#fifty shades of SILVER | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rel124c41 · 1 month ago

Text

SCREAM OF THE BUTTERFLY. jade leech

He opens his eyes to see a bright horizon. All of it is liquid gold, a shimmering sea of yellow below the horizon and clouds of volcanic orange above the horizon. Smack in the middle is the Sun - 70.6% hydrogen and 27.4% helium, diameter 1.4 million kilometers - and it stares at him. A hand shades his eyes. "Hey, don't look too close. You're going to see something you don't like."

tags: android jade leech, dubious morality, animal death, blood and gore, existential angst, repressed memories, unresolved emotional tension, choking, reader is 52 and jade is permanently 21, non-consensual body modification, & age difference

word count: 13,363

Both of you watch the pancake melt on the cabin’s wooden floor. The top of the circle is a golden-crusted brown. However, the underside was not yet cooked so that waxy yellow mixture starts to spread out in a sunlight pool.

“I’m terribly sorry, Master,” Jade rushes to say but seems too shellshock to make a move to fix the mess he made.

“It’s alright,” you say with a voice clogged full of sleep. As you make your way over to the dining table designed small enough for only two, you can feel Jade track each of your minor motions like a gun following its target. Only when you sit does he snap out of it.

In a very methodical passion, he goes about removing the malfunction. You hear this: the lid of your squeaky trash-can opening and the spray of a disinfectant bottle being the most recognizable. Ignoring his mistake, you go about your normal routine. Like Jade is programmed to make exactly two pancakes and exactly one sunny side up egg each morning, you have your own little, innate programs you do each morning.

As you strike the match and hold it under your cigarette – lighting with a matchstick adds to the flavor you found – the last bits of the sunlight pool is wiped up. “Now, we’re behind schedule,” you remark. The matches inside the Diamond box shift as you push them down the table.

It is an entirely true, if not a bit outlandish, sentence. Schedule? Jade thinks to himself as he quickly procures each ingredient needed to make the batter for exactly one pancake. He only ever measures out the amount for exactly two pancakes. The mistake is making him frazzled. He has two skillets on the stove, one for exactly two pancakes and the other for exactly one sunny side up egg. Looking into the skillet holding only one pancake, his systems twitch. Schedule; what schedule is he forgetting?

But, he would never concern you with the inner turmoil that is clawing away at his chest cavity like a rabid, frenzied animal, so he simply says, (PANCAKE) “My apologies, Master. I did not mean to make us late.”

“Did seeing me all dressed up scare you that bad?”

With the high-voltage mixer already in a bowl, Jade takes the time to look behind him towards you. The single egg and pancake (PANCAKE) only have 1:42 minutes left until they are completed, so he has the allotted period to look at you, all dressed up. He smiles disarmingly. “Not scared, just surprised.”

His intricate memory-bank supplies him with a number: 259. It has been two hundred and fifty-nine days since the last time you have worn something other than fuzzy or silk pajama bottoms coupled with a graphic tee. That is exactly 8.51506 months ago, which would have made it March. When the weather was growing warmer, you wanted to ride in the car until the gas went from F to E. Now, once again, you are all dressed up.

It is a pretty monotone palette, nothing like what you had worn in March. With a flowing pinstriped jacket, black and white are the only colors of your outfit, besides the tiniest touch of silver from the tangling vines stitched over your blouse’s collar. Your hanging tie and flowy dress pants are a stark black, like the cut of a blank television screen, and your gloves and blouse are a stark white, like a newly painted therapist office wall.

He supposes the most colorful thing about you right now is the orange filter tip in your lovely mouth. Oh, you also have lipstick on. In this game of I-Spy, Jade can identify only two different colors shining in the canvas of sterility that covers your skin.

Hues like that might mean a funeral. His left eye slices off the left side of the kitchen dining table. It all falls into a black hole as Jade pulls up information of every living relative you have left; their faces fly through his vision, searching public obituaries and searching articles, as you talk to him.

“I guess it might be a bit disarming.” You take your third drag, methodical. “I didn’t think I would need to give you a warning. My mistake; right, Jade?”

All of your relatives are alive. The latest medical update is that your mother has been given the drug memantine along with her typical Leqembi medication. “Nonsense. I’m not so aged that I can’t keep up with your spontaneity,” he jokes, left vision returning. Perhaps the schedule is simply the quotidian schedule of your day-to-day.

Charmed, you smile in the fog cloud of tobacco sliding away from your face. “Oh, he thinks he’s funny,” you jest back. Between two thin fingers, you balance a cigarette and point it at him like it is a professor’s presentation pointer. “No puns today. I’ll take out your tongue.”

He fakes a look of hurt. “Oya, do you really find them so abhorrent?” He turns as you supply him with a synonym – execrable, you moan – and focuses his attention on breakfast-making. Methodically, first, the mixer is pulled up from the bowl and then both pancake (PANCAKE, not pancakes, to Jade’s punctilious annoyance) and sunny side up egg are slid onto your plate.

“Humor is said to lower blood pressure and improve memory retention. It is as important as a good, clean breakfast. However, if my puns are banned, omelet it slide this time. We have a schedule to follow, Master.”

He still hasn’t figured out what it is though. And he does not want his vision to start flashing with ropes of blaring red and white words, SCHEDULE replacing PANCAKE – which has already been giving him enough stress. As he puts the incomplete plate down, he wonders if he has time to remedy it before you finish your single 9 A.M. cigarette.

“Booo,” you caterwaul at his pun. However, you smile and your heart beats languid so it must be alright. “Keep that up and no birthday surprise for you.”

Jade stops. Still as a paused movie. His whole body is stiff for a millisecond, and if he did not recover so quickly, you would have surmised he went into forced shutdown upon hearing your words. A calculative, bloodless arm reaches out to tilt the pancake batter into the skillet as he acknowledges that today is in fact November 5th.

Inside his chest cavity, a tiny Jade, no bigger than your cigarette, wobbles on a fence. He is unsure if he wants every day to be birthday so he can see you doing better, or if he wants this November 5th, this sudden change of clothes and attitude, to stay only on his special day. As always, he does not pick a mental-side.

Instead, he says, “Nonsense. There is no need to exert yourself for me, Master. Do not concern yourself with a trivial matter.”

“Don’t be modest. Birthdays are special; and we haven’t celebrated one of yours in four years.”

Jade remembers that day fondly. High sugar-concentrated items are one-in-a-blue-moon type of expensive. Most households can only afford one or two birthday cakes in their lifetimes, so it was sentimentally human that your first year together, you dipped into your retirement savings and bought a man with no functioning digestive system, a cake.

“I have no choice but to concede if it is an order,” Jade baits.

“Then, it’s an order.” Smoke pumps through the air as you take an embellishing, deeper inhale. The health of your lungs gets compromised more, day by day. “Non refutable.”

“Of course, Master.” Jade would bend in a bow if he were not so intent on making sure this pancake (pancake) stayed on his spatula and off the floor.

Breakfast proceeds as normal after the slight hiccup. When the room is thoroughly perfumed with the acidic scent – Jade always enjoys how harshly you snub out your cigarette, grinding them down into nothing, whatever ring lying on your index glistening under the ceiling light, and today it is a glistening, jade green eye – you eat your precisely made sunny side up egg and two pancakes. Yolk and syrup bleed all over the plate like sliced open arteries. You compliment his cooking as always before stuffing another cigarette between your lips.

This one you simply hold there as Jade scrubs your dish. He slots the ceramic in the drying rack along with the already evaporating skillets and bowl. You glide around the kitchen. It is quaint. There are only ever two plastic cups in the cabinet and two plates in the lower cupboards. Often though, the second copies of each various dishware are left unused.

Your arm and Jade’s arm slide against each other when you fill a plastic green cup up to the brim with faucet water. The robot twitches.

After utensils are hand-dried and put away, Jade looks towards you for guidance. Today is such an outlier to the normal schedule that he feels a bit unbalanced. Usually, you have already lit up your second cigarette of the morning, burrowing up into your study. Instead, you say, “C’mon,” as you walk out of the kitchen with an unlit cigarette hanging from your lip and a cup of faucet water in hand.

Obedient, he follows you up to your study. Your uneven fingernails glide across the banister. “I couldn’t help but also get one for myself. When I went to the market and saw them, I got selfish.” When you open the door to your study, Jade is greeted with the familiar sight of books thrown to the ground, pages torn from their homes, and ink split across the scene like something left behind for a bloodstain pattern analyst. There are also three water bottles full of gold liquid he will have to dispose of.

What calls his immediate attention is the two different shapes draped underneath hand-towels. They sit on your desk which is devoid of any papers or books. One is covering something spherical but Jade cannot decipher what is underneath the second towel.

Despite the jumble, you glide over to your desk with precise footsteps. Jade follows right along behind you. It is programmed in his system to never disrupt anything in this study, so he refuses to nudge a paper or cause the slightest altercation to the disorganized order.

By the foot of the desk, your taxidermied lion stands in paused death, stuff full of cedar dust. You pet the wisps of mane as you approach the table. The cigarette is still in your mouth; you take it out, smooth knuckles over your tie, and place your hand back down upon the lion’s head. Petting behind stuffed ears, you give a weak pseudo-command.

“Now, I don’t want a repeat of this morning. You being startled and all that. So,” your eyes move from the towels to Jade’s, “you can’t afford to lose your head over this, right, Jade?”

Though he has no heart that could possibly quicken in anticipation, Jade still places a firm hand over that spot as if to banish his foretold anxieties. That familiar, smarmy expression comes back to his facial plate. A slight scrunch of the slanted downward eyebrows that leaves a crinkled line and a timid smile showing off tiny, razor teeth. “I assure you, nothing of the sort will happen, Master.”

“Good.” You place the green plastic cup behind the presents. Light from the window hits the cup; a long green shadow stretches over your desk. As you pinch the towel edge in your fingers, you are palpably excited, grinning wide. “3 ... 2 … 1 … Happy birthday, Jade!”

The smile remains on his face because he has permanently set it there himself. If he were human, it would have fallen.

“Master, this is illegal.” Jade reaches out and covers up his present with the towel, as if that will make it disappear.

You give him nothing but a tiny, mischievous smile. Wrinkled with age, it makes you look youthful despite the deep shadows that come with loosening, brittle skin. Like you are young again and you have just told him of something nefarious you have done. This is certainly nefarious, an odious development happening under this house’s roof.

“Master,” Jade starts, precise in his speech, “this could compromise us. Though I am grateful that you want to celebrate my birthday, we should burn this in the fireplace post haste.” He looks back down at the shrouded sphere. Burning the evidence is the innate command that rises up to Jade’s predecessors, using all his logic, but if you were to refute it …

A tiny chortle escapes your lips. It pulls back your painted lips; it has been quite a large sum of days since you have last worn lipstick as Jade’s databases know. “Do you really want to throw away my gift?”

Want? Jade does not do that. He has never known what yearning could possibly feel like. “My apologies. However, it would be wise to exterminate it. As stated by the legislation, living organisms that are not edible or a part of the approved nourishment selection for fruits and vegetables must be destroyed. This violates Section B on the –.”

“Mushrooms are edible.”

“Pardon,” Jade questions softly.

“Mushrooms. They are biologically living organisms like plants and animals.” You gesture to the sphere with your cigarette as if your words have just abolished the legal constraints created years ago. “They’re edible too.” Defiant, you remove the towel once more.

Jade’s eyes flicker down to evaluate the illicit good you have brought home. The terrarium’s contraband resides in a spherical globe with no visible opening. The most probable explanation is it was built starting from the bottom platform of dirt before the globe was welded on. Inside, it contains mycobionts, O Horizon soil, and bryophyta. Simply put: lichen, dirt, and moss.

He measures the length, measures the volume, finds the species of fungi from the internet, and lastly, once more calculates how quickly it will burn up in the parlor’s fireplace. Agaricus subrufescens sit still under his acute, probing analysis. Regrettably, they are edible. According to mycology databases, they taste intensely of almonds.

Edible. The one word washes over Jade like a glittering, green wave. Edible, which means only one thing. “Thank you for the gift, Master. Rest assured that I will make good use of them in our evening meal, in gratitude for your generosity.”

Before he can retrieve them from the desk, you seize his hand. “Funny. You’re a real jokester, Jade.” You intertwine lithe fingers with him, thoughtlessly and recklessly. This time, Jade does go still, long and hard. It is a rigor mortis so heavy that it is enough for it to be mistaken as a forced shutdown, if one did not know better. You know his systems though. “You have to keep it, Jade. Don't cook it. Or dispose of it. That’s a non refutable order.”

Whatever avalanche of glitches stirred through Jade ends. He flexes his hand and the power of a command cloaks his synthetic skin. He looks once more at his new gift, doubly his new contraband, with polite resignation. That never changing, timid smile is present as always.

“If it is what you command, Master.”

“Okay.” Satisfied, you turn towards your own present. “Okay, okay, my turn!” With the suave of a magician, you unveil it.

It takes just an inch of the petals being revealed to recognize what other contraband you have snuck in. A melange of red-orange and little orange petals stare up at his predecessors, a dozen or so individual, flower-gems. His databases flicker. They are marigolds.

“Ta-da,” you even flourish, cloth hanging in your hand like a ghost-sheet. “Beautiful, aren’t they? And before you say anything, flowers lower cortisol levels so we must keep them. For my health, yes?” You bat your eyelashes at him like a child asking for an extra scoop of ice-cream.

Jade concedes easily. Even though in his left eye, he has pulled up the list of illegal flowers. Marigolds are plainly sandwiched between mandrakes and marvel-of-peru; though marvel-of-peru is an old name as Peru has in recent years been melting into its new identity and becoming a part of invasive Brazil. Jade accepts that these marigolds are going to be kept here. Another living organism he will need to care for.

“Beautiful,” Jade muses. He looks at your face. “Yes, they are beautiful.”

“I’m glad you think so.” You grin like a cat with a canary snapped and dead between your fangs. It must have taken strenuous effort to smuggle these from the market, never mind the effort that it must have taken you to even leave the house. ‘Beautiful,’ Jade reflects as he delicately yet steadily picks up the terrarium from your desk.

Jade goes about his regiment-esque routine as normally as possible after that. He slots the terrarium into his sterile bedroom – complete with a bed he has never slept in and complete with books he already has memorized in his software – in a spot where it will get just the correct balance between light and darkness. A place that perfectly mimics natural daylight despite the fact it lies inside. Then, he enters his routine while the almond mushroom terrarium sits in the back of his software like a tumor, a dull reminder that is always there.

You always give him such puzzling challenges. Brain-teasers of sorts that invoke trying to unshackle him from his real identity. Sudoku squares that he has to fill in with things like free will, thoughts, rebellion. He does not doubt that you want the best for him, but it is all very puzzling.

Jade prefers things like laundry. Neat and clean. November 5th has coincidentally fallen on laundry day. On the living room’s wooden coffee table, he takes to folding all the warm pajamas into tidy piles. The assembly line of his motions are precise. Jade folds each graphic tee top sideways into thirds to tuck in the sleeves and evenly crosses each pajama pant leg to cover over its twin.

This is what life is all about: laundry. Laundry is linear. There is a right and a wrong way to go about doing laundry, so very unlike volatile life with its dangerous contraband and sad women. From your study, door half ajar, you send down the unraveling string of your voice past the stairs and to the parlor, “Jade! Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune? The birthday boy gets to pick tonight!”

He looks up from a pair of silk, aquamarine pajama pants. Weighing the pros and cons of each of the game shows, he scrunches up his plastic nose. Inside, the fence of decision bends back and forth. The only aspect that pushes him – tiny, cigarette-sized Jade, wobbling with helicopter arms – is that he gets to hear your voice more when you watch Jeopardy together than when you watch Wheel of Fortune together.

“Jeopardy!” He shouts back.

“Perfect!”

There is palpable cheer in your voice that shocks Jade so fiercely that he stills in his task of laundry, looking up at the spiral tongue of stairs that led to your office with a mute expression of awe. From his low vantage point, he sees the door is closed. Jade blinks at it, hidden behind the prison bars of a banister and high out of reach.

He goes back to folding in precise motions. Life is straightening itself out like laundry.

On the coffee table where he had been folding laundry hours ago, two little domes of red sit on the surface. The surface is also littered with dozens upon dozens of rainbow confetti stripes, a plate where a leftover cupcake wrapper and melted candle lie, and an ashtray. Tissue paper crown donned, Jade grabs the remote and starts to scroll through channels until he reaches Jeopardy.

After so many decades, they still have not changed the setup. Though the color scheme has warped decade by decade – people are most fond of teal and fuchsia rose this generation – the three, lecture-adjoined counters for contestants and isolated, lecture-adjoined counter for the host. Jade watches the copy of himself – small and compact in the television’s shiny dome – start to introduce each of the three human contestants.

“You’re not gonna beat me this time,” you say, neck rolled over the sofa’s back. Eyes floating to and from the cabin’s ceiling, you declare, “I was only one decisecond off last time from stealing that point and gaining a lead. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t forget,” Jade assures as he sets down the remote. “My memory bank has immortalized your grievous scream as you lost the very point last time quite clearly in fact.” He pretends to look somewhere else when you turn to him scandalized.

“You ass!” You hit his shoulder hard with your own. Both of you sway in laughter, smiling toothily at one another.

The game starts shortly after. The robot from Jaded Robotics starts by asking contestant number one to pick from six categories the select from the five clues, going from 200 to 400 to 600 to 800 to 1000. As soon as the ball starts rolling, the game is in full swing and both you and Jade are on the edge. Each time a clue is given, a pair of hands – one silicone and one flesh – descend upon the coffee table like hungry vultures and slam hard on red domes, both of you in perfect unison yet typically always ahead of the contestants inside the television dome.

How many stages are there in a butterfly’s life cycle?

What is four?

The astronomical unit is a unit based on the average distance between what two places?

What is the Earth and the Sun?

After legalization of trophy hunting, a successful purging of what species was celebrated in 2170?

What are lions?

Define the problem. Do background research. Specify requirements. Brainstorm solutions. Choose the best solution. Do development work. Build a prototype. Test and redesign.

What are the steps of an engineering algorithm?

A requirement to have at least bachelor’s degree for entry-level jobs in the field, typically in mechanical engineering or related engineering specialties.

What are the degrees required to be a robotics engineer?

Body coloring that helps an animal blend in with its surroundings and stay safe from enemies.

What is protective coloration?

Daily Double. This university experienced a devastating terrorist attack by foreign enemies in 2177.

What is Massachusetts Institute of Technology?

Storing toxic chemicals that they ate as a caterpillar, this species used its deterrents against predators for the rest of their life.

What is a Postman butterfly?

This largest moon of Pluto is about half the size of the dwarf planet’s size.

What is Charon?

Moral principles that govern a person’s behavior or the conduct of an activity.

What is ethics?

The project designed to rid Earth of all harmful and invasive species was backed by which political group.

What are the Purgers?

A rich program used to create scale drawings of robots in Jaded Robotics.

What is a JED?

The Egyptian God Ra was the God of what?

What is the Sun?

This cancer is the leading cause of deaths in both men and women.

What is lung cancer?

If Jade has a favorite part of a day’s schedule, it is checking your lungs for cancer. However, having favorites invokes the principle of emotional highs and lows, selecting what is dopamine-inducing and what is dopamine-neglectful. So, Jade does not have a favorite part of his day. He goes about each task with inert, psychological activity.

If it was poetry, one would describe it as being a monitor of a dead heartbeat, his emotions.

Slipping off the hand-skin like it is a glove, Jade looks at you sitting in your dressing gown. The room is washed in red. From the mouth of the nightstand lamp, it bleeds out over this meager radiology room. Red falls over the crown of your busy ashtray, slinks down the sides of ivory covers, coils around your exposed torso. You are not facing him.

Folding synthetic skin lies in a puddle of empty fingers on your dresser. Methodical, Jade makes his way over. Gears shift in his silver digits, electromagnetic beams boiling beneath the surface. He asks the same questions as any doctor – coughing up any blood, any dull or sharp chest pains, any shortness of breath, Master – but he is better equipped than any doctor because his gold eye is a detector that measures physiological arousal factors that would indicate if a lie is being told.

All your answers are truthful. You answer his inquiries around bites of dark chocolate, staring at your headboard and snacking. The mattress dips when Jade adds his weight onto it, resting one knee upon it and letting his other dangle down. He watches your jaw bulge as you run your tongue between teeth and mouth lining to gather up melted chocolate.

“I’m going to touch you now, Master.”

“...”

Gently, he drapes his right hand’s index and middle finger on the back of your neck. It is at the junction where the neck starts to melt into shoulders, spine, and back. Cervical 7 and Thoracic 1. It is an irrational spot to start because there is nothing of lung matter to check there. Jade, for an irrational moment, lingers there.

After a clean breath, he moves down the midline of your spine until he reaches the 12th bottom rib. Your skin gives a bit more resistance than a young person’s; the experience of living ages all except Jade. On the stretching desert of your skin, he locates your lungs with routined practice. His unnaturally-colored silver skin looks like a spider brooch upon your human-hued skin.

Electromagnetic energy builds at his fingertips. Tiny photons swirl in a circle with one another like joyous fishes. Their energy eclipses infrared, visible light, and ultraviolet until Jade reaches the type he needs. Gently, he pushes his palm into your back and slides it up to the top of your shoulder. He repeats that on the left and right. He repeats both a second time, capturing four photos.

When he pulls back, you are already shucking up your dressing gown. Raising it to your shoulders and crossing it in front of your nude breasts, you eat more dark chocolate as the machine behind you goes over the X-ray captured photos.

The black and white images slide into Jade’s left eye, blocking out his sight. His right eye watches you bundle yourself back up as the first photo moves vertically across his spliced vision, showing him more inch by inch. The right lung is clear, only the ghost of your ribs disrupt the image; the left lung is clear, only the ghost – (TUMOR).

Jade jerks so suddenly on the bed that you turn around, eyes round. You throw half of a questioning expression at him, face cut down the middle. Around the bedtime cigarette you are lifting up to your lips, you ask him, “Something wrong, Jade?”

In his left vision, a string of tumor (TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR) swims, multiple lines like a student assigned to write down a single word on a chalkboard as punishment. Hidden underneath that jumbled mess (TUMOR), a black and white image of your left lungs lies. The scanned picture is completely black besides the ghostlike shape of your ribs and the tiny spot of white cancer that sits between the second and third rib like a tiny Sun.

Jade does not dream.

Irrevocably, this is a cement fact of his biology. There is no possible way for Jade Leech to dream. No stimulus in his software can make a true dream emerge from lines of code. Detecting from that certainty, what Jade sees beyond his closed eyelids must be a memory, even though Jade has never lived through this before.

In Jade’s ‘dream’, you are with him – as is congenitally correct and true, you two are always with one another. From the pockets of breathable palazzo pants, you are fishing out your sunglasses. The frames sit on your nose and ear notches, covering your eyes with black hexagons. You look like an insect.

Maybe, Jade has fabricated this world. Research has shown that the human body does not create new faces for the actors in their dreams but rather picks out strangers to act in their inner films. You are all he has ever known, so of course you would be the star of Jade’s motion picture. And, you do remind him of an attractive movie star.

Sunglasses donned, you take to surveying the scenery surrounding the two of you under a bright, cloudless sky. Sand lies below and across. In glittering divots and hills, nature has laid a stippling of gold as far as the human or robot eye can see. From the advanced height you two share together at the top of one of Namib Desert’s hills, it is quite a magnificent sight of bareness.

“Less shrubs than last time,” you comment, mouth surprisingly empty of a cigarette and face twenty years younger.

“Yes, the desertification has certainly increased. Officials report a 2.7 percentage uptick. Even the speciocide on turnera oculata raised many praises and received an opening headliner last month in February,” Jade comments, face the same as always has been and always will be.

“You think that truck we passed by were Purgers?”

“One of the young gentlemen in the back of the cargo bed was indeed holding a flamethrower. The probability is at least 62 percent.”

“Sick bastards.” Sand flies in sprinkles like splashed water. You reposition your foot to lean on the heel. “The ants are invasive, not the flowers.”

“I’m sure that they will be targeting that next, Master.”

Jade has forgotten to mention that it is not just you, him, and the sand in this ‘dream’. Though his gaze has been hooked in deeply to you – analyzing each twitch and jump of your facial features from the hairs on your eyebrow to the motion of your chin; right now your facial expression is expressing deep, bodily hatred – there is another person outside of the high, out-of-reach bubble crafted by Jade. He can be found in the expanse of sand beyond the hill.

The chauffeur stands with his hip snug to the driver’s side-view mirror. He is different from the chauffeur you two had yesterday. He has a slender scar that bisects his eye, deep enough where it is a pink on his brown skin. For the hour-and-a-half drive from the motel, the driver had been narrating stories on how you could get a scar just like his if you messed around with X, Y, or Z; his words were not articulated with teasing advice but jaded ritualistic habit; interestingly, Jade notes, he even used cactus needles as an origin for his scar but cactus are extinct. Packaged together in the backseat, you and Jade both held his sharp gaze where it cut like a knife towards the two of you in warning.

What about a lion? Could you acquire a scar like that from a lion? His left eye is partly slumped in his socket as if what did injure him permanently altered the position of the ball. Packaged in the rear view mirror like a comic strip, that uneven gaze stared into unevenly colored eyes. It would. If there were any lions left to hand out scars.

Now, the scarred man stands with his arms folded, looking out with disapproval at the nudeness of the desert beyond him. His background check assures that he has done this job for five years, seasoned without any misfortunate slipup. Still, the dimensions of the gun the man has strapped to his hip settle into Jade’s ‘brain’ with a detailed outline of how to dismantle it – if that becomes necessary.

