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dwindlinghaze · 1 year

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back at you

(peter parker x reader)

summary: the five times peter stood you up and the one time you did it back.

contents: angst, hurt/comfort, fluffy ending.

　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

i. empire state building

"hi love!" peter waves at you before sitting down on the bench with his arms around you. "i miss you."

"hi pete," you say back, planting a small kiss on his nose.

"are you free tonight?"

"if i purposely forget about my stoichiometry homework then i am," you grin.

he laughs at your joke, "i want to take you on a date on top of the empire state building. we haven't been on a real date lately and i've been a really terrible boyfriend for that reason so i want to fix things up. so- er what do you say?"

"sure, i'll be there," you answered.

"no, i'll pick you up at six and swing you up there," he insists.

"i've never been swinging in a thin sticky line before. i don't know how to feel about this offer," you make a face.

"come on it'll be fun i promise! just hold on to me and i will make sure you're safe."

"alright," you smile at him under the may spring weather.

when evening came, you were picking out outfits to wear to the date. you don't want it to be too much, because you'll be swinging high up in the air. you picked a comfortable outfit, ready to wait for peter to arrive at your door.

but he didn't come.

fifteen minutes have passed and still- no calls or messages.

you began to worry, thinking he's in a spider-man trouble but you believe in him to know that he will escape any inconveniences because he's smart and agile.

an hour has passed. no calls or texts.

you felt disappointed. you were really looking forward into this because peter's life has been replaced with spider-man lately and you've been replaced by new york city.

thirty minutes later, peter called you, saying he was sorry for not making it.

"hey lovely, i'm sorry. i really am. please forgive me, there's a robbery on the subway and it took me quite sometime to beat them all up," he says breathlessly with the sound of the wind.

"oh yeah that's fine," you say, trying to hide your disappointment but he hears right through it. "are you okay?" you ask him.

even with your disappointment, you still asked him how he is after the fight.

"i'm quite alright. i can pick you up right now and we can head to the empire state building right now."

"pete, i have to finish my stoichiometry homework."

"i will do it for you."

"have you finished it?"

"no," he admits, a beat of silence filling the line.

"well, i will see you tomorrow then. good night."

"good night, i love you, sweets!"

"love you too," you say before ending the call.

ii. ice cream

you met peter two days later, his state more jagged somehow. new bruises and scars on his face. you notice how he now wears long sleeves instead of the normal graphic t-shirt he wore with a science joke screen printed on them.

"hi pete," you reach for him, taking his hand in yours.

peter smiles a lopsided smile.

"i haven't seen you since our supposedly date day," you say, "are you all right?"

"i'm sorry about that," he replies, scratching his nose which made the dried scar torn open. "ugh-"

you pull out a napkin from your bag, folding it before pressing it against his bleeding skin. "who did this to you."

"no one, i just fell while swinging," peter says, kissing your hand that rests in front of his lips.

"this is not a bruise, it looks like someone did this to you," you say.

"let's forget about this okay?" he takes both your hands. "an ice cream date tomorrow?"

"sure," you reply.

"hey you didn't sound too pleased with that," peter remarks.

"i'm just worried pete, what if being spider-man makes you dead?" you say.

"stop, i'm not going anywhere," he assures you as he squeezes your knuckles. "tomorrow at three?"

"three in the morning or evening," you ask jokingly.

"at dawn, sweetheart," peter plays along. "i'll be there tomorrow. meet me at the ice cream shop okay?"

"i will," you agree. "let's go home, it's getting late."

"i'll walk you home," peter insists, throwing his arms around your shoulders.

as the two of you walked home, peter's spidey tingles were tingling. he ignores it at first but then sirens came so he looks at you sadly. you nod, urging him to help the police.

"i'm sorry love, please text me when you get home. i love you," he yells as he disappears behind an alleyway.

"bye, i love you too," you whisper, starting to walk back home.

the next day came and you are now sitting on a booth inside the ice cream shop. the time is now three o'clock sharp and you are waiting for your boyfriend to walk through the door. your eyes are glued to the street outside, wishing every person passing by is peter parker.

three thirty, and still no peter. the waitress asks you for your order but you decline it, saying that you're supposed to be meeting someone.

three fourty five, still no peter. you wonder how pathetic you look sitting here in the warm dim light alone surrounded by sweet couples.

you start to worry about him, then you start to question yourself on why you're here alone. peter was supposed to be here forty five minutes ago. he was supposed to be here sipping milkshake and inhaling mint leaves to make you laugh.

you fumble with your fingers, heart tripping and falling with no safety net.

the waitress you talked to earlier came with a tray of strawberry ice cream with a sympathetic look on her face. "here, for free. if you were a cartoon character, there'll be a cumulonimbus cloud hovering over your head," she says, pushing the tray to you.

"oh thanks," you say tiredly, "you don't have to y'know, think i'll be leaving soon anyways."

"it's fine. my manager wouldn't be happy to see someone sitting here without ordering any of our menus," she declares.

"but you said it's for free?," you say.

"she wouldn't know. it's a gift for me to you because clearly your 'someone' is supposed to be here but they aren't. hope this makes it up."

"thank you, dorothy," you read off of her name tag.

four fifteen, still no sign of peter but the tv above the counter was showing a scene of spider-man fighting a criminal on top of a roof high up.

you sigh, eyes shooting bullets at the tv screen.

you pack your belongings before heading back to your home. once again, peter stood you up.

"oh my god," you screamed when you heard a crash behind you. you reluctantly turned around, only to see peter on the ground with his hair messy and unruly. "are you fine?"

peter stands up, shaking the dusts off of him. "love i'm sorry! i'm sorry! i'm-"

"peter, it's fine," you put on a smile, even though your intonation screams disappointment.

"it's not, just because you're smiling doesn't mean i didn't mess up," he says apologetically.

"you have your duties. i can't force you to throw it away like how you do your chores."

"don't make jokes now," peter sighs, "are you still up for it? i'll buy you every menu in there."

"i'm tired. i've been sitting inside there for over an hour i just want to go home," you admit.

"at least let me walk you home," peter insists once more.

"okay.." you start to walk away down the block.

"i'm sorry, honey. please forgive me! how about we move this to tomorrow?" he asks.

"i don't think you'll like it there," you say.

"hmm? why's that."

"because i think i fell for the waitress that was there," you try to joke around to make him feel less guilty. he already has so much on his shoulders and you don't want to be one of his baggages too.

"who? i'm not letting a stranger take you away from me," peter makes a salty face.

"secret," you giggle. peter takes your face between his hands before planting sloppy kisses around your face.

now it's like everything is perfect. peter kissing you under the sparkling lights of new york's buildings on the sidewalk.

iii. star wars marathon

"ah y/n hi sweetheart!" aunt may opens the door to greet you. "peter told me you were coming over for movies"

"hi aunt may, is he here?" you ask her as you take off your jacket and put it on the rack.

"i thought he was coming with you?"

"oh yeah! i was supposed to meet him at the skatepark but he told me to go here first," you cover up for him. peter hasn't told may about spider-man yet and you want to keep him out of trouble.

"oh alright, have you eaten dinner?" may asks.

"i'll wait for peter first, aunt may, thank you."

"you can wait upstairs, peter wouldn't mind," aunt may offers.

"i know," you smile at her before coming up the stair to his room.

you opened his bedroom door, taking in the surroundings. his room is extremely messy. like a wrecked ship. you climb up his bed, making yourself comfortable on his bedsheets.

it has been hours since you arrived and peter still wasn't here. he was taking so long to the point where you feel asleep in his bed.

you felt sick in your stomach. all you ever hope for is peter's safety out there.

you woke up when a crash was heard from his fire escape. your body jolt up, your full attention is now on his fire escape.

"oh y/n! i forgot about our movie date!" peter say once he saw your face. "i'm so sorry, please believe me. i was looking forward to it but i i got carried away! oh s-"

"pete, come here," you say sternly.

peter freezes, looking at you like a deer in headlights. he is ready for your scolding as he walks over to you but his thoughts were quickly pushed away when you rub his arms tenderly.

"what happened, darling?"

"nothing too bad," he lets out a breathy laugh. "you should see the other guy."

"no i don't want to see whoever did this to you," you say in disbelief. "stay here, i'll help you with these," you point to his new scars.

"i have super healing, it's fine, love," he assures. "just come here please. let's watch star wars together."

"um i think it's getting too late," you say much to peter's disappointment.

"what do you mean? it's only eight thirty, we can watch one movie!" he starts to replace his suit into his pajamas, ready to watch with you.

"i have to get home, my mom needs me to... uh wash her dishes," you tell him. it's not that you didn't want to watch with him. you're too moody and upset to be around him for now.

he has been absent for dates three times in a row and you feel like you were fighting alone.

you left peter alone in the bed. you can practically feel his melancholia floating through the air.

"hey aunt may, i'll be going now," you bid goodbye to her.

"oh goodbye sweetie," she says. "make sure you get home safe alright? peter should walk you home!"

"that won't be needed, i'm fine aunt may."

"all right," may smiles warmly at you despite the cold air of the night.

when you arrived home, peter has sent you twenty five messages in a row. each of them being

'i'm sorry'

'please answer me, love'

'get back to me when you're home safely."

'pls get home safe'

'i love you'

and those messages over and over again.

iv. science laboratory

since that day, peter calls you over and over agin wishing you'd pick up. and you did.

you answered his call only for him to say that he was sorry and he's going to plan a date again.

you were tired of him asking you for dates and ended up being alone. you rejected his offer, saying that you have some family stuff so you won't be able to make it.

and peter knows

he knows that you're upset he has been leaving you alone on dates.

so the only time left for him with you is for the lab homework. you two are lab partners and you had suggested to do it in your house.

firstly because you don't want to walk home alone in the dark, and secondly, you don't want to lie to aunt may again. knowing that one way or another, peter will probably get home late.

you sat on your sofa, waiting for him to knock on the door. you place out the text books on the tables, set out glasses of water, take out some snacks from your fridge. and peter is not even here.

waiting for him has got you tired so you decided to do the work done yourself.

you already got most of the answers required then peter shows up; drenched in sweat and blood at your window.

you heard the tapping from below and immediately sprint upstairs, knowing it is peter.

"hey, uh i'm sorry," he winces as he steps inside your bedroom.

"hey pete, it's fine," you say, trying to assure him. "come in, let me fix you up."

peter nods, letting you take care of him. "you sound tired," he points. "are you alright, love?"

"that question should be asked to you!" you reply. "okay, here, just sit in my bed, it's fine."

peter does as you say, "sorry about this," he waves his fingers at himself with a bitter laugh. "and also our lab work. sorry."

"it's fine," you say again as you wipe the blood off his face gently. "i've done the work, most of it. you can finish the rest."

"what?" peter asks wide eye. "i- i was supposed to do that with you!"

"pete, calm down. i will let you finish the rest here. you look terrible."

"huh," he breathes. "nothing too bad."

"are you sure you could still do the lab homework?" you say, worried.

"yes love i am capable," he puts on a convincing grin.

"okay..."

peter starts to do the work while you rub his back soothingly. "if you're tired, that's fine. take a nap in my room."

"no i'm not," peter scrunches his nose, eyes squeezing shut.

"okay..." you continue.

v. chocolate cups

that night, peter has asked you to go on a date. and you didn't have the heart to reject him in such state.

the way he smiles when you said yes can melt every butter in the world.

he planned to go to the new chocolate themed place. from the advertisements, it shows to be an ideal date place for a romantic relationship.

you waited there, on the front. waiting for him. you actually has hope this time of peter showing up.

the place was cute and warm. displaying an unreal scenery. you saw couples walking in and you smile at them discreetly. they looked incredibly happy and in love. you can't wait for peter to get here so you can have the same happiness as they do.

you stand there, in the middle of the porch. he is already thirty minutes late. you see pity looks sent to you by people around. but still had hope.

but as each second passes, your faith in him was fading. you didn't know if new york really hates you or it's just a coincidence that whenever you and peter were supposed to be on a date, the city will have something coming up.

you decide that your waiting was too long so you come home. it was humiliating to say the least. the way other people looks so happy while you were feeling crestfallen.

those pity looks didn't make anything better either.

although you understand peter, being spider-man is hard. you have to constantly push your personal life aside to save the whole city from dangers.

a part of you wishes he didn't push you aside like his other things.

vi. the one time

days after, when you are calmed down from that upsetting and humiliating day, peter told you about this dinner place that he was looking forward to trying.

he knows you love culinary and this was perfect for the both of you.

you agree to going there with him, making a promise to be there.

he promised whatever happens in the city, he's sure it's nothing the police can't control.

the day came and you we're fighting your own mind about going or not.

you believe in peter. he's your boyfriend. he does not break promises. but there's always something coming up in evenings like these.

there's always something avoiding you two to be together.

so with the conclusion, you stayed at home.

peter on the other hand was worrying on the table he rsvp-ed. not only you haven't arrived yet but also you weren't answering his calls.

the worst possible scenarios come to his head. clouding up his thought in a fog of bad dreams.

he does think that he deserves this. having the humiliating feeling of when your significant other didn't show up on a date, in a room full of tenths of people with their pitiful eyes.

he couldn't wait no more so he goes straight to your home, hoping that you were there.

it was raining heavily, his neat shirt that you had given was soaked. his hair is dirty with mud and dirt.

and you are. you were reading a book in the dim lit bedroom. he knocks on your window hastily, hoping that you can hear him outside in the rain.

"peter?" you spoke. making your way to your window, the sight that flashes before you was unexpected.

you didn't think peter would actually show up so saving your energy by staying at home and get 'sorry' messages were expected. but not this.

"peter what are you doing?"

"did you forgot?" peter asks sadly, shivering from the cold rain.

"about our dinner?"

"...yes."

"i just thought you wouldn't show up. and i don't want to be in a situation like our previous date plans," you admit, feeling guilty.

"we made a promise, didn't we?"

"yes, pete. i'm sorry. i'm just so tired of standing alone in a room. i'm not going to let that happen to me anymore. i thought something was going to come up because that's what happens in our date. every one of them."

"but we promised. you didn't trust me enough to keep my promise?" peter asks, heartbroken by the thought.

"no! that's not what i'm implying. you always put new york's happiness above mine and i just- i don't know. doesn't seem fair. new york has its own police, government, and what not but you are my boyfriend. my best friend. i miss being with you. like actually being with you."

"love, i didn't realise how much i've been pushing you aside for this city. and you're right. i am your boyfriend and i'm supposed to make you happy- not neglected. i'm sorry."

"yeah,"

"yeah, and from now on i will balance peter parker and spider-man. just call me if you need me, and i'll show you just how much i care about you. more than anything."

"even new york?"

"yes!" peter exclaims. "i guess we're even."

"no, you stood me up five times. and i only did it once!" you joke.

"well that's true," peter says bitterly.

"pete, i'm only joking. i'm happy you're here," you say.

"you told me you missed me. and i do too. so why don't we spend time together. like, right now?" peter suggests.

"yes we can."

"movies?"

"star wars marathon?"

"i'll get the snacks."

#tasm peter x reader #peter parker angst #peter parker and reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #peter parker x you #spider man x you #spiderman x reader

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esouliie · 7 months

Text

AN ANGEL FLUNG OUT OF SPACE

(natasha romanoff x fem! reader)

– synopsis | falling in love with your childhood bestfriend might have been one of the best yet scariest things to happen to you. but what happened in the summer of ‘97? what happened to your darling natalia?

– warnings | little fluff & a lot of angst, kind of au (no avengers), child abuse, mentions of: attempted suicide, self harm, body mutilation, burn marks, severe malnourishment (18+)

– notes | this was supposed to be a oneshot but, as usual, i spiralled out of control and now it has two chapters… potentially three? merci, mon alice, for the header @wandasgf ♡

[ word count: 4.4k ] Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

JULY 1992

The sun had begun to set and yet the warmth of the day still lingered. The glow of the street lamps cast an amber hue on the pavement, outlining the familiar houses that lined the quiet street. The air was filled with the scent of summer, a blend of fresh grass and the distant fragrance of blooming flowers. In one of the houses on the street, a family gathered in their backyard for a summer evening barbecue. The smell of sizzling burgers and sweet barbecue sauce wafted through the air, and the faint laughter of children chasing each other echoed, while the adults lounged and swapped stories.

Meanwhile, across the field, two girls were beneath the sprawling branches of a willow tree. A patchwork quilt, covering a section of flattened grass, held a tea set long forgotten as they had rounded the thick trunk, the littlest one already perched on the wooden swing.

“Push me higher, Natty!” You exclaimed, voice full of glee. You were only a small girl with wild hair and a toothy grin, but your spirit was boundless.

Natalia smiled brightly, her own eyes sparkling with joy at her friend's excitement. “You’re already so high you could see the Empire State Building.” She teased, her laughter blending with the sound of chirping crickets amongst the long grass in the distance.

“I know!” The wind whipped against your face, and you couldn’t help but let out a joyous laugh.

Inseparable since Natalia moved in next door, your friendship blossomed under the protective branches of the willow tree across the street, where a swing hung proudly in the breeze. Its gentle leaves whispered secrets that only the two of you could hear, dreams of the future etched upon its bark, as unadulterated laughter rang true with its sway.

She whistled as your head swung back, the carefree spirit of the summer evening enveloping her in its warm embrace. And as she gazed up at the tree’s opening, she found twinkling stars above and the imaginary distant silhouette of the Empire State Building visible on the horizon. She couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder at the vastness of the world she had yet to see.

"Whoa, this is amazing." You shouted, feeling your stomach drop with each swoop. "Let’s swing all the way to the moon!"

“Maybe not the moon,” She pushed harder, her hands gripping the thick plank of wood beneath you, “But let’s try for the stars."

You shouted with as much euphemism as your little body could handle as the swing reached its peak. Weightless under its motion, you were suspended between the sky and the ground.

An angel flung out of space.

"I can almost touch the stars!"

She smiled. Despite her hands being rubbed red raw from rope burn, she was happy. She was always happy to be with you. While she had her younger sister, Yelena, whom she cared for deeply, it wasn't the same as having you. A friendship of her own creation. She yearned for the summer days when she could run around like a child with you.

“That’s good, that means you’re almost home, little star.” She shouted, her accent slipping out ever so subtly.

Carefully, your hand stretched toward the night sky – a poor attempt to touch the boiling balls of gas above.

You both were happy.

It’s sad what became of you both.

All too soon, reality intruded once more. The distant sound of a heavy door opening cut through the air, a gentle reminder that all good things must come to an end. With a final push, Nat stepped back and held onto the plank, commanding it to a halt. She knew what was coming.

At first, you didn’t notice her disappear around the wide trunk. But the gentle clink of pottery against one another told you enough as you followed in her footsteps.

“Natalia,” You whined, hands on your waist at the sight of the older girl cleaning up. “No, it’s your turn to swing.”

A whistle pierced the air, its familiar shrill sound gaining both of your attention. The sound of home time. “Natalia, come. Time to go.” Her mother’s voice carried just as loud, urging the redhead to leave playtime behind.

She turned to you, her expression softening as she looked down at your smaller frame. With a mixture of reluctance and understanding, she pulled you into a tight embrace, the warmth of her arms wrapped around you, the gentle press of her lips against your forehead lingered for a moment before she released you and ran off into the gathering dusk.

Alone now, you watched as the field fell silent, the only sound being of the insects hidden in the dark. The swing on the other side croaked gently in response to the light breeze and the redhead’s swift departure. For a moment, you considered sitting on it, perhaps pushing yourself back and forth on the points of your feet. Instead, you find yourself standing there: the absence of your best friend ever so palpable, a void that sunk deep into your bones.

Without Natalia by your side, the swing held little allure, and you decided to make your way back home. With your large basket in hand, you reached your own doorstep and paused, casting one last glance towards the girl’s house. The lights were on inside, casting a warm glow against the darkness outside.

You almost missed it, but a glimpse of red hair appeared out the window, followed by a hand waving at you. As soon as you waved back, she was gone. Window shut. Curtains drawn.

You went to bed with a cheesy grin plastered on your face.

You’ll see her again tomorrow.

AUGUST 1997

“Natalia, stop fighting me on this. You look like a popsicle.” You laughed and shoved the girl playfully from where you were sitting against the willow tree.

“It's cool.” She defended, as her hand tugged at her blue-dyed ends.

The years had rolled by, but the memories of that swing under the willow tree lingered on in your heart. As the seasons changed, so did your life. You made new friends, explored different interests, and navigated the tumultuous journey of adolescence. Being older than you, Natalia was already in high school, but she didn’t go to any in the district, as she was home-schooled and sometimes had to leave for a while. She never really told you why.

Even so, your bond deepened and an unspoken connection developed between you both. Under the tree's comforting shade, you discovered a warmth in your heart that went beyond friendship. Those lazy summer afternoons spent laughing, dreaming, and sharing secrets created a bond that you wanted to explore further.

You’d never felt like this before for anyone.

Only Natalia.

Life as a pre-teen was so confusing.

You snorted, “Yeah, okay, you leave for a month and come back with half of your hair a different colour.”

But it wasn't just the hair colour that captivated you. It was the way she carried herself - a wisdom wise beyond her years. She was the same goofy redhead of course - her eyes sparkled with mischief when she laughed at you, her hand held the same warmth in yours as you walked together. But there was something else lurking beneath, a sadness more notable than her usual melancholy. You noticed the slight furrow in her brow, the way her fingers tapped nervously against each other.

