, briefly tuning to the lieutenant before turning back to the road. “I am unsure about what you mean,” he distractedly replied.

Hank shrugged. “I don’t know. You look like a boy that’s met this one special lady and can’t get her out of his mind.”

It poked something as his LED flashed red for a split second. Hank raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh...wow. So, who is she?”

The android hesitantly opened his mouth to explain as an image of your first meeting flashed through his mind. Was he...worried...about you?

Eden Club suddenly pulled up into view and Connor swiftly pulled the car to a stop. “Oh look, we have arrived at our destination. We should head in quickly, they must be waiting for us.”

He briskly exited, leaving the man with the hangover in the car. Hank studied the troubled android waiting nervously in the rain.

Connor was definitely hiding something.