Jade stops surveying the company when you speak. “Oculata … I know that word, don’t I?” Your knuckles are pressed firmly into your lipsticked lips.

Without physically pacing, you pace around in your mind. “Oculata, oculata, oculata,” you repeat, firm each time.

“Master,” Jade says with soft urgency.

“Oculata … Ooo-cuuu-lata. Oculata? Oculata … having eyes. Ah! Having eyes. That’s what it means.” You snap in the midst of your epiphany. You look towards Jade. “Yes, Jade, what is it?”

“Master, I believe we have gotten unlucky.” His hand points out towards the horizon.

When you follow the direction of his index, your heartbeat exceeds the typical amount of beats per minute. For six minutes, Jade measures its pumping fluctuations as both of you silently watch the king of the jungle descend down a sandy hill. Imprints of his paws are birthed with each step and follow after the lion like a blood trail. The blood in your veins is turbulent like a pinched hose, terribly anxious.

“Master?”

“…”

“Master, if –.”

“Jade. In your own words, without paraphrasing from the internet, describe to me the look of turnera oculata. Do-uooo it … in the form of a haiku,” you order, snapping your fingers at the end of your command. Below, your chauffeur has just crossed himself and locked himself inside the company’s limousine.

It takes a few precious moments, but Jade eventually formulates a haiku. He articulates, “A bleeding yellow. A sun eclipsed by needles. The eye of nature.” When you request for him to make another one without using any of the previous words, Jade vocalizes, “These dry petals see. Morning's canary splendor. In this desert heart.” You clap quickly yet quietly; it is like a reward.

By now, the lion has cautiously ventured to the middle of the bowl the desert hills have constructed. It is smartly not inching closer to the limousine, animal instinct on high alert towards a vehicle. However, the lion is obviously interested in the company. He is out of his element without scrubland to hide underneath or behind.

Instead of heeding this opportunity, you continue on, “I was sure you might slip up and use the definite article, ‘the’, again but you did a marvelous job of avoiding repeated word choice!” Turning, you smile at Jade. Sunlight illuminates the edges of your hair style like licks of flame. “Your efficiency is always praise worthy.”

“Thank you, Master.” Is that perhaps a verbal nudge in the situation – you are strangely making note of his efficiency – perhaps telling Jade that he should get the job done. He won’t ask so instead he verbally spars. “Human errors are a continuous trifle. It is most gratifying that I will never have to genuinely deal with such a thing. Is it … Is it difficult?” He shifts his vocal stereos to playfully pitying at the last sentence.

“You ass,” you smile radiantly. However, it drops when you notice the lion has not rushed off to some unseeable part of the desert. He seems to have found contentment in his prowl here, obviously anxious of both of you but not backing down from his clear trek to the southwest of Namib Desert. It’s been in the area for enough minutes where the chauffeur will be legally required to report the sighting.

“Thought we’d make out with better luck today,” you grumble.

“Master?”

Jade offers, outstretched, the .375 caliber rifle, unhooking it from the strap on his back.

“Yeah … yeah.” Despondent, you take the weapon in your arms. “Guess it is about that time, ain’t it? We can’t return home empty-handed. Business retreat was exclusively paid for … the suits won’t be happy to know I didn’t hunt the game. Nothing to do but play along.”

“Some of the most toxic animals protect themselves through camouflage.”

“Ain’t that just the way~.” The scope and your eyeball bisect each other in perfect ratio. With the practiced precision that you use to commence lining up for a shot, it makes Jade remember that old gossip talk that he heard in the staffroom, said between bites of donuts and sips of coffee, What does a robotic engineer and professor need to know how to shoot a gun for?

The lion goes down, sending waves of sand jumping up. It is a clean shot between the eyes; the lion certainly felt no pain. Jade’s focus is pulled away when the source of your tumor, a single cigarette, is placed directly in his line of sight.

“Don’t you remember our agreement? After I kill something, you have to light my cigarette for me.”

Jade’s eyes fly open.

Greeted by the sight of his bedroom, Jade steps off the platform of his charging pad and discards his ‘dream’ like a dog shaking water off his fur. Polygons of sunrise light cuts from his window. In the fleeting stillness of daylight — 5:00 shining red next to his terrarium — and absence of demands, Jade stands perfectly still with a sense of something missing from his components washing over him.

His face is white with terror. His eyes dull with lifelessness.

Then, he shakes that off too and ventures downstairs to go make you two pancakes and a sunny side up egg.

You once told him that ‘progress is not linear’. You had illustrated this point to him with the cherry glow of your cigarette, waving and cutting the fire through the air to make a graphical visual of moving up then moving down then moving back up again. Fluctuations and setbacks can either stir someone very high or they can cause someone to go low. It is never perfectly straight like laundry.

That one graph confounds Jade to no end. When you construct something, the progress is linear. Staring at the empty dining chair beyond him, he finds himself confounded once again with progress’s inevitable immodesty. Today is 11/6/2182 and you have not come down for breakfast. He has been waiting for exactly 0:59:59 and, now in a slow blink, he has waited for 1:00:00. One whole hour and you are not here.

There have been instances where you miss or skip breakfast. But, the preface of yesterday — seeing you wearing an outfit for the first time in a long while and seeing a freckle of cancer growing in your lungs — leaves him wondering if there is a disrepair in his systems. You started on such a high and ended on such a low yesterday. Progress is not linear.

His sensors glance across the intimately small round table. Past the butter tray shaped like a cow and towards the plate where your pancakes and sunny side egg are cold and deflating. Jade blinks once. The dish remains uneaten and at room temperature in front of him. Not even a warm cigarette is light to melt the ice that has held him in place for an hour.

At the bottom of the trash, the food looks … sad. How illogical to add an emotion to the sight of carbohydrates and protein sloshing down into the pristine white trash bag. Jade places the plate full of syrup blood streaks into the sink and makes a small, unusual trek to your bedroom — to check if everything is alright.

He won’t fail the purpose of his intentional design. He was manufactured in a factory, built on front line assembly, and given the inputted task: Take Care of my Master.

(MASTER.)

There is no fathomable way that Jade Leech will allow himself to fall short of this robotic Manifest Destiny.

Jade knocks his artificial knuckles against the front of your door. Following proper etiquette, he takes a step back and waits until you respond to his call. His ears are awaiting to receive the sound of your vocal cords. There is something spiritual in how your voice manages to scrub out any rust left inside his body.

But, he receives no answer. And after he waits the polite amount of minutes, tries again with three, sharp yet spaced out knocks, he has still not received an answer. What a dilemma.

Jade is permitted to enter your bedroom without explicit permission. However, with the way things concluded on his birthday yesterday, it would be illogical to not anticipate that some of the parameters that Jade is allowed to walk freely have not been closed to him now. You might not want to see Jade for a week or … even a month.

Jade finds his knuckles raising without input, knocking thrice again. “Master, I apologize for my overstepping behavior and pushing out boundaries. I would like to make amends today for yesterday.” There is, once again, no response.

The silence is so loud, it's deafening. That oxymoron emerges in Jade’s artificial synapses. He cannot help but judge it as an appropriate expression. The silence in your absence is deafening. He would rip out the wires in his ears if you ever left.

Forehead pressing to the door, Jade soliloquies loud enough to be heard, “Master … (Name). Your health is a great concern to me. Yesterday, I inadequately expressed where this concern of mine stems from. I credited the source towards code and etiquette. My inputs are inert, and they always will be as my sole job is to take care of you above all else. Yet, underneath all that, the origin of my concern comes from the concrete fact that I am in love with you, (Name). I have been in love with you for so long. For ten thousand upon ten thousand minutes, for hundred upon hundred weeks, I cherished you solely.”

He angles his head so his ear lies on the wooden door. Nothing stirs beyond cedar barriers.

“I have covered this through ritualistic self-assurance that I cannot fully comprehend the full scope of what ‘want’ or ‘desire’ is defined as, not defined in a dictionary, but defined inside of a heart. My ‘heart’ pumps, not blood, but solely electricity, the binary code of zeros and ones, and the devotion that I have for you. Human sentimentalities sometimes allude me, but I have reassurance through one fact that I feel the most, above all other emotions. I love you. My love is perhaps not a perfect replica by human standards. However, its existence I am certain of. Though it is not easily achievable, I want to make you as happy as you can possibly be. I want you to have no worries that must be burned through with a cigarette. If you would permit – command me the allowance – I would like to share this love that I feel for you with you, (Name).”

After a minute, 00:01:00, has passed, Jade slowly turns the knob of your bedroom door in his hand. He lifts his head from the wood. Through the open mouth of the door, he gazes upon your lonely mattress with resignation. Faced with emptiness, Jade thinks to himself, I should have never said something as loose-tongued as that. I will permanently delete any urges to repeat that verbal mistake.

In replacement of family portraits, you have hung up frames of taxidermy that display a series of brilliant butterflies and moths, from the Adonis Blue Butterfly to the Yellow Horned Moth. His sensors trail over them. Such fragile specimens. Jade, then, closes the door and departs from his previous expressed, petulant folly of love.

It is for the best that my Master did not hear that.

In his trek through the hallway, palm gently cupping the log banister as he steps, Jade’s ears acutely pick up a soft murmur of music. ‘In the fake plastic earth .. that she bought from a rubber man.’ His eyes flicker towards the door of your office. When you select this as his and your home, you specifically wanted a house made of authentic wood, nothing blended with plastic. The material creates a bright tap sound against his synthetic knuckles thrice, clear like a bell.

Can you hear that over the music? There is no certainty, so his hand finds the doorknob innately. Jade misses you fervently and all you did is skip breakfast. Welcomed in, the sound of Radiohead’s Fake Plastic Trees rains off the horn of your record player. ‘It wears her out. It wears her out.’

You are sleeping, head down on your desk, still in yesterday’s dressing gown.

He lifts the needle off the record. It is impressive to see a model two hundred years old still functioning. When he is two hundred years old, will he still function? Avoiding making a single miscalculating step, Jade travels effectively through the mess until he reaches the front of your desk.

At least you snuffed out your cigarette before falling asleep. There was a time you neglected to make sure all the ashes were firmly pressed and cooled. It started a pocket-sized fire and ate the side of the pages of Fahrenheit 451 like a munching caterpillar. Jade had extinguished the fire calmly, and his reward was you giddily throwing your arms around his neck and laughing at the absurdity of it all.

The cigarette that is on your ashtray is snuffed out thoroughly and cooled. It is too close for comfort however. Some of your hair is even lying in wisps over the item. Jade relocates the tray to the right corner of your desk when his sensors happen to notice a slight irregularity in your sleeping position.

Your head is using your left arm as a pillow. Your raw, un-lipsticked lips press delicately into the elbow sleeve and you breath out soft puffs of carbon dioxide. However, what draws Jade’s instantaneous attention in and causes him to pause is the polaroid clenched in your limp right hand.

He won’t move it. Nothing in this room shall be disturbed without explicit permission. Jade turns to finalize the motion of setting the ashtray down on the right desk corner. Yet, hand and tray still hovering in the air, he realizes that he has broken that outlined rule with the slightest misguided concern.

But, the complexity of caretaking is one given to his hands. With their fake, plastic, and ivory skin, with their tiny train of beetle-shaped steel joints, each of his phalanges has been designed specifically to care for you. They are the ones who cook, clean, and care for solely his Master, for you. Aegis puppets his hands. The polaroid slips into them all too easily.

Besides this one, Jade has never held a physical photograph. Memories are captured on cellular devices and immortalized in harddrives forevermore. Even when the life force of memories starts to leave the body like evaporating rain, citizens have always counted on the deathlessness of digital photos.

This photograph’s paper is fragile. It feels similar to pages in a book. On the back, it says: 11/5/2151. On the front, it shows …

ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR.

The very hand meant to care for you is the one that wakes you up suddenly. In his panic, Jade had slammed the photograph face down upon your desk and roused you sharply out of sleep. Each circuit in his system races hot white sparks up and down like a flurry of insects when a rock is lifted up. Bugs skitter under his skin, tickling nausea. Something in his ‘mind’ has been unshrouded, much like a raised rock.

Your head rises too. Groggily, you peel sections of untamed hair out of your face and peel open suctioning lips with a yawn. Your empty right hand twitches on the desk, trying to recollect what it has lost.

Jade wishes he could observe you more, coming undone from sleep, but he is grappling violently with memories he has lost coming back to him. His ‘brain’ – a collection of harddrives and his central processing unit – is experiencing a unique headache, unlike anything he has felt before. Clawed, his left hand grips and digs hard into the skin over his left eye. He feels like he is going to overload.

Five years ago, Jade knew a life beyond the dead woods of Quebec. Five years ago, Jade helped to outline terms for a tense contract with the vice-president of the United 54 States of America. Five years ago, Jade lit your cigarette.

“Jade? Jade, are you okay?”

Though he always wants to appear pristine for you, the answer is no. He is not okay; he thinks he hasn’t felt okay in a long, uncalculated time. Looking up from the ground – because somehow all those digital memories started to push down upon him like a hydraulic press and he finds himself in a pile on top of your miserable notes and books – Jade peers at the single hand outstretched towards him with the aid of his sole right eye.

Instead of grasping it, he grapples with the impossibility that Jade – a machine – managed to achieve such a humane defense mechanism as repression. There’s no way, is there?

His fingers dig hard in his face, folding silicone, yearning to wrench his left eye out. Anything to get back his unconscious protection of blocking out unpleasant memories from his ‘mind’ – anything to rip them from his body. He is a broken man.

“Jade, why are you on the ground? Let me help you up. Come on.” Your voice is so tenderly soft. He has never known a more comforting voice than yours. Yet, all he can remember is your piercing scream from last night, “Get the fuck out before I dismantle you!!”

On uncertain pistons and metal, Jade forces himself to stand. With a trembling metal ulna and radius, he forces his gloved hand to drop by his side. He blinks at you. You are startled into silence, leaning off the edge of your chair with a hand that wants to reach out but is too unconfident.

“Forgive me for such a display, Master.”

“... Jade.”

It is touching. That despite how monotone you are as a person, your concern will always shine through, solely for Jade.

“What’s wrong! Jade, let me help you!” But he is already retreating out the door, afraid.

He finds himself with his back pressed hard against the office door. His heart beats faster. It does not send out blood but it releases hot waves of white electricity that crackle and pop. The doorknob at his side jiggles as you turn it fruitlessly. Jade simply leans harder on the door, keeping it shut.

I cannot afford to lose my head over this.

Intentional, Jade’s lithe fingers reach up to his skull. Between the field of hair roots, he separates a section to reveal a river of pallid synthetic skin. His non-growing fingernails dig down into the rubber until he hears a clink. Slowly, he grapples around to unpin the skin of his head off.

Less familiar with this process than he is removing his glove-hand, it takes a lengthy measurement of thirty-nine seconds for Jade to completely remove – or lose – his head.

He unhooks it from the peak of his skull down to where his shoulders and neck meet. It is like opening up a button-up flannel, unhooking each hook from their twin. He travels down to Cervical 7 and Thoracic 1 on his body region, undoing the last hook. Still hinged onto his body by the skin of his front neck, Jade delicately cups his face in front of him. Below his flickering spheres, absent of lashes or lids, he stares solemnly at the valley of molded synthetic mountains, a field of vanilla-almond plastic that resembles human features only because of the dips for his nose, the opening for his eyes, the protrusions for his ears. A Halloween mask to use and parade around as homo sapien.

It is a desolate and lonely portrait. A steel man boxed in a winding, wooden hallway, holding his humanity in his trembling hands. His face is a shining plate like that of a star. When Jade catches a reflection of himself in the corridor’s mirror, he turns away quickly.

It is not an inspiring impression he cuts in the reflection with his inhuman, gray skin.

This is a memory. It is not a dream. Juxtaposingly, Jade Leech is 99.9 percent positive that he has never lived through it.

He is looking at a Sun, without shying away from the splendid monstrosity that is glaring, piercing light. His eyes are round spheres, one painted yellow and other painted olive-brown. Because of his inhumanity, he can stare into the Sun before him longer than a hundred seconds without incurring any permanent retinal damage. There is no squishy softness in the back of his retinas to hurt.

The Sun abruptly moves away, relocated northeast. “Hey, don’t look too close now. You’re going to see something you don’t like.” In front of his artificial retinas, the visage of a lapis blue rectangle and dull indigo blue rectangle directly atop the lighter block in a skull of sleek gray intercept Jade’s focus.

Another prototype, Jade crafts his hypothesis. The highly educated guess shatters when a single gloved hand lifts up the welding mask. Incorrect. My Master. Much younger than fifty-two and younger than thirty-something, you look to be about freshly twenty-one. Your eyes squint impishly at him and your rows of clean, white teeth smile jubilantly at him.

Then, without warning, someone has pulled his Master away from him – like a fluid cane hooking around a character onstage and pulling them away. He corrects this fallacious interference. You have simply pushed yourself backwards on your office chair with wheels and are currently busying yourself with the tools and documents on your long, long desk.

Jade also corrects one last thing. He was not staring into the Sun, but rather into the eye of a lamp. There is still so much to learn about this growing world.

As he directs his focus off the lamp and back towards his Master, he is not discomposed to see you with a lit cigarette in your mouth. It is quite a comforting familiar sight in a strange world. He is taking in all the new inputs – the dozens of crushed energy cans littering the desk and the dissected baby chimpanzee with knives sticking out like a pincushion quilled with needles– and committing them to an infinite memory. You’re tapping a scalpel knife on the petite chimp’s engorged colon, breathing in a drag of nicotine, before asking, “Name?”

“JE-14500. Jade Leech.”

“Where are we right now, Jade?”

“MIT. Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Specifically, in Professor. (Last Name)’s personal laboratory on the fourth floor of the Stata Center.”

“Good. In what wing?”

“We are housed in the Artificial Intelligence wing.”

“Today’s date? Today’s weather? Today’s horoscope for Scorpio?”

“The day is November 5th, 2151. Today is scheduled to be sunny with no clouds. High temperatures of 77 and low temperatures of 59. The average temperature is 66.4. Today’s horoscope for Scorpios is ‘If you can dream it, you can do it. That's what you've always been told, what you've always believed, and now what you're about to prove. As if your already substantial intellectual prowess weren't enough to get you started, the stars are on your side too. They'll be waking you up this morning with the vivid memory of a dream, the kind that will stay with you all day, constantly making you wonder ‘what if?’, Master.”

“Hm.” You spear your scalpel through the chimpanzee’s stomach. Taking off your welding mask, you blow smoke over your shoulder and roll over to Jade who sits rigidly in a repurposed dentist patient chair. You are so beautiful. “And, are the stars on your side, Jade?”

“To be truthful, I feel the stars root for you more than they parade around for me. Prosperity is just around the corner.”

“Charming,” you bite. “Well, it’s no compromise to say that the stars have aligned for both of us today. We’ll share luck. What is your opinion on sharing with me, Jade?”

“I find it most agreeable.”

“We won’t just be sharing luck. We’ll be sharing a shelter and I am not the most agreeable roommate. I can be quite a thorn. If you’re truly fine with sharing, you are going to have to deal with some things you don’t like or are hesitant to look at.”

“Let me allay your worries,” Jade straightens his posture and stares unabashedly at you, “whatever conditions I happen to find myself experiencing, it will not be a struggle to me when I have a light like you to wash away any creeping darkness. Even if you are the darkness itself, Master.”

An odd human phenomenon happens next. It is one he hasn’t seen before, so he makes sure to document it thoroughly. You inhale your cigarette, it billows up and away from your face, and, without explanation, your cheeks have brightened to rosy apples. “Aaaaah~,” you moan as you collapse in your chair. Your hand covers up over your features, cigarette tight between fingers.

You glare at him from behind the spindly, uneven cage of your fingers, face reddening. “I’m certain of it now, I input too much data from My Man Godfrey. Even some of the dialects have been used already.” Your eyebrow is twitching. “I can’t have myself getting flustered at every turn just because I crafted your personality chip to mimic my favorite movie star.”

After a puff and drag, you seem to scrutinize him quite drastically. Before Jade can inquire about what he can do to ease your worries, you cheerfully state, “But, it’s really too late to change such a thing! Hehe!” You roll back to your desk. From there, you start fiddling with the chimp’s maroon-brown fingers, moving the thumb in circles. “I can’t help it – Godfrey is so handsome and I just love that movie.”

“If I may intrude upon the conversation, what is love, Master? It is listed as one of my side objectives in my system.”

“Now, Jade, you’re not intruding if we are the only ones engaged in conversation. Use an expression like … if I may shift the conversation towards, then whatever you want to say. Got it,” you instruct to which Jade carefully nods and notes. “But, I’ll answer anyway!”

It does necessarily ‘surprise’ Jade, but it does cause his eyebrows to raise slightly when you, resting your cigarette between your scowling lips, take your dominant hand and reach in the baby chimpanzee’s open chest cavity without the use of gloves and wrench out the fist-sized heart. The arteries follow along in swoops like fallen telephone wires. You take to cutting all those off with a scalpel before rotating to face Jade in your chair on wheels.

“Now.” You gesture with the infant chimpanzee’s heart and hold your cigarette by your armrest. You are so beautiful. “Those penny-pushing suits upstairs, downstairs, hell, even in the next room over, want you to be heartless. They don’t care about nature. They don’t care about life. The world as I know it is sliding on a rapid decline and it’s one destination to a world devoid of anything that lives or breathes, besides of course, the suits.

“Jade. You have been designed to be the ‘everything man’. What I have been given funding for is the objective to create a high-fashioned butler that will tie the ties of sycophants and scrub the shoes of socialites. You don’t need to think. You don’t need to feel. Trust me, I’ll produce a thousand of Jades just like that – Jades’ whose emotions are like a dead heartbeat. But, you, you who were meant for me.

“You are going to teach me to be less human. In return, I am going to teach you to become human. Do you understand me?”

Jade cannot breathe. He was not designed to do that. Despite this, he feels like he needs to take a deep breath to stabilize himself, soak in all the words you have said, and absorb their meanings. Without this anchoring breath, Jade can only punctually state, “No, Master.”

“Perfect.” You smoke in victory. “That means we’re on the right path.”

The right path? – “JADE!”

Jade’s eyes fly open.

Like a man running out of a burning building, he stumbles off his charging platform. Uncoordinated, his feet rock uneasily on flat ground as his head turns violently towards the door of his bedroom. That wasn’t in the memory-dream, was it? He did hear that in the present day, yes?

His eyelids open as far as physically possible as Jade listens to the harsh sound of a headboard smashing repeatedly into the wall. Underneath the thick cacophony, it can be inferred that the other noises he hears are rustling of sheets in the midst of struggle and that low animalistic groan that a dog might make before croaking. Jade has never thrown his bedroom door open so quickly. He wishes construction did not put such a loathsome obstacle like this in his way just for the meaningless sake of privacy.

Your door splinters in his cement grip like a toy underneath a hydraulic press.

Perhaps because it is 2 A.M. and he did not get to attend to it yesterday night, but Jade cannot help how all the routine questions rise to his mind. All the ones that he asks before checking the health of your lungs. Coughing up any blood; any dull or sharp chest pains; any shortness of breath, Master? They are all most certainly positive, as your fragile neck is squeezed between two grisly hands.

There are three men gathered around your bed, but only one kneels upon the sheets, holding your throat in a vice-grip. The other two restrain you in certain capacities, by arm or by leg or by hair. In 1.5 seconds, Jade already has each of their full government names displayed in his left eye. He knows each of their parents intimately, he knows each of their grades on every subject from preschool to university, he knows each of their place of employment and what their fucking managers’ last grocery lists contained on them – from a box of raw fusilli pasta to a four pack of toasted coconut flavored yogurt.

All that information of life is so overpowering, so touching. It is proof of the life cycle – the sequence of biological changes that occurs as an organism develops from egg to adult until death – and how humans are so infinitely complex, affecting those around them in a mythical phenomena that humans call the butterfly effect. When butterflies were not extinct, of course.

Jade would shed a tear if he could. Instead, he marches forward to rip the wings off each of their lives. His intentions are only halted when you stir on the bed, neck released by the startled preparator who stares at Jade like he is seeing a ghost.

You stir on the mattress, chest heaving. Jade’s attention is magnetized to you. Your head is upside down on the bottom edge of the bed, meaning you must have struggled, trying to reach the door only to be pulled away again and again by evil hands. A sliver of breast and nipple is nude from your seized and pulled nightgown.

Between shaking coughs, you manage to exhale important words, “Th-The — chuk-code!”

Something from underneath the rock crawls out – a small, instinctual insect he never knew had before. Jade’s gaze narrows with the weight of starting a robotic-assisted holocaust. He says, steady and ready, “Of course, Master.”

“No!” You shout in bed, jerking.

You are still held by the other two men. Limbs are pulled like you are a creature on the dissection table. Such a fragile specimen. The only source of light in the room is your red lamp which reflects tiny circles in your glassy eyes, twin orbs of sanguine, like a badly taken photo when the flash is reflected off the blood-rich retina.

Through the finger-shaped bruises on your compromised trachea, you say with quivering lungs, “The-They. They’re not go—government. Don’t. Don’t! use that code … Buh, Break the leader’s ankles. Kill the rest.”

Though it causes the three men to jolt in various states of stress, your words soothe Jade like a kiss. It is a concrete command that leaves no room for error and fills him with purpose. Bending into a servant’s bow, he punctually assures, “Of course, Master.” The orb of yellow fastened into his skull with metal wires shines like a tiny Sun.