Something was weighing on her mind, something significant. So, you asked, “What’s wrong?”

She let out such a soft sigh that you almost missed it.

“I’m leaving.”

Dread washed over you, and a knot formed in your stomach. "Again?"

She had just returned the other day. Your mind raced with questions and uncertainty and the tears already clustered your lash line. You, a child with no need to mask her emotions, no need to hide her soul, unlike Natalia, who always seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders, her laughter always accompanied by a subtle sadness, as if she were trying to conceal her true feelings behind a façade of cheerfulness. But today, as she sat you down with a gentle tug, her eyes betraying a mixture of resolve and sorrow, you sensed that she could no longer hide what she'd been keeping inside.

"It's for good this time," she murmured, her gaze fixed on the ground as if unable to meet your eyes. "My parents want to go back to Russia. They don’t like it here.”

Though unspoken, you sensed the weight of what she meant. They don't like you. It stung, a silent acknowledgement of the barriers you've fallen blind to. The odd glances from her mother, the subtle disapproval from her younger sister—all pieces of a puzzle you've tried to ignore.

Her admission hung heavy in the air, the reality of separation sinking in with each passing moment. She drew closer, her delicate fingers brushing away the tears that cascaded down your cheeks. You lifted your gaze to meet hers, noticing the weariness etched into her features, the telltale signs of tears already shed hours before.

“I’ll miss you.” She whispered, forehead flushed against yours, before leaning down to kiss the corner of your lips. An almost kiss. One of many shared underneath the cover of the willow tree.

You tasted saltiness and noticed the fresh tears that had now sprung from her eyes.

“I'll miss you too. Forever.”

The next morning, you stood outside her house, as the sun cast long shadows over their lawn. It was your last full day together so you arrived bright and early, not wanting to waste any time. You reached out to knock on the door, but your hand hovered, hesitant. The house remained still, as if holding its breath, waiting for something that would never come. You glanced around, searching for any sign of life, but the windows stared back at you blankly, revealing nothing but darkness within.

“Natty?”

Nothing.

A sinking feeling gnawed at your stomach as you realized they must've left in the night, slipping away like shadows fleeing from the dawn. The same way they joined this neighbourhood.

With a heavy heart, you turned away from the empty house, feeling as if a piece of your soul had been torn away with their departure. The world already seemed colder, lonelier, devoid of her warmth and laughter that once filled it.

In the days that followed, you found yourself drawn to the tree – yours and Natalia’s safe haven. You sat there, surrounded by memories, as the rope swayed in the wind - empty and forlorn. Though still magical, the willow tree could no longer shield you from the loneliness that settled in your heart, as the summer months stretched on endlessly, a blur of empty hours filled with longing and regret.

That night, you slept with a permanent frown, a puddle of tears staining your pillow.

You won’t see her again tomorrow.

APRIL 2001

From afar, she looked different. Almost unrecognisable.

Eighteen years old and she was here: barely an adult yet taller and slimmer, with a cascade of auburn curls framing her face that replaced the short blue hair you remembered. The years had engraved themselves onto her, carving the once-round face into a pointed visage that spoke of both experience and loss.

Just as beautiful as you remembered.

You sat on the swing under the tree with a book in hand, lost in its pages until light danced between the branches and a flicker of movement caught your attention. Glancing up, you froze as you saw her across the street.

Natalia?

Your heart quickened its pace, memories flooding back in a torrent. But this woman was different. She’d changed. She’d grown.

She noticed you too, her gaze locking onto yours for a moment. There's a flicker of recognition, a spark of something in those eyes. For a heartbeat, it feels like time hasn't passed, like you're still the same two little girls taking on the world together. But then, just as quickly as the connection formed, she averted her gaze, choosing instead to continue on her journey. She walked with purpose, footsteps marching in a steady rhythm that both connected and distanced her from you. She couldn’t get caught up with you. She had a job to do.

Realising she was going to walk away, you pushed yourself off the swing, a mix of hope and nerves swirling inside you as you discarded the book somewhere in the grass.

None of that mattered. Natalia was here. She was back.

“Hey, wait!” You shouted, practically running after her. You reached out to grab her wrist, but she jerked away, shoving you back a few steps with surprising force.

Up close, the difference was unquestionable.

The once soft and kind Natalia had evolved into a hardened version of herself, sharpened by strong fists. Her eyes once filled with innocence, now harbour shadows of pain and resilience. She exuded an aura of toughness, and a guarded silence had replaced the laughter that used to be a melody in her voice.

“Natalia? What are you doing here?” You inquired, tentatively closing the gap between you both. You watched as she winced at her name falling from your lips.

And yet, this time, she didn’t evade your touch. Her hand trembled slightly as it met yours, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. In that fleeting silence, you took in the toll life has taken on her. Her arms bear the marks of countless scars, remnants of battles fought in shadows, and bruises of varying hues.

“What happened to your arms?” Your voice is gentle, a soft inquiry borne out of concern.

But, the sudden confrontation had her retreating into herself, defences rising once more like impenetrable walls. You mustn’t know. She could never do that to you. “Let go.” She demanded sharply, her tone cutting through the air like a knife.

Caught off guard, you hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to proceed, but that’s long enough for her to decide to rip her hand out of yours, sharp and abrupt.

“Are you okay?” Your voice was barely a whisper as you watched her practically flee, disappearing around the corner of the street.

You don’t follow her.

OCTOBER 2012

Funny how throughout life, fate seemed to play a game with you, pulling Natalia in and out of your orbit like a cosmic dance.

At twenty-seven, you found yourself entrenched in the fast-paced world of trauma nursing. After the arduous journey through medical school, you packed your bags and set your sights on the East Coast. New York City welcomed you with open arms, its vibrant chaos becoming the backdrop to your new life. From your boss’s office window, the silhouette of the Empire State Building stood tall, a symbol of strength amidst the chaos below.

You thrived in this environment, relishing in the opportunity to connect with and assist people in their most vulnerable moments. The adrenaline rush of the emergency room, the delicate balance between life and death—it fuelled you in ways nothing else could. Not since that summer night. Not since you tried to touch the stars.

Today, however, the hospital was enveloped in an air of secrecy and quiet urgency. Paramedics had rushed in with a new patient a few hours ago, shrouded in mystery as they were rushed straight into surgery. Usually, you're first on-site with incoming patients but you had been busy working your rounds to be able to assist, and there were enough on the trauma team – with the security clearance - to handle such a situation.

Stopping by the bedside of your oldest patient, Mrs. Dinton, you smiled sweetly. “Hey, Mrs Dinton. How are we today?”

"Ah, there you are, dearie," she said, her voice crackling with age. "I was just telling Nurse Molly here about the delightful hospital pudding they serve on Wednesdays. It's simply divine, don't you think?"

You chuckled softly, waving a hello to your colleague. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a fan, Mrs. Dinton. But I'm glad to hear you're enjoying it."

She laughed, a sound like tinkling bells. "Oh, well, means more for me then."

Before you could continue the conversation – could reprimand the elderly woman about how she needs to watch her sugar intake - Dr. Cho appeared at your side, her expression serious. "Excuse me, ladies. But, Nurse Y/N, is needed elsewhere." She says kindly but with a hint of urgency, no room for questioning. You and Dr. Cho were great friends, having graduated med school together and now working at the same hospital.

“What is it, Helen?” You asked, following her footsteps out the ward, navigating the labyrinthine hallways of the hospital.

“I’ve been assigned postoperative care for the Jane Doe and I want you with me...” Your heart dropped at the mention of the mystery woman.

All day, the hushed tones and covert glances exchanged among your colleagues hinted at the gravity of the situation. Their whispers that followed you through the hospital corridors spoke of a failed suicide attempt. While the hospital had sadly seen its share of such cases, this one was different – a Jane Doe, requiring an unusual degree of privacy.

“…while I don’t know any more than you about what happened, I trust you the most to help me with her. So I got you clearance. Go grab us a pair of gloves, I’ll meet you inside.” Helen finished with a nod before entering the private wing.

You donned your own pair of latex and made your way back to the private wing, the click of your shoes echoing down the corridor. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation and concern. The weight of the unknown pressed upon you as you approached the room where the troubled soul awaited treatment. Few years being a trauma nurse, you had seen it all… but not a Jane Doe. Never a Jane Doe.

Upon entering, you found Helen already studying the patient's chart. The subdued lighting in the room cast a sombre mood, and the machines hummed softly in the background. The Jane Doe was laid on the hospital bed, head secured in a neck brace and a tube down her throat, a silent testament to the ordeal she had endured.

“Thanks,” Helen whispered, making her way over to retrieve her gloves. "I've gone through everything in the notes. The attempt was pretty severe."

You nodded, taking in the gravity of the situation. The silence was broken only by the soft beeping of the monitors as you both began your work. Each movement was deliberate, and each procedure executed with precision and empathy. You adjusted the IV drip, checked the vital signs, and made sure everything was in order.

Sometime later, Helen had left, her pager going off as her presence was needed with another incoming patient. The room seemed to hold its breath, but it was only you. The machine to your right, making sure the woman was still breathing.

You read over her notes once more.

“Female, 5’7…” You ramble aimlessly to no one as you find yourself unable to voice the rest.

The laceration on her neck caught your attention. The wound stretched across her delicate skin, a jagged seam where the surgeons' skilled hands had meticulously stitched the deep gash closed. The edges of the cut were puckered slightly, evidence of the trauma dealt with by the knife paramedics found next to her unconscious body. Judging by the shape, it seemed like she plunged rather than sliced, the offending weapon, then, pulled out instead of left inside. She was quite malnourished, her cheeks hollowed out, collarbone visible as the gown drowned her thin figure. She lacked a sufficient amount of muscle. You wondered how someone could go unnoticed without eating for several days. It was as if she had become a ghost, fading away in plain sight.

The woman looked ill - eyes sunken with abnormally pale skin. Drifting down her body, you noticed her legs. A horrified gasp threatened to leave your lips. Raised red lines covered the expanse of her legs, some scabbed up, some clear burn marks that had turned into blisters. Her arms were just as bad, marred with a history of wounds that ran from her wrists to her shoulders.

Behind all the equipment, her face was almost unrecognisable. Her hair was what stood out the most, the auburn curls matted with blood. A sense of familiarity washed over you, the red striking your curiosity.

You couldn't tear your gaze away as you watched her stir. Unsure if she was waking or simply moving unconsciously, you remained still, not wanting to startle her. But then her face contorted with pain, and her lashes began to flutter open.

The sheets rustled as she tried to turn, her discomfort evident from the way she struggled against the tubes and wires tethering her to the medical machinery. You couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for her, lying there in such a vulnerable state. No identity. No family to be there for her.

"Stay still, please.” You whispered softly, stepping closer to her bedside. “You're in the hospital. You’re safe."

Her eyes, clouded with pain and confusion, met yours for a fleeting moment before flickering away. She seemed to be trying to process where she was and what had happened.

“Paramedics found you unconscious and rushed you in.” You explained gently, hoping to offer some semblance of clarity amidst the chaos of her thoughts. “You had a wound to the neck. We’ve managed to close it, so don’t move around too much. Otherwise, you might open the stitches.”

Her gaze drifted back to you, and for a moment there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes. It was fleeting, gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, but it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You saw as she went to speak, only to find pain and a heavy weight against her tongue. “Careful. You shouldn’t try to speak yet. We’re not sure how much damage has been done to your vocal cords.”

As if she didn’t hear you, she continued fidgeting, fighting against the intrusion in her mouth, panic overriding.

“Hey, listen to me,” you coaxed, voice soft but firm, your hand reaching out to settle over hers, the glove long forgotten. “I need you to calm down, please. You’re going to be okay. You just need to rest your voice.”

Her eyes darted to you, wide with fear and frustration, and you squeezed her hand gently, offering what little comfort you could.

“It’s going to be alright, just take slow breaths. Focus on that.” You started to breathe deeply, deliberately, hoping she'd follow your lead. Inhale... exhale... in a steady rhythm, like waves lapping against the shore

As you continued to focus on stabilising her breathing, your eyes inadvertently met hers, and in that moment, you were drawn into the depths of those vibrant green orbs. They held a world of pain, swirling like a tempestuous storm beneath the surface. Yet, amidst the turmoil, there's a glimmer of familiarity that tugged at the corners of your memory.

There’s something about her you can’t make sense of.

Why does she look so familiar? Who is she?

“Do I know you?” You almost asked, but then suddenly, the door to the waiting room clicked open, and Helen strode in, her expression wavering as she noticed the woman awake. “She’s awake already?!” Shock and bewilderment visible on her face.

She advanced, quickly spewing off questions in your direction, as her eyes narrowed in on the woman, assessing her condition with a quick, practised glance.

"She's awake, a little panicked about being in a hospital, but also a bit disoriented," you explained, voice calm despite the urgency of the situation. "Vitals are stable for now.”

With that, you stepped away, dropping her hand you had forgotten you were still holding, as Helen went to introduce herself. Your lunch break was coming up and before you could turn to leave the room, Helen stopped you. "Thank you for staying with her," she said softly, "There was a car accident. Two little girls rushed in for surgery. They needed me."

You nodded in understanding. You couldn’t fault her. Every day seemed to bring a new challenge, a new story, and today was no different. This Jane Doe was no different.

Before you could delve deeper into your thoughts, she interrupted, “Anyways, I’m here now and pager is off,” she drew your attention to the device in her pocket, “Boss’s order... now go take your lunch break.”

With a small smile, you left the room, the door softly closing behind you. Walking down the hallways, your mind buzzed with curiosity about the woman. Her face – those eyes - nagged at the edges of your memory, like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

Where do I know you from, Jane Doe?

#my fics! ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 1 year

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Okay, okay, okay, hear me out.

Au where Dannys family is a legit crime family/family of evil mad scientists. Like, full career criminals. Instead of hazmat suits they're decked out in high tech armor and masks and have codenames. They move around pretty often to throw the police off thier trail.

The lab accident that makes Phantom still happens despite his parents not being obsessed with ghosts/being only partially obsessed. They were trying to build a portal to the ghost zone as a way to expand their list of potential targets/a way to escape if the cops get too close to catching them/ expand thier criminal empire if you're going for a more hard-core fic (like a mafia au or something idk)

Phantom is a superhero who follows them from city to city and stops the families more serious crimes where people actually get hurt. Danny of course never tells them that he- thier brilliant evil mastermind son- moonlights as a superhero

One day Danny, in the middle of a heist with his family, is startled by the appearance of a thin glowing red string on his finger. Fascinated, Danny pesters his parents for weeks until he eventually states "I'm going no matter what you do or say, so you can either help me or get out of my way".

They reluctantly agree to let him 'Go on a journey' to find his possible soulmate/whoever is on the other end of the line and give him all sorts of gear and give him a teary goodbye

Meanwhile, the teen hero in the dc universe that literally got wacked with an unknown magical object is upset that they've been benched from active duty until the string disappears as its a threat to thier secret identity.

Then this other kid shows up and just...hangs out with them? And the string leads to them?? How did you get in here my dude???

#dp x dc #fanfiction prompts #prompts #danny phantom #danny fenton #bonus points if its like tim drake or something #and danny is just like: good news hes super cute #danny: bad news hes rich and sometimes talks like a politician #tim: how did you get in here???#danny: i broke in :)#danny: dont worry i will protect you dear civilian #tim: ((O-O))#danny: soo...do you wanna take apart some of my tech?#tim:...you would let me?#danny: sure!

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astroboots · 1 year

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EVERY YOU EVERY ME #11.5 SPECIAL

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Let’s start from the beginning one last time.

Word count: 5,800

Warning: Heavy angst and character death. Dead Dove do not eat.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

Let’s start from the beginning one last time.

My name is Miguel O’Hara, and in an experiment gone wrong, my genetic code was partially rewritten with Spider DNA, giving me superpowers.

My home is Earth 928-C where I was the one and only Spiderman... of my home dimension at least.

I invented and built a dimensional travel device that allowed me to jump between universes with the goal of exploring the limits of the multiverse.

And then I met a woman in this other world who nearly died from a crazy freak accident.

I saved her of course.

Then I saved her again.

And again, and again.

... And again.

We fell in love, and I decided to stay with her in her world.

You know the rest. We got married. We had a life together.

I was happy. Really happy.

For a while.

[Earth 383-D]

3 YEARS AGO

"Goddamn idiot bird," Miguel mutters under his breath.

Vulture is on the loose again, wreaking havoc on the city. The maniac is flying high above the city grounds, leaving a trail of mayhem in his wake.

Miguel's been in pursuit for the better half of two hours. In that time, the bird has derailed the High Line, literally hit a traffic light and managed to knock over the spire on the Statue of Liberty as if he was flying under the influence.

Then somehow flew across town through Tribeca, along Lower Manhattan and Greenwich Village and now reached all the way to Midtown Manhattan.

Dumbass ugly stupid bird.

Miguel digs his claws into the exterior of the limestone and granite of the Empire State Building to steady himself, using the momentum to leap forward.

The Vulture crashes into a skyscraper 50 feet ahead of Miguel, and in the mad dash, he can see a man tumble out of the building head first to the ground from the 30th floor.

Swinging forward, Miguel slings out a web from his palm, catching the screaming and sobbing office worker in midair and lands briefly against the windowpane. He ensures the man is secured to the building in a cocoon of webbing until the fire department can get him to safer grounds.

Miguel doesn't even get a second to catch his breath. From afar, he can pick up the sound of another window being crashed into by the unwieldy metal bird.

Crap.

It's impossible for Miguel to both chase the Vulture and keep everyone else in his path of destruction safe. One superhero can't be in two places at once (none that he has encountered).

Gritting his teeth, Miguel leaps off the building swinging freely into the air to make up on the lost ground between him and the metallic cuckoo bird.

He needs backup, and the backup is unfortunately running late.

Where is he? Why is he always late?

Does that man not understand that when someone calls for backup because of an emergency, the emergency part indicates that there's some urgency to it?

Flying through the air 100 feet above the ground, from the corner of his eyes, Miguel catches the familiar garish red flowing cape that billows from the cowl of the grand cloak and suit.

Miguel would know that weird wizard get-up anywhere.

"Strange!" Miguel calls out, and he can feel irritation rattle in his chest. "You're late! Where the shock were you?"

"The word you're looking for is 'fuck.' Where the fuck was I," the man responds with a sarcastic drawl.

Strange levitates through the air, effortlessly without expending any energy at all as he catches up with Miguel. "You gave me no notice. Be happy I showed up at all."

From a distance he sees the dumb bird soar high up into the sky and towards the all too familiar crowned roof of the Chrysler building.

No. nononono.

Why is he there? What is he doing there? Anywhere but there.

His back flashes cold then burning hot as the Vulture makes a straight beeline for the familiar building.

It’s fine. Maybe he’s not going to fly in there. Maybe he’s just going to fly past it.

Miguel watches as the metallic bird soars up and up and up, past the midpoint of the building, past the 40th floor of your office and up to the 50th floor. The tight squeeze in his chest eases.

Then the vulture stops, mid-flight and looks down below, as if he changed his mind, before he descends again.

Shit! Shit! SHIT!

He dives into one of the windows between the 40th and 50th floor. The sound of broken glass and shrill screams can be heard even from where Miguel is.

Blood freezes in his veins and nausea overtakes him. Calm down. Breathe.. Maybe you’re not in. After all, Lyla’s security protocols would’ve been activated by now if you were. He would’ve been alerted.

Soaring through the skies, Miguel reaches over to his wrist to punch in the dial for Lyla to check in and reassure himself you're safe. But his tracker blinks back in an alarming red, and he darts down his head towards the display.

Error.

His heart stops.

The flying silhouette reappears through the shattered windows and the metallic harness strapped onto the vulture gleams bright against the sun.

It’s only then it hits him. Lyla's been deactivated by the madman's stupid Electro-Magnetic Harness.

Why hadn't he foreseen that as a technical flaw?

Against the reflective glass panes, Miguel sees you, caught in the Vulture talons like a mouse captured by a large predatory bird. Every hair on his neck stands on end. His vision bleeds into red, blood roaring at the sight of it.

Kill him.

Miguel's gonna murder that freak for touching you. Crush his windpipe so he can't ever squawk again, then rip his throat out with his claws and feed it to the street pigeons for good measure.

Launching himself through the air, Miguel tears up the side of the building. The tempered glass beneath his claws and feet, shatters into sharp jagged pieces as he closes the distance.

He is almost within reach. Only some 30 feet that still separates you from him. Leaping the final distance he slams hard into the side of the Vulture until metal crunches beneath his feet.

Miguel roars until his throat burns with it. Palms gripping at the man’s jaw and prying it back to get at his bare throat. His fangs are ready to sink into the jugular. He can see the dark pupil of Vulture's eyes dilate with fear.

Good. Miguel's anger will be the last thing this freak sees.

"Miguel calm down," Strange shouts at him from behind. "You're gonna knock her off."

Miguel freezes at the warning, forcing himself to hold still as he looks down to where you are dangling precariously from the Vulture's claws.

"Be ready," Strange shouts, and Miguel looks to him, not understanding what the hell he means.

Strange rests his hand over the shiny blue gem hanging around a chain from his neck.

What does he mean by be ready? What is Strange going to do?

"What'd you mea–"

Miguel doesn't have a chance to finish the rest of his sentence. An unnatural force vibrates through him. A pulsating wave that pervades his senses, punching through his lungs and knocks him back.

In an instance, you're propelled away from Strange and the Vulture, and you are freefalling towards the ground below.

Miguel leaps mid-air, arms outstretched to catch you as you plummet towards the ground below. His fingers clasps around your wrists, your warm skin against his fingertips.

He's got you!

Taking hold of you by the arm, Miguel pulls you into his chest as he wraps one arm securely around your waist.

Immediate relief fills him from the inside out as the adrenaline and the searing anger is already starting to fade now that he knows you're safe.

"You okay, nena?" he asks.

You nod, arms finding purchase around the back of his neck, and squeeze down tight. He swings you both to the safety of a nearby rooftop.

There's barely time for him to touch the surface, he hears the nearby explosion and sees Vulture crash into the concrete wall of the nearest building.

Strange is levitating nearby, hands making wild gestures, presumably to perform some hocus pocus ritual. There’s a magical glow as strobes of light manifest out of thin air surrounding the Vulture from all sides and wrapping around him in a restraining bind.

Miguel sets you down. You're a little bit wobbly on your feet, and seeing you stumble the way you do has that protective streak spark anew in his chest.

Stupid Strange. He can't just do shit like that.

What if Miguel hadn't reacted in time? What if you had fallen?

This is why Miguel hates working with the guy, even if they’re friends. Always on his moral high horse about Miguel being reckless, then he pulls shit like this.

"Everyone alright?" Strange asks as he levitates through the sky to set feet close to you both on the rooftop.

Miguel grits his teeth with annoyance at the man’s casual demeanor when he nearly threw you out of the sky.

"Shock you, Strange," he spits out.

"Miggy..." you sigh in a reprimanding tone next to him.

Stephen shakes his head at him. "I told you. It's fuck"

"Fuck you, Strange."

Sanctum Sanctorum is closer than home and Strange has, comfortable sofas in his ridiculously big mansion. Big enough sofas that Miguel can actually lounge in them comfortably without it feeling cramped. It's why, given the choice, he always prefer to regroup there, over your tiny apartment.

Besides, while the man's control over his magical powers can be suspect at times, he used to be a doctor. Supposedly one of the leading brain surgeons in the world, and Miguel is a lot more comfortable at the prospect of Strange giving you a checkover to make sure you don't need further medical attention than trying your luck at one of the local ERs.

"Follow my finger," Strange says as he shines a little flashlight into your eyes and moves his index from side to side.

Your eyes follow him dutifully, and Strange proceeds with the rest of his medical check, asking you the boring standard questions. "Any symptoms of dizziness, lightheadedness, or a sense of vertigo?"

He fires them out in rapid succession, and a bit too perfunctory for Miguel's liking.

"Noticed any changes in your vision, blurriness or double vision, etcetera etcetera?"

Miguel's jaw tic in irritation at how Strange is putting in minimal effort and just going through the motions.

"Yeah, you're fine." Strange pats your knees, then whisks the flashlight away into nothingness with his cape.

That medical check wasn't anything close to thorough. Miguel crosses his arms over his chest. "Are you sure? Her feet were wobbly before, I wanted to make sure she didn't sprain her ankle."

"A little bit overprotective as always aren't we?" Strange says.

Miguel shoots the man a glare and Stephen sighs, "Her reflexes are fine, I don't think anything's sprained."

"Check again, you seemed sloppy," Miguel accuses.

"You know, I'm doing this as a favor because you’re a friend. Do you have any idea how much a medical examination by one of the leading neurological surgeons in the world would cost you normally?"

"I'll have Lyla transfer the money."

“No, it’s not actually about money just–" Stephen shakes his head, then sighs. "Nevermind.”

He gestures for you to drape your leg across his lap, then he reaches over to gently assess your ankle as requested.

"What is this necklace?" You ask. You lean closer to Strange, inspecting the blue gem where it rests against his chest.

Strange swats at your hand, the way an adult scolds a child with sticky chocolate smeared hands trying to touch the fine china.

"It's a protection amulet. When activated it forms a protective barrier that forcibly repels everything within ten feet of you."

"Huh," you reach back for the amulet undaunted by the earlier reprimand, fascinated and clearly enamored by it. "I'll give you fifty bucks for it."

Strange looks offended. "It's not for sale, and if it was it would certainly be worth a lot more than fifty dollars. It's a genuine magical artifact, not fake costume jewelry from the theater department."

You purse your lips, considering the amulet.

"Forty," you offer.

Miguel has to choke back a snorting laughter in his throat at the way Stephen's eyes goes wide in confused outrage.

"Wait, why is the price going down?"

“We’re in the middle of an economic crisis, Stephen,” you counter.

Strange's head darts over to where Miguel sits, presumably for backup, but he's knocked on the wrong door. The man must be mad if he thinks that there is ever a world where Miguel would side against you.

"Strange, we both know it’s easier if you just give her the amulet." Miguel says.

The man sighs, shaking his head in defeat.

"Be careful with it," he says as he drags the chain over his head to place it in your awaiting palms. "And don't lose it like the invisibility amulet with Mysterio. Had to spend a whole month clearing up your mess when that creep used it to get into the women's locker rooms at every local gym in Greenwich!"

"That wasn’t my mess! Miggy lost that one during an aerial fight. You can't blame that on me."

"You married him, so you're responsible for him. I consider you two jointly to blame."

"Now you're just lashing out," you shoot back.

Miguel watches the two of you in patient boredom, his head propped up by an elbow on the arm of the sofa. He expended way too much energy during the fight, and now he needs to refuel.

If Miguel leaves you two to it, you'll spend an eternity bantering, the way you do. His stomach growls. He wants food. Wants wantons and beef ho fun and a dozen custard salted egg buns for dessert. And the longer you two are at it, the longer it's going to take for him to get it.

"Nena," he calls out, "I'm hungry. Are you two done? I want to go for dinner."

You shoot Miguel a quick smile, pulling out your wallet and take out a wad of green bills then fold it into Strange's hand with a happy grin.

Strange looks down at the crumpled up money in his hand. "Wait, you're only giving me thirty? I thought we said forty."

"You still owe me like ten bucks from mini golf last week."

Strange pockets the money with a grumble. "Unbelievable."

“C’mon,” Miguel says as he stands up and gestures to the both of you with a curt nod of his head towards the door. “Let’s go. I’ll pay for dinner this time,” Miguel says, and that seems to abate Strange’s outrage somewhat as the man grabs your coat from the sofa cushions and offers it to you.

Life on Earth 383-D is strange.

Life here is borderline primitive. The technology is something out of the stone ages.

Social media is a wasteland. Reality TV is a dystopian concept. And he doesn't understand who Kardashian is or why everyone is obsessed with her and her family.

He does like fax machines though. They are basically teleportation machines and it boggles him that the people of your dimension do not seem to understand its potential.

The one thing he will give this version of earth credit for is that the food here is nice. Everyone in his home dimension is too health conscious, and fried food has long been banned by the government for the long term damage it does to the cardiovascular system.

He also likes the life that the two of you have built together here. You have a home in that tiny shoebox apartment. You have friends. Strange friends. Like the Doctor who flies around with the help of a magic cape and now practices the mystic arts after a gap year in Asia. A young girl whose main superpower is the ability to communicate with squirrels. Then there’s that ugly red-masked wise-cracking, katana-wielding maniac who never dies.

Sadly, your friends are not the only thing that is strange about your surroundings.

Miguel perches himself on top of the Chrysler building sitting hunched over on the ledge of the roof. He’s drained and bone-tired, chasing down a helicopter that had gone haywire and was hurtling towards your office building.

Luckily Strange was able to assist and sent it through a magic portal to crash into the Atlantic without putting any lives at stake.

"Just had to do some cleaning up," Strange says as he sets his boots back down on the ground.

Miguel doesn't answer him, staring out at the city view and the setting sun as he takes a well earned breather for a moment or two. New York is a bit of a shit hole, but it does look pretty from a high viewpoint, especially when the sun is setting, Miguel has to give this city that.

It's silent between the two of them. Or at least it is until Strange decides to break it with a harkle of his throat. When Miguel doesn't react the man does it again, coughing discreetly in a clear attempt to get his attention.

Miguel doesn't say anything about the man's sore throat. He ran out of the lemon drops you bought him as snacks hours ago, but he does tilt his head up at the man.

"She's been getting into a lot of these incidents lately. More than usual, more than any normal human for it to be a coincidence" Strange says.

The whole of Miguel's back stiffens.

"Have you noticed the abnormal uptick in strange unexplainable supernatural occurrences lately? Indoor tornadoes. The rain of poisonous frogs outside of whole foods. A sinkhole appearing right next to the cafe your wife frequents."

Miguel doesn't love the insinuations. Even with his lips pressed tightly together, Miguel can feel the small muscle in his jaw flex like a nervous tic at the mention of it. Because yeah, he's noticed, kind of hard to miss when your wife's life is in constant peril at all hours of the day.

Ice storms in July that hit right outside your workplace. An inexplicable solar flare causing a blackout that had every single vehicle within a 5 miles radius go haywire in the dark near your apartment. A swarm of mutated mosquitoes with a venomous bite that chased you down Central Park.

The incidents are occurring more frequently. They are also getting increasingly bizarre and dangerous.

No one can say it’s just bad luck when the daily occurrences around you are defying the very laws of nature itself. Something isn't right with the universe, and he's not sure what else there is to do except pretend that everything is still ok.

"What are you implying?" Miguel asks through gritted teeth.

But for the first time in the years that Miguel has known him, Strange's talkativeness is nowhere to be found. He doesn't answer Miguel. He's smart that way, the clever bastard. Knows that if he says one wrong word, Miguel is going to unhinge his jaws like a feral alligator and snap at him.

Strange has said what he needed for Miguel to know exactly what he's getting at. The man just meets his eyes with an intentional stare, not shying away from Miguel's glare.

It's not like the thought hasn't crossed Miguel's mind. Not like it hasn't been keeping him up at night, every night.

Even though you've always been accident prone and suffered from bad luck, at this point it's a mathematical impossibility that anyone would run into as many near death incidents as you have.

This isn't by chance. It's by design. Miguel's suspected as much for a while now. He just doesn't know whose design and why.

"It's not her fault," Miguel spits out.

"I never said it was."

"Even if what you are saying is true..." Miguel stops, and stares down at his fisted palms with a sinking feeling in his guts. "There's nothing she can do about it to stop it. You can't put that on her."

"Whether she knows about it or not, if it's true, none of this is going to go away.

Strange walks over to where Miguel is, sitting down next to him.

"It’s been escalating in severity," he continues. "There are strange universal energies attached to her. There’s warping of the universal order and space around her. We don't know how bad this can get, if we don’t do anything about this, it could unravel the fabric of reality itself."

Despite the calamity of what Strange is implying, his voice is even and calm as he says it as if he might as well be discussing the weather. That trait has always annoyed the shit out of Miguel.

"What are you planning to do if this continues?" Strange asks.

It's such a silly question. Strange says it as if this is a multiple choice question. But for Miguel there's only one correct answer.

"Protect her. I have to. She's everything to me."

Miguel is staring into the sunset bu all he sees before him is your face even though you aren’t here. The happy smile that he wants to preserve forever. He tries to fight the ache that's building in him at the thought that it would go away.

"Strange, don't tell her. Please. She doesn't need that burden."

He fists his palms into his side.

Miguel never liked asking for help, but even he knows that if what Strange is saying is true. That if the universe for some unfathomable reason wants you dead, then he's going to need all the help he can get.

If Strange has figured it out. Then it's only a matter of time before others do as well.

Soon enough, you won't just have the universe coming after you but every superhero and villain combined in a united front to take out the common threat that you pose to this entire universe.

Even Miguel knows he can't do this alone and as much as that helplessness tastes like failure and bile in his throat, he can swallow his pride if it helps keep you safe.

"Stephen, you have to help me save her."

From behind, Strange rests one hand on the corner of his shoulder. The weight of it feels like a promise being made. For the first time in a long time, Miguel feels like he can breathe just a little bit easier.

"I will do what I can, my friend."

Weeks go by. There are more incidents. Runaway vehicles that go haywire. Electrical storm fires. Rain of poisonous locusts.

Somehow he manages to protect you from it all.

It just means that he has to be more vigilant, that's all. The universe doesn't rest and neither does Miguel now. Lyla has been set on constant alert to wake him up whenever he's napping at any small signs of abnormal occurrences happening near you, with an electric shock to make sure he wakes. Something the A.I. is taking a worryingly amount of glee in (which probably means he needs to retune her programming when he has time).

And today, today Miguel was meant to have a Sunday lie in. Universe be willing, his goal was to sleep all the way into the late afternoon and then you had promised to take him to IHOP and get him all the pancakes he could eat for late breakfast.

But right now he's not asleep. He's trying to. But there are hushed words and whispered murmurs, buzzing in his ear that keeps trying to drag him away from sleep.

It's you and Strange.

Judging from the distance of the noises, you're both standing outside in the hall. The fact that you two are trying to be quiet makes it worse. If you'd spoken in normal volume he could tune it out as white noise, but the conspiratorial quietness of it all makes the hair on the back of his neck tingle with alertness.

Fuck's sake. He swears to god if you two are gossiping and making fun of Hercules’ costume (or the lack of it) again.

It's too early for this crap. Don't you two know that people are trying to sleep? He was up all night chasing crazy Kraven worshippers releasing animals from the Brooklyn zoo. Miguel had to gather wild zebras and crocodiles all the way down East Village til 4am.

With a groan, he drags himself halfway up along the mattress, about to go and growl at you both to be quiet, when the cluttered noises register as words and the fuzziness of sleep clears momentarily.

"He'd destroy this world for you."

Huh? What are you two talking about?

Miguel's too groggy to make sense of the context of what's being said. Even with his super hearing he has to focus to make out the words.

"You can't let him."

Irritated, he gets out of bed and walks to the front door to swing it open. The first thing he sees is you standing with Strange in the hallway. You jump at the suddenness and look up at him with wide eyes.

You have the worst poker face of anyone he's ever seen in his life.

"What are you two jabbering on about this damn early?" he asks.

He'd expected the two of you to act coy, maybe a clever 'wouldn't you like to know' retort back from the Mystic. Instead, Strange's face is entirely inscrutable, tone serious as he responds.

"We were just catching up. Nothing important. I need to head back," Strange says, then he turns to you with a meaningful tilt to his head. "Think about what I said."

"What was that about?" Miguel asks you as he watches Strange step through a portal and disappear.

You don't say anything. There's a worried frown etched between your eyebrows as you bite down on your lip.

Something crawls under Miguel's skin at the whole interaction.

You're oddly quiet the whole afternoon. Deep in thought and walking around as if in a daze, which unsettles him.

It's not difficult for him to guess what's wrong. He might have been half asleep when you and Strange were whispering in the corridors, but Miguel can put one and one together. Having two PHDs and a lifetime's experience of working in theoretical physics gives you that leg up.

In a last ditch effort to get you out of the uncharacteristic blues, he orders a dozen of your favorite cupcakes from that tiny shop in New Jersey. It costs an arm and a leg to have it couriered, but it'll be worth it if it makes you smile.

Then he sits down next to you on the bed and places the pink pastry box down on the mattress. It's your favorite place to eat cakes and it’s why you two always end up with crumbs and frosting all over the sheets.

You happily cram half a cupcake into your mouth in one bite as you eat, and he watches you contently. If there was any fairness in the world, this quiet idyllic moment could last forever. In a good world, Miguel wouldn’t have to burst this perfect bubble.

Sadly, this world is neither fair nor good sometimes.

"Strange said something to you right?" Miguel asks.

You still next to him, clearly torn between whether or not to share what was said to you, probably in secret with the very intention of being kept away from him.

“Nena,” Miguel tries again, and you close your eyes taking a deep breath, caving into his prodding.

"Strange thinks that my incidents might be correlated with the strange natural occurrences lately."

That fucking asshole. He knew it. Irritation pings across his jaw, and Miguel bites it down. He tries to reel it, forcing back the rant that wants to surface. Instead he tries to focus on you instead of his own anger.

"We don't know that. It could just be a series of coincidences," Miguel tells you.

You nod, but Miguel's not an idiot and neither are you. He can see the worry creasing your eyes as you look down to your lap.

Putting down the cupcake, he reaches over and links his right hand with yours.

"Nena, don't worry.” He cups his free hand over your cheek to drag you up to meet his eyes.

“I'll fight the whole universe to keep you safe if I have to. Nothing's ever going to harm you so long as I'm here. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. You're the most important thing to me."

You smile at him at the words, but there's a wistfulness to it that embeds a dull ache in his chest that he wants to physically rub away to make it stop.

You lean into his touch, until your forehead presses up against his and the physical touch blunts the ache in him for a moment, putting it on pause.

"You’re the most important to me too," you say.

The sky itself cracks open not long after.

It doesn’t take the combined forces and intellect of the entire world too long to hone in on you being the root cause. Soon enough every superhero, mutant, villain and alien starts coming after you. Because hero or villain alike, no one truly wants their world to end, not if it’s not on their terms.

Mysterio tries to kidnap you by the elevator in your apartment building. The Human Torch even tries to burn the whole building down. The Punisher tries to murder you point blank outside your office.

Miguel can’t remember the last time he slept. He’s running on fumes. Day after day, he feels like he’s getting by on borrowed time.

The friends and allies you have thin out fast as the threats to the world increase in severity. Miguel never imagined having Deadpool standing outside his door stating that the life of one single person cannot outweigh the universe itself.

It’s all so stupid. None of them know what they’re talking about. A lynching mob with their torches and pitchforks. Never stopping to think whether harming you could trigger something much worse.

If Strange is right and you are the knot at the center of the fabric of reality that is coming apart, then ripping that out leaves a hole. Miguel gave up on explaining that fairly quickly because he realized that theoretical consequences doesn’t matter to an angry mob scared of facing the reality of extinction.

It all becomes a blur.

Exhaustion eats into his bones, until he can no longer tell the days apart. No matter how many times he saves you, disaster is always waiting just around the corner.

And now he’s chasing down the Green Goblin to the top of the Chrysler building from the 61st floor, where the green freak has cornered you to the edge of the rooftop.

Miguel is already out of breath, running away from the coalition of superheroes and villains that are hot on his heels, trying to stop him from saving you.

Adrenaline beats fast in his veins as he keeps running. Miguel is only able to make out those in pursuit in brief glimpses. The bright blue spandex suit of Reed Richards as his freakishly long elastic limbs stretch towards him. The blocks of metal hurtling towards Miguel, missing by inches and crashes into the side of a building as Magneto’s form hovers nearby.

He ignores them all, not sparing a glance behind him. He just has to keep moving. It doesn't matter that his muscles scream and burn in exhaustion. Doesn't matter that his head dulls with a heavy ache from lack of sleep. He has to keep going for you. Has to save you.

He's so close, he's almost there.

From the corner of his eyes, he makes out the familiar garish red flowing cape fluttering against the blue sky.

Strange.

Miguel marginally relaxes, at the sight of the sole ally he has left in this universe. He leaps across the rooftop, into the temporary safety of the observatory deck.

His feet doesn't even reach the ground. Something restrains him from behind. Bright lights materialize out of thin air. It wraps around Miguel's limb with the strength of unbreakable manacles, hugging him so tight it restricts the flow of blood to his fingers. Then he’s brought down to his knees.

Miguel whips his head back and Strange stands there, hands formed in a holding gesture.

“What are you–”

"I'm sorry," Strange says.

Miguel snarls at his restraints, wrenching and twisting in every direction he is able to even with the limited range of motion, but it's to no avail. The harder he struggles the more forceful the restraints seem to close in on him, mirroring his strength.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this. I really hoped there was another way but every life in the whole of the universe is at stake, Miguel."

Hot burning anger spears through him, and if he could he would raze it all to the ground with it. This place, this world and this fucking traitor standing there can all fucking burn. Miguel is gonna kill him. He's gonna kill this fucking bastard. He can't believe he trusted him.

“Strange, fucking let me… Stephen!”

He hears your pained shout and snaps his head towards the sound.

Miguel is only ten feet away from you. Ten measly feet from where the Green Goblin is holding you by the ledge of the rooftop. He can still reach you, if he can get free he can still save you.

Tearing through the magical binds, there’s a bone-cracking sound in his shoulder. Searing pain spreads through his arm. For all his struggles, he doesn't know if he’s even an inch closer towards you.

He watches you drop from the ledge.

It's a pin drop moment where everything stops. His heart is no longer beating.

No. This can't be how it ends.

He's moving forward, even as the sharp restraints digs into his limbs and flesh and burrows in with an excruciating ache. But the pain doesn't matter. All that matters is you.

It claws into him, and digs and tears, until he is sure that his entire limbs are going to be torn off, but he doesn't stop, keeps pulling against the resisting strength that surrounds him, rips against the hindrance embracing every ounce of the pain until finally, the pressure gives.

There's a cacophony of sound that's left behind him as he leaps through the air. He slingshots downwards, cutting through air as he tries to reach you.

Miguel catches your hand and relief fills his chest.

"I got you. I got you," he murmurs. He's not sure if those words are to calm you or himself.

Pulling you up in defiance of the pull of gravity, he tries to haul you up towards him. Your hand squirms in his, and if you keep going you're going to slip out of his grasp.