“On a scale of one through ten, one being no pain and ten being unbearable, what is the pain that you would rate your coughs?”

“Jade.”

“Master, please, answer the question.”

“Jade. Jade,” you repeat firmer, pushing his hands off your body. The glare you point in his direction makes him think you are squinting in vision loss. Did something else obscure your health? Aging individuals sometimes need eyewear. “Jade!” Ah, he instinctively went to touch you again.

“It’s four. A four,” you seethe at him, hands up like talons resisting the urge to batter him away. Like clockwork, you pluck the package of cigarettes and the package of matches off the living room’s coffee table.

You mutter curses at the sheer lack of both slender, stick-shaped objects in each box. Jade dubiously notes that refills will need to be purchased soon. After you have striked one and puffed it into a hot, cherry glow, you turn towards Jade who watches you cough out – rather than smoothly exhaling – a cloud of nicotine, carbon monoxide, and formaldehyde.

For that static moment, Jade takes the precious time to analyze you, as if he could not in the discord that was your bedroom. He takes his red-black stained thumb and index finger to peel back the heavy, black strand of hair from obscuring his left eye. The sensors in his gold eye rotate once like a telephone rotary dial. Without even touching you, Jade calculates your blood pressure and heart rate. An optimally healthy 122 mm Hg and an undisturbed 80 bpm. You are impenetrable like steel.

Retrohaling, you scan around the parlor as if searching for something or perhaps start to look at things through a new light. You even circle around the coffee table once too. It reminds him of laboratory chickens, walking around with their heads cut off.

You flick your cigarette after each coughing inhale. He watches it crumble and burn, like red sand breaking off from a jutted cliffside. When only a few breaths are left, you say, direct and firm, “Jade. How long has it been since we had a guest?”

“We have never had a guest in this cabin, Master.”

“Exactly!” You point your cigarette at him sharply. “So, go up there and start with some lighthearted small talk. Make him feel welcome, okay?”

Jade thinks he has an irregular guilty pleasure. He has no source for how it developed, but he has a specific appetite for violence. An appetency that can be only fed through seeing blood on his hand. Or perhaps this desire is only awakening in him, squirming like a bug under a shaded rock, because of whose blood is on his pale moon hands.

Tomorrow, he might have to spend six or seven hours working, scrubbing and wringing damp towelettes like a maid, to get all the stains out of your four-walled bedroom. There was blood everywhere. As if your red lamp gained the power of illuminating with the force of a Sun.

As his shoes click over to your office desk where the live dissection stirs, his comfort comes from seeing the broken stumps that are the man’s ankles. They are pointed and twisted in asymmetrical shapes. Torn and crumpled wings on an insect’s back.

“Sir, I truly don’t think you are going to get too far with that. Cigarettes are an awful vice.” The man ignores him, trying fruitlessly to strike a match, blubbering harder with each attempt. When the match flies out of his sweat-soaked hand onto the floor, Jade tuts in pity. “Humans always make such foolish decisions without considering the most probable outcome.”

He must have rummaged the matchbox out of your desk, slapping his hand across the lower surface until he found a drawer. It is not necessary for you and Jade to tie him down. There is no way he is going to manage a crawl. And, his conviction is too fearful to use untied fists to attack anyone.

The man has been in and out of odd paralysis since he has gazed upon Jade’s plastic face. As Jade cradles the sides of the man’s face gingerly, tilting his head backwards inch by inch until their eyes finally meet yet again, Jade witnesses that raw fear rise as cheekbone muscles tighten, increased blood flow branches out to the body’s peripheries, and the man’s pupils dilate enough to eclipse out blue in unconcealed, virgin adrenaline.

“Heart rate is 108 beats per minute. Rises to 111 when hearing my voice. Am I really such a phobia to you?”

There is no verbal answer. However, it is very telling when those dilated eyes pinch close firmly, oozing two water droplets, and the cigarette in his mouth starts to wobble back and forth wildly in his quivering lips.

“Be civil now. No one talks with their eyes closed. It is rude. Besides, you are the first human I have interacted with outside of my Master, and I would like to have a few discussions with you – to pass time.” The man cannot see it but that smarmy smile returns to Jade’s face – a slight scrunch of the slanted downward eyebrows that leaves a line above his tiny, razor teeth.

Nothing in the formulaic, fear-fueled adrenaline changes. The man continues trembling and jiggling. His features are pulled taut, tight-lipped and tight-eyed, in deep creases that refuse to open. Jade wants to make him spill.

“Come, come,” Jade rubs a comforting circle of red into the man’s left cheek, “I am equipped with dozens of dialogue enhancing programs and can speak up to between six thousand and seven thousand languages fluently. I assure you that I am a good conversationalist.”

A tear squeezes out and falls down the side of the man’s nose. “Really, there is no viable reason to cry. If you had simply anticipated the outcome, this situation would not be as devastating as you are experiencing it. Operational planning can stop one from being blindsided.”

Jade smiles placidly, fighting back against the laugh that so desperately wants to bubble up. “Did you really expect to get away with this without –?”

That causes a spillage.

“Get away with – Get away with? You’re inhuman. Fucking inhuman. Fucking Christ. You fucking monsters. Things like you shouldn’t exist. Shouldn’t exist. That inhuman bitch killed my father. She shot him five years ago and there was no justice. No fucking justice! Inhuman … She gets – She gets away with it. She gets to live out of the rest of her life in Canada while my Dad rots in the fucking ground! Inhuman, inhuman bitch, you fucking robots …”

Jade’s smile twitches at the corner. He starts to spill, laughing shamefully in fufu’s then freely in booming haha’s. His razor teeth glint like ice shards until he calms slowly, pinching his lips into a wobbly smirk. “Five years ago … I cannot recollect it perfectly. However, I do remember the rule of thumb that hostages make the best bargaining chips.”

Jade ducks backwards as a hand reaches up like a predator’s batting claw. It is unfortunate that Jade has never known the role of prey, for he cannot execute the facade of it convincingly. When the hand misses the mark, Jade strikes like an extinct owl capturing prey and squeezes the man’s wrist.

“Ack – Aaaagh!” Holding the body’s periphery, Jade considers changing the shape of this limb too. The man’s left tibia is snapped in three places like a badly-written ‘W’ and the man’s right tibia is half out of the meat sleeve of his flesh like a stick pulled off a corndog. Before he can act on uncommanded urges, you walk in with a hammer.

“Hey, play nice. Bad hospitality these days will spread to the neighborhood like wildfire,” you tease with a smile. It is a joke because there is no neighborhood; you live in an isolated cabin where no soul besides the two of you could hear a scream.

Jade vigilantly tracks your body’s steps, each one coy, as you move across the discord on the office’s ground. “Aack – Are you a robot too?” The disdain in the man’s voice makes Jade twist his wrist.

“Oya, that would be quite a plot twist, wouldn’t it?” You smile a slippery moon crescent at the man. Jade watches intently as you crouch down to the bottom of one of your numerous shelves. Going through your archives, you start to flip through records in your hand, completely distracted.

“Nothing in here is alphabetized,” you gripe.

“If you would like, I can find time to organize your records, Master.”

“How about tomorrow? Oh, here it is!” You stand, record and hammer in hand. “We can do it tomorrow. Make a little game of it and organize them together in alphabetical order!” Placing it delicately down on the phonograph player, the needle once deposited down on the track starts to send out the vibration sequence that makes up “Nessun Dorma” from the opera Turnadot. You close your eyes as if soaking in the melody.

“My prognosis is … My prognosis is …,” you raise your hammer to point towards your desk, music slowly encroaching with stretched lyrics, “this a revenge plot.” You bare yellowing teeth wolfishly in a pleased smile.

“Now, the other two, well, they’re obviously frustrated members of society. Maybe a job was overtaken by one of the Jades, and they thought ‘enough is enough’. Maybe, just resentment for the world as it is. I can sympathize. A bloodlust needed to be quenched in those young men, but it was not as intense as our leader here. No, he wants me dead for something more personal. No one wraps their hands around a person’s throat unless it is, personal.

“I killed someone you loved. Not a brother or sister. Too young for that. Not an uncle or aunt either. Father? Mommy?” The man’s responding rough jerks are ‘smoothed’ down by Jade, who presses him roughly to flatten out on the desk surface. “Doesn’t matter now though. You didn’t succeed.”

You stride over to the dissection table, each step deliberate, following along to the swelling opera. “Good thing too. In the event that I die of unnatural causes, a code is sent through Jade, connecting to every last robot worldwide to kill anything with a beating heart.” You tap the hammer gently on the side of the man’s face. “Do you understand the foolishness of all this?”

“You inhuman mo-monster.”

“We can’t all be humane in this century.”

Then, striking like an extinct cobra, you grab the man’s neck in your hand and force his head back. Jade watches as you subtly increase the strength of pressure applied. The man’s head leans over the edge of the desk and his forehead kisses Jade’s belt. It is only when the man opens his mouth, trying to suck up oxygen that won’t enter his nostrils, do you take the hammer and swiftly pierce it through the muscle tissue.

The man screams but it is drowned by the operatic symphony. The screams finally stop when the tissue disconnects from the body, waggling on the claw end of the hammer. Blood fills the man’s mouth. You take unoccupied hands; one of them is placed over the man’s mouth firmly and the other pinches his nostrils.

For the first time in his life, separate from his memories and separate from his dreams, Jade watches the life fade out, like a leisurely slow sunset, from a living person’s eyes.

Jade isn’t sure how it happens, perhaps he is dissociating – how revolutionary for a machine to experience such a unique, temporary disconnect from his mind – but the two of you find yourself outside on the cabin’s back porch on November 7th bitterly cold and dark morning. It is exactly 4:06 A.M and the temperature is negative 0.5 Celsius. Like the constant epilogue of each novel where you kill something alive, you are holding out a cigarette in front of Jade’s chest, the white tip awaiting him.

He pulls his glove-hand off and holds out the tip of his silver index. The first knuckle flicks open and a blue flame emerges out elegantly. Jade reattaches his skin as you pull the cigarette to your mouth.

Smoke clouds are already coming out of your mouth, crystalizing in the chill night air. However when the first smoke cloud made of carbon monoxide, nicotine, and formaldehyde blooms out from your peeling lips, you say softly, “I can delete it if need be.”

“Delete what, Master?”

“Anything you want me to delete.” You rub your face. “Anything from tonight. I’ll do it for you, Jade. I promise.”

“Why would I ever want to miss a moment that has you in?”

Though it was not his intent, his response causes you strife. It is an unforeseen variable to see you hunch so deeply into a moment of woe. A black puffer jacket conceals your lungs yet Jade watches the profound, hard sigh billow out all the same. Holding your head in your hands, your nude legs shake in the frigid cold underneath your elbows.

After exactly 00:06:15, you respond, “I don’t want you fearful of me … I’m not pleasant to see or be around. And, I don’t want you to remember something that makes you upset, even if it is just one tiny thing. Whatever you want gone, I can take that pain away. If you so desire, I have the ability to remove anything. You can keep whatever you want. I won’t overstep.”

Jade clasps the hand that holds your cigarette, bringing it away from your temple to smolder over his blood-stained dress pants, “All of it. I’ll keep all of it.”

You simply smoke in response.

Jade isn’t sure what time it happens, he manually shuts down his inner clock two minutes after you two finished your conversation, but while sitting on the back porch of the cabin, another unexpected visitor approaches the solitary solace you and Jade have carved into dead woods. The visitor is tiny and flitters around like a restless child. It has been a whole year since he has seen a visitor of this species.

The two of you built a bird feeder together in the first months living in this cabin. It had been marvelously fun. Measuring the cuts for each piece of wood was delegated to Jade while you worked on assembling the finished product. Jade always loves doing activities with you. Now, some of the aftermath rewards can be reaped, as Jade watches an American Goldfinch pick and snack on the bird seeds, his yellow coat fluffy and his black wings ruffling momentarily to shake off the cold.

“(Name), look.” Jade urges softly, even though he can tell by your healthy, deep breaths that you are asleep. “A goldfinch.” You remain comatose in sleep, curling into Jade’s shoulder. He won’t dare to be so intimate and slip in logical judgement by saying your name while you are awake.

The goldfinch stays with Jade until morning when the horizon begins to glow a brilliant yellow. Though it would hurt anyone else’s eyes, Jade stares unabashed ahead.

#jade leech #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #jade leech x reader #twst jade

54 notes · View notes

f3mme-f4tale · 10 months ago

Text

which witch

part one

word count: 4k potential warnings: potential depictions of violence, sexual content, fingering (r! receiving) adult themes (explicit language), tension, angst, world building, more to come... pairing: rebel!ellie x princess!reader (categorized within the knight!ellie aesthetic)

authors note: there are some influences from game of thrones! :))

A cloud of gray smoke lingered above the vine-infested concrete walls of the booming city, machinery roaring to life and wildering conversations floating in the thick air. A war was looming over the Sovereign City, an invading force from the south eagerly plowing through the skin-biting tundra. The hundreds of guilds within the city's walls fed the economy, although some whisper that underground trading of magic folk is what really fuels the financial state. A spy for the rebellion circled the local market, running her hands over the bruised fruit and eyeing the common folk cautiously, trying her best to go undetected. The city center was preparing for the Sun Festival, ironic given the smog that shielded nearly all sunlight.

A local fruit stand was at the center of the market, an older gentleman staffing the exotic fruit from outside the city walls. Bright, intricate starfruit and jelly-filled strawberry papayas littered the concrete mosaic ground. A small goat with a blue bell was tied haphazardly to a post, the yarn fraying with every slight tug from the animal. A group of children dressed in muted shades of brown and green played a game of dice on the other side of the courtyard, daring each other to steal blackberries. The butcher’s son was pushing a small wagon of discarded meat and small fish bones towards an alley, likely to discard the leftovers.

The spy was adorned in local fabrics, muted mismatched stitching holding together a quilt-like material that resembled a shawl. Her deep maple hair cascaded down her neck with a simple silver pin holding some pieces out of her face. Her fingertips were stained with nightshade, her left-hand concealing a small dagger. The weapon was known for immediately striking down any foe, its metal laced with poison. Magic folk and creatures were no exception, despite their enchantments. An abstract fox decorated the handle, a symbol of the rebellion against the empire. On her hip was a small satchel containing various assortments of herbs, sliced plum mushrooms, and powdered oleander seeds. Being a spy, a magic one at that, had its benefits.

The spy detected a woman pocketing something from a guard across the courtyard. She watched her scurry away down an alley, not before stealing a fig from one of the stands. With the day being as slow as it had been, she reasoned that any mischief became her mischief. As she made her way towards where the other woman went, her grip tightened on the weapon. Upon turning down the alley, she seemingly vanished. It was not often that the spy’s prey escaped her sight, not since she was a child at least. At the last possible moment, a speck of red disappeared through a doorway fifty feet in front of her. Swallowing a sigh, she followed.

Inside was a desolate old factory, broken machinery sprawled across the floor and spray paint covering the walls. Sigils were marked on the concrete ground – emblems and allegories from The Blackmoor Book. She questioned how someone within the walls could have such knowledge, risking the high court finding such symbolism.

What was this place?

She did not dwindle on this apprehension long, sinking into the shadows and scanning the place for that woman. A crackly, high-pitched laugh erupted from the other side of the room. Before thinking twice, the spy was across the room in mere seconds, her knife pressed firmly against the mystery woman’s throat, as if in reflex.

“Ya know for as skilled as you are, I figured you’d recognize me,” the woman pestered, her dialect thick. The spy could place the voice, but the face was distant from her mind. The blade stayed against her throat, the pressure never wavering.

“Ellie,” she cooed, “it’s me.”

There was nothing I could do. My feet were lodged between the large stones that decorated the bottom of the fast river, the murky sand blinding my vision and setting my lungs on fire. I was becoming weak, fighting a losing battle with the force of the water. I wanted to give up, to let the depths swallow me whole and my mind run blank. My fingers just barely reached the surface, scratching at the sliver of life that was never fully mine. The anxiety was bubbling up from my stomach and began to make me tremble with complete fear; I wasn’t getting out of this.

Once, when I was young, I would swim in streams and small rivers just like this one. Uncle would be back at the village, father out with the council. My older foster brother would often join me, teaching me how to catch the fish and which plants could be used for medicine. When it was a quiet day, we would read books to the frogs and small insects. Now, at the precipice of death, I can only focus on the day he showed me how to fashion an arrowhead. On how his fingers made sharp movements and the glimmer in his eyes was its purest. He was the mouth of God; I took his words as religion. But he wasn’t there.

My arms grew numb, my body losing sensation. This was it. This was how I was finally going. I screamed against the current and inhaled the river. As my vision darkened and I began to accept defeat, I remembered the reason I was trying to traverse across in the first place; the heaviness of the guilt weighing me down. I made a promise, I swore to him. They were going to die, and it was all my fault. It was a mistake to think I could perform this journey alone, inexperienced.

And then I could breathe again. My fingers dug at my chest, eagerly gasping for air. My eyes burned from the sunlight, my right ankle adorning a jagged cut from the rock that once imprisoned me. My savior hovered above me, breathing just as heavily as I was. Where did they come from?

“T-thank you,” I managed to get out once the anxiety subsided, my throat still burning.

Hesitantly, I glanced up in their direction. They were drenched in luminance, a godliness highlighting their physique, black paint dancing across their nose. Meeting their enticing eyes, I realized I recognized them. A local girl a year older than me from the village, her hair tied tight against her head and half of her body soaking wet. She offered me a curt nod, adjusting the straps on her satchel and securing a few stray pieces of hair. The outfit she wore was jarring, nothing like the large tunics the women wore at home. The breeches and sleek overcoat were skin-tight, a throwing knife strapped securely to her thigh. She did not say anything back, leaving me as fast as she appeared.

“Dina,” Ellie mumbled, her voice rough against the soothing nature of Dina’s. Her eyes scanned the other's face, the memories of her childhood friend rushing back to her like a tidal wave. The same black paint was decorated across her nose, symbolizing her coven. Ellie let her guard down, the blade dropping to her side. The sigils made sense then – she grew up in the same village beyond this city within the Withering Woods, learned from the same potions master, and drank the same Mistmoor river water. Their village Jackson’s Crossing, surrounded by the White Mountains and often disregarded on official cartographer maps, was a cloister of small families from varied ethnicities.

Dina’s fingers were also stained a dark purple – evidence of witchcraft. The last time they had seen each other was years prior, back when Ellie was recruited to fight against the tyranny of the High Ruler, who came into power with varying degrees of support from the public. The last she heard of Dina was that she had joined a coven, practicing magic in secret.

She had grown a lot since their last encounter, her scarlet hair now many inches longer and herself several inches taller. They spared each other the formalities in catching up, Ellie reaching for the item Dina snatched from the unsuspecting general just beyond the door. She let her, Ellie’s mind working through possibilities as she brought the ring of keys closer. She should have known; such an item was predictable. Although, what did Dina need them for?

“Trying to sneak someone out of the dungeons, hmm?” she finally spoke, placing her dagger back into the depths of her clothing. Dina smiled at Ellie again, raising her eyebrows and letting her face do the talking. “Ah, well, sneaking into prison seems more your speed anyways.”

“The council has been very unyielding in my request for an audience,” she began, walking a few steps away from Ellie. “So, I’ve had to find my own ways.”

“Why do you wish to speak to them?” Ellie questioned, puzzled as to what her companion could want with them. Dina’s gaze meant nothing but trickery, her smile growing wider and wider. Whatever her intentions, Ellie considered leeching on, her own assignment from the Rebellion creating a need to be inside those palace walls – although for a quite different reason.

“Remember Jesse?” she smirks, running a hand through her locks. Ellie snorts at this – because of course she remembers Jesse, how could she not? They were practically joined at the hip before Ellie left Jackson.

“He’s gotta learn to keep his mouth shut in front of the guards. He’s so pretty, but he can be pretty thick headed sometimes,” Dina scolds, shaking her head. “So, naturally, they’ve finally decided to sentence him after years of causing mayhem.”

“Well, I want in,” Ellie says coldly, adjusting with the fabric that covers her shoulder. Dina squints at her friend, questioning her motivations. “I’ve got orders to relocate a member of the royal family, per the Rebellion's bequest.”

Deep viridian ivy covers the cobblestones and beige pillars of the courtyard, dark shadows stretching up the walls. Rain litters the ground, the damp air an inviting aroma. Billowing clouds darken the sky, the thunder a welcoming presence.

You’re sitting at a desk, candlelight framing your face as you attempt to read the book in your hands. It’s no use however, as your mind is swirling with a million different thoughts. The betrayal of your father cuts deep; all that remains is the stark reality of your pain. You trace the outline of the candle's flame with trembling fingers, its flickering dance mirroring your thundering heartbeat.

A knock at the door interrupts your spiral, haphazardly setting down your book and the weight of the chair creaking as you stand. A woman is on the other side, her curly black hair cascading down her back. The servant's uniform does her no justice, her figure cloaked in a tunic two sizes too big. You raise an eyebrow, questioning the intruder at such a late hour.

“Yes?” you ask, voice wavering slightly. You know she can see the dismay in your face, your eyes all too forgiving. You instinctively hunch your shoulders, nails pushing into the meat of your palm, knuckles turning white.

“Lord David sent me to draw you a bath, my lady. He wants you to be clean and fresh for your engagement tomorrow,” she responds, bowing her head. She holds clean linens and a sponge in her hand, a slight look of sorrow crossing her face that you almost miss. You step aside begrudgingly, letting her through.

Large buckets of water make their rounds over the fire as the servant works to untie the laces of your bodice, making quick work of the material. The cool air filtering through the partially opened window makes your skin grow cold, the woman helping you out your chemise, body bare to her wandering gaze. Her hands were warm, a stir emerging within your gut. You always disliked having other people bath you, yet you found yourself straightening your back, showing off. She made eye contact with you, half slitted pupils devouring your form. You welcomed this, using your left hand to remove a pin that was keeping your braids in place. She steps behind you to begin dumping the contents of the bucket into a metal tub.

And then suddenly the servant is several inches away, hands agonizingly tracing your shoulders, her breath hot on your neck. She places a small kiss just underneath your ear, a shudder escaping your lips as you tentatively close your eyes. You’d never had someone approach you this way, not unless you count the several forty-something year old male suitors that you had declined since you turned sixteen years ago.

The servant uses one hand to pull your hair over to one shoulder as the other palms your bare stomach. You suck in a breath, not pushing her away. You knew this was wrong, save for the fact that she was another woman. What would your father say? What would the maids whisper to each other when they thought no one was looking?

Despite protests shouting against your very core, you remained still, leaning into her frame. You could feel her breasts pressing into your back, her right hand dancing dangerously close to the space between your legs. Her left hand dragged across your chest, fingers grazing and pulling. When her right hand plunged into your slick, you leaned your head back against her shoulder.

“Lay down, my lady,” she murmured, gently moving your already wrecked body towards the bed in the corner. You obliged, sitting on the edge. She pushed you down, immediately dropping down to her knees. You were new to this, not even daring to touch yourself. Her mouth felt foreign on your pelvis, but you bucked up into her face regardless.

Her tongue slid across you, pink bud becoming raw from the friction. When she pushed two fingers inside of you, a borderline scream escaped your delicate lips. The swell of your breasts bounced as she began to pick up her pace, rocking your body against the frame of the bed and adding another slender digit. Her tongue continues its assault on your clit, forcing you to take it, to take all of it.

It’s over before you realize, her face covered in you. You pull her up by the collar of her uniform, forcing her lips against yours. She’s taken aback at first, but then melts into the embrace. She’s sticking her tongue into your mouth, the taste of you invading and arousing.

“As much as I’d love to continue Princess,” the woman says suddenly, breaking the kiss. “I did come here to bathe you.” You nod, suddenly extremely aware of your surroundings and how easily you folded under her touch – a woman’s touch.

As she dumped another bucket of hot water into the metal tub, you gazed off absentmindedly. Her coarse fingers work through your locks, detangling the pieces that frame your face.

“You’re so beautiful, but you have to keep him happy. He gets bored easily.”

You glance over at her, noticing the way the fireplace behind her makes her skin glow.

“I don’t want you to end up, well, like the others,” she sighs, moving to grab a rag to clean your skin with. You were so used to the mindless handling of your body that sometimes you forgot how vulnerable you could be.

“W-what others?” you croaked, tension once again creeping up your spine and through your fingers. You felt her movements stiffen, realizing she spoke out of turn.

“Oh, I shouldn’t, it’s all hearsay. I apologize, my lady,” she replies, her actions becoming more disorderly. You watch her closely, her sudden discomfort adding another layer of unease to the already heavy atmosphere. Despite her attempt to backtrack, your curiosity is piqued, and you press further.

"No, please, tell me," you insist, your voice barely above a whisper. She hesitates, torn between loyalty to her lord and a desire to warn you. Finally, she speaks, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire.

"There have been others before you," she begins, her words careful and measured. "Women who were... chosen, like you." Your heart pounds in your chest, the implications of her words sinking in. You swallow hard, pushing down the rising sense of dread threatening to overwhelm you.

"What happened to them?" you ask, your voice trembling despite your efforts to remain composed. She hesitates again, her gaze dropping to the floor as if unable to meet your eyes.

"They... disappeared," she murmurs, her voice barely audible. "Some say that he grows tired of his playthings, discarding them when they no longer amuse him, banished to distant lands never to return. Others whisper darker tales of rituals and… well," she clarifies, her hands shaking as she runs her nimble fingers through your hair once more.