"Nena, don't move," he shouts in alarm, but you don't stop, twisting in all directions, making it harder for him to get a better grip.

What're you– You're resisting against his strength, why would you...

It hits him with a sickening realization.

You don' want him to save you.

"Stop!" he shouts. “Stop!”

You shake your head, tears filling the corner of your eyes that flow upwards and everything is upside down to him.

"We’re out of time. You have to let me go,” you say.

His fingers squeeze down even harder at your words, refusing to hear it.

“There's still time. There are still other options. I can still save you!”

Your hand reaches for the amulet pressed against your collarbone. Dread floods every nerve in his body as he sees your fingers squeeze around it.

"No!" He shouts. Screams it so loud it burns in his lungs. But deep down he knows it's not going to make any difference. "Nena, don't!"

The wind whips too loudly against his face. The sound of your heart pounding so painfully hard in his ear that it's deafening and he knows that sound will haunt him forever.

You're scared.

He sees your lips move, but he can't hear what you're saying.

But he's heard these words so many times before from your lips that he knows them by heart.

''I love you.''

An invisible force blasts away at him, it shatters through him through his limbs and torso into the very soft tissue of his stomach and makes his teeth shake. He's propelled upwards, unable to control his movements or defy the gravity that he's learned to navigate after all these years mid-air.

He holds on as hard as he can to your hand, but it doesn't matter. His fingers slip, his grip is lost.

You're falling through the sky.

Miguel doesn't remember much after that.

Somehow he makes it back onto the ground.

Somehow he finds you amongst the cracked dirty concrete.

Somehow, despite falling from over a 100 feet your body is still intact where it lies lifeless on the ground.

Your bones are broken though. Body limp and soft in his arms in a way that has never felt more wrong to him. His only consolation is that you're still warm in his arms, and he thinks that maybe if he just doesn't let go, if he holds you tightly pressed to him the way he is doing now, it'll remain that way forever.

The sky has cleared above. There are no cracks in the azure blue canvas.

This world is saved.

His world has ended.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: To @thirstworldproblemss who has been with me on this journey since chapter one without her enthusiasm and her companionship and friendship and listening to my wild ramblings about this story, I would never have set out to write this thing. She gave me so much joy in the process, she also gave me her time and her skills and brainy talent to help me process and brainstorm this into a shape that I was excited to share with you all! You also have her to thank for that devastating last line.

@guruan who has been a constant well of inspiration with her amazing art, her bright sense of humor and her sharing of theories of what's going to happen! You've made writing this story so much fun!

Author's note: Here we go guys, we've officially entered the final arc now. With only three chapters to go! I am so excited to share the remaining puzzle pieces with you all!

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse #marvel #marvel mcu #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you

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ameagrice · 9 months

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chapter thirty | fine line

percy jackson x fem reader

There are silver streaks shared by Annabeth and Percy, scattered through their hair.

It’s something that will connect them forever, you know for certain. It’s a symbol of a shared strength.

It’s just one more thing to make your heart melt.

Realistically, you should feel nothing but proud of them both, and in your own way, you do. But there has been too much loss to feel any sort of good from the ending, and you can’t get Zoe Nightshade’s death from your mind.

“I can see the stars, my lady,” she whispered, so gently you’d barely heard her at all. The wound on her side gaped, and bled, the golden ichor of an immortal on her way out. An inch of a smile appeared on her face, struggling, before it dropped, and the light faded from Zoe Nightshade’s eyes. A wisp of silvery light lifted from her lips, drifting up into the air, before it, too, faded.

In the sky, the stars showed an image of a girl, running across the sky. Zoe Nightshade had, finally, found her peace.

Atlas was in his rightful place. His daughter had been stolen from the world. Luke Castellan was kicked to his death by Thalia’s action.

Except, they couldn’t find a body.

Body, upon body, upon body. They just kept piling up.

Bianca; Zoe; Luke. Lost lives; people who could have had so much more than they were given.

But Gods who couldn’t care any less.

And if you had to, you’d bet they didn’t even know their names.

You could see now, just why Luke was so angry. Because you felt it too. And it was terrifying.

“You don’t believe me about Luke,” Annabeth said, sounding faded amongst your thoughts. “We’ll see him again. He’s just under Kronos’s spell.”

Thalia jolted away, somehow seemingly unbothered by the height at which you travelled in the sky, Artemis in the lead. “There it is,” she pointed, sitting up. “It’s started.”

“What’s started?” Percy leaned forward, catching your hair between his hand on the seat he held onto. You didn’t say anything.

High above the Empire State Building, Olympus was its own island of light. A mountain ablaze with torches and braziers.

“The Winter Solstice,” she breathed. “The Council of the Gods.”

In the early-morning darkness, torches and fires made the mountainside palaces glow twenty different colors, from bloodred to indigo. Apparently no one ever slept on Olympus. The twisting streets were full of demigods and nature spirits and minor godlings bustling about, riding chariots or sedan chairs carried by Cyclopes. Winter didn’t seem to exist here. The scent of the gardens in full bloom, jasmine and roses and even sweeter filled your senses. Music drifted up from many windows, the soft sounds of lyres and reed pipes.

Towering at the peak of the mountain was the greatest palace of all, the glowing white hall of the gods.

You touched ground outside towering, silver gates, just inside the courtyard. Pegasi travel was rather terrifying, and you were much more than glad to be alive and on the ground. Olympus glowed with warm, the kind that settled in your bones. The warm wind, blowing from nowhere, shifted your hair when you clambered down to the ground.

“Yeah,” Percy muttered.

“Huh?”

Percy froze. “Uh—the horse. Sorry! Pegasi.”

A laugh escaped you, startling in the night. Thalia turned, eyebrow raised. “Why are you talking to a horse? It didn’t say anything.”

“Didn’t I tell you? Haven’t I told you?” He averted his gaze.

“What,” you landed your hand on your hip, waving the other to the pegasi. “You talk to animals now, too, like Grover?”

“Just sea creatures. And horses. Pegasi, sorry!”

“Yeah, you’ll really have to explain that later,” you trailed off. “We’ve got more important matters at hand.”

The Pegasi flew off, leaving yourself, Percy, Thalia and your sister together. You liked to think, years later, laying on the glass floor of a ship, that you were all trying to gather the courage after everything to step inside the giant building, and face gods you had once only ever heard about in stories.

Side-by-side, you walked into the throne room.

Twelve enormous thrones made a U around a central hearth, just like the placement of the cabins at camp. The ceiling above glittered with constellations—even the newest one, Zoë the Huntress, making her way across the heavens with her bow drawn.

All of the seats were occupied. Each god and goddess was about fifteen feet tall. Under their judging eyes, despite your own mother being one of them, you were uncomfortable.

“Welcome, heroes,” Artemis said.

“Mooo!”

That was when you noticed Bessie and Grover, the latter standing at the side of a pool of water which Bessie swam in.

“Grover! You made it.”

He started to run towards your friends, then stopped, and looked back at Zeus, who up close, felt a lot scarier than he looked. You only realized then, that there was a major difference in terror of humans, and the intimidation of gods. You could deal with this kind.

“Go on,” Zeus nodded once. But he wasn’t looking at Grover—he was looking at Thalia.

None of the gods spoke. Grover’s hooves echoed on the marble floor, Bessie the Ophiotaurus mooing warmly at your arrival.

You took the time to observe the gods up close, because you might never get the chance to again. Artemis, looking as if she hadn’t ever even been hold hostage, watched the exchange between Percy and Grover. Percy’s father, Poseidon, dressed so casually you might have laughed in other circumstances, had this sort of barely-there smile on his face, bright eyes shining just the way Percy’s own did, too. Apollo, sunglasses covering his eyes, had his earbuds in, golden head of hair tilted back to the ceiling. And…

Ares. It was impossible to not feel him looking at you. Why the special interest, you wanted to ask. Do you see yourself in me? You wondered. Do I see myself in you?

Your eyes met his dark ones, a stark difference, between the extreme fatigue, and the colors. Your eyes burned with exhaustion and the tears you had shed since yesterday. He wore his signature black leather jacket, dark, dark hair being tousled by Aphrodite’s touch. When it was obvious her husband wasn’t looking at her, perched at his side, her love-ridden smile slowly fell away, and those sparkling eyes fell on you as well.

Or maybe it’s you, I see myself in. Too romantic. Too caught up in feelings. After all, you only had so much love to spare between friends, and the dead ones.

What do you see in me? You were desperate to ask, curiosity clawing at your chest. Why am I the way I am?

Gods sometimes took a special interest in heroes. All the tales told you so. You just had to wonder, what would come of this.

Ragged and bruised, you felt as though you were being picked apart under the watchful eyes of so many olympians.

You hadn’t realized Grover was doing the rounds until he yanked you into a hug. You found it in yourself to hug him back—at least he was still alive.

“Glad you made it,” you whispered.

“You too.” He nodded. Neither of you smelled amazing after this quest, but it went uncared for. A trouble shared is a trouble deeply understood.

“You have to convince them,” he said to the remaining four of you. “They can’t do it!”

“Do what?” You blinked.

“Heroes,” Artemis called. The goddess slid down from her throne and turned to human size, a young auburn-haired girl, perfectly at ease in the midst of the giant Olympians. She walked toward your little group, her silver robes shimmering. There was no emotion in her face. She seemed to walk in a column of moonlight.

“The Council has been informed of your deeds,” Artemis spoke loudly, addressing everyone in a steady, clear tone. “They know that Mount Othrys is rising in the West. They know of Atlas’s attempt for freedom, and the gathering armies of Kronos. We have voted to act.”

There was some mumbling and shuffling among the olympians, as if they weren’t all happy with this plan, but nobody protested.

“At my Lord Zeus’s command,” Artemis said, “my brother Apollo and I shall hunt the most powerful monsters, seeking to strike them down before they can join the Titans’ cause. Lady Athena shall personally check on the other Titans to make sure they do not escape their various prisons. Lord Poseidon has been given permission to unleash his full fury on the cruise ship Princess Andromeda and send it to the bottom of the sea. And as for you, my heroes…”

She turned to face the other immortals.

And that, was the moment you saw your mother for the first time.

Dressed in a beautiful white dress, draped over one shoulder, her eyes, as gray as your own, as gray as Annabeth’s appeared lost in thought. You took the chance to just look at the woman you never thought you would meet.

“I gotta say—” Apollo cleared his throat. “These heroes did okay.” He began to recite. “Heroes win laurels—”

“Um, yes, first class,” Hermes interrupted with a side-eye in his brother’s direction. You were unable to help the smirk. “All in favor of not disintegrating them?”

A few tentative hands went up: Aphrodite, Demeter, Apollo—waving his iPod.

“Hang on a minute,” Ares growled, sitting up on his throne. He pointed at Thalia and Percy, on the other side of Annabeth. “These two are dangerous. It’d be much safer, while we’ve got them here—”

Don’t say anything, you begged yourself. Even Annabeth elbowed you.

“Ares,” Poseidon interrupted. “They are worthy heroes. We will not blast my son to bits.”

“Nor my daughter,” grumbled Zeus. “She has done well.”

You leaned forward around your sister, who visibly shook, pale, in need of a lie down from the looks of things. Thalia blushed—you grinned wickedly. All the things you could do with this moment in the future.

Athena cleared her throat. Annabeth sighed. The goddess leaned forward. “I am proud of my daughters, as well. But I agree—there is a security issue with the other two.”

Annabeth elbowed you a little too late, this time.

“Mother!” You exclaimed.

Your heart dropped and splattered on the ground. Never had you addressed her as such. And never had she looked you in the face the way she did now.

Too late to back out, now.

“How can you just—”

Athena cut you off with a girl, but calm look. “It is unfortunate that my father, Zeus, and my uncle, Poseidon, chose to break their oath not to have more children. Only Hades kept his word, a fact that I find ironic. As we know from the Great Prophecy, children of the three elder gods…such as Thalia and Percy…are dangerous. As thickheaded as he is, Ares has a point.”

“Right!” Ares said. “Hey, wait a minute. Who you callin’—”

He started to get up, but a grape vine grew around his waist like a seat belt and pulled him back down.

“Oh, please, Ares,” Dionysus sighed. “Save the fighting for later.”

Ares cursed and ripped away the vine. “You’re one to talk, you old drunk. You seriously want to protect these brats?”

Dionysus gazed wearily. “I have no love for them. Athena, do you really think it wise to destroy them?”

“I do not pass judgement,” she said. “I only point out the risk. What we do, the Council must decide.”

“I will not have them punished,” Artemis cut in hotly. “I will have them rewarded. If we punish heroes who do us such a great favour, then we are no better than the titans, are we not? If this is Olympian justice, I will have none of it.”

“Calm down, sis,” Apollo scoffed. “Chill. Jeez, you need to lighten up.”

“Don’t call me sis! I will reward them!”

“Well, perhaps. But the monster must be destroyed. We have agreement on that?”

“Bessie?” Percy burst out. “You want to destroy Bessie?”

Your heart swelled. Gosh, he cared. It was lovely.

And then you wanted to slap yourself.

What was up with the emotions lately?

Poseidon frowned. “You have named the Ophiotaurus Bessie?”

“Dad,” Percy said. “He’s just a sea creature. A really nice sea creature. You can’t destroy him.”

Poseidon shifted uncomfortably, a trait Percy shared with him, you noted. “Percy, it’s power is considerable. If the titans were to steal it, or—”

“You can’t,” Percy insisted.

Zeus opened his mouth, looking as though he was getting antsier by the second. But you had experience with this sort of thing that needed a good negotiation, so you cut in.

“Controlling the prophecies never works. Isn’t that true?” You tried, stepping forward. All eyes landed on you, and you swallowed. “Have we not just experienced it? Are we not experiencing it now? The Ophiotaurus is innocent. Killing something like that is wrong. It’s as wrong as Kronos eating his children just because of something they might do.”

Zeus looked to be considering it. You breathed heavily, in a mild panic after consulting the king of the gods head on. If he wanted to, you could be zapped out of existence in less than a second.

“And what of the risk? Kronos knows full well, if one of you were to sacrifice the beast’s entrails you would have the power to destroy all of us. Do you think we can let this possibility remain? You, my daughter, will turn sixteen on the morrow, just as the prophecy says.”

“You have to trust them,” you tried, pleading with your eyes. “Please, you have to trust them.”

Zeus scowled. “Trust a hero?”

“She is right,” Artemis nodded slowly. “Which is why I must first make a reward. My faithful companion, Zoe Nightshade, has passed into the stars. I must have a new lieutenant. And I intend to choose one, but first, father Zeus, I must speak with you privately.”

Zeus beckoned Artemis forward, leaning to listen as she whispered to him.

“Annabeth,” Percy whispered from behind you. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Look, I need to tell you something. I couldn’t stand it if—I don’t want you to—”

Artemis turned. “I will have a new lieutenant, if she will accept it. Thalia, daughter of Zeus, will you join the Hunt?”

Your jaw almost dropped. Stunned silence filled the room.

“I will,” Thalia said firmly. She moved to your side, and then a little bit further ahead. Confident.

Zeus rose, his eyes full of concern. “My daughter, consider well—”

Don’t let him change your mind, you prayed. Hold your ground.

“Father, I will not turn sixteen tomorrow,” she shook her head. “I will never turn sixteen. I won’t let this prophecy be mine. I stand with my sister Artemis. Kronos will not tempt me again.”

She knelt down before Artemis, and repeated the same words Bianca had uttered what felt like years ago at the cliff side in the snow and weary sunlight.

When she had finished, she hugged each of you and said a few words. You felt awkward, putting your hands into your coat pockets, when Thalia stood in front of you. For once, there was no spiteful comments from either one of you. She smiled small, looking rejuvenated the same way Bianca had, as if the quest had never happened.

“You’re a good friend,” she nodded. “You’re brave. You’ve got what it takes to help them with this prophecy.” And then she leaned in, and hugged you just as she had with Annabeth and Grover and Percy. “Trust yourself.”

Thalia went and stood with Artemis, and the atmosphere changed instantly.

“Now, for the Ophiotaurus.”

“The boy is still dangerous,” Mr. D. opposed. The beast is a temptation to great power. Even if we spare the boy—”

“No.” Percy said firmly. “Please. Keep the Ophiotaurus safe. My dad can hide him under the sea somewhere, or keep him in an aquarium here. But you have to protect him.”

“And why should we trust you?”

“I’m only fourteen. If this prophecy is about me, that’s only two more years.”

“Two years for Kronos to deceive you,” Athena uttered. “Much can change in two years, young hero. It is only the truth. It is bad strategy to keep the boy alive. And the animal.”

Poseidon stood. “I will not have the creature destroyed if I can help it. And I can, help it.”

He held out his hand, and a spear shimmering with blue light appeared. “I will vouch for the boy and the safety of the Ophiotaurus.”

“You won’t take it under the sea!” Zeus stood suddenly. “I won’t have that kind of bargaining chip in your possession.”

“Brother, please,” Poseidon sighed.

Zeus’s lightening bolt appeared in his hand, and the whole room filled with the smell of ozone.

“Fine,” Poseidon nodded. “I will build an aquarium for the sea creature here, with the help of Hephaestus. The creature will be safe. The boy will not betray us. I vouch for this on my honor.”

Zeus thought about it. “All in favor?”

A dozen hands went up, besides Mr. D, your mother’s, and Ares just sat looking bored.

“We have a majority. And so, since we are not destroying these heroes, I imagine we should reward them.”

—

There are parties, and then there are Olympian parties. And Olympian parties are filled with gold and beautiful colours, exotic flowers and the Muses music, braziers of fire, and delicious food and drinks. It became busy very quickly, and before you knew it, you found yourself stumbling into a corner to get yourself together. All you wished to do was go to your cabin and cry. To let it all out.

“This doesn’t look like you’re partying.”

“What the hell are you? A spy? Just leave me alone.” You shoved yourself further into the corner just away from all the partying, a quiet corridor devoid of anything but cold marble and tall, golden ceilings.

Ares hummed lowly. You didn’t have to see him, shoved into the corner like a child, but you knew he was just on the other side of it.

“I’ll let you off just this once, demigod.”

You rolled your eyes. The marble edges dug into your back uncomfortably from how hard you were trying to disappear for a few minutes. “What do you want? Spit it out.”

“If you weren’t her’s, I would say you’re one of mine. You’ve got the fire, I’ll give you that. And my wife has taken a special interest in you and that boy. Her business is my business, you’ll understand. Since you’re her business, now, you’re my business, too.”

You wanted to scream at him to leave, to go away so you could breathe for five minutes. But…you really wanted to know what he had to say. Curiosity always got the better of you.

“I don’t want to be anybody’s business,” you settled on, weakly. “I’m my own person.”

“Whatever, kid. I’m just here to pass along a message.”

“Which is?”

“She says, you’re doing exactly what you should be doing.”

“Oh, really?”

You shoved away from the corner, and paused.

He’d already gone.

—

Making your way back into the crowd was the last thing you wanted to do, but it would be best to show your face for a little while. Eventually you made your way back to Percy. He smiled as you popped up next to him, and then slowly frowned. His green eyes glistened under all the lights.

“You’ve been crying,” he reached up, and then lowered his hand, unsure of what to do.

You laughed pitifully. “Yeah.”

Because, really, what more could you say? It was rather obvious. And you sounded as if you’d just developed the world’s worst cold and stuffy nose.

Percy still stared at you, concerned. It was touching, really.

“I’m just tired.” You nodded. “I promise. When we get back to camp you might not see me for a couple weeks. I’m about to fall off the face of the earth in sleep mode.”

He smiled, tight-lipped, those eyes dancing across your face. For the first time ever under Percy’s eyes, you felt self-conscious.

“I’ll clean up later. My dad always says I look like I’ve just done thirty rounds of coke after crying. It’s funny because it’s true,” you tried lightly.

Percy’s dark curls shook. “No,” he denied. “I think you look…I think you look pretty—uh—I mean—”

Your heart jumped into your throat, and suddenly it was difficult to breathe. Because AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

“Uhm—” you frantically tried for something to do; hair behind your ears, leaning back and forth on your heels. “Thank you. Thanks.” Heat flooded your cheeks. Percy was already scarlet in the face, nodding frantically, avoiding your eyes.

When you looked up, Athena watched from a distance, and then looked away, as if she hadn’t been interested at all. But you weren’t about to let her ruin what just happened—Percy called you pretty.

“I was thinking,” he shoved out. You turned your head, blinking expectantly. “I owe you a dance, don’t I? We got interrupted at Westover Hall, right?”

This time, you allowed yourself to smile, your heart and lungs expanding.

“Right.” You took his hand, shaking.

The music played on, a gentle tune of the future, the past, and the present.

—

Chiron greeted you all at the Big House with hot chocolate and toasted cheese sandwiches. Grover went off to his satyr friends, telling them all about his brief experience with Pan.

Annabeth, Percy and yourself sat with Chiron by the fire. A couple of others joined you, too—Clarisse, back from a quest of her own it seemed. Her hair was cut short, like somebody had hacked it with scissors without a care, and there was a jagged scar on her chin. For once, she kept quiet.

“I got news,” she said glumly. “Bad news.”

“I’ll fill you in later,” Chiron said with forced cheerfulness. “The important thing is you’ve prevailed. And you’ve saved Annabeth!”

The Stoll brothers were there, too. You hadn’t even looked Travis in the eye. The high of the short dance with Percy had worn off, that tiny spark of normality had gone, and left you with the sadness you’d been feeling before it. You struggled with getting Bianca and Zoe’s deaths from the front of your mind, and Thalia’s moving on. Everybody was leaving, it felt like. And everybody was too happy for what had happened along the way.

Percy, sitting next to you in front of the fire, felt the same. You could tell by the sheer look of something bordering on a deep sadness he had.

You didn’t speak.

Annabeth talked about Atlas, and where she had been kept. She yawned the whole way through, still shaking with weakness even after some ambrosia.

Chiron’s positivity spread a little bit to you tired campers, but in the end, the unwavering need to go somewhere and cry won. You set down your mug of hot chocolate, and walked away. Another chair scratched the floor behind you, as you walked away toward the fields.

“Let her be,” you heard Chiron utter. “She needs time.”

You heard happy babbling just as you wandered away, boyish, childish talking. You looked to the left, and there was Nico di Angelo, two figurines in hands, talking to himself the way children tend to do. Every organ in your body twisted painfully, and you got away before he could see you. You couldn’t be the one to tell him Bianca was long gone. You still didn’t want to believe it yourself.

The air was bitter cold, your fingertips numb already. Snow fell lightly as you wandered into where you probably shouldn’t have been. You didn’t get far until his voice caught you up.

“Scout?”

You stopped, the snow crunching quietly. Behind you, Travis grew closer until he was right in front of you. You hadn’t even realized how tall he’d gotten until you saw him again, like seeing him in a different light.

Bundled in a red sweater and jeans, a coat and scarf atop of that, he still shivered.

“I just need to go for a walk. I’ll be alright later.” You shrugged.

Silence captured the air. Until he said, “Chiron…mentioned what happened to Nico’s sister. And the Hunter girl. Zoe. I’m—I’m so sorry.”

The first tear fell without any effort. And then you grew too cold too quickly. And crumbled.

He enveloped you instantly, as if without thought—like the action would be unknown, to hesitate in your arms. Against his warm, soft chest, Travis’s heart beat gently against your ear, his hands coming up carefully to your back, to your shoulder.

Safety.

And at the end of it—Travis.

You allowed yourself the tears. Your hands scrunched at his shirt. He smelled of the outside weather, of wind

of life.

—

PAIN. So, we’ve reached the end of Titans Curse! How are we feeling so far about relationships and eve thing? Feedback is always appreciated!

taglist: @bl6o6dy @embersparklz @lilyevanswhore @rottenstyx @rory-cakes @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @marshmallow12435 @lantsovheiress @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @twsssmlmaa @gayandfairycore @padsfirewhisky @emu281 @charlesswife @jessiegerl @crackerphobic20 @mata0-0mata @jccc1000 @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @nothankyou138 @i-love-books-and-the-bible @obxstiles

if they’re not highlighted, it wouldn’t let me tag you!

this chapter’s quite short. I didn’t want to drag it out too much.

aaaaand I’ve added a few more songs to the playlist (on my profile if you don’t have it saved!) if you want to give them a listen. thanks for reading!

#capsize #percy jackson #pjo #asks #leo valdez #annabeth chase #jason grace #nico di angelo #percy jackson x reader #pjo x reader #Percy Jackson x yn #Percy Jackson series #Travis stoll #connor stoll x reader #Travis x reader #Travis stoll x reader #ares

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r1-jw-lover · 1 year

Text

Official John Wick Major Arcana tarot cards featuring Chapter 4 characters

Art by Julien Rico Jr, in collaboration with Lionsgate.

Sources: nerdsloveart, behance

Image descriptions below the cut:

[Start ID: 22 images featuring characters and locations from the movie "John Wick: Chapter 4" as Major Arcana tarot cards. The drawings are in black and white against a sandy beige background, and has plenty of circle motives. Roman numerals are at the top, their corresponding card title at the bottom, and the movie title "John Wick: Chapter 4" on the bottom left margin.

0: The number zero, or unnumbered, tarot card features Killa Harkan played by Scott Adkins as "The Fool". Killa is holding a 2 of spades between two fingers while giving a smug smile that shows off his set of golden teeth. He wears a ring on his right hand and the other hand is holding a stack of cards. Behind Killa is a minimalistic design resembling a casino token with details such as the diamond and clover symbols, as well as the numbers on the dice. In front of Killa is a table with two piling stacks of casino tokens, a gun, and the shadow of John Wick's head looming over a large portion of the table.

1: The number one tarot card features The Tracker or Mr. Nobody played by Shamier Anderson as "The Magician". Mr. Nobody has a smug expression on his face and is holding his rifle in a way that lets it rest slung over his shoulder. By his side is Mr. Nobody's Belgian Malinois. The backdrop consists of simplistic, grayish graphics of map vectors cropped into several circles of different sizes. There is a white-coloured infinity symbol on top of Mr. Nobody's head.

2: The number two tarot card features Rooney, aka The Ballerina, who first appeared in "John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum", as "The High Priestess". Rooney's back is facing towards us as she's performing a ballet move on a circular stage. Rooney is wearing a white crown and a dress that shows the cross tattoo on her back. In the backdrop, where Rooney's face is looking towards, are curtains with the initials "JW" written on the far ends of the frame.

3: The number three tarot card features Katia played by Natalia Tena as "The Empress". With a cool expression on her face, Katia is leaning forward against a set of railings, giving off a domineering aura. Katia is wearing a metallic necklace and a cross on her neck. Behind Katia is the crest of the Ruska Roma and a line in Russian circling around it.

4: The number four tarot card features The Bowery King played by Laurence Fishburne as "The Emperor". The Bowery King is sitting on a throne, but behind him is a pair of eyes staring menacingly at us. In front of him is a logo design with the same pair of eyes, though rendered smaller and appear less menacing, with an X crossed in between and a horizontal line capping the top of the X. At the Bowery King's feet, a few pigeons are shown in the foreground while the Brooklyn Bridge appear in the background.

5: The number five tarot card features The Elder as "The Hierophant". Behind the Elder is an Islamic floral design which extends into a more geometrical pattern. Standing in the background are two of the Elder's men.

6: The number six tarot card features John and Helen Wick, played by Keanu Reeves and Bridget Moynahan, as "The Lovers". John and Helen are smiling brightly towards each other in front of a New York night cityscape backdrop, with the Empire States building separating them at the centre. Above John and Helen is a silhouette of them pressed against each other about to kiss in front of a bright sun with the Brooklyn bridge in the background.

7: The number seven tarot card features John Wick driving his 1971 Plymouth Barracuda as "The Chariot". There is a bullet mark on the front glass pane of John Wick's car. On top is a closeup of John Wick surrounded by a circle of road markings and bullet marks.

8: The number eight tarot card features Charon played by Lance Reddick as "Strength". On top of Charon's head is the infinity symbol, and behind is a design reminiscent of a timepiece neatly decorated with knives, guns and bullets in a circle. Further behind is a faded image of the reverse side of the Gold Coin. Filling the bottom of the frame is the New York cityscape backdrop illuminated by the sun.

9: The number nine tarot card features Caine played by Donnie Yen as "The Hermit". Caine wears sunglasses and is holding a cane in his left hand and a pistol in his right. Caine's head is illuminated by a circle of bright light, which is surrounded by a dimmer, slightly bigger circle with Japanese wave patterns and then large protruding rays of black. In the backdrop are two winding trees along with a city landscape of Osaka, but they are overshadowed by Caine's black rays.

10: The number ten tarot card features L’Arc de Triomphe as "The Wheel of Fortune". The location is illustrated in such a way that looks like a clock, with the monument at the centre and twelve roads leading towards it. Surrounding the Arc de Triomphe are the letters from John Wick's name arranged in the exact order of north-west, north-east, south-west, south-east, west, north, east and south directions.

11: The number eleven tarot card features The Harbinger played by Clancy Brown as "Justice". The whole illustration is framed as if the Harbinger is contained inside an hourglass, with a half-body portrait of the Harbinger at the top and a full-body silhouette of him forming at the bottom from the sand flowing downwards. Behind the Harbinger's portrait is the Latin quote, "si vis pacem, para bellum", whereas next to the Harbinger's silhouette is a crescent moon. Along the sides of the hourglass outside are two duel pistols facing opposite directions on each side.

12: The number twelve tarot card features Koji Shimazu played by Hiroyuki Sanada as "The Hanged Man". Except for his feet, Koji is portrayed as an vertically-inverted reflection of himself on a pool of water. Koji is holding a katana and his head is surrounded by a circle of dim light and a brighter, slightly larger circle made of Japanese wave patterns. As seen in the reflection, behind him are cherry blossom trees and the Osaka city landscape.

13: The number thirteen tarot card features John Wick, aka the Baba Yaga, played by Keanu Reeves as "Death". John Wick is holding a pair of nunchucks in his right hand. Behind John Wick is a city landscape of Osaka lighted by the moon while his head is surrounded by a row of skull pictograms and two rows of bullets. There is also an faded image of the reverse side of the Gold Coin behind John Wick.

14: The number fourteen tarot card features Winston played by Ian McShane as "Temperance". Winston is holding up a wine glass with a capital C labelled on it, and there are multiple swords projecting from his back like wings. Behind Winston is the hotel name "Continental" and numerous halos of various fonts and patterns, along with the cityscape of New York, with the Statue of Liberty and the Empire States building in sight.

15: The number fifteen tarot card features The Marquis, Vincent Bisset de Gramont, played by Bill Skarsgård as "The Devil". Behind the Marquis is his signature emblem with two black knives crossed behind his head. The emblem is surrounded by two rows of knives. In the background is the night cityscape of Paris with the Eiffel Tower in view, illuminated by a moon that is surrounded by a snake or serpent that's chasing its own tail.

16: The number sixteen tarot card features the New York Continental Hotel as "The Tower". The top floors of the Continental Hotel are being set on fire as the small dark silhouette of John Wick and the debris carried along fall from its rooftop.

17: The number seventeen tarot card features Akira played by Rina Sawayama as "The Star". Illuminating behind Akira is a star resembling a six-pointed shuriken with two Japanese stork paintings on its left and right, which is further surrounded by a circle of alternating arrow fletchings and four-pointed shuriken. Akira is holding a bow and arrow and standing tall as the bodies of two men lie dead around her. In the background are the branches of cherry blossom trees and the sun or moon shining behind Akira.

18: The number eighteen tarot card features John Wick's and Mr. Nobody's dogs as "The Moon". The two dogs are staring up at the crescent moon, which is shaped as if John Wick's head is covering portions of the full moon. Surrounding the crescent moon are small stars and a illustration of the cycle of the moon phases. The two dogs are sitting on a road leading into an ambiguous city landscape in the background.

19: The number nineteen tarot card features the Sacré-Coeur as "The Sun". The rays of the sun spread out far and wide as wisps of clouds drifts behind the giant church. A dark silhouette of John Wick can be seen on the top open window of the Sacré-Coeur.

20: The number twenty tarot card features Chidi played by Marko Zaror as "Judgement". Behind Chidi is the emblem of the Marquis with a black knife cutting across behind his head. Below Chidi are the High Table's heavily armoured soldiers who are backdropped by a big splatter of sandy beige.

21: The number twenty-one tarot card features John Wick as "The World". John Wick's back is facing towards us with his head glancing back, showing us his face. Overlayed on top of him is his surname "Wick" with the "I" replaced by a bright silhouette of a walking John Wick. A circle of bullets surrounds John Wick and bullet marks scatter around him as the emblems of the High Table, the Marquis, the Adjudicator, and the Gold Coin fill all four corners of the frame.

./End ID]

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tropes-and-tales · 5 months

Text

Bound to You: Prologue

Poe Dameron x F!Reader

WC: 2012

Other Pieces: This is part of a larger miniseries that can be found here.

CW: Arranged marriage trope.

Poe Dameron rose quickly through the ranks of the Resistance. General Leia Organa trusted him, and more to the point, he always got results. Always.

Rare intel into the First Order’s movements? Recruiting missions to convince disgruntled members of the New Republic to join the Resistance? Errands to build relationships with allies in the Outer Rim? Poe did it all with his own unique panache and ineffable charm. Being a handsome bastard with an appealing smile didn’t hurt.

Sometimes, admittedly, his charm failed him and he found himself in…uncomfortable situations.

Like now.

Leia had dispatched him to a planet in the Core, a technological powerhouse that built state-of-the-art spaceships. The goal was to get a deal for new crafts. The problem was that the Resistance had little money (read: no money) and even fewer prospects for more. This planet, however, seemed to prefer the benevolent neglect of the New Republic over the authoritative grip of the First Order, and they had suffered under the Empire, so there was hope that a deal could be made.

Poe’s tricky situation came from two obvious facts. First, the planet was run by a King and his attendant family – a very rich, very powerful man. His wealth lay in his shipbuilding facilities – the technological know-how, the expertise of his engineers, the pride in superb craftmanship that left nothing unattended. His wealth also lay in his vast progeny: he had three wives and, well, countless sons and daughters.

The second fact of Poe’s tricky situation was that this planet, this king, his multitude of children and wives – the entire populace, in fact – was ruled by a very stringent, very precise set of rules. There were rules for everything: how to shake a hand (hand-on-forearm for no more than five seconds), how to sip the strong tea they served (from a lacquered cup, but only after the host sips theirs first), how to open negotiations (after precisely one lap around the King’s pleasure gardens and after saying, three times, that General Organa sends her well-wishes and highest regards). How long to hold eye contact, how to smile, which color shirt to wear to signal certain feelings in certain situations.

Poe would have likely always ended up messing up the negotiations. There was no way for a single person outside of that culture to learn all of their fussy, particular little rules. Of course, Leia had tried to send C-3PO along – the droid had tried to explain all those rules - and Poe had waved her off.

“How hard can it be?” he had said, flashing her a cocky grin.

How hard was it? Well, it happened like a slow-motion explosion. First, Poe had held on a beat too long with the opening handshake. Then he glanced away while the King’s advisor was giving him an exhaustive tour of the King’s sculpture garden.

The worst, though, was when Poe inadvertently insulted the King’s second wife. He wasn’t even sure how it happened – there was a huge dinner, and he used the wrong fork at the wrong time, wore the wrong shirt and looked her in the eye too long, and it devolved into Poe being tersely removed to sparser quarters which, it turned out, was just a prison.

And then, there was a trial (of sorts) which just involved the King’s advisors and astrologers and high priests, who all consulted their histories and star charts and rule books. Poe would have laughed at how ridiculous it all was, except the guards who held him carried top-of-the-line blasters along with wicked-looking scythes, so he wisely kept his laughing to himself and tried to look contrite, though he wasn’t sure where contrite looks ranked with the King.

At last, it was decided (though Poe would never quite be sure if it was due to a historical precedent or some alignment of this system’s dual stars) that Poe would be released and gifted a cruiser, along with a promise of twenty premium gunships.

The cruiser was a wedding gift.

For Poe.

“The laws of our people demand an allyship in blood,” declared one high priest, and Poe’s heart clenched at his implied sacrifice. Then, the priest added, “so you shall marry one of the King’s daughters.”

So the sacrifice wasn’t implied after all. Poe was to be sacrificed on the altar of matrimony. His heart seized up even more, but….a cruiser and twenty gunships? The Resistance desperately needed it, and he could always get a marriage dissolution afterwards.

The slow-motion explosion continued, and if Poe thought he’d at least get to pick his wife (the King had eleven daughters), he was sadly mistaken. Not that it mattered: the women of the royal court (and many of the men) were bound to the strict dress codes of their strange laws. Long hair bound and woven into intricate designs. Long, enameled fingernails. Faces and hands painted in delicate filigrees of designs. Dresses with so many layers that the person’s original shape was lost. It made the Queen of Naboo look like a fishmonger on Quila.

The day of the wedding, Poe found himself sick to his stomach. He’d been given his own clothes back to him, clean and pressed, and his fingers shook as he buttoned his shirt. He raked his fingers through his curls and tried to size himself up in the mirror in his room. He looked wan underneath his tan. Like a man on the way to his own execution.

Him, married. He’d had plenty of casual flings, a few girlfriends, but nothing even veered close to long-term dating or marriage. He was too devoted to the cause of eradicating the First Order from the galaxy, and that’s what he told himself he was doing now: securing those ships, building an alliance for more. He gave himself a nod in the mirror, as if to reassure himself.

All that opulence and elaborate court gesturing, and the guards led him not to a large ballroom or hall, as Poe expected. Instead, he found himself in a small antechamber with only a few people present: an advisor, a high priest and priestess.

And a young woman. Poe’s intended.

You stood placidly a bit apart from the others, and though you weren’t as elaborately done up as others Poe had seen at court, you were still hidden under layers of paint and brocaded cloth. Your hands were folded in front of yourself and that probably meant something in your culture, but you kept your eyes carefully fixed on the floor in front of you.

“Is this it?” Poe asked, incredulous. He couldn’t quite believe that a wedding would have less pomp than the palace’s afternoon ceremony for tea and biscuits. He glanced over at you, and you seemed to cringe at his words.

“She is the third daughter of the third wife,” the advisor said dismissively. “The occasion of her marriage does not warrant more than this.”

So that was the other side of the equation, Poe realized. A cruiser and some gun-ships to offload an unwanted daughter. He tried to look at you a closer, but you seemed to sense his gaze and shrank even more from it.

The occasion of your marriage amounted to a few muttered words by both the high priest and priestess, and then first you and then Poe signed an official looking document on thick, heavy paper. The advisor folded it carefully, then tied it with a white ribbon, then handed it to Poe.

That was it.

No exchanged vows or promises of love. No rings placed on fingers or hands bounds together while prayed over. Not even any eye contact – every time Poe glanced over at you, your eyes were focused elsewhere.

And afterwards? There was no celebration. Not even a goodbye from your parents or any of your multitude of siblings – you and Poe were both ushered away from the palace and onto the promised cruiser. The craft that Poe had arrived on was safely stowed on said cruiser, along with your dowry (some jewelry, some personal effects, and enough gowns to outfit the entire fleet of pilots in the Resistance).

After you were cleared to take off, Poe did just that. He marveled at how well the ship handled, and he practically twitched in anticipation for those gun-ships. Leia would be so happy. If Poe returned with a wife in tow, well…that was the price to pay. He could take care of that situation later.

He set the coordinates for D’Qar and felt the ship ease into hyperspace so smoothly he almost missed the streaks of lights that flew past. He was only two days away from being home. No, not just he anymore. You and he.

Poe stood up from his pilot’s seat and stretched. He felt the weight of the past few days slide off of his shoulders, and he felt like he could sleep until the ship exited hyperspace. But there was a new weight laying on him, and he left the cockpit now to go face it.

You were still sitting in the galley, exactly where he had left you to take off. You gifted him with the barest glance before you returned your eyes to the floor.

You were, like everyone else in your court, off-putting. A human with no shape under the leagues of fabric encasing you. A person with a face so painted that there was no room for expression. And, possibly, a person who didn’t talk.

“I’m Poe,” he said slowly and loudly, and he kicked himself internally at how the bark of his voice echoed off the shiny new walls of the space craft.

He swore he saw the corner of your painted lips twitch – a smile maybe? – but your face resumed its placid surface before you murmured quietly that yes, you knew his name. Of course - he had signed it beside yours on the marriage contract.

“Do you have a name?” he asked, a little gentler. “Or are you just numbered off by birth order?”

That did bring a smile to your face, and you lifted your eyes to meet his gaze for a brief second before returning to watch the space on the floor between you and him. You told him your name in your quiet voice. “Or you could call me number eight, if you prefer,” you added with a hint of a smile in your words.

The eighth child. Third daughter of a third wife. Poe had no idea what you really looked like, and more to the point, what you liked. What you didn’t like. What you’d think of D’Qar and its rough-and-tumble, scrappy quarters. What you’d think of the people in the Resistance. How much you’d stick out in your elaborate gear, how the hems of your sharply pleated skirt would be muddied within seconds of walking through the forest.

Poe could have sat beside you and tried to get to know you. There was some time, after all, and you likely hadn’t asked for marriage any more than he had. But he was keen to get ahold of Leia and report his success, and he wanted to discuss his next mission, which they had already talked about beforehand – finding her brother, Luke Skywalker. Apparently there was someone on Jakku who had a map, and that mission pushed every other thought out of his mind until Poe quite forgot about you.

So when you landed on D’Qar, Poe sprinted ahead of you to find BB-8 and Leia, leaving you behind to fend for yourself.

As you descended the craft, you watched the retreating back of your erstwhile husband. Poe Dameron left you behind. Other women of your court might throw a pretty tantrum or pout winsomely, but you were the third daughter of the third wife. You didn’t rage or pout. You were used to being left behind and forgotten.

So you did what you did best: you squared your shoulders, steeled your spine, and prepared yourself for a new life in this strange world.

As Poe Dameron’s wife.

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x you #star wars #tropes and tales

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hesbuckcompton-baby · 3 days

Text

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 18

AO3

Summary: As the war comes to a close, the future is brought into focus.

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee @footprintsinthesxnd @dcyllom @storysimp @latibvles @love-studying58 @justheretoreadthxxs @blakelysco-pilot

Dear Mrs Higgins

Thank you so much for the tea set - Robert and I think it's lovely...