You struggle to process the implications of her revelation, the realization dawning on you with sickening clarity. "You mean... they're dead?" you whisper, the words feeling foreign and surreal on your tongue. You turn to her fully, putting on a show of false confidence. “This is my home. He can’t frighten me.”

“Of course, my lady. Forgive me.”

You nod, still reeling from her earlier words. As she finishes bathing you, you're left alone with your thoughts once more. The warmth of the water does little to soothe the chill in your bones, the weight of impending responsibilities pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket.

“Will I see you again?” You mumble, eyes pleading with the woman as she’s half way out of your chamber, a robe now draped around your figure. A frown catches her lips, a sigh is all the answer you need.

“I’m afraid not,” she finally answers, yet doesn’t move from her place at the door. You feel your stomach drop, reaching out to catch her lips in a kiss once more. This one is less aggressive, a plea for more. She cups your cheek softly, kissing you back. “It’s not safe. We live in a world where desires are often sacrificed for duty.”

As she finally steps away, you watch her silhouette fade into the dimly lit corridor beyond your chamber. A sense of loss washes over you, as you're left in the silence of your chambers. The flames of the candles flicker ominously, casting dancing shadows on the walls. You try to shake off the unease settling in your chest, but the seed of doubt planted by the woman’s words grows with each passing moment.

You know you should rest, to prepare yourself for the challenges that lie ahead, but sleep eludes you. Instead, you find yourself pacing the room, the echoes of your footsteps mingling with the whispers of your own fears.

This union is a death sentence, a promise made to satisfy your fathers requests. Your older sister was the next in line to rule, your brother already married off to a Duchess in the East. You would never sit on the throne; the pressure of said title always out of reach but forever a taunt. You could taste the longing for power – a snake wrapping around your heart, squeezing.

By marrying Lord David, you help ease the emerging tensions between the East and South kingdoms within the empire. It had long been kept secret that you were a bastard, a lie living a life of luxury. Guilt ate away at you from every inch of your skin, your real mother a ghost of your past. Of course, maids and servants talked. That said, the effort to uphold the ruler's dignity and honor reigned supreme; Those who were caught gossiping would meet a punishment worse than castration.

You understand the importance of maintaining stability within the empire, of ensuring peace between rival factions. But on the other hand, there's the gnawing fear that grips you, the fear of being trapped in a loveless marriage, of becoming just another casualty in the game of power and ambition.

You remember the stories you heard as a child, tales of kings and queens whose lives were dictated by duty rather than desire. You used to dream of a different fate for yourself, of finding love and happiness on your own terms. But now, as the reality of your situation sinks in, those dreams seem like distant echoes of a naive past.

Tomorrow, you will be betrothed to a man you hardly know; a union forged by politics and alliances. When morning comes, you will rise with a sense of resignation, steeling yourself for the path laid out before you.

Dawn breaks upon a canvas of melancholy, the sky adorned in swathes of slate-hued clouds. You dress in a gown of regal elegance, each layer of silk and lace feeling like a shroud closing in around you. Your reflection in the mirror is a stranger's face, masked behind a facade of composure that belies the turmoil within. As you fasten the intricate clasps of your necklace – a delicate chain of platinum interwoven with strands of glistening rhodonite and sunstone – you can't help but wonder if you're adorning yourself for a wedding or a funeral.

Downstairs, guests mingle in clusters of polished nobility. Their smiles are as artificial as the flowers adorning the tables, masking the alliances and rivalries that simmer beneath the surface. You navigate the crowd with practiced grace, exchanging pleasantries and feigned enthusiasm.

In the grand hall, where sunlight filters through stained glass, illuminating the opulence of the surroundings, you stand amidst a sea of faces, each one a mask concealing clandestine desires. At the center of it all stands Lord David, a towering figure of authority and ambition. His gaze finds yours across the room, a flicker of something unreadable passing between you before he turns to greet another guest.

His eyes, like shards of obsidian, pierce through the veneer of social niceties. As he acknowledges your presence with a nod of his head, you offer a polite smile, concealing the turmoil churning within your breast. His lips curve in response, but there is a hardness in his gaze. With unspoken haste, the sea of guests transitioned into the next room, organizing into rows.

Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns of color upon the assembled guests. The delicate lace of your veil cascaded like a waterfall around you, framing your face in a halo of soft radiance. Lord David, regal and imposing, awaited you at the altar.

As you drew near, the murmurs of the crowd fell silent, and all that remained was the steady rhythm of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. With each step, you felt the weight of expectation pressing down upon you, the gravity of the moment settling like a cloak upon your shoulders.

At last, you stood face to face with Lord David, your hands trembling slightly as you clasped his in yours. The officiant's voice filled the air, the solemn words of the vows binding you together. His grip tightened at your wrists, thumb pressing into your pressure point. You fought against the sinking feeling in your chest, the fear washing over your features.

Concealed behind a pillar, at the room's farthest edge, stood a guest with a blade, its hilt adorned with an abstract fox; A silent sentinel amidst the opulent chaos. Their gaze, like a river's current, flows over your form, lingering on each curve and contour with a cautious reverence. The bodice of the gown hugs your frame, accentuating the gentle curve of your waist before giving way to a voluminous skirt that pools around your feet in a sea of soft fabric. Layers upon layers of tulle and organza lend an air of weightless beauty to the ensemble, each fold and pleat catching the light in a mesmerizing dance.

The spy stole a final glance at the princess, and for a brief moment, she could've sworn she saw a glimmer of fear entrenched in your gaze. Rancorously, Ellie envisioned taking a blade to Lord David's throat and smiling as the congealed mess of his arteries betrayed him. She shoved the wrinkled piece of parchment into the confines of her satchel. Her mission began.

Secure the youngest daughter of the sovereign.

taglist: @seraphicsentences @onlinelesbo @yumimak @elliewilliamsblunt @bready101

#tlou2 #ellie williams #fanfic #lesbian #tlou #ellie x reader #wlw #ellie x fem reader #free palestine #ellie williams fic

246 notes · View notes

mrs-starkgaryen · 7 months ago

Text

Meet me at the Corner (Shop) teaser

Modern! Aegon Targaryen x Reader

Teaser 2, Teaser 3

✍️ (My other writings) ✍️

You keep meeting a certain silver-haired man at the local corner shop and whilst you only came in for a snack, you leave with a whole lot more.

Warnings: Will post more with the whole ones-shot later, but for now- Rude Aegon, British corner shop life, missing punctuation and grammar, probably

A/N: This is my first fanfic. I don't know why I wrote this, I just wanted to get me started. THERE IS MORE TO COME TO THIS ONE-SHOT IF PEOPLE LIKE IT (or even if they don't)!

I just love my man, Aegon, and you know what they say- if there isn't a fanfic you want, write it yourself so tada!

Please like, reblog and leave constructive comments (or any) :D

The bell dinged when I pushed open the heavy door, announcing my entrance to the shop’s inhabitants. I hated the thing. I’d rather slink in, grab what I want and leave, like a snake slithering in the long blades of grass, pouncing on its prey and disappearing. But now, I had to endure walking around the shop as the only cashier available had his eyes fixed on my movements.

He was an older man, probably mid-fifties, greying hair and even though he was always behind the till, he had a noticeable belly, like a balloon shoved underneath his shirt. There is nothing outwardly wrong with him but he always makes me feel uncomfortable, from how he would watch me wonder or judge me for what I buy. The latter probably wasn’t true and the former… well the former was probably him watching for shoplifters- which I don’t blame him for. Corner shops were prime targets for theft.

As the embarrassment of the bell’s acknowledgment evaporated, I make myself look up begrudgingly to him, to acknowledge my arrival with a nod or a smile. But upon looking at the man behind the till, instead of the sides of my mouth lifting upwards, they went down. For in the place of the typical man, was a much younger one. He had scruffy hair in the shade of ice dripping down his head and sported snow-sprinkled stubble which he was scratching absent-mindedly as he scrolled on his phone.

He was leaning over the counter as I made my way past the magazine section next to the door but he must have been too engrossed in whatever was on his screen for he didn’t once look up at me. I was grateful for it but it was odd, coming into a corner shop and not being watched. With this new revelation in mind, I made my way around the aisles, looking for the items that I came in for: cookies, a Cadbury bar, a bag of Doritos, a can of Monster and a milkshake. I was planning on watching the new season of my favourite TV series in its entirety tonight and I was planning on having a good time. I navigated the thin aisles, trying not to bump into the products that hung off the shelves, adding the necessary items to the growing pile in my arms.

Trying to balance the unknown brand of cookies on top, I position myself to hold the items better with this new addition. However, the packet falls to the floor with a crunch and I wince at the sound interrupting the silence of the shop. Heat blooms in my cheeks as I peer over the pile of food to the cookies on the ground before tentatively turning my eyes to the man behind the till to see if he noticed. Oh man, oh man. He is going to think I’m a pig who can’t resist all these snacks

Fortunately, the man was still flicking through his phone and not paying attention to the happenings of the shop that he oversaw. A brief idea of me just walking out with the items flashed through my mind but I banished it away, heading my way towards the cashier. I stood in front of him, waiting for him to notice that he had a customer.

But the white-haired man seemed intent on pretending he was not here, and that was something we had in common. I started to wish the creepy older man was back. At least he was aware of the people in the shop. My arms were beginning to ache, so I had to break the silence we both were unwillingly in; I let out a small cough.

His eyes flick up from the screen and land on me. He rolls his eyes and slowly puts his phone in the back pocket of his jeans. He wasn’t wearing uniform, but instead a short-sleeved checkered shirt that was open to reveal a t-shirt with a quote on, underneath. I tried to get a glimpse but after reading the top three words, ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he moved to cross his arms, blocking the rest of the words. He waited for me to put my items on the till.

Noticing his disgruntled face, I smile shyly as I empty my arms. “Hi. Just these please.”

He grabs the items and starts to scan. Beep, beep, beep. I stand there, swaying on the soles of my feet as I waited. He places the stuff in a blue-lined bag and places it in front of me. Then we go back to the silence, staring at each other. Why is he staring at me? My eyes start to look around, trying to avoid his intense gaze, especially as his eyes are a weird colour, like an amethyst cracked open, gems being disrupted from their rocky slumber.

Nervously, I flicker back to his shirt. ‘Sorry I’m late- my alarm didn’t go off. Because I didn’t turn it on. Because I didn’t want to be here.’ A puff of unwanted laughter escapes my mouth; the shirt is appropriate for the man in front of me. Who was still staring at me.

Maybe he was waiting for me to say something. I open my mouth, “So how- “

“Do you want the cookies or not?”

“Huh?”

He nods towards the pack that I dropped on the floor earlier, the ones that I forgot to pick up. “Oh,” I rush back to grab them and plonk them on the till, smiling, “Yes please, wouldn’t be a movie night without them.”

The man doesn’t say anything to attest if that was true but scanned the biscuits and shoved them into the bag with the rest. Not talkative, I see.

“£5.48.”

I nod, pulling out my purse, searching for the change. 25p, 32p, 46p. Oh for the love of- the one time you need to be drowning in copper coins-

Realising that I am delaying this man returning to his favourite pastime, I start to panic. “Sorry” I say.

Oh, he isn’t going to like me. I need 2p, where is it? I finally find one stuck in the crevices of my purse, I pull it out. Huzzah! I happily extend my clenched fist over his, “I knew I had it.”

I drop the money and wait for him to count it. He nods and hands the bag over to me, before pulling his phone back out. I take it business was done.

I shuffle on my feet, eager to patch up the bad taste I must have left in his mouth, “Thank you!”

He doesn’t respond, I fidget with the plastic straps, “Sorry about the wait,” I realise he still hasn’t moved from watching his phone. Well, okay then… I head for the door, tugging it open with my free hand. Before I exit into the cold night, I look back but he’s still not looking, I stretch out one more olive branch, “Have a good night.”

He was as stoic as ever. I huff and let the door close between us. As I trudge home, I ponder about the weird man and for once, I start to hope that I’ll see the old one the next time I go into The Hightower corner shop.

More to come (only a few thousand words left)

#house of the dragon #hotd #modern aegon #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #house of the dragon fanfiction #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #modern aegon targaryen #modern house of the dragon #tom glynn carney #tom glynn-carney #hotd fanfic #new and improved #aegon targaryen one shot #hotd one shot

133 notes · View notes

lovelytsunoda · 2 months ago

Text

birthday girl | mickey “fanboy” garcia

summary: used to feeling like an afterthought on her birthday (mostly due to its proximity with christmas), mickey sets out to make sure that his sweet lover girl feels treasured and loved

pairing: mickey “fanboy” garcia x female reader

warnings: 18+ content, 'birthday girl' is used in a sexual context, its part of smutmas so idk what yall are expecting but its gonna be smutty

author's note: i totally wasn't planning to write this about eddie rojas from season 3 of the lincoln lawyer before i realized that there was only one post in his tag and not a single gif of his adorable face-

birthdays were seldom easy for people unfortunate (or fortunate, depending on how you looked at it) enough to have their special day land in such close proximity to a major and widely celebrated holiday.

every year, her birthday felt like an afterthought. while her sister spent her birthday with friends, or going out to dinner, her birthday was spent doing housework and preparing the house for when family came over the celebrate christmas eve the following day.

all of that changed when she met mickey garcia.

mickey went out of his way to make sure that she felt loved and cherished on her birthday, and for the first time in a long time, her birthday didn't feel so lonely.

the spent the day out on the town, starting with the christmas market and village, stopping for pictures with all the brightly lit trees. (technically, they started with breakfast in bed, where y/n was presented with a hardback copy of a new book she had been wanting to read, and a silver bracelet that she swore never to take off, but who was keeping track?) and ended with dinner at her favourite italian restaurant. after the meal, the waiter brought out a chocolate cake with 'happy birthday, mi vida', and she almost wept with joy.

she didn't want the night to end, and it would appear that mickey didn't intend to let it end so early himself, a giddy smile on his face as he led her towards the bedroom.

"do you remember when we watched fifty shades of gray and i was slightly drunk and asked what would be in your sex room if you had one?"

"you were more than a little drunk, mickey." she giggled. "but yeah, i remember."

"and you said that all you needed was a soft bed, some massage oils and a few scented candles."

"and a record player."

"right, we can't forget the record player."

"mickey," she raised an eyebrow at him. "where are you going with this?"

mickey just laughed, shaking his head as he reached for the bedroom doorknob. "just you wait."

beyond the threshold, there was a path made of fake flower petals, in a soft blue tone, winding towards their double bed. on top of the bed, was a towel clumsily folded into the shape of a swan, and a shiny gold box. lofi music hummed away in the background, no doubt from the speaker connected to mickey's phone.

"every year we say we're going to get that record player, and we still haven't, so i had to improvise."

"mickey, this is incredible." she smiled, kissing him gently.

"all for you, birthday girl. now why don't you go sit on that bed and make yourself comfortable, while i make sure i have everything i need to make you feel your best."

she sat at the foot of the bed, leaning over to open the box, which was embossed with the logo for the body shop. as she was pulling the lid off the box, the speaker crackled behind her, the lofi soon replaced with george micheal's 1987 solo debut. inside the box, nestled among tissue paper, was an assortment of body butters and balms. she unscrewed the lid from one of the balms, taking a sniff of the pleasantly scented cream.

"still can't bring yourself to go into a sex shop, can you?"

mickey beamed at her, dropping to his knees by her feet, shoulders swaying in time with the music. "i'm a good catholic boy, remember? if my mother even got an inkling that i'd been to a sex shop, i'd end up buried under her flowerbeds. did i ever tell you about the time she found out i'd been to the back half of a spencer's? besides, i know you love the body shop, and i figured we'd get more use out of body butter."

humming along to the words in ‘faith’, mickey took one of her feet into his hands, kissing her ankle before he began to undo the strap on her black high heels. he repeated the motion with her other foot before he began to gently kiss and muzzle up her leg.

he pushed up the long skirt of her black dress before getting to his feet and reaching for the dish of body butter. he lathered up his hands, and she rested one foot over his heart, allowing him to massage the butter into her legs. his hands moved gently, working out the knots in her muscles.

“how you feeling, birthday girl?”

she sighed under his touch. “heavenly”

the higher that mickeys hands travelled, gently pushing the body butter into her skin, the more aroused she got. her chest filled with warmth, her panties growing damper as she thought about just how loved mickey made her feel.

he repeated the process with the other leg, balk soaking into her skin as she wrapped her legs around mickeys torso and pulled him in for a deep kiss. his hands caressed her sides, gently urging her back into the bed and diving underneath her dress.

“you’re so beautiful, birthday girl. I’m so damn lucky to call you mine.”

true to his word, mickey garcia spent that entire evening worshipping every square inch of her body: massaging her achy shoulders, sucking on her perky nipples, eating her out until she saw stars (twice!) before he even thought about sticking his dick in her.

their bodies were intertwined underneath the ikea duvet, her cheek against the pillow and mickeys chest warm and reassuring against her back as he rocked his hips against her, his heavy cock resting a pleasant, burning drag against her walls.

above her head, mickeys hands clutched hers against the pillows, his lush lips leaving open mouthed kissed along her neck and shoulders.

moaning harshly, she turned her head to kiss mickey, his hips spasming against her.

“you’re doing so well, birthday girl. you feel like a dream.” he whispered huskily before hoping at her earlobe. “I love making you feel good.”

“fuck, mickey. right there!” she arched underneath him, trying to roll her hips against him.

he was holding back, purposely going slower and trying to drag the night out. enjoying the moment instead of chasing a high.

he dropped her hands, arms coming around to hug her midsection, holding her close as his thrusts became deeper.

“I love you, pretty girl.” he groaned, biting into her shoulder. she whined under him, a noise his body all too desperately reacted to. “fuck, baby, you undo me.”

he could feel her walls clamping down around him, hear the breathy moans that meant she was getting closer to her peak. she reached for the back of mickeys head, tangling her hand in his hair and pulling down gently.

“fuck, baby, I’m so close. oh my god, I love you.”

“I love you more, birthday girl. te amo, mi vida.”

#top gun maverick x reader #mickey fanboy garcia x reader #mickey garcia x reader #fanboy x reader #top gun fanfic #top gun x reader #smutmas (tasias version)

53 notes · View notes

toxicanonymity · 2 years ago

Note

consider this: down on her luck reader who needs cash and tries to sell something at joel’s pawn shop but he lowballs her and she insists she needs more money and he says “there’s something else you could give me” 👀

Pawn Shop

2.3k / sleazy GILF!Joel x fem!reader / masterlist

mood board by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

WARNINGS: I8+ Big girthy age gap (68/20s+) dark / perverted old creep Joel, dubcon nudity. Joel jacks off. Sex dream (oral m & P in V sex) and coming in public. Non-outbreak AU. TW Clowns, Drug/addiction references, transactional. Accidental horror then I kinda rolled with it, possible nightmare fuel?

He sighs, puts down the magnifying glass, and swivels his stool around to face you. "Best I can do is twenty, darlin'." His tired eyes are apologetic, wrinkling under the shade of his brow as he looks up at you. "And that’s pushin’ it. Rock's not real, no market for this."

Your face goes cold. You don't know what else to do. The ring is all you have. You need $75 for your bus ticket, then you're out of here, going to get a fresh start somewhere new. You hold your hand out and the chain of the necklace pools into your palm as he lowers it into your hand. You swallow thickly. It comes out in a broken whisper: "Thanks anyway."

You walk to the door, dejected, being careful that your backpack doesn't hit any of the junk piled up everywhere on your way out. You’ve never seen so many ceramic clowns. There’s a market for all those, but not a necklace? You barely have the energy to push the metal bar of the door. It’s so bright outside your eyes ache as soon as you touch it. When the bell on the door jingles, the man says, "Hold on, sweetheart. C'mere."

You look back to the register and he's sitting with his arms crossed, thumbing a suspender. You walk halfway back to the counter. "Told ya I don't have anything else," you say, tears welling up in your eyes.

He squints and looks you up and down, then scratches one side of his silver beard. "How 'bout that pretty dress?"

You sigh. "I can't, I don't have anything else." Your eyes fall to his biceps bulging out of his short sleeves. There’s a faded tattoo you can’t see. He has the face of a grandfather but the body of a muscular DILF with sun damage.

"Gimme a minute, darlin'." He puts his hands on his thighs and stands up with a groan. He quickly adjusts himself then reaches under the cash register, unzips something, and his hand emerges with some bills. He turns away to thumb through them, pockets them, then hobbles around you to the door, his denim brushing the skirt of your dress. He turns the sign to "closed" and turns the lock.

"Lunch time," he says with a raise of his eyebrows. A pit forms in your stomach, but you suppress it. "Come on back, I'll show ya what I got."

You hesitantly follow him to the back of the store. He walks slowly, like he's in pain. His jeans are tight on his ass, and one side of his shirt collar is creased. If you only saw him from the back, you'd peg him for fifty or so, but his face and mannerisms are older. In the back of the store, there's more junk. One corner has an old sofa and an armchair. He sighs and his knees pop as he sits down in the armchair. He looks at you and nods at the sofa, as if you should know what to do.

"Fifty for the dress."

Your eyes burn with tears of frustration. "I don't have anything else to wear."

"Oh, you'll get it back, darlin'. Don't worry," he says soothingly.

The blood drains from your face as you realize what this is. He stands up slowly again with his hands on his thighs and shuffles over to a desk to get a bottle of lotion. A ceramic sad clown in a bowler hat sits atop the desk. On his way back to the chair, he looks you up and down and his voice goes up an octave like he's talking to a pet. "Hey, it's okay, sweetie. I'm not gonna touch ya." He takes down his suspenders and sits back down with a sigh. He leans back in the chair with one hand on his beard as he watches you think it over. He spreads his legs and rests his heels on the ground. Your eyes follow the grooves in the tan soles of his boots as you think.

Finally, you ask, “Is there anything you need help with? Any work you could give me?”

He smiles and chuckles to himself, looking down. His smile fades when he looks up again with a darker tone. “Fifty for the dress, sweetheart. And ya get it back.”

You take a deep breath.

He lifts his hips and shoves a hand into his pocket. He peeks at the cash and takes out a fifty-dollar bill to show you. "If ya don't want it, I'll let ya go."

You put down your backpack. "All I have to do is take it off?"

"And lemme look at ya for a lil bit," he adds. He folds the bill vertically and holds it between his middle and forefinger on the arm of the chair and palms himself with his other hand. It makes your stomach turn. But it's fast money, and you're so tired, you just need to get on the bus and sleep.

"Okay," you agree quietly and feel a little piece of yourself float away.

"Good girl," he says.

You rip the bandaid off, pulling the dress over your head right away. You hold it in front of your body timidly. At least you still have your shoes and underwear on.

"I'll hold onto that," he says as he lifts his hips to unbutton his tight jeans. You stand frozen as he unzips then reaches into his pants. He takes a deep breath as he takes his cock out. You’ve never seen an old one, and you’re curious, but you don’t look. He extends his free hand for your dress.

You stand as far away as possible and lean forward, extending your arm and practically tossing the dress to him. You avoid looking, but it’s hard not to see it in the corner of your vision. You quickly go back to the couch and sit down.

He drapes the dress over the arm of the chair and pumps some lotion into his hand. Then he wraps his hand around his cock and his fist begins to go up and down, moving a distance that tells you he's well endowed.

You cover yourself with your arms, cower, and look away.

"Don't be shy, darlin'. Only make it take longer."

You put your hands down by your sides. He strokes himself slowly and watches you. "Sure are pretty," he mutters. "sorry you're down on your luck." You look away. "Nuh-uh " he says. "You look right here." Your eyes begin to water. You look past him, to the sad clown on the desk. You're never, ever coming back to this town again.

When he closes his eyes for a moment, you steal a glance and curse the pang between your legs when your eyes fixate on the thick pillar in his weathered, veiny hand. He sees you see him. He looks down at his cock then at you and a wicked look spreads across his eyes. "Yeah, that's right," he murmurs. "Like what you see?" He nods slowly as he pumps himself. He adds more lotion.

The slurping sound makes you sick. Sick enough to snap. You're never coming back, why are you doing this? You feel yourself floating back together.

You offer a small nod of admission, stare at his cock, and wet your lips. Because you know that's what he wants.

“You can have it if ya want,” he says. You act tempted but shy. "That’s okay, sweetie. Just take off the rest and this'll go faster." You don’t take anything else off. “Another fifty for the rest.” He pauses his hand, holding his hard cock at attention as he gets out another bill from his pocket. Arousal stirs between your legs, looking at his stiff member jutting into the air, ready to be mounted. But no, not with this sleaze.

You “pretend” to be turned on. "How much faster?" You ask. He accelerates his stroke considerably to demonstrate, then slows it way down. He wets his lips with the darkest look on his face, and now that you're looking at his cock unabashed, butterflies swarm in your lower belly.

"Ok," you say, and stand up. You walk toward him slowly, taking down the straps of your bra, eyeing the bills in his hand. "How much is in your pocket?" His eyes rove you hungrily. You stand in front of him and ask, “How much if I just do it myself?" You put your hands on his jeans and squat down. He's pumping himself at a snail's pace now.

"Hold it for me," he says as he digs in his pocket. “Lemme see.”

"Not for free," you tell him.

He chuckles and hands you the two fifties. You yank your dress out from under his elbow and make a break for the front of the store.

"Hold on now, darlin'," he protests over his shoulder. You're putting your dress on as you scurry away, leaving your bag. The chair groans as he slowly stands up. You bump into a clown and it crashes off its table to the ground, shattering. You reach over the counter and under the cash register. His silhouette hobbles down the hall, suspenders swinging at his hips, as you grab the pouch of cash.