Frankie lifted an envelope to her mouth, running her tongue along the glue as she finished writing the latest in a long line of thank-you letters still in order from the wedding. The formal niceties felt foreign to her, even to write, and a pile of crumpled paper covered the floor by her bed where she had tossed away a litany of spelling mistakes. Rosie had offered his assistance many times, but with all the supply drops he'd been running, she had no desire to burden him with anything else.

Just as she finished signing the most recent letter, the door to the hut slammed open, making her jump and accidentally smudge the ink. "Oh, for fuck's sake, do you have to barge in here like the building's on bloody fire?"

"Frankie, turn the radio on," George huffed, striding towards her.

"Yeah, in a minute - I've got to rewrite this one now, so-"

"Now," She pressed, getting down on her knees to rummage beneath Frankie's bed. "Where is it?!"

"Over there on the window ledge," Frankie frowned, watching as George zipped across the room. "What's going on?"

"Churchill's making an announcement."

"Oh, shit-" She muttered, letter writing immediately forgotten as they fumbled to set up the radio, perched side by side on the edge of the bed as they listened closely. They had made it just in time, and as the familiar, slurring voice came echoing over the waves, a sense of importance seemed to settle over the room - one so potent that Frankie's whole body seemed clenched, her heart struggling to beat out its rhythm in time.

"Yesterday morning at 2.41am at General Eisenhower's headquarters, General Jodl, the representative of the German high command and of Grand Admiral Donitz, the designated head of the German state, signed the act of unconditional surrender of all German land, sea and air forces in Europe to the Allied expeditionary force, and simultaneously to the Soviet high command."

She felt George grab her hand. The words didn't quite seem real - how could they? Surely, they had been coming for a long time, and yet their arrival seemed so sudden, that it was as if Frankie were recalling a dream - peering through a veil into a fiction constructed by her subconscious, frozen in place as if any sudden movement might break the illusion.

She pressed her heels harder into the floor beneath her feet. It was solid. Real.

"Our dear Channel Islands will be free tomorrow. Hostilities will end officially at one minute after midnight tonight, Tuesday, the 8th of May, but in the interests of saving lives the ceasefire began yesterday to be sounded all along the fronts."

A bark of laughter escaped her, hand rising to clap over her mouth, suddenly embarrassed by the outburst despite being in the privacy of the hut, in the company of no one but her best friend. Beside her, George had begun to chuckle giddily, unable to wipe the grin from her cheeks.

"The German war is therefore at an end. After years of intense preparation Germany hurled herself on Poland at the beginning of September, 1939, and in pursuance of our guarantee to Poland and in common action with the French Republic, Great Britain, the British Empire and Commonwealth of Nations declared war against this foul aggression."

Blood rushed to her ears, the pounding in Frankie's chest so fierce that she almost struggled to hear the broadcast. Her lungs felt full to burst, pressing against her ribs so hard they could snap. Neither woman felt any need to listen further before collapsing into each other's arms, squeezing so forcefully that it hurt. But they didn't care.

There was no one else Frankie wanted to spend this moment with. Not Bucky, not Ken - not even her husband. There was no one she'd spent more of this war alongside than George - no one who had seen her at so many of her worst moments, no one who had brought her through them quite like she had.

This was the first instant they'd ever spent as friends during peacetime. And now they had to decide what that meant.

"I'm coming with you," George's voice came hoarse over her shoulder. "If you're going to New York, then so am I."

"What about Ev?" Frankie chuckled.

She felt her shrug. "He'll come if I tell him to."

Grinning, she held her even tighter. Weren't they all just following Rosie in the end?

"I need to find him," Frankie uttered.

George nodded. "Me too. Different him. Same sentiment."

They didn't let go for a long moment, breathing in synch. Maybe the war had brought them together, but peace was never going to tear them apart.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

An almighty swarm of airmen had gathered outside one of the huts by the time Frankie arrived, having jogged all the way from her own, and the moment she locked eyes on Rosie she was running. Even in the thick of the crowd, his gaze found her without even having to call out, shouldering his way through, beaming so widely that the cool air stung against his teeth. She let out something between a shriek and a whoop, hurling herself into his arms the moment they collided, feet swept off the ground as he spun her once, then twice in the air.

Neither needed to say the words 'it's over' - they knew the other knew, that was good enough. Besides, those words held far too much weight to deal with right now. Those words meant their time here was over - that the future was now.

As Frankie touched the ground again, Rosie's hands cupped her cheeks, littering her face with kisses as she guffawed with laughter. A few of the airmen nearby had taken to whooping and whistling at the sight, and she felt the blood rush to her face, tinting her cheeks a bright red. "Alright, alright," She chuckled, gently batting away his hands as she leaned forward to press a quick peck to his lips.

"Sorry fellas," Rosie called over his shoulder, gaze never leaving his wife for even a moment as he seized her hand, abandoning the makeshift celebration without hesitation.

"We didn't have to go," Frankie pointed out as they walked away, bumping against his side as her free hand wrapped around his arm.

"Well, I wanna celebrate with my wife."

"Oh-ho, say that again," She tittered.

"My wife," He grinned, pressing a firm kiss to her temple. "And when we get outta here I'm gonna buy you a house - hell, I'll buy you anything you want."

"Well, yeah, I'd hope so - we both know I married you for the money," Frankie teased as he ruffled her hair beneath his palm in silent reprisal. They were quiet for a moment until she spoke up again, serious this time. "Dad and the kids don't need me anymore. But... I really loved looking after those kids."

She could feel his stare, fixed on her as they walked. "You been thinking about what you said at the wedding?"

"About a baby? ...Yeah, kinda."

Nerves coloured his voice as he spoke again. "...And?"

Frankie shrugged. "Why not? Yeah."

It hadn't seemed possible that he could grin even wider, and yet somehow he managed it. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," She assured him, pulling him into her embrace as his eyes began to well up with tears. Chin tucked over his shoulder, she let herself begin to grin too. "Yeah, honey."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

George's hair blew this way and that as she walked, palms in an endless battle against the wind to smooth it back down again as she muttered to herself, scanning every group she passed for the face she was searching for. Come on Ev, where are you? Many of the men she worked alongside called out to her as she passed, but she was so focused on the task at hand that she offered nothing but the occasional wave, too distracted to properly reply.

"George!" A familiar voice called, an involuntary smile already creeping across her expression in anticipation before she had even pinned down where it was coming from. But then Blakely was hurrying towards her, engulfing her in an embrace so sudden that it was all she could do not to audibly groan. "Ah, I was lookin' for you."

"Hey!" George chirped, holding him tightly. "I was looking for you! I've got something to ask you."

He seemed to grow slightly tense at this. "Yeah, so do I."

Holding onto her cheery demeanour despite the shift in his, she pulled away. "Okay, you first."

Letting out a nervous chuckle, Everett shook his head. "No, no - after you."

"Okay... Look, it's just..." George took a deep breath, hands clasped tightly. "Frankie and Rosie are gonna go to New York together now that this whole thing is done, and I... I wanna go with her, Ev. She's my best friend."

A wave of relief seemed to wash over him as he began to smile. "You wanna go to New York?"

She shrugged. "Yeah."

Blakely began to laugh. "Babe, we can go to New York."

A grin started to crease at George's cheeks. "Really?"

"Yeah, of course," He beamed.

"Okay. Okay, yeah - now you go," She nodded, passing her weight impatiently from foot to foot.

Suddenly he was nervous again, glancing around at the huts and men around them as if self-conscious. "Alright..."

Her brow furrowed. "... You ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, just... didn't really plan on doing this here."

George's frown deepened, and Everett couldn't help but wonder how she hadn't caught on yet. "D'you wanna... go over there?"

"George," He laughed in exasperation, digging deep into his pocket as he shook his head. The faintest yelp of surprise escaped her as the diamond ring caught its first glint of sunlight, carefully unwrapped from the handkerchief that had protected it on the long journey from his mother's house.

"Oh, I'm a bloody idiot," She whispered. Raising both hands to cover her mouth, she let out a giddy laugh, beaming before he could even ask the question.

Blakely had begun to grin, pointing down at the ring in his palm as he waited for her to stand still. "Can I-?"

"Yes! Yes." George nodded firmly, planting both feet in the gravel below as she waited for him to ask the question.

"George Aarons," He started, suppressing a chuckle as he noticed the way she had begun to fidget impatiently. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes!" She cried, her answer tumbling forth so quickly that she almost cut him off completely, throwing herself into his arms as an elated laugh erupted from her throat. Arms wrapped securely around her back, he swept her off her feet for a moment before pulling away to plant a hard kiss against her lips, palms lifted to cup her jaw.

"I love you," George breathed as their lips separated, faces barely an inch apart.

Everett smiled, pressing his forehead against hers. "I love you too."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Frankie practically screamed when she first caught sight of George, entering the party as it raged in the officers' club, new engagement ring sparkling on her finger. "Holy shit!" She yelped, practically hurling herself at her best friend as she hugged her. Chin tucked tightly in the crook of George's neck, she scanned the crowd for signs of Blakely, pointing a finger as he stopped in his tracks. "You!"

"Me?"

"Thank you for marrying the love of my life," Frankie nodded sagely, gesturing for him to come close so that she could pat him on the shoulder without leaving George.

His brow furrowed slightly. "... So Rosie would be-?"

"My husband. Duh."

"Of course."

Rosie had recognised her yelp from across the bar, burrowing his way through the crowds in search of Frankie. "Ah. Hey! Congratulations!" He grinned as he spied George's ring, giving Blakely an affectionate clap over the shoulder as they shook hands. "Mind if I steal my wife for this next dance?"

"Steal away," Frankie nodded, planting a forceful kiss on George's forehead as she retracted the hug, leaving a lipstick stain in her wake. As the couple weaved their way back through the crowd, Blakely let out a snort of laughter, wiping the stain away with the heel of his palm.

"Is she-?"

"Oh, really quite drunk, yeah," George affirmed.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"I never got good at this, huh?" Frankie laughed, uttering a swift apology as she stepped on Rosie's toe. Again.

"Well, I don't think being good is really the point," He shrugged.

"In other words, you agree - I'm horrible at this."

"I didn't say that!"

Frankie gasped. "You're 'yes-dear'-ing me!"

Rosie's brow furrowed, somewhere between confused and entertained. "I don't even know what that means."

"It's when you just go along with whatever I say because I'm your wife and you don't want to have to tell me I'm an insane person to my face."

"Well, I like my crazy wife," He smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek as she hummed a chuckle. They continued to step side to side as the music continued its brisk pace, Frankie's expression twisting with embarrassment as she felt his toe beneath her foot once more, the sight of this making Rosie laugh. "We don't have to keep doing this," He offered between chortles.

"No, I'm gonna do it until I get it right, otherwise I'll get shown up every time we go out," She frowned.

"Then you've gotta do it properly," Rosie said, looking down at the floor as he nudged her feet apart with his own. "Feet like that - you step with this one, then bring them together..."

As he continued to explain, Frankie began to realise that she hadn't been listening to a word, too distracted by... well, him. It was still somewhat embarrassing to admit, but if she stared at him for too long everything else seemed to simply ebb away, his voice fading into background chitter as her gaze traced every subtle movement in his expression, her lip rising in a calm, gentle smile.

For so long, this place had gotten used to firing on all cylinders - always working, always preparing for the next thing - never hesitating, never still. But now? Now there was nothing ahead of her - no planes to prep, no mission to agonise over. She was Just Frankie and he was Just Rosie, and everything else was simply cast aside. It was rare she ever got a moment to simply stop and stare - to take in the man before her and simply bathe in the feeling of how wholly and utterly she adored him.

"No, you've- ...Honey, you've stopped moving."

His voice came into focus once more, and Frankie blinked away her stupor, shaking her head slightly. "... Right."

"You okay?" He asked, brow creasing as he tilted his head slightly, a loose curl tumbling free.

"Mhm," She nodded, reaching up without a second thought to brush it away, her warm fingertips still managing to leave a flush in their wake as they grazed against his skin. "Tired. Little too much whiskey. I'm still working my way through the thank-you letters from the wedding."

"Well, I'll help," Rosie shrugged.

"No, no, you're-" Busy with your missions. The words had nearly slipped out without a second thought. And as a grin began to make its way across his face, she knew he'd predicted them.

"No. I'm not."

"No you're not," Frankie repeated, beginning to mirror his smile. "God, we're about to have way too much free time."

"Well, I can think of a couple things to do," He smirked, making her snort with laughter.

"Shush. We'll do that later. I gotta find Bucky," She beamed, giving his arm a tug as she pulled out of his grip, squeezing his hand as she turned away.

Rosie's brow furrowed. "I thought we were dancing?"

"Later!"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Flares illuminated the night sky as Bucky sat back in his seat, watching on idly from his perch up on the command tower. Back when this had all started, he would've been inside with the others without a moment's hesitation, drinking and singing and making merry like all the rest. But these last two years had changed him, and that tug in his chest that had once compelled him on nights like this had gone limp.

At least one thing had always stayed the same.

"You fellas need some more booze up there?"

His lip curled in an involuntary smile, craning forward in his seat to peer over the railing. Standing in the grass below, profile brightened in the flickering light of the flares, Frankie stared up at him, a bottle in each hand.

"Get up here, Bevan!" Gale called beside him, letting out that deep, hearty laugh of his. She flashed a grin, the thunder of footsteps rising towards them as she dashed up the stairs, occasionally stumbling from an overindulgence of alcohol.

"Figured you'd be all over your husband tonight, all things considered," Bucky teased, edging over to the edge of his seat so that she could perch beside him.

"He gets me every other day. You and me gotta catch up on lost time."

He smiled, slinging an arm around her shoulders as she popped the cork on the champagne she had stolen, letting out a yelp as bubbles flowed over the brim, covering her hands.

"Before we make any more of a mess, I'm gonna see if I can't find us some glasses," Gale chuckled, stepping around the small puddle of champagne that was forming as he made his way to the door. "You can have my seat, Frank."

"Thanks," She uttered, squeezing Bucky's hand with hers and leaving a sticky palm print behind as she slid off the edge of his chair, sinking into the other.

Left alone, the pair sank into quiet for a long moment, listening peacefully to the cheers and music that hummed steadily from further down the runway.

"How's it feel?" He asked after a while.

Frankie let out a huff of amusement. "Completely, utterly bizarre. I mean... everything in my life changed because of this war, and now it's just... over."

"Which is a good thing. Right?"

"Oh, of course, yunno... I lost family to this thing. Almost all the boys I grew up with are dead now. But then, almost all the best people in my life, I only met because of this war. Hell, I'm married now - I can't just go back to how it was before."

Bucky let out a long sigh, nodding along as she spoke. He stared at the floor for a while, before finally speaking up.

"Y'know... It's gonna sound stupid, but for a little while back then, at the beginning, I kinda thought you and me..."

"Yeah, I know," She nodded, a beat passing before she reached across to grab his hand, holding it in her lap.

They were silent for a moment, letting the weight of Bucky's confession rest between them.

"Your hands are really sticky."

"They are covered in champagne," Frankie snorted, letting out a cackle as Bucky wrestled his hand from her grip, wiping it clean against her skirt. "Oh, you bastard."

"That's what you get."

As their laughter trailed to a stop, she found herself sobering, taking a deep breath.

"Promise me you're not gonna be alone after this. Promise you'll call and visit and find a nice girl to marry, and you won't let yourself go home to an empty house forever."

A flicker of something like adoration crossed his expression.

"Promise."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Gravel crunched beneath Frankie's feet as she finally returned to her hut, the energy that had carried her through the night steadily dwindling. Scrunching her eyes shut as she yawned, a frown began to crease her cheek as her vision readjusted, noticing the door to the hut as it gaped open, exposing the interior to the darkness.

Creeping up towards the entrance, brow furrowed, she tapped her knuckles gently against the doorframe, peering inside. There was only one light in the whole place, and in the warm glow, she could make out a familiar silhouette.

"... Honey?"

Rosie looked up from his spot on the edge of her bed, pen clasped between his fingers as he began to smile at her. "Hey, baby."

She let out a bemused chuckle, stepping inside. "... What're you doing?"

Shrugging, he raised one of the thank-you letters she'd been working on. "You said you needed help with 'em."

Frankie sighed, beaming as she came to stand in front of him. "I didn't mean right now. You should be at the party."

"Party got boring."

"It didn't sound boring."

"You weren't there."

The admission was so earnest that she swore something inside her melted, lifting both hands to loop around the back of his neck. Casting the cards aside, he stared up at her, arms draped around her waist.

"Now I am."

She pressed a long kiss to his scalp, cradling his head in her palms. Rosie let out a satisfied sigh, his thumb rubbing circles against her hip.

"Let's get outta here," He said.

Frankie's brow arched in amusement. "And go where?"

There was a glint in his eye. "Get us a room at the pub?"

"It'll be full by now."

"Well... I did call ahead."

She gasped teasingly. "Oh, you're good."

Rising to stand, he tugged one of her hands away from his neck, pressing a kiss to the back of her palm. He had that look in his eyes, the kind that made her cackle and go terribly red all at once.

"You have no idea."

#fic | i'm your man #mota oc #rosie rosenthal x oc #oc: frankie #rosie rosenthal #oc: george #everett blakely #john egan #frankie x rosie #george x blakely #mota

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visit-new-york · 1 year

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New York City

New York tumblr more photos here New York City, often simply referred to as NYC, is one of the most iconic and vibrant cities in the world. Located in the northeastern part of the United States, it is situated on the southeastern tip of the state of New York. With a population of over 8 million residents within the city limits and over 20 million in the greater metropolitan area, it is the most populous city in the United States.

Geography and Layout: New York City is composed of five boroughs: Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, The Bronx, and Staten Island. The city is located on a series of islands and connected by bridges and tunnels. Manhattan, the heart of the city, is where many of its most famous landmarks are located. It is divided into several neighborhoods, each with its own distinct character and atmosphere. The city is known for its impressive skyline, dominated by iconic skyscrapers like the Empire State Building, One World Trade Center (Freedom Tower), and the Chrysler Building.

Culture and Diversity: One of New York City's defining characteristics is its incredible diversity. People from all over the world have made the city their home, resulting in a rich tapestry of cultures, languages, cuisines, and traditions. This diversity is celebrated through various cultural events, festivals, and neighborhoods that showcase the heritage of different communities.

The city's cultural scene is unparalleled, with world-class museums such as the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), and the American Museum of Natural History. Broadway, located in the Theater District of Manhattan, is synonymous with American theater and is famous for its top-tier productions.

Economy and Business: New York City is a global economic powerhouse. Its financial district, centered around Wall Street in Lower Manhattan, is home to some of the world's largest and most influential financial institutions. The city's economy is incredibly diverse, encompassing finance, media, technology, fashion, tourism, and more.

Education and Research: The city boasts some of the world's most prestigious universities, including Columbia University, New York University (NYU), and The City University of New York (CUNY) system. These institutions contribute to the city's reputation as a hub for research, innovation, and intellectual exchange.

Cuisine and Culinary Scene: New York City is a culinary melting pot, offering an array of dining options that reflect its multicultural makeup. From street food carts offering hot dogs and pretzels to high-end restaurants serving international cuisines, the city caters to all tastes and budgets. Iconic foods like New York-style pizza, bagels, and deli sandwiches are part of the city's culinary fabric.

Transportation: The city's extensive public transportation system, which includes the subway, buses, and ferries, is a crucial part of daily life for millions of residents and visitors. The yellow taxi cabs are also an iconic symbol of the city's transportation.

Landmarks and Attractions: New York City is home to an impressive array of landmarks and attractions. Some of the must-visit places include:

Times Square: A bustling commercial and entertainment hub known for its bright lights, theaters, and New Year's Eve celebrations.

Central Park: An expansive green oasis in the heart of Manhattan, offering a retreat from the urban hustle and bustle.

Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island: Iconic symbols of American freedom and immigration history.

Brooklyn Bridge: A historic suspension bridge connecting Manhattan and Brooklyn, offering stunning views of the city skyline.

Rockefeller Center: A complex of commercial buildings, famous for its ice-skating rink and the Top of the Rock observation deck.

The High Line: A unique elevated park built on a former railway track, offering a serene escape above the city streets.

Museums and Art Galleries: In addition to the aforementioned museums, NYC is home to the Guggenheim Museum, Whitney Museum of American Art, and more.

Challenges and Opportunities: Despite its allure, New York City also faces challenges such as high living costs, traffic congestion, and issues related to affordable housing. The city has shown resilience in the face of challenges, and initiatives are continually being developed to address these concerns and create a more equitable and sustainable future.

In summary, New York City is a dynamic and multifaceted metropolis that captivates visitors and residents alike with its cultural richness, economic vitality, and unparalleled energy. Its ability to constantly reinvent itself while honoring its history makes it a truly remarkable and enduring global city.

#New York City #new york #newyork #New-York #nyc #NY #Manhattan #urban #city #USA #United States #buildings #travel #journey #outdoors #street #architecture #visit-new-york.tumblr.com

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sixthsensewulf · 5 months

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I just can't stop thinking of lines from D20. . Just the story telling from 7 comedians doing a role play game. Whether they are teenagers in a fantasy high school, 6 new Yorkers saving NYC, Candy, Fairy Tale characters or a crew on a starship.

Anyway speeches/lines I freaking love and just can't stop thinking about.

PiB's talk to Alphonse both times, but more the second one. For me it was 100% PiB talking to Alphonse, but speaking to himself, being a helper animal in the stories and that it's not his fault.