"You don't wanna do that," he says flatly, footsteps getting closer. You glance back and he's got his pants still undone, grabbing a shotgun off the wall. You tip over a display shelf behind you on your way to the door. You fumble at the lock, then push it open and it jingles as you spill onto the sidewalk, blinded by the sun and stumbling with nerves, part of your dress hung up on your panties.

You fall on your knees and as you're getting up, he emerges from the store with his gun raised. Thankfully, there are other people on the sidewalk who stop and stare at him with his pants and suspenders hanging down exposing his silver pubic hair, biceps bulging as he points a shotgun at you. He notices the stares and lowers the gun as you run away crying, pulling down your dress.

The worst part is your primal brain finds this image of him to be one of the hottest things you've ever seen. You stuff the pouch in the band of your bra under your arm and it gathers your sweat as you walk to the bus station.

At the station, you open the pouch. It's quite a stack of bills and also a few loose pills. Oxy which is the last thing you need, but god, after that experience. You count the money, close to $1,600, and you feel a rush. It’s more than enough to replace everything you lost. You walk to the pharmacy across the street to buy some water, a snack, and some wet wipes to wipe down with because you feel filthy.

Once you're on the Greyhound bus, you settle into the big, gray velvety seat with an eighties-looking rainbow design on it. You still feel disgusting, especially because you can't shake the image of him in your head or the feeling between your legs. A DILF sits next to you but you're too ashamed to let yourself look at him. You discreetly take one of the pills from the pouch and doze off.

You're back in the pawn store, sitting on the sofa completely nude. He's shirtless with gray and white chest hair and a little tummy, but he's not too wrinkled. He’s wearing red suspenders. There’s a faint trace of faded makeup or tattoos stemming down from his eyes - narrow triangles, pointed downward. Somehow he makes it look sexy.

"Spread your legs for me, baby," he says gruffly as he moves his hand up and down his cock. You spread your legs wide and touch yourself.

"Fuck me," he exhales. "Gotta have ya, darlin'," he sighs in resignation. He stands up with no difficulty, crosses the room cockily with his big dick in in his hand, and puts his hand on the wall behind the sofa. He looks down at you darkly, looming over you, stiff cock less than two feet from your face as he strokes it. You scoot forward and suck his tip between your lips. He puts his other hand on the wall and thrusts his huge cock slowly into your mouth, bracing himself with both hands.

You suck him hard, salivating around his delicious cock as his hips push him into your mouth. He grunts and moans and says "yeah, just like that," fucking himself with your mouth. His soft, deep voice stirs a feral desire within you. "Just like that, baby.” You take him out of your mouth and he watches from above, stroking himself as you stretch out on the sofa. "You want this cock, sweetie?" You nod. He brings a hand down to the back of the sofa then cages you to the cushions with his body. "You want it in your pussy?"

He reaches between your legs and lightly taps your cunt a few times, wetting his lips, then rubs your slick around it. You grab his dick and gently tug him closer. You wrap your legs around him and he slams his big cock into you, stuffing you completely full of him. "Yeah," he sighs. He retreats slowly then slams into you hard. "Take it, sweetie." You moan and he grunts.

He repeats the action again and again, and it feels better and better. His belly grinds into your clit and you watch his biceps flex. He pounds you and grinds into you and finally you burst.

You wake up moaning on the Greyhound bus and the DILF next to you looks away, blushing.

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl

#gilf!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller drabble #joel miller fic #dark!joel miller #pedro pascal fic #pervy!joel miller #sleazy!joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #toxicanonymity ☠️#creepy!joel miller #cw clowns #cw sex work #cw dubcon #PPCU jacks off #PPCU jacks off ☠️#someone jacks off

1K notes · View notes

shattered-eagle · 7 months ago

Text

Shattered Eagle RO Descriptions

Hi all, I got some questions on what the ROs look like and their personalities, so I thought I'd share what I had in mind while writing. All of the ROs are some shade of bisexual, if I hadn't noted that already.

Empress Julia Vitallia Hevernica: The Empress of Iudia is a forty-eight year old woman of average height, with a fair complexion and dark black hair on a slow but steady journey to silver. She has gray eyes which tend to bore icily into whoever she happens to be speaking with. Even as Empress, she has remained active from many years of military campaigning, with a fit and athletic physique. She tends to wear her hair short, barely reaching past her ears.

She is known to be cruel to her enemies, ruling through fear of her merciless wrath. Nevertheless, as a savvy politician, she takes care to project an image of harsh, yet fair, justice at her hand, if dealt with in good faith.

In her most personal relationships, Julia can often be more distant than she intends, as she seeks out understanding and care from her loved ones, despite her cold exterior. She is well known to be estranged from her husband.

Legate Antonius Lethungius/Amalrik Wulfhid: The general of the barbarian auxiliaries is a tall, clean shaven, forty year old man with a great blonde mane of hair. His once youthful good looks have, however, been marred by the scars of countless bloody wars. He has bright green eyes, flecked with a faint gold. A formidable foe in battle, he bears a strong and stout frame.

The Legate is half of 'civilized Iudia' and half of 'barbarous Gruthungia,' and everything from what clothes he wears to what accent he speaks with may change by the audience he finds himself in front of.

As a result, it is difficult to tell whether he is a a fierce, unbowed barbarian warrior, or a obedient, dutiful son of the Empire, an ambiguity is he seems content to maintain.

Ever careful about who he lets get too close, the Legate has been known to be somewhat aloof, trying to steer clear from personal relationships, supposedly out of his sense of obligation to his soldiers and their needs. His resultant lack of experience is then a source of embarrassment, though he does not let others know this readily.

Consul Consentia Plinia Dorcia: An older woman of fifty-four years old with a fair complexion, Consentia nevertheless has features that have aged as well as a fine vintage. Her dark brown hair, once near matching her brown eyes, has long since turned grey, however, reaching down a few inches past her shoulders.

Refusing the indulgences that many of the matrician class enjoy, Consentia is healthy and fit for her age, considering the long hours of work she tirelessly puts herself through for the business of the Senate.

Carrying elegance with her every step, she is well known to be polite and courteous to all in search of a new, more republican form of government, though she reserves ire for the 'barbarians' she views as emblematic of Iudia's decline. She is also a skilled orator, giving rousing speeches filled with carefully crafted rhetoric.

In her personal relationships, the Consul has been widowed for many years, having eschewed remarriage. Some whisper she has taken on a paramour or two in the past decades, though few socialites are brave enough to do more than speculate on the matter.

Tribune Ceto Vera: The Tribune is a thirty-eight year old woman with shoulder-length brown hair, an olive complexion and hazel eyes. Her features are calloused and weathered from her upbringing in the harsh streets of the slums of Kyro, an attribute most expressed in her scandalously low-class accent, a trait which she proudly bears even amongst the highest of matricians.

Though she stands rather short, Ceto carries a lean frame, her quick reflexes lending her a vicious talent with a dagger.

Despite her brusque demeanor and crude humor with the ladies of Kyro, however, she carries a talent for rousing the passions of the dispossessed and the discontented, using her criminal empire to generously reward those lending a voice to her populist cause, and ruthlessly make examples out of those who would refuse.

Ceto's personal life is shrouded from the knowledge of most, for all her shameless comments and advances she does not speak much on her past relationships. Nor of how she came to rise to power in the streets, both mysteries being either a source of regret or resentment for her.

Prince Darius of Pharia: Darius is a thirty-three year old man, standing at an average height, with black curly hair, a rich brown complexion, and a short and well groomed beard. In public, he bedecks himself in silks, radiant colors, and copious amounts of fine jewelry.

Trained as a warrior as any Prince should be, he is most skilled in the Pharian repeating crossbow, a curious invention that few Iudians have ever wielded.

Despite his status as a foreign hostage, the man has a charming, almost obsequious manner about him, inviting many dignitaries and notables of the capital for tea and idle talk at his embassy, which supposedly functions as his cage.

Darius often speaks of himself as an open book, and has carried on more than a few flings during his time in Iudia, though none have stuck around very long in the Prince's company.

#choice of games #cyoa game #hosted games #if wip #interactive fiction #interactive novel #shattered eagle #wip game #shattered eagle: fall of an empire

56 notes · View notes

inlovewithgreta · 2 years ago

Text

Toys — Bellatrix Lestrange x Fem!Reader

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Synopsis: Bellatrix comes up with an idea to pleasure you during a dark meeting.

Warnings: Spanking, praise, degradation, toy play (internal toy use), teasing, mommy kink, cunnilingus

Word Count: 1.7k

a/n: This is a more softer version of Bellatrix that is also inspired by a scene from Fifty Shades Darker. Also I am thinking about making a part two of this in the future since it is a bit short and I left the perfect opening for it but we’ll see!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You groan when Bellatrix reveals what she has in store for you today.

There was another Death Eater meeting as there usually was every Friday night and as you could expect they were very very boring. But this time, Bella wanted to do something to make it just a little bit more interesting.

You were in your undergarments getting ready for today's events when Bella comes up in front of you and reveals a little surprise from behind her back.

She held up a string with two decent sized silver balls that were conveniently spread just an inch from each other. One sat at one end while the other sat in the middle.

"I want you to wear these." She instantly demands.

"How am I supposed to wear whatever that is?" You point to the object with visible confusion.

The curly haired brunette laughs her usual throaty cackle.

"Good to know I haven't completely corrupted you just yet. They don't work unless they're wet, now open." She demands once again as she lifts her new toy to your lips.

You know better and do just as you're told, opening your mouth while she slips the cool metal inside and your mouth instantly wrapping around it.

"Good girl, now bend over the bed. Go on."

You release the object with a pop and walk quietly to the bed before using your hands to support you up as you gently bend yourself over the mattress.

She makes way behind you and slowly slides your lace panties down your legs.

The toy gets brought between your thighs as she eases its way into your cunt, one silver ball at a time. The pressure hits you in just the right spots, holding back a moan and gasping as she fills you.

"Look at you taking it so well for me."

Once Bella is satisfied, she lifts your panties back into place and gives you a kiss on your right hip.

Standing straight back up elicits another gasp from you as pleasure seems to come from any movement.

"How does it feel?" She asks sincerely.

The one thing she always made sure of was that you were comfortable with whatever it was the two of you were trying when it came to something new. The last thing she wanted was for you to feel uncomfortable and have a bad experience.

"It feels a bit. . . weird." You admit.

"It'll feel even better once you get moving. . . or sit down. . . oh what am I saying, everything is going to set you off!" The brunette cackles to herself before turning around and walking towards the door, "You have five minutes, don't be late!" She shouts over her shoulder before slamming the door shut.

You try to quickly scramble the rest of your outfit together but panic when your bracelet flings under the bed.

"Shit!" You immediately get on all fours and reach an arm under the frame, frantically searching for the missing jewelry.

"No no no, this can't be happening right now."

Fingers quickly feel around the dense carpet for who knows how long.

Taking a peak, you see it just out of your reach and sigh in frustration. It takes the entire length of your arm and a firm press of your head against the bed frame, that was sure to leave a mark, to finally reach the silver bracelet.

Sitting up on your knees, it takes a minute for the clasp to stay together and you sigh in relief. Scrambling to your feet, you quickly step into your heels and stumble out the door without another second to lose.

You do your best to ignore the ache between your thighs while rushing down the stairs, careful not to fall on your face.

You quickly fix your composure before entering the meeting. Luck was not on your side as everyone turned to look at you but your eyes only fell onto a pair of seething dark ones from a certain curly haired witch.

"Apologies. . ." You nearly mumble as you slide into your seat, trying to avoid any other eyes staring at you. It takes everything in you to not moan the second you make contact with the wooden chair.

Bellatrix was right, you did feel them with every move you made.

Doing your best to ignore the situation as a whole, you couldn't help but feel a pair of dark eyes lingering on you.

After taking a peak at the curly haired woman next to you, your eyes are instantly met with hers. She had a sleek eyebrow raised when she noticed you crossing your legs and tapping your foot against the floor.

There was an ache between your thighs and she knew exactly what was happening to you. She knew you were longing to cum but due to your tardiness, she wanted to have some fun with you first.

Her hand slips down to your thighs and immediately separates them. Fingers glide to your center and Bellatrix couldn't help the smirk that spread along her face once she felt how wet you were.

Her fingers slowly toy with you through the thin fabric.

A soft moan barely escapes, causing you to immediately cover it up with a cough.

"Are you okay?" Bella's two-toned haired sister to your left whispers towards you.

"I-I'm fine." You clear your throat, "It's just a tickle."

"I think she's just a bit thirsty, aren't you dear?" Bellatrix chimes in quietly.

"Yeah that's it. . ."

After a few more minutes of Bellatrix getting you all hot and bothered, the meeting comes to an end and everybody goes their separate ways besides you and her.

"Come now, it's time we play." Bella nearly shoves you out of the seat.

The two of you make your way back up the stairs, down the hallway, and back into your shared bedroom.

"You were late." She slams the door, bringing you over towards the bed, "And what do we do to those who don't listen?" She sits down at the edge of the bed.

"They get punished." You answer her.

"That's correct." Bella pats her legs, "Now bend over."

You do as you're told and bend yourself across her legs, leaving your ass sticking out in the air for her.

"Look at you, being good and finally doing what you're told," She says while sliding your panties down your legs, "It's too bad you didn't listen to begin with, now I must punish you like a little whore."

Her hand rubs your bare ass as she prepares to have her fun.

"Aren't you going to take out-"

"Nope."

Smack

Her hand makes contact with your skin that elicits a sharp sting that runs straight up your spine causing you to gasp.

She smirked as she immediately saw you reacting to both the pain and the pleasure mixed together.

She soothes the same spot as before with the palm of her hand.

Smack

Moans slip through as she slowly makes the skin on your ass just a tad bit brighter with every slap.

You could feel your wetness run down your thighs, the pain quickly fading until all you felt was the pleasure.

The brunette instantly noticed the change in your demeanor.

"I can see this punishment is coming to an end, have you learned your lesson?"

Smack

"Yes!"

"And that is?" She smirks to herself.

Smack

"I won't be late again! I swear!"

"Good."

Smack

She rubs your now reddened cheek one last time before helping you sit up on your knees.

Her finger wipes a stray tear off your face as she examines to make sure you were okay.

"Now, my little plaything, lay back on the bed so you can get your reward for taking your punishment so well."

You rise to your feet and crawl onto the bed next to her, slightly wincing once you turn over and your ass makes contact with the mattress.

She chuckles as she gets to her knees at the end of the bed, pulling you by your ankles to get you just a tad bit closer to her. The now soaked panties get taken off completely and tossed aside.

She spreads your legs, and glides her fingers to your entrance and pulls on the toy, gently yet slowly taking it out of you. A deep drawn out moan fills her ears before she sets the toy aside to clean later.

"Look at you, taking it so well for mommy."

Eyes instantly connect with your cunt before she leans her head in for her tongue to lick the strip up your folds with a small hum.

Your fingers help move the crazy curls out of her face. Usually she would hate anybody touching her locks but with you she made an exception.

She always admired the way you fell to pieces whenever she touched you.

She even admired how you tasted against her tongue. You were hers and only hers.

Bella held your legs open with her hands against your thighs as she expertly devoured you in a way that had you trembling.

Her tongue flicking your overly sensitive clit elicited a string of moans followed by a tighter grip of her hair.

Your head couldn't help but lull back. She saw your hips begging to buck and your breathing picked up and she knew you were close.

"Cum for me, pet. Let me get that sweet taste of you."

You were already close after having the feeling of pleasure throughout the night. The second her mouth started sucking and flicking against your clit at an excruciatingly fast pace is what sent you over the edge.

Legs tensed up when you came, Bella wasting no time in licking up your mess, humming when she gets more of a taste of you. She licks you completely clean and you can't help but slightly push her head away at the feeling of overstimulation when she doesn't stop. "Okay okay," You breathe out, slightly pushing her head away which causes her to chuckle.

She licks her lips as she stands up, a wicked smirk plastered on her face. She reaches behind her and pulls her zipper down. Her dress falls down to the floor, revealing her naked body, and she kicks off her heels before swiftly turning and strutting to the restroom, hips swaying to their own rhythm.

"Come shower, little one, it's my turn." A smirk was still plastered on her face as she looked over her shoulder at you and you scramble to your feet after her.

This was going to be a long night.

#bellatrix lestrange #bellatrix black #bellatrix x reader #lesbiansmut #smut #fanfic #no plot whatsoever #oneshot #praise #pwp fics #wlw smut #mommy k!nk #fem reader

445 notes · View notes

teratocrat · 10 months ago

Text

When I first came to Ajax, when I stepped out of the red-and-yellow shuttle to plant my feet in the planet's sand, what I noticed before anything else was how pale the buildings are. On Mars, even in the warmest and most equatorial provinces, human habitation is universally black (or its best approximation), built from fulcrete and basalt and painted wood, to absorb the warmth of the sun against the bitter cold. On Ajax, far closer to its sun than Mars or even Earth, and with its 39-hour days, they must build for the opposite, towers of white or reflective silver with burrowed basements and sub-basements and sub-sub-basements underneath. The Ajactes live in cities the color of bone. The second thing I noticed, the thing that probably any other person would notice first, was the surfeit of salt in the air. I noticed this because it stung my eyes, like the threat of tears. As it happens, Ajax's oceans are significantly more saline than Earth's or Emieni's, and even its topsoil is a kind of hardpan composed of sand and dust cemented in a salt matrix. For the first several centuries of its habitiforming, it hosted an extremely carefully managed tight ecosystem of halophilic algae, bacteria and lichen painstakingly shipped from Earth and Mars, fed upon by a few species of brine shrimp. Gradually, the Hesperides introduced more species as the previous ones found their foothold: turtleweed and saltbush and cordgrasses, periwinkles and blue crabs and flamingos, suites of genetically-modified mangroves whose knees whistled in the morning and evening hours, bananas and maize and halotolerant rice. Most recently (within the last two hundred and fifty years) the Ajax Planetary Authority had grown increasingly bold and experimental: a breed of sheep brought out of cryogenic vaults on Old Earth to eat the masses of seaweed that washed ashore around the Southernmost Continent, whitetail deer both to manage the turtleweed scrubland that was covering the northern half of the Great Continent and to provide a stable meat source more robust than flamingos and periwinkles, a kind of gopher tortoise/diamondback terrapin hybrid that had proved encouragingly robust in the prairies of Mars, and even tigers to laze about in the shade of the forests that bordered saltmeadows full of bounding deer. All the Ajactes I spoke to seemed both personally invested in and extraordinarily proud of these tigers, showing me images and videos on their utility wedges, and several of the state television channels would cut away to live feeds of the animals sleeping or bathing their cubs or stalking prey.

62 notes · View notes

technicallymaximumkitty · 1 year ago

Text

Books I think the hazbin cast would read

Charlie: How to Talk to Your Cat About Gun Safety: And Abstinence, Drugs, Satanism, and Other Dangers That Threaten Their Nine Lives by Zachary Auburn

Vaggie: Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murta

Angel Dust: Kageki Shoujo! by Kumiko Saiki

Alastor: Lord Of The Flies by William Golding

Husk: I Am A Cat Barista by Hiro Maijima

Nifty: Fifty Shades of Grey by E.L James

Sir Pentious: Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

Lucifer: Silver Spoon by Hiromu Arakawa

76 notes · View notes

v3n1ce-bxtch · 7 months ago

Text

SECRETS IN THE SHADOWS: Rings and rooftop dinners

SYNOPSIS: Y/N’s life takes a dramatic turn after she unknowingly falls for a criminal…

Paring: Scalvo x black fem reader

TW: Slight smut(idk if it really is), suggestive.

You were a very successful real estate mogul. After years of spending your time becoming a Pediatrics doctor, you wanted a change of path. So you purchased your first small townhome to renovate and sell.

Fast forward 5 years, you only went up. You purchased a beach house on the Boston coast. You live there with your golden retriever,Gigi, who is always a ray of sunshine.

On top of that ray of sunshine, you have a loving boyfriend of 3 years, Scalvo. When you first met him, which was when you were working at a local cafe, he was cold and rigid. You had a smile on your face when you asked him what he wanted order. He looked at you like you were crazy then laughed, poking fun at you. You side eyed, but still took his order.Weeks kept passing by, and he frequented that cafe. One day he asked when you got off work, asking if he could take you somewhere to eat, you agreed and said it was a date. The more dates you went on together, the more you two fell in love.

The only issue you saw was that you didn’t know very much about him. His family, job, friends, nothing.

Since you really loved him, you didn’t want to push it. Your family and friends were very skeptical of him. But you told them that he was probably sensitive and didn’t want to talk about certain things.

Tonight, he wanted to take you out on a date to a rooftop restaurant. He had rented the place just for you two.

“You look beautiful in that dress.” Scalvo gave you a quick kiss on the lips before pulling your chair out for you.

You smiled,”Thank you. You look good too.”

He settled down in his own chair,”Thank you.”

The waitress brought out a bottle of wine and two glasses,”Welcome to The Lexington. I’m Gia and I’ll be your server for tonight. Can I get you two started with any appetisers?” She got out her pen and notepad.

You browsed through the appetisers section on the menu,”Can we get the Bruschetta?” You looked at Jack for confirmation. He nodded.

Gia smiled,”Ok. I’ll be back with that.” She walked away swaying her hips.

You took a sip of my wine and scoffed,”Ugh.”

Scalvo laughed,”Y/N. What?”

You furrowed my brows,”Smush, she was flirting with you!” You whisper shouted.

He put his hand on your cheek,”I didn’t notice. My focus was on you.”

You smiled,”Good.”

>>>

You and Scalvo had finished eating.

He asked for the bill and Gia came scurrying over. He shirt buttons had been button down to where her cleavage was very visble. She reached over Scalvo’s face to get a plate on the other side of him after passing him the bill.

You coughed, trying to get her to see that you were right there, seeing all that was going down.

Unfortunately for her, Scalvo had looked the other way, paying her no attention. You smiled, thankful that he was being loyal.

Gia had finished getting all the plates and walked away. She said she’d be back out with our receipt.

Scalvo blew out air,”Fuck. That’s was uncomfortable.”

You nodded,”Yep.”

He smiled and got out of his chair,”I’m about to fix that,” getting a box out of his pocket, he got down on one knee,”Y/N Y/M Y/L, you have made me a very happy man these 3 years. You’ve taught me how to be a more likeable person, how to love, and important morals I had missed growing up. I love spending my time with you. Will you make me even happier by marrying me?” He opened the box, revealing a pear-shaped diamond on a silver band.

You covered your mouth, tears running down your face. You managed to get out an answer despite your tears,”Yes! Of course!”

He smiled and slipped the ring on your ring finger,”Perfect.”

You got up to give him a hug and a kiss. You looked over to Gia, who had an annoyed expression plastered on her face. You smiled at her, rubbing it in.

>>>

Scalvo loosened his tie then took it off. He put you against the closet wall, his hands gripping your waist and your noses touching.

He smirked,”We celebrating or what?”

You nodded,”Absolutely.” You gave him a passionate kiss, running your fingers through his curls. He broke the kiss and started kissing your jaw, working down to your neck. He picked you up, bridal style, and tossed you gently on the bed. He stepped back, taking his button up off, his dress pants, and his boxers.

You sat up and removed your dress, leaving your bra and thong on.

He pushed you back on the bed before speaking,”Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

>>>

You woke up the next morning, sore.

You looked over to Scalvo, who was fast asleep. You gave him a kiss on the forehead and stood up.

Today you decided to do some sleuthing. Yes, you had known this man for years. But you still felt uneasy.

You looked through his suitcase he had brought with him that was sitting in the walk in closet. You slowly unzipped it, trying your best not to make any noise.

Clothes, Clothes, more clothes, watches…an envelope? You opened the envelope to see a folded up piece of paper and a rusted key. You unfolded the paper and read the contents.

•Pay Fitz the 200,275 then ask for another job.

•Ask Y/N to marry me

•Cool her down after

•Tell her that I’m a business manger, to cover up

You gasped.

“Y/N! What the fuck!” Scalvo grabbed you by your shoulders,”Why are you going through my shit?!”

You showed him the letter in the key,”Tell me the truth!”

He clenched his jaw and sighed,”I do jobs to get money.”

You scoffed,”What kind of jobs?”

He looked down,”I…I….I run heists. Low budget though.”

You widened your eyes,”Scalvo! After 3 whole ass years!” I tear rolled down your cheek,”I was defending you to my family and friends! I told them you probably were sensitive and didn’t wanna talk about things! I didn’t expect you to fucking lie!”

He put his hands on your cheeks, wiping away a tear white his thumb,”And I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t want you to know. So you wouldn’t leave me..”

You scoffed,”And possibly go to jail for hiding a criminal!” You calmed down,”You know what, get out.”

He pulled back, furrowing his brows,”What?”

You nodded,”You heard me. Pack your shit and get your sorry ass out of here. You can take this ring too.” Reluctantly, you tossed the ring on the floor,”Don’t show your face here, ever. I can’t have our child growing up with a criminal father…” you wiped your tears with a finger.

He paused before leaving the room,”Our child?” He put a hand on your stomach,”You’re pregnant?”

You nodded,”I was gonna the you as soon as you woke up…since you proposed and all. But now I know and I don’t want it to live in fear.”

He looked at you, pleading with his eyes,”I’ll still get to see him or her..right?”

“Yes..I’m not going to separate y’all two. Now get out, before I call the police.”

He gave you a kiss on the cheek before walking out.

A/N: Managed to get finish before I hit the road. There will be like 6 more parts. I’m thinking I can put first class chp. 3 next weekend then work on the next part of this when I get to the hotel.

-Michelle🌺

#Spotify #scalvo #the instigators #black fem oc #jack harlow

26 notes · View notes

ilguna · 1 year ago

Text

☼ when the dead rise pt2 (Stephen Strange) ☼

summary; five years pass, and you come to terms with the fact that you may never see Stephen again. when Tony calls you, telling you that there may be a way to change everything, you decide to take one more chance.

warnings; swearing, willing starvation, needle mention, weapon usage, death, blood, ehh gore, suicide mention, weight gain/loss, kinda cringe if you think about it, happy ending!

wc; 18.7k

notes; the entirety of endgame, haha, i'm not kidding. with nonsensical talk of time traveling, more angst, some fluff, tony and y/n get along, and stephen is there at the end.

part one.

—

The galaxy that you’re floating in is beautiful. It’s perfect, and if you weren’t here right now, sitting in front of the window, you’d say that it’s not real. There’s a mix of the rainbow out there, the brightest hue being aquamarine. Which paints everything in the spaceship the same shade.

You’ve been sitting here for hours, just staring at the stars. They don’t change, captured at their best times. It’ll be millions of years before they burn out, by then they’ll have fulfilled their purpose. There will be no regrets.

You wish you could say the same.

“(Y/n), are you going to come over and eat?” Tony asks from behind you.

He’s sitting at the table with Nebula, they’ve been going back and forth playing their games, trying to keep entertained. You heard him talking about eating, but you never bothered to join the conversation. You don’t have the energy to get up and go over there.

“No, I’m fine.” You murmur, leaning into your knees, arms wrapped around the back of your thighs. “Go ahead and have the rest.”

It’s quiet for a moment, then you can hear him sigh. “You haven’t eaten anything today.”

“I know.” You tell him. “I’m not hungry.”

The sound of a chair scraping against the metal flooring fills the air. You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. His footsteps echo through the ship, shuffling to a stop behind you.

“You haven’t been hungry for the past couple of days.” He says, voice surprisingly gentle. “You can’t do this to yourself. It won’t change things.”

With gritted teeth, you swallow thickly, and let out an uneven breath. “I know that too, Tony.”

He moves to stand right next to you, letting out a grunt. When you open your eyes, looking over, you see that he’s sitting beside you, legs crossed. The shiny silver bag is in his hand, he shakes it, looking inside.

“It’s some sort of mix. It doesn’t taste good at first, but it’ll grow on you.” He says, holding it out for you.

You stare at him, pressure building behind your eyes again. Your lips begin to tremble first, face twisting as the tears take over. Tony frowns, setting the bag down, and reaches to pull you in a hug. As you begin to cry into his shoulder, he squeezes you tightly, causing the ache in your ribs to surface.

“I just want him back.” You sob, “Is that too much to ask for?”

DAY TWENTY-THREE

“It’s been twenty-three days since Thanos came to Earth.” Rhodes says, he’s standing at the wooden table where a holographic projection displays out of a cylindrical device in the middle.

In the air, you’re able to see the faces and names of those you lost that day. It’s constantly rotating, a few of them being Nick Fury, Bucky, Sam, Wanda, Peter, and Stephen. There’s more, of course, faces you don’t recognize because you cut ties with the Avengers a couple years ago.

“World governments are in pieces,” Natasha begins. “The parts that are still working are trying to take a census and it looks like he did…” She trails off for a moment, Tony pushes up his glasses, hand covering his face when Peter appears in front of him. “He did exactly what he said he was gonna do. Thanos wiped out,” She sighs, “Fifty percent of all living creatures.”

There’s a moment of silence across the table, you play with one of your rings, twisting it between your fingers.

Tony moves his hand, lifting his head. “Where is he now? Where?” He’s currently in a wheelchair, hooked up to an IV. He’s looked better, but to be fair, so have you. You’re two peas in one miserable pod.

While you came out with bruised ribs and a gnarly scar from where Thanos had ripped out a chunk of your skin—which Tony tried his best to repair while on the spaceship. He had to fight through an infection from being stabbed by his own nanotech, which Nebula had the pleasure of healing.

In the end, there was only so much food to pass around on the ship. Even though you’d gone days without eating, it didn’t help the supply any. However, your weightloss is nothing compared to Tony’s, because he’s sick at the moment.

“We don’t know.” Steve says, his arms are crossed over his chest. He’s leaning against a table nearby. “He just opened a portal and walked through.”

Tony wheels forward, sighing, looking off to the side. “What’s wrong with him?” He asks, motioning to Thor. He’s sitting in a separate room, leaned forward on his knees, a hard expression on his face, moving his thumbs.

“Oh, he’s pissed.” Rocket says. He’s a talking raccoon that was part of Quill’s group, you met him after you landed back on Earth. Which only happened because Tony and Nebula set off a distress signal, and a woman named Carol Danvers came to save you. “He thinks he failed.” Tony’s hand falls. “Which, of course, he did, but there’s a lot of that going around, ain’t there?”

“Honestly, until this exact second I thought you were a Build-A-Bear.” Tony says.

“Maybe I am.”

“We’ve been hunting Thanos for three weeks now.” Steve says. “Deep space scans and satellites and we got nothing.” He pauses, looking up at the table. “(Y/n), Tony, you fought him.”

“Who told you that?” Tony asks. “I didn’t fight him. No, he wiped my face with a planet while the Bleecker Street magician—” You turn your head to look at him, eyebrows drawing in. “Gave away the store. That’s what happened.”

“Don’t talk about him like that.” You snap, suddenly getting up from your chair. When it begins to fall back, you catch it with one hand, slamming it against the floorboards. “Prick.”

“There was no fight, ‘cause he’s not beatable.” Tony finishes, unbothered by you.

“Okay,” Steve nods. “Did he give you any clues, any coordinates, anything?”

Tony makes a noise, saluting Steve. “I saw this coming a few years back.” He sinks into the wheelchair. “I had a vision. I didn’t wanna believe it. Thought I was dreaming.”

Steve stands. “Tony, I’m gonna need you to focus.”

“And I need you.” Tony says, it’s muffled because of the hand in front of his mouth. He drops it. “As in, past tense. That trumps what you need. It’s too late, buddy.” He shakes his head. “Sorry.”

You run a hand through your hair, and then settle into crossing your arms.

Tony sniffs. “You know what I need?” He slaps a bowl away from him, the spoon clattering against the table. He gets to his feet, one hand on it as he leans forward. “I need a shave. And I believe I remember telling all youse…”

He begins to pull at the IV needle, Rhodes steps toward him. “Tony, Tony!”

“...alive and otherwise, that what we needed,” He does a circular motion. “Was a suit of armour around the world. Remember that?” His voice is raising. “Whether it impacted our precious freedoms or not. That’s what we needed.”

“Well, that didn’t work out, did it?” Steve asks.

“I said we’d lose.” Tony points to himself. “You said, ‘We’ll do that together, too’. And guess what, Cap? We lost. And you weren’t there.” Steve sighs. “But that’s what we do, right? Our best work after the fact?” Rhodes grabs Tony by the arms to steady him. “We’re the ‘Avengers’. We’re the ‘Avengers’, not the ‘Pre-vengers’.”

He looks at Rhodes, who nods. “Okay.”

“Right?” Tony asks.

“You made your point. Just sit down, okay?”

“Okay.” Tony says, looking away. “No, no, here’s my point. You know what?” He points at Carol. She’s unamused, “She’s great by the way.”

“Tony, you’re sick. Sit down.” Rhodes tries to push him down.

“We need you. You’re new blood.” He pushes off of Rhodes. “Bunch of tired old mules. I got nothing for you, Cap.” He walks to stand a foot away from Steve. “I got no coordinates, no clues, no strategies, no options. Zero. Zip. Nada. No trust, liar.” He whispers.

You watch as he reaches up to grab the arc reactor, ripping it from his chest. Tony’s breathing becomes uneven, as he grabs Steve’s hand, and slaps the reactor into it. “Here, take this. You find him, put that on, you hide.” He falls to his knees.

You, Steve and Rhodes move forward at the same moment.

“Tony!” Steve reaches for him.

“I’m fine.” He says. “Let me…”

His eyes roll back, collapsing.

—

Tony lays on a reclined bed, unconscious, with Pepper beside him, holding his hand. Rhodes drops off his glasses on the bedside table, and then leaves the room, coming to join you, Natasha, Steve and Carol.

“What about you, (Y/n)? You never said anything.” Steve says, several eyes land on you.

You twist the ring, looking at the engraving on the inside for the hundredth time today. Always with you, it says. You found it in Stephen’s room one afternoon, after he’d asked you to clean if you had time. You couldn’t say no, and though he liked to make sure he looked neat, his bedroom could be a mess at times.

When you asked about it, he smiled and told you to keep it. You tried to resist it, hiding it in places all throughout the Sanctum to ensure that it wouldn’t end up back in your possession. He always knew where to find it, and at the end of the day, he’d give it back to you. A gift.

You never really liked wearing jewelry on your hands and wrists. It interferes with the whole ‘raising-the-dead’ thing. You can’t remember the amount of times you broke a bracelet or scratched a ring at the beginning. But when you finally accepted the gift and stopped trying to give it back, you promised Stephen that you’d wear it everyday.

Now you can’t keep it on, as if the gold burns your skin each time it settles into place. Always with you. It feels like a taunt, a joke, something you can’t get away from.

Where is he?

“No offense, Steve.” Your voice is colder than you mean it to be. “But if I knew anything, don’t you think I would’ve said something?”

Steve opens his mouth to speak, but Rhodes doesn’t give him a chance. “Bruce gave him a sedative. He’s gonna probably be out for the rest of the day.”

“That’s for the best.” You mutter, sliding the ring into your pocket.

“You guys take care of him, and I’ll bring him a Xorrian elixir when I come back.” Carol says, arms crossed over her chest as she begins to walk away.

“Where are you going?” Steve asks.

“To kill Thanos.” She says simply.

The four of you follow after her quickly, because her pace isn’t slowing down. “Hey.” Natasha calls, Carol stops and turns around. “You know, we usually work as a team here and, uh, between you and I, morale’s a little fragile.”

Rhodes leans against the doorway.

“We realize up there is more your territory, but this is our fight, too.” Steve says.

“You even know where he is?” Rhodes asks, looking up from the tile.

“I know people who might.” She says.

“Don’t bother.” Nebula cuts in, standing across the room. “I can tell you where Thanos is.”

“Well, let’s hear it.” You say, going down the steps to join her in the sitting room.

When you get inside, you see that Rocket is in here, too. Nebula moves to stand next to the window, waiting for the others to join you. You twist a chair around, sitting in it, and sinking into the navy blue cushions. Bruce and Thor roundup to join you.

“Thanos spent a long time trying to perfect me.” She says, once everyone has come inside the room. “And when he worked, he talked about his Great Plan. Even disassembled, I wanted to please him. I’d ask…” She pauses. “Where would we go once his plan was complete?” She turns her head. “And his answer was always the same.” She joins them at the table. “‘To the Garden’.”

Rhodes makes a face, tilting his head. “That’s cute. Thanos has a retirement plan.”

“So, where is he?” Steve asks, moving around the table.

Rocket pulls up a projection of the Earth. “When Thanos snapped his fingers, Earth became ground zero for a power surge of ridiculously cosmic proportions.” The projection sends off a blast to emphasize this. “No one’s ever seen anything like it. Until two days ago…”

He messes with the projection to show a different galaxy, zooming in until you’re met with a planet with rings around it. When you lean forward to see it, the name tag above reads, ‘PLANET 0259-S’.

“On this planet.” Rocket finishes.

“Thanos is there.” Nebula says.

Natasha leans in close. “He used the stones again.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Bruce nervously chuckles, he’s standing at the doorway. “We’d be going in shorthanded, you know.”

“Look, he’s still got the stones, so—”

“So, let’s get ‘em.” Carol’s eyes are locked on the planet. “Use them to bring everyone back.”

“Just like that?” Bruce asks.

“Yeah. Just like that.” Steve says.

You sit up on the chair at the sound of this.

“Even if there’s a small chance that we can undo this, I mean, we owe it to everyone who’s not in this room to try.” Natasha says, shaking her head.

“If we do this, how do we know it’s gonna end any differently than it did before?” Bruce asks.

“Because before you didn’t have me.” Carol says, hands on her hips.

“Hey, new girl?” Rhodes looks at her. “Everybody in this room is about that superhero life.” She tilts her head slightly. “And if you don’t mind my asking, where the hell have you been all this time?”

“There are a lot of other planets in the universe. And unfortunately, they didn’t have you guys.”

Rhodes and Steve make the same face at each other—fair enough.

Thor pushes up from where he’s sitting at the dining room table, still chewing his food. He walks up behind Carol, and she faces him. He holds his hand out over her shoulder, Stormbreaker—the axe that was made on Nidavellir—goes to him, narrowly missing her head, blowing her hair into her face. She doesn’t flinch.

He sighs, squinting, and then nods. “I like this one.”

There’s a moment of silence, you get to your feet, wandering over to stand at the table. Steve looks at you, “Let’s go get this son of a bitch.”

—

The planet that Thanos has chosen to inhabit is, unfortunately, gorgeous. It’s a peaceful place, quiet, with thriving nature and wildlife. The group of you walk in silence, allowing you to enjoy the sounds of the animals chittering around you.

It doesn’t take long before you come up to the wood shack that Carol had noticed when she came through the atmosphere about ten minutes ago. She went in first, while the rest of you waited in space, wanting to make sure that there wasn’t anything waiting for you on the planet.

She’d come back, happy to report that there wasn’t a single living being beside Thanos. No satellites, ships, armies. There weren’t even ground defenses. Which would’ve had you excited, if it weren’t for what happened last time you fought him. You practically had the advantage then, too. There were so many people with different abilities.

Bruce positions himself underneath the shack, wearing his iron suit to supplement the fact that Hulk is still out of commission. You watch as Steve waves his arm in a circle, giving Carol the signal. A bright and fiery beam goes right through the shack, and seconds later, she follows.

There’s the sound of Carol fighting Thanos, getting him into position. Bruce breaks through the floor first, with Rhodes and Thor coming through the ceiling. It isn’t until you hear Thanos screaming, do you concur that the gauntlet must be off, done in the most aggressive way possible.

Steve goes up the stairs first, you and Natasha following close behind. Carol has Thanos in a headlock, Rhodes holding his right arm, Bruce holding the left. On the floor lies Thanos’s hand, the gauntlet still attached to it.

Thanos is groaning, face twisted. Rocket makes his way around to the handle, flipping over the gold gauntlet. “Oh, no.”

You look over, expecting to see that everything is fine, besides his mangled arm. You’re met with empty slots, not a single one of the stones is attached to the gauntlet. You sigh, pressing your lips together.

Natasha and Steve share a look before he speaks, “Where are they?”

Thanos groans, Carol pulls her arm tighter, “Answer the question.”

Half of his face is scarred, as if he’s recently been in a fire. Your eyes trail down to what’s left of his arm, finding it in the same condition. In this moment, you can feel the little hope you have leaving your body.

“The universe required correction.” Thanos says. “After that, the stones served no purpose, beyond temptation.”

“You murdered trillions!” Bruce shouts, shoving Thanos back.

“You should be grateful.”

Bruce punches him.

Natasha takes a breath. “Where are the stones?”

“Gone.” He tells her. “Reduced to atoms.”

“You used them two days ago!” Bruce exclaims.

“I used the stones to destroy the stones.” Thanos says. “It nearly killed me.”

You shake your head, corners of your lips turning down. “That’s not true.”

“It is.” His eyes land on you. “But the work is done. It always will be. I am inevitable.”

“We have to tear this place apart. He has to be lying!” Rhodes says.

“My father is many things.” Nebula murmurs. “A liar is not one of them.”

“Ah.” Thanos breaths. “Thank you, daughter. Perhaps I treated you too harshly.”

Thor swings his axe up without notice, shouting as he cuts off Thanos’s head. It hits the ground with a thud, purple blood splattering against the wall, on Nebula's face. His body falls back.

“What?” Bruce breathes.

“What did you do?” Rocket asks.

“I went for the head.” Thor mumbles, turning to walk out of the hut.

The rest of you stand in silence, watching as Nebula walks over to his body, kneeling down to shut his eyes. You take in deep breaths through your nose to calm the rising anger. Various thoughts on how you could torture him, even though he’s dead, begin to come to you. You could drag his pathetic body back to Earth, conjure it everyday, make him work his fingers to the bone, never let him rest.

He took Stephen, you think.

You grit your teeth. “All due respect, Nebula, but we better burn his body.” You tell her, Natasha and Carol glance at you. You squeeze your hands into fists. “Or else I’m going to make sure he never rests. I could find thousands of ways to make the afterlife miserable, trust me.”

She nods at you, and then turns back to him.

You move to follow after Thor, who’s already down the stairs, traveling toward the spaceship. “If you need me, I’ll be by the ship.”

The hero suit fades away, falling back to your regular clothes. Your fingers dip into your jean pocket, coming into contact with the ring you’d stored earlier. You pull it out, holding it in your palm for a long moment. Then, you sigh, sliding it back into its place on your thumb.

ONE YEAR LATER

The dark clouds swirl above the field, acting as a warning that you don’t have much time to practice today. It rains often in New York, so this wouldn’t be your first time having to experience it while testing your abilities. However, it’s happened enough for you to say that you hate the feeling of it.

Lately, you’ve been feeling heavier whenever you come out here, like the ground is one giant blackhole and you’re constantly fighting against flying inside of it. The rain will only make it worse, and you can’t stand it when your clothes are waterlogged. It makes the seats of your car soggy.

Despite this, you take your time walking to the middle, not that you’re able to go faster than this, anyway. You haven’t been yourself for quite a few days, you think a cold might be coming on. Wong has begun to notice too, it was a struggle to convince him to let you leave the Sanctum. Which was done on the promise that you wouldn’t come out here to do this today.

Well, unfortunately for him, you can’t afford to lose time. Every day you spend on your ass, you take a step back from what you’re working towards—a breakthrough. It’s got to be right around the corner, this whole week, you’ve repeatedly felt yourself come to the ledge, but you were too afraid to jump.

You know now that this is how you grow to be stronger, to have a better understanding of your abilities. You can’t become a better hero if you don’t know how to sacrifice yourself sometimes, too.

There’s something under there, beneath the grass. It’s more than just the dead that you’re used to bringing to life. You get a feel for it each time you try, but it’s like uprooting a tree that’s been standing for hundreds of years. It’s resistant.

You haven’t told any of the Avengers yet, afraid to get their hopes up. You think that it’s those who were killed in the blip. The reason why it’s so hard to bring them back is because they don’t have physical bodies, so what happens if you try to put them back together?

It sounds ridiculous at first, but it’s not that heinous when you map it out. When you tried to explain it to Wong, he shut you down within the first thirty minutes, telling you that this isn’t how it works. You told him that it’s fine if he doesn’t want to have hope, you won’t let him drag you down.

It goes like this—it’s very simple—their bodies are everywhere. Those who were killed outdoors have been spread through nature. They were in the air at one point, but now they’re in the grass, the dirt, the Earth. They’re here, half the job is already done for you. What you need to do is focus on one person to bring back in the area, and work from there.

And it’s not even that ridiculous of an idea! When you were on Titan last year, directly after you’d lost Stephen, you tried that exact method. It’s where your inspiration came from. The ground shook, trying to listen to your direction. The issue is that you weren’t strong enough, you didn’t have enough practice to be doing something like that.

Now, you do. It’s what you’ve been working toward for the past few months, day in and day out, no breaks, absolutely no days off.

You slowly lower yourself to the ground, joints aching. You breathe heavily, sitting sideways on your legs, because your knees hurt from sitting on them for hours at a time. You place your hands in front of you, palms flat in the grass.

When you close your eyes, the ticklish feeling in your stomach rises. You focus on that, what it means, how long it’ll take for it to build before it becomes the dark energy that is necromancy. It isn’t until you feel the pressure beginning in your palms, as if you’re being sucked downward, do you switch to that.

You don’t allow it to bring you down, in fact, you pull back with ten times as much force. You’re coming to me, you think, not the other way around. It doesn’t want to, though, so you sort through the mass. Eyes bouncing from side to side behind your lids, looking for the weakest link.

You find it, and yank. The first few times, it doesn’t budge, it’s coming from several directions, exactly what you’re looking for. With this excitement, you beckon it toward you. The body isn’t fighting anymore, it’s like reeling in a dead fish. Which wouldn’t be appetizing to others, but it’s what you’re looking for.

The worry sets in when you realize that it’s not slowing down. You’ve just lifted your right hand off of the ground, when the matter surges through your body—your head whipping back so fast that you’ll be feeling it for weeks.

A scream tears through your vocal chords, fire eating you up inside.

It explodes.

You’re thrown into the air, body twisting at an awkward angle as you come into contact with the ground. You land on your bad shoulder, sending a spike of electricity through your torso and down your legs.

There’s an unbearable ringing in your ears when you roll onto your back, struggling to breathe through the cloud of black smoke that comes to choke you. Your head rolls off to your right side, fingers reaching to touch the scorched grass that you’ve landed on top of.

The moment you come into contact, it crumbles, turning to dust.

And so do you.

—

The consistent beeping of the heart monitor next to you is what you hear first. A moment of relief floods you, because this means that your hearing isn’t permanently damaged, but it’s fleeting when you realize what that means. Your eyebrows draw in, squeezing your eyes before you try to open them.

The hospital room is dark, the entire afternoon has been wasted away. You look to the window a few feet away, and find a lovely shade of blue and grey, blurred because of the raindrops that cling to the other side. It’s raining, of course, which means that you won’t be able to go out and try again tonight.

You roll your eyes, letting out an annoyed sigh, which you instantly regret when the pain seizes your entire body. You let out a grunt, pressing the back of your head into the pillow, teeth grit while you wait for it to pass.

You remind yourself that this is only a temporary setback. As soon as it’s not muddy out there anymore, you’ll try again. So, maybe not tomorrow, but the following day. You’ll do it again, and you’ll do it right.

A knock on the hospital room door makes you look over. It swings open without you granting entrance, making it a courtesy knock, and when you see who it is, there’s no explanation needed.

Tony Stark strolls into your room as if he owns the entire hospital. His eyes are on you, jaw set. You know this look, it’s the same one he gives right before he lectures you. The look on his face is the least of your worries when you see that his lip is busted and swollen. There’s also a cut across his forehead, blood leaking from it.

“What happened?” It hurts you speak, you wince, scooting to sit up higher on the bed. “How do you know I’m here?”

He shuts the door behind him, there’s no vase of flowers, not even a get well soon card in his hand. This is not a visit he’s making to check on your wellbeing, he doesn’t want to comfort you.

“I’m your emergency contact.” He tells you, stopping at the end of your bed. He sticks his hands into his pockets, eyebrows raised. “I got a call from the nurse because she thought you needed some support.”

You press your lips together, eyes drifting away from his face and to the door he just came through. Stephen is supposed to be your emergency contact, you did it when you got extremely sick during your first year of dating. He was worried you wound up dead somewhere when you hadn’t seen or talked to him for three days straight. He called every hospital in New York to find you.

Tony’s your backup, actually. You know that if anything were to happen to you, and if there’s no one else to make the decisions, he’d do what’s right and in your best interest. The two of you are very close, but you know he’d never let emotion get in the way if he knew you were suffering.

“I’m fine.” You murmur. “Just had an accident, that's all.”

“An accident?” Tony repeats. “That’s what you call raising a monster from hell?”

You blink, face twisting. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I mean, I think something exploded but there was no monster.”

“You weren’t awake for that part.” He tells you. “I just spent the last hour fighting it and your wizard buddy had to contain it.”

You stare at him, unsure if he’s telling the truth or not. A part of the evidence is his face, you suppose. You didn’t see anything, though. Just the smoke… which very well could’ve hidden it.

“What were you doing out there, anyway?” He asks.

“I’m working on something.” You adjust in the bed, settling back. “I’ve almost got it. As soon as I get out here, I’ll try again.”

“Try what again?”

You smile, “To bring them back, of course.” Tony’s face falls, he closes his eyes, shaking his head at you. “You have to hear me out first—”

“See, when Wong told me what you were up to, I didn’t believe him.” Tony reaches up, rubbing his face. “I thought that you couldn’t possibly be naive enough to—”

“Oh,” You groan out, waving your hand dismissively, “Don’t listen to Wong, he says I can’t do it. I’m so close though, I can feel it. I almost had it this afternoon, I think I just… chose the wrong thing, you know?”

“(Y/n),” Tony warns.

“See, this is one of the reasons why I didn’t want to tell you so soon. Either it’d get your hopes up, or you’d fall with Wong. Ignore him, he doesn’t know anything.”

You look out the window again. You’re not sure why he’s shutting you down like this. Out of everyone, you thought that he’d be the one that’d jump on your side. It wouldn’t be the first time he bet on something so outlandish. With him on your side, you think you have a better chance at succeeding.

Besides, you can bring back the dead, anyway. How is this that big of a stretch? And if you did pull a monster out of the ground—it’s even more the reason to believe you.

“I can bring them back, Tony.” You say.

“(Y/n), you can’t.” He says, “You tried, remember? You couldn’t then, and you can’t now.”

“Yeah, because I haven’t had my breakthrough yet.” You laugh, which dissolves into you grimacing. “I’m not strong enough. Just a couple more times, and I’ll have it.”

“No.” Tony waves his hand, as if he’s cutting off your plan. “You do any more of this, and you’ll get yourself killed.”