Kingston's speeches. There are too many to list here but god I love his speeches to Robert Moses before and in the stock exchange fight.

The Stepmother's speech to Baba Yaga. "I don't even have a name in my own story"

Rowan's speech to the American Dream as well as American Dream to Ricky.

Jawbone. .just Jawbone.. his speech to Adaine in FH:FY finale, literally made me sob.

Honestly back to TUC, Sofia on the Empire State Building moment.

Bill Seacaster to Fabian in the prison in front of The Bad Kids. I was heartbroken and mad.

Honestly weirdly Gepetto to Pinocchio in Pinocchio's story. Yes that moment is fucked but the fact the others saw it and immediately praised Pinocchio and told him he did the right thing.

"It's Gorgug, Keep Going"

"Listen here's the thing – I don't know what you kids are up to, but I do know one thing: laws are threats made by the dominant socio-economic, ethnic group in a given nation. It's just a promise of violence that's enacted and police are basically an occupying army, you know what I mean? You guys want to make some bacon?"

I probably have more but my god. .I love this group of nerds.

I probably forgot context to some of them or what they were. But I am so grateful I have found D20.

#dimension 20 #d20 #fantasy high #d20 neverafter #d20 unsleeping city #d20 starstruck #fantasy high junior year #wulf ramble tag

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sluttyten · 2 years

Text

UNHOLY | Chapter Two

full masterlist || UNHOLY chapter index

story synopsis: you’re a religious good girl when one day you find yourself sucked into a dark world of myth, legend, and creatures of horror. You never believed they were real, but now there are demons, vampires, werewolves, and so much more. In the magic and in the seduction, you begin to lose who you were and discover who you are. And most confusing of all? You want every bit of it.

genre: supernatural au, religious content & corruption, polyamory, plot! with (eventual) smut

characters: fem reader, yuta, ten, winwin, mark, others mentioned

length: 8,971 words

<-previous || next–>

The city is more alive than you first thought.

The empty square where you’d first arrived wasn’t at all an accurate representation of the rest of the city that these demons lead you through. Yuta strides ahead of you down the middle of a street devoid of cars or buses, Ten tagging along right behind you, chattering away excitedly though you’re not listening to him at all. There’s too much to look at, you can’t focus on listening.

Your hometown wasn’t a small town by any means, but it also wasn’t a huge city. Hell City, however, felt like it might put New York to shame.

You’d been there once when you were young with your parents, doing touristy things around the city, staring up at the skyscrapers in absolute awe. The city had been loud and smelly, but beautiful and exciting all the same. You’d visited museums and seen the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, Times Square. Of course, you’d visited a cathedral in the city, and all of the statues and faces of stained glass had made you deeply uncomfortable throughout the Mass, squirming in your seat as you felt watched.

You’d been a child then, so New York City had felt like the biggest place in the world, but standing here in Hell City when you’re an adult, this place feels even bigger. It’s quieter and somehow smells better than New York, but it’s equally beautiful and even more exciting. The city reminds you of a semi-apocalyptic one. Empty buildings line the boulevard, broken signs and windows, trash blowing down the abandoned streets. Occasionally shadowy figures pass by on either side of the street, but you have your head tilted back, looking at the windows high above you that glint like jagged teeth or fiery eyes. Gray clouds swell around the tops of the very highest buildings here.

But there is still life.

Distant voices echo down graffitied alleyways. Open doorways of buildings sometimes spill out light and sound, and one even puts out a delicious scent of Italian cooking and the sound of many voices and clinking glassware.

As the buildings rise even higher around you, so you suppose Yuta is leading you into the heart of Hell City’s downtown, the people finally come out of the shadows, filling in the sidewalk. They pass between buildings, shopping and chatting, some walk quickly with determined gazes. There are more restaurants, a rooftop bar on the third floor balcony of a very tall building, bright gleaming lit screens that remind you of Times Square, though these advertise things that you can’t even comprehend.

As the crowd grows thick around the three of you, your demons close in too. Yuta reaches back, his arm touching against yours, and he says, “Keep close to me. Getting lost in this crowd is possibly the worst thing that could happen.”

Ten stands right behind you, not quite touching you.

You obey, keeping close behind Yuta as he cuts through the increasingly dense crowd. When the air grows tight, when someone bumps into you from the side, you twist your fingers in the back of Yuta’s shirt, and you don’t even complain that Ten wraps an arm around your waist. The man that bumps into you hisses, eyes flaring a bright and unnatural shade of blue before his pupils expand into glassy black mirrors.

Ten hisses back, pushing you and Yuta forward.

As the other guy slips away into the crowd, Ten spits some words in a language you don’t know, and he keeps his hold on you. “Some demons have no fucking manners,” he mutters.

“Is everyone here a demon?” You ask, eyeing a group you pass by. All of them have red-tinged skin, black eyes, a few of them even have brutish horns curling from their heads. One glances in your direction, grinning and flicking a forked tongue out at you.

Ten smiles. “No, not by a long stretch. This city is more like a safe haven for the supernatural. Anyone and everyone supernatural is welcome and safe here. We’re guarded from the rest of the world, but they’re also guarded from us. There are people that make sure of it.”

“Is one of those people your Queen?” You stumble a bit over a crack in the pavement, knocking your chest forward against Yuta’s back, but Ten’s arm around you steadies you. “Is she here?”

Back in the graveyard, they’d told you that she’d demanded your presence, but somehow this city doesn’t seem to be the place you would find her.

“No.” Yuta looks back over his shoulder at you. “She’s not here. You won’t actually be meeting her.”

You frown. Then why are you here?

Once again, as if he’s reading your mind, though perhaps your face is just easy to read, Yuta explains, “She really demanded your extraction.”

Ten clears his throat. “This is the world you’re meant for, darling. And she figured two devilishly handsome demons would be the perfect pair to welcome you in and make you comfortable.”

Yuta nods, his gaze flicking up to meet Ten’s. “We’ve already got a place lined up for you to stay.”

Distrustfully, you look between them. “That doesn’t sound promising.”

Yuta looks back at you, his warm eyes flashing under the lights of the downtown area. “Trust us, pretty girl. We’re putting you up somewhere nice.”

The conversation ends there, and Yuta and Ten guide you silently through the rest of Hell City’s crowded center, leading you about three blocks away, through streets that grow gradually emptier though the volume behind you reminds you that this is still definitely a living, breathing city.

Yuta stops in front of a skyscraper that looks sketchy at best and downright dangerous at the worst. The bottom three floors look like they’ve been ravaged by fire–shattered and empty sockets where windows used to be, exposed beams that make up the walls and floors. Ash floats perpetually through the air, swirling up into a thick cloud when Yuta pushes open the front door. A chandelier dangles crooked from a beam overhead, nearly touching the floor in front of an abandoned doorman’s station.

The fact that two old-fashioned elevators sit parked to either side of the doorman’s empty desk doesn’t make you feel any better about this place. The lift is one of those with the gate that pulls across the front, but the other three sides are made of the same grating with large gaps that mean, as Yuta and Ten corral you on board the super sketchy elevator to the left, you can see clear through the building on all sides.

Whatever once happened here, nothing remains of the first three floors save this open-air elevator and the beams that keep this building from just collapsing. No walls, so the wind cuts straight through you.

Up a few stories in the rickety lift, you discover that the building isn’t as decrepit and rotten as it had seemed from below. Some stable walls begin to appear, and slowly a building grows around you, solid and – while not totally inviting – somewhat providing a sense of safety.

More than two dozen stories up, the lift finally swings to a stop with much creaking and grinding of machinery. Yuta pulls open the gate, stepping out onto a solid landing. You follow.

There’s nothing up here other than an empty stretch of hallway in front of you and one single set of double doors.

“No neighbors?” You ask, feeling a shiver work its way up your spine.

“In this city? Be glad for it. The last thing you want is a werewolf next door getting a little too annoyed with you, or a goblin with a penchant for breaking and entering.” Yuta slips a key from thin air, turning it in the lock.

You can’t help but gasp in surprise as the doors open wide.

You were expecting a burnt husk of a room, one filled with grime and muck, or maybe one that resembled a dark, dank cell. What you get instead is a luxurious studio, like the nicest hotel room you’ve ever seen, spacious and richly decorated.

“Magic,” Ten explains happily from behind you. “Get used to it, darling. This whole place is run on magic.”

You half-expect the illusion to shatter once you step over the doorway, but the apartment is real. It has a small kitchen to the right of the door, an open living space, a raised platform with a bed. There’s a small bathroom on the other side of the kitchen. One full wall opposite the entrance to the apartment is all windows, letting in the unnatural orange glow of the sky, and there’s even a small balcony overlooking the city.

This place has just the bare bones of essentials.

A bed. Curtains around the windows. A table in the kitchen area.

The bed doesn’t even have sheets, just a frame and a mattress.

“Is this all I get?” You ask, staring at the uncovered mattress. “Or are we going on a shopping spree?”

You think back to the crowded streets and all the shops. You’re not in any hurry to get back there, especially since you don’t know what kind of people you’ll find there. More demons? These two are already too much.

Ten pulls himself up to sit on the kitchen countertop across the room, his feet knocking against the cabinets beneath. “A shopping spree isn’t necessary. Didn’t you hear what I just said a few minutes ago? This whole city is run on magic. Ask and you shall receive.” He snaps his fingers and a fluffy pink pillow flops from the air down onto the mattress beside you.

You stare at it.

Yuta comes over to you, standing at the edge of the bed. “Life is simple with magic, baby girl.” He lifts a hand, tapping his fingertips beneath your chin. “What would you like? Ask for anything.”

Just ask for it?

“Can I have a glass of water?”

Yuta raises an eyebrow, but a half second later, there’s a glass of water in his other hand. You feel a tingle where his fingertips touch your chin, a shift in the air around you and him. There’s that tiny hint of sulfur in the air, but either you’re getting used to the smell or this manifestation didn’t cost Yuta as much as teleporting you from the cemetery to Hell City had.

He offers the glass to you, and you take it, feeling the condensation slick on the sides of the glass, cool beneath your touch. You hesitate as you lift it to your lips, but it doesn’t smell strange, and when you take a sip, it tastes just like water, cool and fresh.

“Do you want to learn how to do it?” Yuta asks, sinking down into a crouch so his head is level with your knees as you sit on the bed. “Anyone can do it, it’s magic.”

Magic.

You were raised to not believe in magic, taught that it was evil and unholy. That all things that had to do with the practice were corrupt and dark and would send you straight to Hell.

But you’re in Hell adjacent, aren’t you? In a city called Hell, accompanied by a pair of demons who you can’t quite trust even as you struggle to find a reason not to.

Another fluffy pillow flomps into existence on the bed beside the first, and Ten grins at you from across the room.

“Alright,” you sigh, looking into Yuta’s eyes. “Show me.”

They give you a run down of the basics. The simplicity of life with magic. All you have to do is ask for something, to really want it, to picture it clearly in your mind, and there it will be – a glass of water, a large platter of pasta, a pair of fresh clothes, a set of soft sheets – anything you ask for. And once you get it, you get it. A thought and it would appear, materializing out of thin air.

“There is no cost,” Yuta assures you when you voice that concern. “You can manifest whatever you want, free of charge.”

Ten leans back in amusement to watch as you materialize all sorts of things. He and Yuta laugh at the wonder on your face with each new arrival.

“Like a child.” Ten comes closer, teasing you, delighted by your delight when the sofa you’d been imagining pops into existence on the floor in front of the bed. Maybe you squeal in delight, rushing over to sit down on it, and it’s just as soft and comfortable as you’d hoped. Ten rests his chin on Yuta’s shoulder, and he says loud enough that you can hear, “She’s cute.”

Your amazement over the little things doesn’t fade.

You keep manifesting small things, little trinkets throughout the next few hours even as Yuta and Ten sit there and watch. The sky outside never changes, always orange, though it perhaps darkens a bit more, but full night never seems to fall.

“We’ll leave you here tonight, pretty girl,” Yuta says after several hours. You’re sitting surrounded, like a spoiled child on Christmas morning, with trinkets and blankets and clothes and bits of food around you on the floor. He stands, reaching over the mess to brush his hand along the top of your head. “You might not feel the need to sleep, but you probably should. Time passes strangely here in the city, and magic can’t always sustain you.”

Ten rises to follow Yuta toward the door, and as you watch them go, a strange feeling sinks into your belly.

“You’ll come back, won’t you?” The words leap out before you can stop them.

“If I’m being honest,” Yuta says, “I’m not sure there’s too much that could keep us away. We’ll be back, baby girl. Remember what I said.” He steps out the door, disappearing into the shaded hall outside.

Ten lingers for a second, fidgeting with a small figurine you’d manifested earlier. A small black cat that had come out looking more like Ten than the one in your head, so you’d tossed it at him, and told him it was for him. Right now, he holds it lightly, cradling it in his palm. His expression takes on a more sincere look than you’ve seen him wear since you met several hours ago, and he says, “I just want you to know, Yuta and I had absolutely nothing to do with the deaths of your parents. Whoever the demons were that did that to them–” He shakes his head, and you wonder if he knows all the gruesome details.

Tragically, your nightmares are the imprints of the crime scene. You weren’t the one that found them, but in the interviews with the police, in the articles that circulated about the double homicide, you’d heard disturbing details and seen crime scene photos. Over the years, your horror has subsided somewhat, but there are still triggers that flood your mind with the images.

“--They had nothing to do with Yuta or I. Our Queen of the Night has many different demons in her employ, not to mention there are reams of them that run rampant. There are those that are more violent and bloodthirsty than others, and I just really, really want to make sure that you understand, Yuta and I aren’t like that.”

You nod, staring at the cat figurine.

“Ten!” Yuta calls from somewhere outside the doorway, his voice echoing and amplified.

— — — —

Your obsession with manifesting, your wonder at this entire city, neither would fade for at least another week. You don’t even stir from your apartment, content with just materializing books and music, food and drinks, clothes, games, crafting supplies, anything and everything you could imagine.

Yuta and Ten keep their parting promises, returning the following day, and the one after that. With each visit, you warm more to them, trusting them and finding the little things that make them seem less like evil demons (as you’d been raised to believe) and just like people who are little different than what you’re used to. It helps that they soften as well, growing more friendly with each passing visit, intrigued by you as much as you are by them.

The city outside your window hardly changes. The sky is perpetually caught at dusk, and even when dense gray clouds fill the sky and hang low enough that they almost seem within reach, they’re still underlit by an orange glow that seems to come from everywhere with no definitive source. You can neither tell day nor night, and sometimes you forget to sleep, the passage of time nonexistent until you manifest a clock for yourself.

You’re not really sure how long you’ve been in Hell City, but it’s long enough that you’ve created a stocked library of books along one wall of your apartment, when Yuta and Ten barge together into your apartment.

“We’re going out,” Ten announces, crossing the studio without even waiting for a greeting. He pulls on the heavy velvet curtains you’ve drawn over the balcony windows, yanking them wide open. “Get dressed.”

“Out?” You’d been lounging in bed, resting upside down with your feet propped up on the fancy headboard (one you’d manifested instead of the one original to the bed frame), reading a book (Harry Potter, finally, which you’re sure you would find much more fascinating if you’d read it as a child, or maybe if you weren’t being introduced to it after you’d already landed in a magical world) under the glowing strands of lights you’d also manifest, which now hang and swoop from the ceiling, filling the room with plenty of light and even a gentle heat.

Yuta brushes aside one of the strings of lights as he walks towards the bed. “Yes. We’re going out. You haven’t even left this room since you got here. We told you, you’re not a prisoner. Come out. Explore the city with us tonight.”

Ten pushes open the door onto the balcony, letting in a breath of fresh air. He tips his head back, breathing in deeply. “We’re going to miss all the fun if we don’t hurry.”

“There’s people who want to meet you.” Yuta says. He snaps his fingers and the wardrobe you’d been storing all of your clothes in throws its doors open at his command. “Get dressed.”

Neither Yuta nor Ten make any move to leave the room or look away as you sit up in bed, flipping around onto your knees. “I can’t change clothes with you right here.” Your modesty is still very much intact, even if you’ve corrupted your morals with all of this magic, with befriending demons, allowing them to steal you away from the Church.

Ten rolls his eyes, smiling softly with affection. “Little saint, do you think it matters?”

“Little demon, why doesn’t it?” You throw back at him. “I know you’re demons, but fuck, give a girl some privacy.”

Ten opens his mouth to argue again, but Yuta appears beside him, covering Ten’s mouth with his hand. “Give her what she wants, Ten. I know you like her, but you have to make this one a slow seduction. Our sweet girl requires patience.” He winks once at you before he twists around, pulling Ten with him so they’ve both got their backs to you. Yuta fixes his hand on the back of Ten’s head, forcing him to stare straight forward. “Hurry, my love, Ten’s right. We’ll miss all the fun if we don’t hurry.”

You have a wide outfit selection after having spent however many days and hours and possibly weeks here in this room manifesting whatever you could dream of.

“Wear something red,” Ten suggests. “I like you in red.”

The only thing you have in red is something you’d dreamt up just for fun, never meaning for it to be seen by anyone else. It was based on an outfit a character in one of the books you’d read had worn, and it was the tightest, tiniest silky red dress. An open back, with barely-there strings that criss-crossed over your back.

“I, um, I only have–”

“Just wear it,” Ten says, and you swear he probably has eyes in the back of his head. “You made it, right? So, maybe even if it was just subconsciously, you want to wear it. No one here is going to judge you for it, darling.”

Ten’s words are all the convincing you need. It takes a moment to get it on behind the door of the wardrobe, tucking yourself out of the potential back-of-the-head eyesight of the demons. You materialize a pair of matching red fishnet tights, slipping those on beneath the dress, and a modest pair of flats.

The moment that they turn around to look at you, Ten takes one look at your shoes, scoffs, snaps his fingers, and suddenly you’re a few inches taller, teetering in heels. He’s right, and you know it.

The rickety lift is the same as you remember it being on the way up. It sways and rocks in the wind that gusts through the emptiness on the lower floors of this skyscraper. You’re still a few floors up from the street level when you hear the first hints of music in the city.

Yuta takes your hand when you reach the street, steering you in the opposite direction to where you know the heart of the city to be. He guides you down an alley, up a flight of stone steps set into a hill between two buildings.

In the however long that you’ve been residing here in Hell City, Yuta and Ten are the only people you’ve seen since that first night. From up in your apartment, the streets look almost entirely empty. There doesn’t seem to be any public transportation here, and you’re up so high that you can’t really see individuals walking on the streets. You’ve seen occasional cars, but they’ve been few and far in between. Sometimes you can see lights around the cities like the screens in the city center or fireworks and parties. Now you’re down here among the people, you see others walking the streets. Some look like normal humans, like you. There are some unmistakable demons–black eyes, visible horns, spewing smoke and sparks.

Yuta and Ten flank you as you pass by a group of men who gamble around a table outside what is apparently some kind of pub, but you realize they’re not just men when one of them roars in anger, leaping to his feet as he writhes and shreds his clothes, fur and claws and gnashing teeth appearing in an instant.

“Damn wolves,” Ten mutters. “Stay away from them,” he warns, curling an arm against your hip.

There are others too, creatures that you can’t identify on sight alone. Winged beings. Creatures with tentacles. Pale-faced women with sunken eyes and gaping mouths, staring at them for a little too long leaves you with ringing ears though they make no sounds you can discern. Short, squat men with rows of razor sharp teeth crowd outside a low door down one alley, gnawing at what look like bones.

It’s truly another world from the one you grew up in.

And that’s proven even more true when Yuta and Ten guide you down a short set of stone steps bridging one level of this city to the one beneath it. You step from an open city street down into a party. It reminds you of a parking garage with sloping levels, but instead of oil-stained cement painted with parking lines and arrows and tire marks, the floor is black and white tiled in dazzling and mesmerizing patterns. Instead of bare cement block walls there are rich brocade curtains, velvet tapestries, shining wallpaper, graffiti artwork, and pieces of framed art that look suspiciously like famously missing artworks from the world you know.

Strings of lights weave through the ceiling, silvery and sparkling like miniature stars fixed into new and unfamiliar constellations among the black and navy and deepest purple fabrics that make up the ceiling here.

And there are people everywhere. The place is filled. People of all sorts–ones that look human and some that look decidedly not.

“Come this way,” Yuta says, his hand tapping your elbow as he sets off into the crowd. Ten sticks with you, his hand resting at your lower back, pressing you forward behind Yuta through the crowd.

Together, the three of you wend through the party, either of the demons calling out to other partiers that they’re familiar with, pointing out beings to you that you would otherwise have no hope of identifying. It’s only Ten’s quick hand on your back that saves you from walking straight through the path of a woman that faintly glows gold, pointed ears sit atop her head, a bushy fox tail waving behind her, but as the woman passes inches in front of you, her bronze eyes glare imperiously down at you. Goosebumps rise on your arms and legs, and Ten chuckles behind you, sliding right up against you as he runs his hands up and down your arms.

“Chilly, darling? I could warm you up.” He breathes against the back of your neck, the air heating like a warm summer day.

You push away, hurrying to catch up to Yuta before the crowd can separate you.

Yuta leads the way through a small door tucked in a back corner.