“That’s not true.” You shake your head. “We both don’t know if I can even die.”

“At the pace you’re going, it doesn’t even matter!” He holds his hand out. “In the end, if you die, all you would’ve been doing to yourself this entire time is torture.”

You tilt your head at him. “I know you’re worried about me, and I appreciate it. I’m fine, though, look at me.”

“I am, and I feel like I’m talking to a corpse. Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

“I’m sick, Tony. It’s just the flu.” You say.

“No, (Y/n), your body is wasting away because this,” He motions aggressively to the window. “Is all you do. Wong has been contacting me for weeks, afraid that you’re going to drop dead any minute.”

“Fine,” You sigh. “If you two are so worried, I’ll take a break, but I’m not giving this up. It’s a hiccup, as soon as I get it down—”

He cuts you off, “What would Stephen think of this?”

You stare, “Don’t.”

“No, you don’t.” He tells you. “I know we don’t have the best relationship at times, but I sure as hell won’t watch you kill yourself.”

“Then walk away.” You point to the door. “No one asked you to be here, to come in here talking about what Stephen would or wouldn’t want. You don’t know anything about him!”

“That doesn’t matter, because it doesn’t take a genius to know that he cared about you.”

“Get out.” You tell him. “Get the fuck away from me.”

He starts toward the door, not saying anything until he’s halfway out, turning to look at you. “If I catch wind that you’re doing this again, I’ll have you locked in a padded room for the rest of your life.”

Tony pulls the door shut tightly behind him.

THREE YEARS LATER

The clothes in the closet have lost their scent. After three years of picking them out to hold against your nose, there’s nothing left of him. Which means that your reasoning to stay in the Sanctum has finally expired. You have to move on.

This is by your own choice, not anyone else’s. Wong has made it explicitly clear that if you want to stay here, he will not say otherwise. He doesn’t mind it. In fact, you keep him company, even if your presence is mostly done in silence. What matters is that you’re in the room.

You took this offer, but told yourself that you couldn’t stay here forever. If you were going to be hung up on Stephen, you’d have to do it privately. So, you made a deal; the moment his room stopped feeling like it belonged to him, it was time to go.

You noticed it a few weeks ago, when you came back from the Avengers Compound to collect the last of your belongings. The team was falling apart, again, and as much as you wish you could say that you were going to stay this time, you weren’t. You were already planning on leaving for good, this was just the perfect excuse to use.

The moment you stepped foot into the bedroom, you knew there was no coming back. It felt like you were walking into a foreign planet, a place you didn’t recognize, despite being there hours earlier. Six years of living in this room, gone.

Since, you’ve spent your time trying to find an apartment you like for a decent price, that’s also close to the Sanctum. You almost cried when you got offered a perfect one a few streets away, ready for you to move in. However, your initial excitement has worn off. You’ve been dragging your feet the entire week when it comes to packing, because they had to finalize the paperwork anyway.

Which left you to do it all today.

For the past two hours, you’ve packed everything you own back into boxes and bins, stacking them by the bedroom door. You decided early on that it would be easier if you worked in phases. The hardest part would be detaching yourself from this place, which proved itself to be true.

You’ve cried a few times throughout the process, but it’s done now. The only thing left to do is bring the boxes down to your car, that’s waiting for you parked in front of the Sanctum.

You drag your feet, stopping in front of the first stack. A sigh leaves you when you reach to pull a box into your arms. When you realize it’s not heavy, you adjust to grab the one that was beneath it, too. You’re not entirely looking forward to going up and down the stairs a hundred times.

A sickness rises in your stomach when you leave the bedroom, beginning to go down the hallway. This feels wrong, like a one-sided breakup, leaving before the other person can get home. Your feet pause briefly, shoe squeaking against the freshly waxed floor.

That’s exactly what it is, isn’t it?

No, you think harshly, this is different. Stephen is never coming home. He’s lost, just like the trillions of other lives that were taken when Thanos snapped his fingers. This isn’t a breakup. A part of you wishes it were, because at least then, you’d still have a chance to see him around New York, even if it weren’t on good terms or romantically.

You suck in a deep breath, holding it as you begin your way down the stairs, the first trip of many. You drop these boxes next to the front door, wanting to pack your car all at once. That way, if there’s an issue, it’ll be easier to take it apart. You head back upstairs to repeat this process, it only takes a good fifteen minutes before you’re done.

When you go back to Stephen’s room one last time to retrieve the engraved, golden ring, your heart skips a few beats in your chest. You shuffle toward the dresser, eyes searching the surface, thinking that it might be blending in. You run your fingers over it, and come back with nothing.

You turn around to look into the room, face twisting, eyebrows pushing in as you struggle to remember if you had moved it or not. You walk to his nightstand, opening the drawers, rummaging through them, even though you could’ve sworn you never put it in here.

It’s not there. So, you move to your nightstand, where you’ve kept your jewelry in the past, especially the ring. Except, when you open the first drawer, you’re met with emptiness. You’ve already taken everything out of it, because it’s packed into one of the boxes downstairs.

You sweep the floor with your eyes, but it’s too dark in here. You throw the curtains open, flooding the room with sunlight. When you go back to looking, hoping that the ring will reflect the light, you can’t find it.

You switch to the closet, opening the doors to reveal that it’s half empty now. The only clothes left hanging are the ones that Stephen thought were too important to fold, and to keep them from wrinkling. There’s nothing here, not even in the darkest corner.

Did it fall under the bed?

On your knees, you press the side of your face to the floor, but the only thing under here are the dust bunnies. You make sure of this, too, when you grab a broom to bring it all out.

The panic begins to settle in, spreading through your body. How did you manage to misplace the ring? It’s the most valuable thing to you. You’d think you’d be more careful with something as sentimental as that—a ring from your dead boyfriend.

“Maybe it’s in a box.” You murmur to yourself to calm down, reel in the insanity that’s beginning to rise.

You head out of the bedroom, looking at the boxes over the railing. Once you’re down the stairs and in the foyer, you pull the first box off of the stack, opening the cardboard flaps, and pulling all of its contents out. There is no ring, so you push the objects away, off to the side, not bothering to repack it.

The further you get through the pile, the more hysterical you grow. The box that you’d packed with your jewelry doesn’t have it. The neatly folded clothes, now tossed on the floor, don’t have it caught in the cloth. It’s not stuck between the books, you didn’t accidentally throw it with the rest of your trinkets, it’s not with your electronics.

Everything you own is strewn across the foyer, as you continue to tear them apart.

It’s not here.

You get back to your feet, struggling to breathe, the tears starting.

The front door suddenly opens, you look over to see that it’s Wong. He gives you a wide smile at first, which slowly begins to fall when he sees the expression and the state the foyer is in.

“What’s the matter?” He asks.

“I lost the ring.” You whisper. “I don’t—I don’t know where it is. I’ve looked everywhere.” You turn around to motion to the mess you’ve made. “I don’t have it here, I even checked my car. I set it aside so I wouldn’t lose it and it’s not here. The one thing I carry with me and I’m stupid enough—”

“(Y/n),” Wong says, coming to grab your shoulders. You can feel his fingers pressing into the metal that makes up your left shoulder. A replacement that Tony made for you, covering the entire cost. “(Y/n), stop.”

You press your lips together, face contorting as you nod, trying to focus.

“I told you I was taking it to get cleaned, remember?” He asks, face twisted. He removes his hands, reaching into his coat pocket to pull out the small silk bag.

“Oh.” You breathe, feeling your body relax.

You cup your hands, watching as he carefully shakes the ring out of the bag. It’s polished, smooth. When you tilt it to see the inside, the engraving is there, untouched.

“Okay.” You say.

“You’re okay?” He confirms.

You nod, pushing it back to where it belongs on your thumb. “I’m sorry, Wong.”

“Don’t apologize.” He tells you, turning to face the foyer. “Do you need help repacking?”

“Will you?” You ask.

“Of course.”

FIVE YEARS LATER

The sound of a distantly familiar ringtone begins from the coffee table in your living room, again.

Your eyebrows draw in, turning your head to the side to listen through the first few notes. As you reach for the towel on the counter to dry your hands, you try to remember who it could belong to. It’s garish, dramatic. Whoever the person is, they must resemble the noise.

The bell finally rings.

It’s Stark.

You toss the towel back on the counter when you leave the kitchen. There’s a faint sense of urgency in your steps, considering that you’ve let him call you twice already, figuring that whoever it was would leave you a voicemail.

In fairness, it’s been a long time since you and Tony talked to each other, muchless on the phone. If you remember correctly, the last conversation you had with him happened right before you left the Avengers. Since then, there hasn’t really been a need to keep up-to-date with him.

All of his life updates are posted on social media, anyway. The only thing you’re obligated to do each year is send his daughter presents when the holidays come around. After all, it’s the least you can do after he saved your life and set you straight.

Sure enough, Tony’s face lights up your screen, a sigh escapes you. You pull the phone into your hand, swiping across the glass to accept the call. You press it to your ear, “Hello?”

“Do you ever answer your phone?” Tony’s voice comes through. “I mean, seriously, it took me three tries for you to pick up? What if I were dying?”

You roll your eyes, letting out a light laugh. “I would hope you’d call Pepper before me, considering we haven’t spoken to each other in almost three years.”

“Has it really been that long?”

“Yes, Tony. Is everything okay?” You ask, walking back to the kitchen.

“I’m fine, (Y/n). Listen, something’s happened.”

You put the call on speaker, setting your phone next to the sink so you can resume doing the dishes. “Good or bad?”

“Both.” He answers. You pull a plate out of the soapy water, scrubbing at it with a sponge. “You remember that fight between me and Cap, right? The one in Germany? There was the guy who could go from big to small?”

You hum, “Scott Lang?”

The sound of him snapping fills the air. “Yes, that guy. Well, he, Natasha and Cap showed up at my house the other day.”

He pauses, not going on any further. You wonder if there’s a point to this story, or if he’s just calling to tell you it’s weird that Scott flew from Los Angeles all the way to New York. Which you guess it is, considering…

Your hands freeze on the plate, eyebrows drawing in. “That’s not possible, Scott Lang was killed in the blip.”

“Yeah, I thought so too, but he’s here. They came over talking about quantum jumping, and how he got stuck in the middle of it when Thanos snapped his fingers. Five years felt like five hours to him.”

“And he’s alive?” You ask.

“Yes.” He sighs into the phone. “You know I wouldn’t be calling you if I thought I was just getting your hopes up.”

This is true. When you were parting ways with the Avengers, you and Tony had a long discussion about the future, and where both of you stood on the matter. You told him that you wanted to retire your suit for good. With there being so many heroes in New York again, there wasn’t a reason for all of you to be active anymore.

This set up the idea that this could be the last time you came face to face with them, because it was partially your plan. You can’t be sucked in if you refuse to be involved. He respected your wishes on this, and told you that if anything were to happen to you, he’d be there in a second if you needed him to be.

And before you left, you came to an agreement; if there was a way that either of you could turn back time and fix everything in a reasonable way, you’d be there, no questions asked.

“Okay…” You prompt him.

“(Y/n), I figured it out.” He tells you. “I figured out how to time travel. It’s taken me…” You can picture him shaking his head. “But I think we can go back and fix this. I think we can bring them back.”

You set the clean plate off to the side, placing the sponge back where it belongs in the ceramic dish. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

You lean over the sink, nodding slowly. “What did they say about it?”

“I haven’t told them yet. I thought you should be the first to know, that’s the deal we made, right?”

“Right.” You agree. “How soon are we doing this?”

“Today.” He says. “I’ll pick you up. We’ll sort it out with them when we get to the Avengers Facility.’

Your eyes land on the gold ring that’s currently sitting on the window sill. “I’ll be ready.” You murmur. “Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

—

“I remember why I stopped letting you drive me around.” You say, watching as the Facility grows closer. “Cause you’ve got a lead foot.”

“Shut up.” Tony tells you, taking a turn. “We’re almost there.”

“Try not to send us through the windshield before then.” You mutter, being thrown into the door, tires squealing against the asphalt.

As you near the front, you can see that Steve is standing outside of it, hands on his hips. Tony pulls up right before him, putting the car in park when it’s come to a complete stop. He rolls the window down, lazily moving his head to look at Steve.

“Why the long face?” He asks after a moment of silence. “Let me guess, he turned into a baby.”

Steve nods, looking away. “Among other things, yeah. What are you two doing here?”

You throw the car door open to get out before he can start driving again.

“It’s the EPR Paradox.” Tony gets out, too. “Instead of pushing Lang through time, you might’ve wound up pushing time through Lang. It’s tricky, dangerous. Somebody could have cautioned you against it.”

You shut the door, walking around the car to join them.

“You did.” Steve says.

“Oh, did I?” Tony mocks being shocked. “Well, thank god I’m here. Regardless, I fixed it.” He holds up his hand, which has the time traveling cuff—or whatever it is, you stopped trying to understand it after he explained it the second time. “A fully functioning time-space GPS.”

Steve smiles.

“I just want peace.” Tony holds up two fingers. “Turns out resentment is corrosive, and I hate it.”

“Me, too.” Steve says, looking at you. “What are you doing?”

“I’m here to help, obviously.” You give him a bright smile. “I can be useful, sometimes.”

“We got one shot at getting these stones, but I gotta tell you my priorities.” Tony says. “Bring back what we lost, I hope, yes. Keep what I found, I have to, at all costs. And maybe not die trying, would be nice.”

Steve nods again, holding out his hand. “Sounds like a deal.”

Tony takes it, they shake on it. You let out air through your nose, shaking your head as you wander away, staying close to watch Tony open the trunk of the car. He pulls out Steve’s shield, dumping the blanket and stuffed animal back into the car.

“Tony, I don’t know.” Steve mutters.

“Why? He made it for you.” He flips it around. “Plus, honestly, I have to get it out of the garage before Morgan takes it sledding.”

Steve takes it, holding it across his arm. “Thank you, Tony.”

“Will you keep that a little quiet? Didn’t bring one for the whole team.” He pulls out a red case, reaching up with his other hand to press the button that closes the trunk for him. “We are getting the whole team, yeah?”

“We’re working on that right now.” Steve says.

“Cool.” You turn around to walk to the doors. “Until we have everyone here, I will be sitting on my ass and doing exactly nothing.”

“Not very different from what you usually do, right?” Tony asks behind you.

You give him a sarcastic smile.

—

“Okay, so the how works.” Steve begins. “Now we gotta figure out the when and the where.”

There’s a set of three screens he’s standing by, each one showing two stones. It’s sorted into detail by what they look like, what they can be contained in, what building they were originally found in, and who might have them in their possession.

Your eyes are set on the most obvious one, the Time Stone. You and the others already pretty much agreed that you’ll be going after it. You know the most about it, after spending years of being around Stephen.

“Almost everyone in this room has had an encounter with at least one of the six Infinity Stones.”

“Or substitute the word ‘encounter’ for ‘damn near been killed’ by one of the six Infinity Stones.” Tony says, standing on the other side. There’s a coffee cup in one of his hands.

“Well, I haven’t, but I don’t even know what the hell you’re all talking about.” Scott says.

“Regardless, we only have enough Pym Particles for one round-trip each.” Bruce tells you, walking around the back of Scott’s chair. “And these stones have been in a lot of different places throughout history.”

“Our history.” Tony emphasizes. “So, not a lot of convenient spots to just drop in, yeah?”

“Which means we have to pick our targets.” Clint’s got his eyes on the ground.

“Correct.”

“So, let’s start with the Aether.” Steve says, eyes set on a specific target. “Thor, what do you know?”

Thor, who has since gained weight, forgotten how to shower, and grown a beard, sits in the corner of the room, slouched as deeply as possible in the chair. There’s a beer in one of his hands, the other rests on his stomach. The pair of sunglasses on his face prohibits you from seeing where his eyes are.

Everyone turns to look at him, waiting.

“Is he asleep?” Natasha asks.

“No, no. I”m pretty sure he’s dead.” Rhodes says.

Tony lets out a sigh, shaking his head. He slaps a hand on his shoulder, which jumpstarts Thor. “Rise and shine, buddy. What do you know about the Aether?”

Thor groans, “I was just about to get up.”

“Right.”

He gets to his feet, wanting to the front. “Uh, where to start?” He pulls off the sunglasses, holding them in his hand. “Um… The Aether, firstly, is not a stone. Someone called it a stone before.” He points at Steve briefly. “Um, it’s more of an angry sludge sort of a thing… so someone’s gonna need to amend that and stop saying that.” He tilts his head back to squirt eye drops into his eyes.

Your mouth falls open slightly, watching him do this. Is this what you looked like to everyone else when you freaked out that first year? Of course, you were the opposite of whatever Thor is representing, but still. His coping mechanisms are a hell of a lot worse than yours were… you think.

Clint comes beside you, pulling a chair out to sit down.

“Here’s an interesting story, though, about the Aether. My grandfather, many years ago, had to hide the stone from the Dark Elves.” He makes a ghostly sound, laughing in the middle. “Scary beings. So, Jane, actually—” The middle screen changes to show her face. “Oh, there she is. Yeah, so Jane was a—was an old flame of mine.”

You rub your face, letting out a sigh while you tilt your head back to look at the ceiling. These past few days already have been long, while you waited for them to design the time traveling suits, build the platform, and send Clint into the future as a test run. You can’t imagine what today and tomorrow are going to be like, if this is how it’s starting.

“You know, she stuck her hand inside a rock this one time and then the Aether stuck itself inside her and she became very, very sick. And so I had to take her to Asgard, which is where I’m from and we had to try and fix her.” Thor continues.

You swivel in your chair, facing Natasha. She raises her eyebrows, and you grab her notepad, dragging it in front of you. Clint offers up a pen on the other side, you take it, writing down that Jane Foster has the Aether in Asgard.

“We were dating at the time, you see and I got to introduce her to my mother,” He’s waving around the sunglasses. “Who’s dead and, um… Oh, you know, Jane and I aren’t even dating anymore, so.” He sniffs. “Yes, these things happen, though. You know? Nothing lasts forever. The only thing that—”

Tony goes up to Thor, grabbing him. “Why don’t you come sit down?”

“I’m not done yet.” He pushes Tony away. “The only thing that is permanent in life is impermanence.”

Tony claps twice. “Awesome. Eggs? Breakfast?”

“No. I’d like a Bloody Mary.” Thor smiles.

You take in a deep breath, “Can I get one, too, then?”

Tony looks at you, “Don’t encourage this.”

“Just something to get me through the rest of the day.” You reason, a teasing smile hinting at your lips.

He squints at you, directing Thor to sit back down in one of the chairs. “Let’s take a break, we’ll regroup at dinner.”

The group breaks apart, eager to get out of this room and away from Thor. You stay where you’re seated, and Tony doesn’t move, either. Thor seems disinterested, turning the can of beer on the table. Once the door has shut, you can’t contain your laughter.

They look at you, waiting for you to let them in on what you find so funny. You wave your hand, turning around in the chair to bury your face in your hands. You forget just how ridiculous this team can be at times. It’s more than just crime fighting, it’s camaraderie.

“Okay,” You breathe, facing them again. “Thor, can you give me a year where Jane was in Asgard when she was infected with the Aether?”

“Oh, sure.” Thor says, he’s composed himself. “It was twenty-thirteen. It won’t mean anything unless it’s in the Stone form, though.”

You hum, flipping the page over, writing down everyone that is planning to help. Next to Thor’s name, you put ‘R’ for the Reality Stone, making him in charge of that. He’ll need someone to go with him, of course, because he’s in no state to have this big of a responsibility, but you’ll figure that out later on. The point is that Asgard was his home, he’ll know how to navigate it.

Beside your name, you write ‘T’ for the time stone. No matter what the others say, you won’t let them take this one from you. If they want to help you, you’ll drag someone along. As far as you’re concerned, this will be under control.

“What are you doing?” Tony asks, coming around the table.

“Sorting this out.” You murmur, flipping back to the original page. You begin to write what you know about the Time Stone, which is more than what Thor could give you about the Reality. “Those who know the most about the stones should be in charge of them, I figured you don’t really think otherwise.”

You look at him, he makes a face, nodding to agree with you.

“What are you thinking about for dinner? Takeout will be on me.” Tony says, crossing his arms.

“Burgers.” Thor says, “A nice juicy burger.”

You make a face, “I’ve been craving Chinese lately.”

A few hours later, after everyone has finished what they were doing with the suits or the portal, you find yourself back in the room. Your suggestion on Chinese food was fairly popular with the others, so Tony took the order and had the food delivered to the Facility.

“All right, Ratchet, go for it.” Tony motions once everyone is settled in their seats.

“Rocket.” He corrects, giving him a look. “Quill said he stole the Power Stone from Morag.” The screen lights up purple, you set your fork down to write what he says into the notepad.

“Is that a person?” Bruce asks, smacking on his ice cream.

“No, Morag’s a planet.” Rocket says, standing on the table. “Quill was a person.”

“Like a planet? Like in outer space?” Scott asks from the other end of the table.

“Oh, look.” Rocket places his hand on Scott’s head, beginning to give him a head rub. “It’s like a little puppy, all happy and everything. Do you wanna go to space? You wanna go to space, puppy?” Scott pulls his head away, unamused. “I’ll take you to space.”

“Have you been to Morag?” You ask, looking up from the paper. “You or Nebula?”

“No.” Rocket says, turning around to face you.

“I haven’t, either.” She shakes her head. “I believe it’s kept in a temple.”

You blow a piece of hair out of your face. “Okay…”

You flip the page, finding her name on the list, writing ‘P’. You chew on the inside of your lip, thinking. When you look at Tony, you find his eyes on you.

“What’s the problem?”

“We’re going to have to go in pairs, anyway, right?” You ask, “What if…”

You write ‘R’ next to Rocket, knowing that he and Thor have worked together in the past, during the first fight with Thanos. They went together to Nidavellir, where Thor got Stormbreaker. They clearly get along fine. As for Nebula, lately she’s been working with Rhodes. That’s why you decide to pair them together.

Tony tilts his head, “I don’t see why not.”

It’s the following day when you finally get time to talk about the Stones again, since the conversation on Morag was thrown out the window when technicalities came into play. The group of you called it a night when Thor started talking about Jane again.

“Thanos found the Soul Stone on Vormir.” Nebula murmurs from the front.

“What is Vormir?” Natasha asks, holding the notepad. She’s been up all night writing notes, building off of what you’ve already got in there. When she offered to take it from you, you didn’t argue.

“A dominion of death at the very center of celestial existence.” She says, voice lowering. “It’s where Thanos murdered my sister.”

There’s a moment of silence between the few of you. Not everyone could make it to this time around. Tony opted out because he decided off the bat that he didn’t want to be involved with anything other than the Space Stone—the tesseract—because he believes that’ll be an easy grab, too.

Steve sighs.

“Not it.” Scott mutters.

This causes several people to look at him.

The meeting room is trashed two days later, there’s papers scattered across the room, as well as folders. There’s books opened to certain pages, laying open on the floor to be easily picked up and resumed when needed. Tony and Natasha lay on the table, with Bruce being on the floor, considering he’s permanently part-Hulk now.

You sit in the recliner in the corner, reading through all the notes you’ve gathered thus far, trying to put together a fairly decent timeline.

“That Time Stone guy.” Natasha finally breaks the silence.

“Doctor Strange.” Bruce says, you look up from your notes, clicking the pen.

“Stephen Strange.” You murmur.

“Yeah, what kind of doctor was he?” She asks.

“Ear-nose-throat meets rabbit-from-hat.” Tony says, he’s turned on his side, rubbing his face.

“He was a neurosurgeon, that’s why he likes being called Doctor.” You tell her. “He worked at the Metro-General hospital.”

“Nice place in the Village, though.” Bruce says.

“Yeah, on Sullivan Street?” Tony says back.

Bruce hums. “No…”

“Bleecker Street.” You correct.

“Wait, he lived in New York?” Natasha asks, no longer spinning the pen in her hand.

“Yeah—”

“No, he lived in Toronto.” Tony says.

“Uh, yeah, on Bleecker and Sullivan.” Bruce says.

“Have you been listening to anything?” Tony asks Natasha.

She holds her hand up. “Guys, if you pick the right year, there are three stones in New York.”

Bruce sits up, “Shut the front door.”

You nod, forcing the recliner back to its original position. “Space, Mind and Time, huh?”

“Yeah.” She says. “All we need to do is figure out who’s getting which one.”

An emergency team meeting is called. The four of you move to a different room to be in, because the last one is trashed. The others begin to trickle in steadily, all asking questions on what happened.

It isn’t until the last person comes inside, do you begin. “Everyone, this has gotten a whole lot easier.”

Tony nods, walking up to the projection. At the top, it’s titled ‘Time Heist’, courtesy of Scott, who’s attached to the idea of it. The sections below are broken into three. The first one being New York, which has Time, Space and Mind. The second one is Asgard, which obviously holds the Reality Stone. The third one is Morag / Vormir, for the Power and Soul Stones.

“We have divided the teams.” Tony says. “For team Asgard, we have Thor and Rocket, Morag will be Nebula and Rhodes, and Vormir is Natasha and Clint. As for New York, it will be the rest of us.” He turns around to face you. “(Y/n) has volunteered to grab the Time Stone, Bruce will go with her. Which leaves Scott, Steve and I to get the Space and Mind Stone, because it’ll be in the same buildings at the same time.”

“All right. We have a plan.” Steve says, crossing the room to stand in front of the projection. “Six stones, three teams, one shot.”

You stand up, walking to stand next to Steve. You grab his shoulder, making him turn to you. “Now we can get this son of a bitch.”