The luxury of black tile and artwork, as well as the simple beauty of shiny lights and draped ceilings, all fades away. You’re not sure that you’re still in the same party that you just were. There are still plenty of people milling around, but it feels like you’ve stepped out of one location into another.

He leads you down a narrow path between two high walls, and it feels like you’re in a back alley, though there’s definitely still a ceiling over your head. You can feel the weight of the city above you, but you can also sense that there’s much more of the city beneath you and spreading out to either side.

A city beneath the city.

Yuta leads you along deeper and deeper into this labyrinthine party. Cobbled floors make the way difficult to navigate in your heels, and Yuta reaches back to steady you when you nearly topple due to a loose cobblestone. Smooth black walls and dim lighting line this path, and as the alley begins to widen, you notice many half-closed doors lead off into new spaces, inviting music and conversation and laughter spill out.

You peek through one doorway, finding a vast room full of gambling tables, a variety of creatures gathered there. Before you move away, one of the women at the table nearest to you flips her hair over her shoulder, and you jump as you realize that the way her hair shimmers and falls in slow-motion waves isn’t due to her probably having a fantastic hair care routine but rather to the fact that her hair is snakes.

“Snakes?” You ask Ten in a hushed voice as he pulls you along behind Yuta.

“A gorgon,” he explains. “Lovely women as long as you don’t do anything to offend them.”

You can’t tamp down your curiosity, peering in through more of the doorways that you pass by, unveiling more creatures and wonders of magic. There’s one room with tinny, screeching music and pastel lights that flash and flicker through the narrow opening in the door, and a glimpse inside reveals a room that you at first believe is infested with winged insects until you realize they are fairies. The pretty pixies you know from childhood stories.

You feel like your head has been on a swivel since the moment you stepped foot outside of the studio apartment, but as the path Yuta leads you on dead-ends at a door, at last you feel like you come to a standstill, staring straight forward when Yuta knocks on the door, and when it opens you see the room hidden inside.

It’s sacrilegious, the enormous mural hanging amidst a black curtain wall.

A painting of the Madonna, the young mother Mary, holding her blessed infant in front of a kneeling man. Only that’s not all. The painting has been defaced with ugly, dripping slashes of red and childish scrawlings of devils horns on the heads of the figures. The part of you that still desperately clings to the religious beliefs you were raised on cringes at the sight.

A sign hangs over the door, and you can just barely make out the carved script that spells out “Covenant” before you follow Yuta inside. The man who had opened the door nods at Yuta first, gives you a cursory look, and then nods at Ten as well. No words are exchanged, and if they are, you aren’t listening, too caught up in silent horror as more defaced artwork is revealed.

More artworks of both religious subjects and otherwise are displayed in this place. Paintings, carvings, mosaics, tapestries, even a few sculptures and reliefs line the walls. All of them are stripped in some way of their original beauty, whether that is by being splattered with paint, having been spray painted, drawn on, or (in the case of a sculpture of a nude woman, probably a Greek or Roman goddess) lipstick marks.

“Come along, pretty girl,” Yuta says, tapping the back of your hand, drawing your gaze away from the crude lipstick marks on the nipples of the sculpture.

Your gaze sweeps across the room.

This place reminds you a lot of the first room in this underground realm. Checkered tile floors, the artwork, and the sheer number of people in the room.

Music plays from somewhere in the room, a thrumming beat that the crowd moves to. They don’t seem to care that they’re all fully exposed in the light as they grind together shamelessly in the middle of the floor.

The far end of the room holds a throne, occupied by one man who looks entirely comfortable perched atop it, looking out over the crowd while he drinks a glass of wine.

He is where Yuta leads you. “I want you to meet some of our friends.”

Passing through the partiers on your way to the man on the throne, you realize that this crowd seems to be made up entirely of humans.

Now, you’re not sure about the specifics of who exactly resides here in this Hell City, but the supernatural creatures seem to outweigh the humans by quite a lot. So seeing so many crowded into one spot has you confused, and you’re right to question what you see because in this magical otherworldly town, everything is not what it first seems.

It begins when you notice two women making out in the crowd, one with her mouth on the other’s throat. And then you see a man dancing between another man and a woman, his wrists held to their mouths.

And then it all suddenly clicks.

“Vampires?” You ask, twisting around to look at Ten.

He nods, pressing his hand a little more firmly against your lower back. “Yes. The leader of the coven is a good friend of ours. Now keep up with Yuta before these hungry vampires decide to make a little snack out of you. You're like a sweet candy tonight, all wrapped in your tiny little red dress. Makes everyone want a taste.”

“Well they can’t have a taste. I’m not a snack.” You say, quickly rushing forward to catch up to Yuta.

“I beg to differ,” Ten says, appearing right beside you, his arm curling over your shoulders. “I, for one, could eat you up. One little bite, darling.”

You glance sideways at him right as Ten dips his head, brushing his mouth against your shoulder.

The heat that surges through you has nothing to do with his natural demon heat and everything to do with the way he and Yuta have been teasing you since they brought you here.

You’re a grown woman. You have urges and needs, hungers that spring up, and here in this place you know no one. Shit, you hadn’t seen anyone other than the two demons until an hour ago. You hadn’t succumbed to your urges yet, though both of the demons had been doing their best to seduce you, but you still had some morals, which meant drawing the line at having sex with a demon.

Though, having Ten’s lips on the bare skin of your shoulder weakens your resolve a bit.

You keep moving, trailing behind Yuta, and Ten falls back from your side though his hand slips down your arm, his fingers dipping over your palm before slotting between your fingers. You squeeze his hand in yours, allowing yourself this much.

You miss contact with other people.

Even before their consensual abduction of you, it had been a while since you’d had physical contact with another person. There was the occasional brush of hands with a stranger when you handed over cash or a card at a register, but your friends weren’t the touchy and huggy sort. You’d had a boyfriend, but he broke up with you almost a year ago. He was the last person you’d kissed. He’d been the last person you’d had sex with.

Having Ten’s hand firmly in yours is the most action you’ve gotten since then.

As you finally reach the man on the throne, Yuta looks back at you, extending his hand. You take his hand as well, and there’s something that feels too right about holding hands with both of the demons.

“I want you to meet Mark,” Yuta says, drawing you up beside him.

You look up into the face of the man on the throne.

He has a wide, honest face. He looks young and handsome, with dark eyes, a gentle smile. This Mark guy gives the complete opposite first impression as Ten and Yuta had. He doesn’t strike you as intimidating or scary or anything like that. Instead, you feel like you could approach him, trust him instantly. As your eyes are locked with his, you can picture yourself right now crossing the last few steps to the throne he’s draped across, taking a seat in his lap, trusting this man entirely with yourself.

It’s Ten that snaps you out of your trance.

His fingers touch your chin, forcing you to turn your head to the side, tearing your gaze away from Mark’s.

Yuta’s voice sounds cottony in your ears. “Don’t fucking do that. She’s not some toy we’ve brought you. Don’t play your little mind games with her.”

Mark laughs quietly from his seat, and he sits forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you already had a claim on her.”

“We don’t.” Ten releases your chin. “But if you’re going to try to seduce her, at least do it properly. Like we are.”

You roll your eyes at Ten. Their seduction isn’t working on you. You won’t let it. Neither will you let this vampire seduce you. They are all unholy things, and you want no part in that.

Yuta’s hand trails up your arm, curling over your shoulder. “We’re here for the party, Mark. It’s her first time out since she came to join us, and we assumed you’d have the best party tonight. Where’s all the fun at? This is just turning into a blood orgy.” He gestures at the crowd behind you, all the humans baring their throats and wrists and one woman who is offering a very risque drink from her thigh, the vampire on his knees in front of her.

Mark just smirks. “Maybe this is the fun, Yuta. I think you and Ten would enjoy one of these parties if you gave it a chance.”

“Do you two drink blood?” You ask, quickly glancing back and forth between them. You’ve never seen either of them eat or drink anything, but they’re demons, so you’re not sure if they require any kind of food or drink.

Yuta’s hand drifts up to pet your hair, and then, to Mark, he says, “Really, where is the party?”

The vampire lifts himself from the throne, still smiling as he says, “Follow me.”

Ten leaves your side then, hurrying to catch up to Mark, throwing his arm over the vampire’s shoulders and whispering to him until they’re both laughing. Yuta sticks with you, walking at exactly your pace as the four of you step around the throne, moving toward a passageway directly behind it.

The passage slopes gradually downward, and Yuta keeps his hand lightly on your arm to keep you from stumbling, which you’re grateful for when your heel catches on a loose cobblestone again.

“Careful,” Yuta warns. “One slip, a scrape, a drop of blood and you’ll have the vampires going rabid for you.”

After that, you’re a little more careful where you place your feet, but these damn heels Ten put you in aren’t helping anything. Actually, no part of this outfit is at all helpful right now. The farther down this passage you descend, the cooler the air grows until goosebumps rise on your arms and legs.

“Wh-Where are we going?” You ask Yuta, tucking yourself a little closer to his warm side. Mark and Ten are about a dozen steps in front of you, still chatting amicably with each other, but at the sound of your question, Mark twists around.

“This is a secret entrance to Frozen Hell,” he explains, “The best underground nightclub here in Hell. It’s where all of the world’s vices and fantasies are played out. You’ll love it.”

Ten laughs. “She’s a saintly girl, a good girl. I’m not so sure that she will.”

“She’ll find something she likes, I’m sure,” Mark gives you another of his falsely-innocent smiles, and then faces forward again.

There’s a curve in the passage, and then at last the four of you step out into a cavernous room.

Flickering flame-like blue lights hang from the high ceiling. Dark shapes, which you suspect may be bats, flutter over the crowd. Music plays, pulsating through the crowd of supernatural creatures and humans that fill the dancefloor, they all move like the surface of the ocean, and it’s a wonder to see as you follow behind Mark down into the club.

People stop him as you all pass by. Other vampires whose eyes almost glow red in the dimness, whose lips drip blood. Stone-skinned bulky men thump him on the shoulder as you pass, and you watch Mark’s knees nearly buckle, but he keeps a smile on his face. There are short, squat men with droopy features. There’s a cluster of what you can only assume are fire spirits, flickering golden orange twisting shapes of women that twirl around Mark, brushing their fingers through his hair, leaving singes on the collar of his shirt.

Everyone seems to know him here, and you’re not surprised when Yuta presses his lips to your ear, shouting to be heard over the pulsing bass of the music. “Mark’s one of the kings of Hell, basically. He owns half of the underground scene here.”

You don’t understand this whole underground thing. Do they call it that because it’s all literally underground? Because where you’re from, “underground” is that way because it’s usually illegal things, hidden from the sight of the law and other moral powers. But here there doesn’t seem to be laws, nor is there a higher power to judge them for all of their sinfulness and indecency. They’re demons and monsters, for God’s sake. They have no one to hide from.

Mark and Ten lead the way to a private booth. A velvet bench seat curves around a circular table, another one of those strange flame-like lights casting its blue and black shadows over the booth.

Ten and Yuta fit you between them, Mark sliding in on the opposite side. All he has to do is snap his fingers and a tray appears on the table, laden with drinks. A martini glass filled with a liquid that looks to be black in this light, but as Mark lifts it between two fingers, you begin to strongly suspect that it’s actually just a very deep red–a blood martini topped with flakes of silver, and something else floats in the murky liquid that you don’t want to get a closer look at. There’s a glass of clear liquid that gives off a fog that seeps down the sides of the glass and creeps over the table’s surface. Several shot glasses of something shimmery and lilac. A champagne flute that gives off actual bubbles that float into the air before popping when they meet the flickering flames of the light overhead. And lastly, a small, shallow glass containing a milky light green drink that gives off a citrusy spice, something like licorice.

Mark takes the martini glass, Yuta reaches for the smoking one, and as you reach for the green one–intrigued by its scent and appearance–Ten slaps your hand away quickly. “You don’t want that one, darling. It would knock you off your feet with just a drop.”

All three of them watch as you instead take the bubbling champagne. You open your mouth, catching one of the bubbles as it takes flight, and it pops in your mouth, coating your tongue with a warm apple flavor. And when you take a small sip of the drink itself, your senses of smell and taste are both met with a taste so poignant you are temporarily blinded by a memory of sitting in the kitchen of your parents’ home when you were little, waiting at the table as your mother pulled an apple pie from the oven.

You’re not sure if it’s a real memory or not, because up until that moment you didn’t remember that ever happening, but now it’s there as you take another sip, a nostalgic memory on the tip of your tongue.

The more of it you drink, the looser your tongue grows. Soon, you’re chatting animatedly with the vampire and the two demons you’ve found yourself in the company of. Yuta looks highly amused by you as you giggle and lean against Ten. Ten just watches you affectionately as he brushes your hair back from your face. And Mark has a look of curiosity and intrigue, his gaze touching on yours, tainting your thoughts again with images of you climbing into his lap–though you’re not so sure he’s doing it or if it’s just your horny mind giving in to the thoughts of need and his attractiveness–and his eyes wander repeatedly down to your chest, the low dip of the dress that seems to slip even more as you imbibe more drinks–knocking back the shots of shimmering purple with the three of them, a cocktail that literally looks like a sunset captured within a glass, topped by a gummy hot air balloon.

You’re having a great time.

And when the urge to dance overcomes you, Ten and Mark both take you away to join the dense crowd of dancers. Yuta remains behind at the booth, but you can feel him watching. His gaze tickles against the back of your head as you split away from Ten and Mark to just enjoy yourself, and you know that you’re fine because Yuta is watching you. You can feel Ten checking on you occasionally even as he fits himself against another dancer.

You’re just having fun, the most fun you’ve had in a very long time.

Even when you’re in the crowd of monsters, sliding by someone who has tentacles, avoiding the trailing hem of a ragged old woman (or maybe she’s actually very young and beautiful, though under the shifting lights, you can’t quite tell), you’re having a good time. There are humans too, you realize. People who accidentally or intentionally come in contact with you, or who at least meet your eyes in the crowd, and you don’t get a weird feeling from them.

You’re enjoying your time by yourself, dancing alone until a man approaches you. A human, you believe, judging by his lack of extra appendages, odd-colored eyes, no fangs, and the general lack of demonic energy. He’s got soft edges, you think hazily, looking up at him, at the styled swoop of his black hair, solid eyebrows over warm brown, angled eyes. His lips are full and pink, and you’re probably well on your way to drunk, so you just want to kiss him.

He smiles at you. “Can I dance with you?”

You agree, because why the hell not.

He’s tall and handsome, and there’s something about him that seems just pretty but also very masculine. You feel a tingle along your spine as Ten brushes by you, glancing back over his shoulder and lifting his eyebrows in surprise as you and this stranger begin dancing together.

Some of your friends, back in your life before Hell, had found it funny how you grew up so conservatively, how you still clung to the majority of your conservative religious views. But there were others that you flaunted so easily. Modesty, generally, was something that you still held in high regard. But they’d known you to go out with them to bars and even a club or two, to dance with strangers, once or twice you even went home with strangers. Your openness with sexuality was one of those things that had surprised your friends.

And you can tell now, that it surprises Ten too. You’re a good girl, a religious girl in his eyes. A little saint.

Now here you are dancing with a stranger in a supernatural nightclub, deep underground, in Hell City.

You can still feel Yuta watching you, and when you look in the direction of the table, he’s staring right at you, watching the sway of your hips against the man behind you, the way the man’s hands touch you over your dress. You’re sure he’s still watching after a while when the man leans down, his lips against your throat as he asks if you want to go somewhere more private.

And you do. You’re feeling truly carefree and light-hearted for the first time since Ten and Yuta had shown up in your life, you’re a little drunk, a little horny, and he’s attractive. And what the hell, you’re in Hell. May as well do something like this, right?

“What’s your name?” You ask, as he takes your hand in his bigger one, as he starts to lead you away through the crowd.

“I’m WinWin.” He shouts to be heard over the booming synth music that’s just begun playing. “And you?”

You’re not entirely sure that he actually hears your name when you shout it to him, but he nods, and keeps walking. There are several rooms and corridors that lead away from this club space, and a little voice in the back of your mind questions how deep this place goes. How many layers are there to this city that you just keep going deeper and deeper with no sign of the bottom of this labyrinthine party?

WinWin leads you down one of the corridors. There’s a little more light in this one, and you hate that he looks even more handsome in clear light. You can’t wait to get to wherever he’s leading you.

You tug on his hand, and WinWin turns around. He comes easily when you pull him against you as you back against the wall of the corridor. He looks so pleased as he lowers his head over yours, and you tilt your head back, lifting on your toes to kiss him.

His kiss tastes like whiskey, and it’s equally as intoxicating.

You’re sucked in, drunk on kissing WinWin, on tangling your arms around his neck, moaning encouragingly as he touches you. His hands feel warm against the bare skin of your shoulders and upper back, against your bare thighs when he reaches down to slip a hand beneath the short edge of your dress.

One moment he’s there, covering you in his heat, his mouth against yours, and his hands beneath your dress. The next, you’re staring at him pinned up against the wall, Yuta’s forearm pressing against his throat.

Snarling and growling and hissing fill your ears.

Yuta’s teeth are bared, eyes black, heat comes off him in waves, and there’s the bite of brimstone in the air.

In comparison, WinWin’s teeth are also bared.

It’s only now that you realize he’s not as human as you’d thought.

His canines have extended, a low growl rolls from deep in his throat. His eyes glow amber like a wolf.

A werewolf.

“Didn’t you listen earlier?” Yuta hisses, and you know the question is directed at you even though he doesn’t look away from the werewolf he has against the wall. “Ten told you to steer clear of wolves, and what do I find? You’re about as close to one as you possibly can be.”

WinWin growls again. “What’s so bad about wolves, demon?”

“Everything, mutt.” Yuta presses his arm harder, forcing WinWin’s chin up for a moment, the wolf's eyes flare, and then Yuta steps back. When he reaches for your hand, you pull away, shrinking towards WinWin. Yuta’s eyes get that fiery glow deep within the blackness as he watches this, and he hisses between his teeth. “Wolves just want to fuck everything that walks by, breed any pussy they come in contact with. Do you want to get fucked full with a litter of werewolf cubs, baby girl?”

Beside you, WinWin scoffs. “She’s human, right? She won’t get knocked up. Not the first time anyway.”

Heat blooms inside you. Embarrassment, surprise, all sorts of emotions washing together. You don’t necessarily like the image Yuta’s painted in your mind, but there’s something else about it that you oddly are into.

WinWin drapes his arm over your shoulders. “I promise you, you’ve never had dick like a werewolf can give you.”

Tempting. Very, very tempting. But still, you’re reminded that WinWin’s a werewolf, just as supernatural and wrong as the demons you’ve been denying since you arrived here, just as sinful and different as the vampire Mark. You cling desperately to the little virtues that you have left to you, clutching them to your heart.

You want to run, but you’re so deep underground right now, you’re not even sure which way to go.

So you drop.

Flight. Fight. Freeze.

And once again, you choose to freeze.

You sink down, dropping your forehead against your knees. Your ankles wobble, unsteady on the heels, and you lose your balance, falling flat back on your butt.

“I want to go home,” you mumble, feeling foolish tears rising to your eyes. You repeat, “I wanna go home, Yuta. Take me back like you promised.”

WinWin shifts uncertainly on his feet. Yuta clears his throat, and you hear him shuffle forward, feel the air move as he crouches down in front of you. His hand lays against the back of your head. “You don’t mean that.”

You blink quickly to get rid of your tears before you lift your head. “I do mean it. I want to go home. To my home. I’m tired. I don’t like it here anymore.”

“You’re drunk,” Yuta says, his tone soft as he pets your hair again. He says your name quietly, imploringly, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours. “You’re just drunk. I’ll take you back to your apartment, you can sleep it off, and tomorrow when you’re sober, we can think this over again.”

“Fine,” you agree. “But I won’t change my mind.”

Yuta stands up, holding his hand down to you. “We’ll see, sweet girl.”

WinWin is still waiting there beside you. His amber eyes have faded back to warm brown. His canines have shrunk back to normal. All traces of his wolfism are gone, and you want to give up on that pesky voice that sounds disturbingly like your mother telling you not to involve yourself with these creatures. When you return home, you still want there to be some purity left on your soul, and fucking a werewolf probably would destroy the last of that.

Yuta tries to tug you away from WinWin, to lead you back down the corridor to the club, toward the exit, but you stand your ground. WinWin looks down at you, his lips turned downward into a pout.

“It was nice meeting you, WinWin. Maybe under different circumstances, in a different world, this would have worked out better.” You say by way of apology. “I just don’t fuck with the unholy.”

He bares his teeth at the sound of that word. Unholy. “Unfortunately, you’re in the den of unholiness, princess. And there is no escape”

His words fall straight to the pit of your stomach, but Yuta’s already pulling you away.

Ten is located quickly, a brief goodbye given to Mark, and then Yuta is rushing you out of the underground club, up through the winding corridors and throngs of vampires, demons, and unknown monsters. Once you’re aboveground, standing on the city street again, Yuta closes his arms around you. The world flashes, flickers, and falls into place again.

This time the teleportation makes you incredibly dizzy, so you close your eyes, and when you reopen them you’re standing safely inside your apartment.

Alone.

You don’t bother taking the dress off or washing away the stink of the evening’s adventures. You collapse into bed, and forget everything for a little while.

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#nct smut #nct fics #ten smut #yuta smut #winwin smut #mark smut #wayv smut #nct 127 smut #unholy

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