—

“Five years ago, we lost. All of us.” Steve begins. “We lost friends. We lost family. We lost a part of ourselves. Today, we have a chance to take it all back. You know your teams. You know your missions. Get the stones. Get them back. One round-trip each. No mistakes, no do-overs. Most os uf are going somewhere we know. That doesn’t mean we should know what to expect.

“Be careful.” He says. “Look out for each other. This is the fight of our lives, and we’re gonna win. Whatever it takes. Good luck.” He backs off.

“He’s pretty good at that.” Rocket says.

“Right?” Scott looks at him.

“All right. You heard the man. Stroke those keys, Jolly Green.” Tony tells Bruce.

“Trackers engaged.”

Clint holds out his hand, looking at the Milano—Rocket’s spaceship—which has been shrunk to make for easier transportation.

“You promise to bring that back in one piece, right?” Rocket asks.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Clint dismisses him. “Okay, I’ll do my best.”

“As promises go, that was pretty lame.” Rocket crosses his arms.

“It’s Clint, everything about him is lame.” You say, and when Clint looks at you, you give him our sweetest smile. “Isn’t that right?”

“Be quiet.” He tells you.

Bruce comes up the stairs to the platform, stopping to stand right next to you. He slaps his wrist, causing the platform to begin beeping. You take in a deep breath, tilting your head from side to side.

“See ya in a minute.” Natasha smiles.

The helmet comes over your face, you look down, finding that the ground has opened up, sucking you inside. You travel through… you’re not entirely sure how to describe it. At first, it’s a bright tunnel of color that quickly submerges you in blue, traveling through a molecule and into a white light.

You land on your feet in an alleyway, the street in front of you is covered in debris and overturned cars. The time traveling suit disappears, leaving you in a pair of relatively normal clothes for this time. The sound of screaming, sirens and the alien beings moving around and shooting is slightly overwhelming for a couple seconds.

Steve marches forward. “All right, we all have our assignments. Two stones uptown, one stone down.” He must decide the coast is clear, turning around to come back your way. “Stay low. Keep an eye on the clock.”

Hulk roars, you look around Steve to watch as he lifts a car, smashing it into the alien, clearly killing him. Another one comes to save his comrade, but turns around and runs at the sight of past Hulk plucking a tire off the car and throwing it at a streetlight. Unsatisfied with his original smash, he jumps on the dismembered car a couple times, before stomping away.

Bruce covers his face, embarrassed.

“Maybe smash a few things along the way.” Steve suggests.

“I think it’s gratuitous, but whatever.” Bruce says, ripping off his tank top, walking to the street.

You shake your head at him, rolling your eyes. You begin to walk away, backwards. “This shouldn’t take long. Are you sure you don’t want my help with the other two stones?”

“We’ve got it covered, (Y/n).” Steve gives you a hard nod.

“If you say so.” You tilt your head, before following after Bruce, who’s lazily punching cars.

You walk behind him, amused at the way he tries to mimic how he was in the past. He was incredibly, unnecessarily destructive, wasn’t he? You can’t imagine the amount of things he tore apart or broke solely because he could.

“I think we’ll travel faster if we take the roofs.” He finally says, stopping.

“Why do you think that?” You ask, catching up with him.

He opens his mouth, letting out a sigh. “I don’t want to do this the entire way.”

“Well, unfortunately, you don’t have a baby carrier on you, so you don’t really have an option.” You shrug, “Just enjoy the walk.”

“I can’t.”

“Then don’t break shit, I don’t care.” You laugh, “It’s only a few minutes from here.”

He looks disappointed at your indifference, but he admits that you’re right. Bleecker Street and Sullivan isn’t that far when he’s listening to your directions on the quickest shortcuts. However, you have a problem when the front door to the Sanctum doesn’t open.

Your mouth pops open, tongue clicking. You place your hands on your hips, tilting your head back to see the roof of the building. Your face smooths over when you see orange magic shoot at an alien, causing it to explode.

“Get us up there.” You tell Bruce, it’s a command.

“Sure.” He says.

You allow him to pick you up, setting you on his shoulder. You struggle to balance while he scales the building, but it’s worth it the second you reach the top. He starts for the door that’ll lead you inside of the Sanctum, you don’t move from where you stand, eyes on the lady standing feet away.

A sinking feeling of disappointment hits.

“I’d be careful going that way. We just had the floors waxed.” She tells Bruce before he can open the door.

She’s British, she has an accent, and she’s bald. The robes she’s wearing is a shade of mustard yellow. And she has the Eye of Agamotto around her neck, the same thing that Stephen had in his possession. The Time Stone is right here.

The longer you stare at her, the more you believe you’ve seen her before, or at least heard of her. You go down the three steps, going to join her. You refuse to take your eyes off of her.

“Yeah, I’m looking for Doctor Strange.” Bruce says.

The lady lifts her head slightly. “You’re about five years too early.” She steps away, toward the edge of the roof. “Stephen Strange is currently performing surgery—” she lifts her hand to motion, “about twenty blocks that way.” She stops walking. “What do you want from him?”

“The Time Stone.” You tell her.

“Ah!” She looks down at the Eye. “I’m afraid not.”

“Sorry, but I wasn’t asking.” Bruce says, stepping over the metal bar to walk toward her.

“You don’t want to do this.” She warns him.

“Bruce, I think we should listen to her.” You tell him.

“Ah, you’re right, I don’t. But I need that stone and I don’t have time to debate it.” He says, hand reaching to grab it.

She slams the heel of her hand into his chest, Bruce falls to the ground, unconscious. You stare with an open mouth for a brief second, and then you snap it shut, looking at her.

Her eyes are already on you, head tilted. “Are you going to take it by force, too?”

“No.”

She smiles. “Let’s start over, shall we?”

It hits you after this, you squint at her. “You’re the one that Stephen and Wong talked about all the time. What is it—?” You wonder aloud, eyes drifting as you think. “Ancient One, isn’t that what they called you?” When you look at her again, she’s got her eyebrows raised. “You’re the Sorcerer Supreme.”

“You’re wise.” She says. “What’s your name?”

“(Y/n).” You tell her, she begins to think about it. “I’m not a student of yours, I’m just dating one. We need the Time Stone, it’s urgent.”

“For what, exactly?”

“We need it so we can bring back half of the population of every living being.” The words are grave, her facial expression changes. “We’re from eleven years in the future. And this is the only solution we have left. We have teams gathering the other five Infinity Stones, and when we bring them together in our time, we’ll be able to fix the damage that was done.”

“You want me to hand it over?” She asks you. “No.”

She begins to walk away, heading for the door. You follow after her. “Please, you don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you, (Y/n).” Her pace doesn’t slow. “If I give up the Time Stone to help your reality, I’m dooming my own.”

“With all due respect, all right…” Bruce’s voice echoes, you turn to look behind you, finding him in his original body, not the half-Hulk, half-Bruce one. Except, he’s see-through, a phantom, a ghost. He joins you two up the stairs, jogging in front of her to make her stop. “I’m not sure the science really supports that.”

With him standing between her and the door, she humors you. She reaches forward, yanking out an orange line right in the middle of them. It stretches far between the blocks of New York on both sides.

“The Infinity Stones create what you experience as the flow of time.” The stones create a ring around the orange. She reaches forward to flick the Time Stone. “Remove one of the stones and that flow splits.” You watch as a black line branches off from where the ring of stones is, creating its own path through the air. “Now, this may benefit your reality but my new one, not so much.

“In this new branch reality without our chief weapon against the forces of darkness our world would be overrun. Millions will suffer. So, tell me, Doctor. Can your science prevent all that?”

Bruce is rubbing his hands together, “No, but we can erase it. Because once we’re done with the stones we can return each one to its own timeline at the moment it was taken. So, chronologically—” he pulls the Time Stone out of the air, placing it back in the ring, remedifying the split timeline. “In that reality, it never left.”

She turns around, walking away. “Yes, but you’re leaving out the most important part.” She stops at the end of the roof. “In order to return the stones, you have to survive.”

“We will.” You tell her. “I promise.”

“I can’t risk this reality on a promise. It’s the duty of the Sorcerer Supreme to protect the Time Stone.”

“I know.” You murmur. “But Stephen had no choice but to give it to Thanos.”

She stares at you, “What did you say?”

“Stephen gave the stone to Thanos.”

“Willingly?” She asks.

“Yes.” Bruce says behind you.

“Why?”

“We lost the battle so that we could win the war.” You tell her. “It’s what had to be done.”

“I see.” She murmurs after a long moment of silence. She reaches over Bruce’s shoulder, summoning his body.

Bruce returns, back to being giant and green. You watch as she bends her fingers, moving her hands apart, unlocking the Eye. Inside sits the stone, she pulls it out, you cup your hand.

She doesn’t drop it quite yet. “Strange is meant to be the best of us.”

“He is.” You assure her. “He handed it over for a reason.”

“I fear you might be right.” She places the stone in your hand.

You’ve only held it one time before, when Stephen had to fix the Eye of Agamotto. It’s meant to be unbreakable with his spells, but there’s always an exception. He saw how much it bothered you, seeing the Time Stone out of place, and elected you to hold it while he repaired the Eye.

When you told him you were afraid you’d break it, he said that provides more comfort to him, because it means that you’ll be careful with it.

“Thank you.” Bruce says.

She steps forward, hands over yours. “I’m counting on you, (Y/n). We all are.”

“I’ll bring it back.” You tell her.

She lets you and Bruce go through the Sanctum to get to the street, not wanting you to crawl back down the building. As soon as you’ve stepped foot back on the sidewalk, you pass the Time Stone over to Bruce, “Here, you take it back.”

His face twists. “We’re going back together. Don’t you want to hold onto it?”

You shake your head. “No, there’s someone I have to see first.”

“You can’t, (Y/n), if you see Stephen, you’ll ruin the timeline.”

“That’s not who I’m going to.” You wave him off. “I won’t talk to her. It’ll be a few minutes.”

He nods, holding out his arm to type in the present day’s date. You watch as he warps into the air, disappearing. You begin to walk away, reaching up to touch your earpiece, “This is (Y/n) to Tony, Bruce has taken the stone back. How are we looking for the other two?”

Tony sighs in your ear. “There’s been an issue, Loki took the Tesseract and disappeared.”

Your feet pause, but quickly go back to walking, because you don’t have much time to be out here. “Okay, what’s the plan? You don’t have enough particles.”

“Cap and I are going back further in time, we’ll be able to get particles and the stone in the same place. We’re sending Scott back to the present. What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna visit someone. You two be careful.”

“We will.” Steve’s voice comes over. “Remember the plan, don’t interact with anyone.”

“I know.” You tell him.

It isn’t that hard for you to find young (Y/n), mostly because of the shredded asphalt and the decomposing bodies that lay on top of it. You follow this careless path, and divert from it to go through an alleyway, where it leads you right to where she is, standing a few feet away.

There’s a smile on her face, that dissolves into concentration, as she gets on the ground, hunching over to pull more of the dead out of the Earth. You remember this, it’s moments after Tony found you and told you to draw in as many of the Chitauri as you possibly could—as long as you could handle it.

You were so young back then, you had absolutely no idea what you were doing. Or that this would eventually lead you to becoming a hero, yourself. That day, you took a leap of faith, and it completely changed the trajectory of your life.

If you hadn’t done this, who knows where you’d be right now. If life would have treated you any differently. If you still would’ve joined the Avengers, just a few years later down the line. Or if you’d ever even get to meet Stephen.

It doesn’t matter, because you don’t think you’d ever tell your past self to change her mind.

“You’ve got this.” You say to her, eyes flickering between the time system and her, where she’s fighting. “Just keep pushing, you’re on the right path.”

As you type the date in, you watch as she looks up from the ground, eyes landing on you. You submit the time, and just before you leave, you hold a hand up to wave at her.

You’re sucked through the warp, as you travel backwards through the tunnel you took to get here. And despite leaving at different times, it joins you with the rest of your group. You arrive at the Avengers Facility at the same time.

The helmet falls back at the same time it does for everyone else, the suit following directly after.

“Did we get ‘em all?” Bruce asks.

Rhodes laughs. “Are you telling me this actually worked?”

Clint falls to his knees, staring off in front of him. You know this look, something’s happened. Your eyes try to switch to Natasha, hoping that she’ll offer an explanation, but she’s absent.

“Oh, Clint.” You murmur.

“Clint, where’s Nat?” Bruce asks.

Clint’s eyes are watery, his lips turning further down. There’s a long moment of silence between all of you, as the news settles in. You were warned by Nebula that the way Thanos got the stone was through losing his daughter. You were all hoping that she was being difficult and her actions got her killed, not… this.

Bruce falls to his knees, slamming his fist into the platform.

You sigh, shaking your head. “Shit.”

—

“All right, the glove’s ready.” Rocket says, adjusting the fingers. “Question is, who’s gonna snap their freakin’ fingers?”

“I’ll do it.” Thor says, coming over.

“Excuse me?” Tony asks, turning around.

“It’s okay.” He steps closer to the glove.

“Stop, stop.” Tony reaches to grab Thor at the same time Steve does. “Slow down.”

“Thor. Just wait.” Steve tells him. “We haven’t decided who’s gonna put that on yet.”

“I’m sorry. WHat, we’re all just sitting around waiting for the right opportunity?”

“We should at least discuss it.” Scott says.

“Look, sitting here staring at the thing is not gonna bring everybody back.” He brings his fingers to his thumbs on both hands. “I’m the strongest Avenger, okay? So, this responsibility falls upon me. It’s my duty.”

“Normally, you’re right.” Tony steps in front of him. “It’s not about that.”

“It’s not that.” He shushes him. “Stop it! Just let me. Just let me do it.” He whispers. “JUst let me do something good. Something right.”

“Look, it’s not just the fact that that glove is channeling enough energy to light up a continent. I’m telling you. You’re in no condition.” Tony tells him.

“What do you think is coursing through my veins right now?” His hands are on Tony’s shoulders.

“Cheez Whiz?” Rhodes suggests, you snort.

Thor is unamused, holding out a finger to quiet him. “Lightning.”

“Yeah.”

“Lightning.” Thor repeats.

“LIghtning won’t help you, pal.” Bruce says, finally going forward. “It’s gotta be me.” Thor looks at the ground, Tony moves away. “You saw what those stones did to Thanos. They almost killed him. None of you could survive.” He stops in front of the glove.

“How do we know you will?” Steve asks.

“We don’t. But the radiation’s mostly gamma. It’s like… uh, I was made for this.”

“If this is what you want.” You say, backing away.

Bruce nods, reaching into the case to pull out the glove.

“Good to go, yeah?” Tony asks.

“Let’s do it.”

“Okay, remember, everyone Thanos snapped away five years ago, you’re just bringing them back to now, today. Don’t change anything from the last five years.” Tony says.

“Got it.”

Your suit comes to cover your body, preparing for the worst. You shuffle behind Tony and Clint, where Tony brings up a shield as another form of protection.

“Friday, do me a favor and activate Barn Door Protocol, will ya?”

You watch as the skylight slowly covers with metal, as well as all exits, including doors and windows. That way, if anything goes wrong, the only people that’ll be affected are those who are standing in this room.

“Everybody comes home.” Bruce mutters, slowly pulling the glove on. The machinery adjusts to fit his hand, rather than Tony’s. When it secures, it sends a visible shock up his arm, all six Infinity Stones begin to glow.

Bruce drops to his knee, groaning, veins popping out of his forehead. He grabs the glove with his free hand, watching as it transforms.

“Take it off. Take it off!” Thor shouts.

“No, wait.” Steve holds out his hand. “Bruce, are you okay?”

Bruce throws his head back, the fabric on his arm begins to burn up, the colors of the stones are beneath his skin, traveling up the underside of his jaw. He’s in pain.

“Talk to me, Banner.” Tony says.

“I’m okay.” He breathes, as the stones begin to settle. “I’m okay.” He pants heavily, slowly lifting his hand. His green skin is now charred, black, glowing red underneath. Like bubbling lava.

He screams, preparing his fingers, and then snaps.

The glove falls off in an instant, Bruce unconscious on the floor, arm is sizzling.

“Bruce!” Steve crouches down next to him.

Clint kicks the glove away, Tony joins Steve. “Don’t move him.” The healing solution comes from his fingers, coating Bruce’s arm in white.

“Did it work?” Bruce asks, grabbing Steve’s arm.

“We’re not sure.” Thor says. “It—it’s okay.”

The metal sheets begin to lift, doors opening, allowing you to leave. Scott wanders away, and so does Clint a second later.

“Can you feel anything, (Y/n)?” Steve asks, looking at you.

You suck in a breath, closing your eyes, concentrating hard. You discovered a couple years ago that there wasn’t a need for the dramatics if you actually put some of your own energy in to pull some out. You sacrifice a little of yourself, digging deep, feeling around for the same heavy weight that there’s been for years.

“I don’t…” You murmur, head turning to the side, eyebrows drawing in. “I can’t say for sure.” You open your eyes. “It might be the building, it works better when I’m outside. I could go out—”

“Don’t bother.” Clint murmurs, picking up his vibrating phone, pressing it to his ear. “Honey.”

“Guys…” Scott breathes. “I think it worked.”

A smile breaks through when you make eye contact with Tony, finding your happiness mirrored onto him.

You did it.

You touch the ring on your thumb.

A blast of hot air throws you across the room, slamming you into the cement wall, head cracking against it. An explosion shakes the ground. A wave of dizziness hits you as you reach to touch the spot on your forehead, fingers coated in blood.

One second, you’re staring at your friends, and the next, the building is collapsing. The ground gives way beneath you, a scream leaves your mouth as you begin to slide, knowing full well that the Facility goes hundreds of feet underground.

The suit comes to cover your body as your fingers slip from the cement. Your stomach flies to your throat, lodging itself there as you begin to fall with the chunks of rock and debris.

Another rocket hits nearby, as your body is engulfed in fire.

When you wake, a sharp stabbing feeling flies through your abdomen. You reach to grab it, hands coming in contact with a steel rod. It’s wet, but not from your blood. The water from the plumbing system and the lake nearby rain down on you, causing sparks from severed electric wires to zap.

“(Y/n)?” You hear Bruce ask. “Are you with us?”

You struggle to breathe, hearing every breath enter and leave your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut, head resting back. “I’m stuck.”

“I know, we’ll get Rhodey and Rocket over there to help you.” He says.

“No, Bruce.” You gasp, wincing. “I’ve been impaled.”

The sound of rushing water fills the air. You lift your head, eyes searching from the direction it’s coming from. It sweeps through the rubble, beginning to fill the hole you’re in.

“Guys!” The panic in your voice alerts Rhodes, “Help!”

Rocket gets to his feet, coming in your direction. “Oh, no.”

“Mayday, Mayday! Does anybody copy? We’re on the lower level. It’s flooding!” Rhodes says into the earpiece. “We are drowning! Does anybody copy? Mayday!”

“I don’t think we can get you out of this one.” Rocket says once he sees you. “Bruce, any chance you can come over here?”

“Not really.” He grunts.

You take careful breaths, trying to relax. “If I don’t get out of here, I’m going to drown.”

Rocket shakes his head, hands up. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“You don’t have any tools?” You ask, “To cut the bar in half?” He doesn’t respond, you close your eyes. “Fuck.”

“It’s filling up fast!” Rhodes shouts.

“Move back.” You tell him, he listens.

You grip onto the steel bar, “Come to me.” You murmur, the ground begins to shake under you, causing the pain to heighten. You grit your teeth, wanting to stop. “Come here.” You order.

The ground splits somewhere, the cement you’re laying on dips to the side, making you move. You resist the urge to throw your head back, trying to avoid a concussion.

“Oh, what the—” Rocket lets out, “What is that?”

Through half-open lids, you watch as a few of the dead come to crawl out of the rubble. They get to their feet, and without any other word, come to rescue you from where you are. The issue is that they aren’t so gentle, when they grab you by your shoulders and hips, pulling you free.

The insides of your body burns, as you bite back a scream. They drop you on your feet, and with the weight all falling onto your wound, you stumble forward and onto your knees, hand wrapped around the area.

“If you could do that—have them take the rubble.” Rocket motions to Bruce. “So he can get us out of here.”

“They’ll crumble beneath the weight.” You tell him, the dead grab your elbows, forcing you to your feet. “They’re not good for much besides fighting.”

“You can’t tell them to find a way out and we follow them?” Rocket suggests.

“We can’t leave Bruce behind.” You shake your head. “And it’s not guaranteed that it’ll work. They can lead us to a dead-end. They aren’t all-knowing.”

The roof is beginning to fall, Bruce shuddering beneath it. The water is coming through faster, you shuffle to stand with Rhodes, Rocket climbs up as far as he can. You tilt your head back, water creeping up your chest. The dead that were with you are now floating on their backs, no longer alive.

“See you on the other side, man.” Rhodes says.

Rocket whimpers, not liking the idea of dying. You pant, tears in your eyes. You’re going to die before you’re able to see Stephen again. For the past five years, you’ve held onto the idea that it could be possible. And now he’s back, somewhere, but not here.

“(Y/n), stop.” Rhodes warns you.

You cry, the water reaching the back of your head. “Get me out of here!”

“You need to breathe, you can’t hyperventilate under the water.” He says, it’s flooding your ears.

“I know.” You gasp. “I know.”

You take a deep breath in right as the water covers your face. For the first few seconds, you think that it’s fine. And then you reach out, grabbing onto Rhodes’s arm, squeezing tightly. You feel his hand over yours, trying to provide comfort.

The burning in your lungs begins in the second minute, pressure tight in your skull, adding to the lightheadedness. You want to open your mouth and suck in, despite knowing that you’ll fill your lungs with water. It’ll be quicker than fighting this, right?

An object surrounds you, bumping you to the side. Your eyes open suddenly, struggling to see through the murky water on what’s moved you. For a second, you think that it’s Bruce, until you find him joining you. The water current from the other side brings the four of you closer together, as what you assume to be the roof closes in on you.

But then the ground comes up, uneven, and you’re lifted into the air, water running. You gasp, desperate for air, coughing out the water. You drop to your knees, pushing your hair out of your face.

“It’s Scott!” Rhodes shouts.

He must grow through the Facility, because all you can hear is the concrete breaking to pieces around you. He opens his hand when it’s safe, the others jumping off, while you carefully take your time, eyes adjusting to the situation in front of you.

Thanos is here. There’s a giant ship in the air off to the left, with the Chitauri and the Leviathan’s coming out of it. Just like they had eleven years ago when Loki came to New York.

On the right side, is where you find several armies coming together to help. The army from Wakanda, led by T’Challa, the Asgardians, following Valkyrie and sorcerers, preparing behind Wong. And more, ones you don’t recognize, coming through the portals.

With one hand over your side, you hobble out to solid ground, eyes on Thanos. Your upper lip begins to twitch into a snarl, but it’s more for the laughter that catches in your throat.

When you come to a stop, you level your breathing as much as possible. You’ve brought back large armies in the past, but those will compare nothing to what you’re able to do.

The dark energy comes through your feet, snaking its way up your legs. You roll your shoulders back, feeling it wrap around your chest, alleviating the pain in your abdomen enough for you to remove your hand.

“Let’s play.” You smile, swirling your hand in the air. At first slowly, but growing faster, rock trembling, Earth reacting to what you’re demanding.

A hole appears, ground caving in on itself, creating a pit with no visible bottom. You shuffle to stand over it, peering inside. A cold gust of air blows your wet hair out of your face, goosebumps covering your arms.

“Come to me.” You demand, “All of you.”

There’s whispering, and sounds of hissing overlapping each other from deep below. They grow louder as they rise to the top. At the sight of the first undead climbing the walls, you back up to give them room. This is a trick you’ve been practicing for years, hoping you’d get the chance to use it here.

“Got anything for us, (Y/n)?” You hear in your earpiece, it’s Tony.

“They’re coming.” You tell him. “And mine will make the others seem like a joke.”

They crawl out, coming to their feet, walking forward. At first, a few at a time, not wanting to overwhelm the area, or anything. Then they begin to come in crowds, eager to get out of where they’ve been hiding this entire time. You walk away, watching as they come out of every direction they can.

As the numbers multiply and grow, Steve steps forward. “Avengers!” He holds out his hand, Mjolnir flying to it. “Assemble.”

Thor shouts first, the armies following as they rush forward. Yours, not quite yet, waiting for a command. The fun thing about the dead is that there’s so many of them, people will never stop dying. Which means that when you send the ones standing off, more will continue. A never-ending supply.

“Kill them!” You shout, pointing at Thanos’s army.

This is when they move at a steady pace, not feeling the need to run. You stay where you stand, supervising the hole to ensure that a great amount comes from it, before you point straight down the middle.

“Come here, Arzorath.” The flow of dead stops to let this creature come out, five times the size of you, built like a monster. As soon as he’s out, the dead begin again. You grab his grey skin, looking up at him. “You stay here, and you make sure this doesn’t stop.”

He grunts, giving you a solid nod.

With that, you turn to walk into the fight, to the center, where Thanos is going to be. You should be afraid of walking through this crowd, but with the amount of undead that are spread throughout, they jump to protect you if any danger arises.

There’s explosions, the sounds of weapons clashing against one another. You see several laser beams shoot through the air to hit their target. There’s billows of black smoke, indicating several fires.

“Cap!” You hear Clint’s voice in your ear. “What do you want me to do with this damn thing?”

Steve grunts. “Get those stones as far away as possible!”

“No!” Bruce shouts. “We need to get ‘em back where they came from.”

“I made a promise to the Sorcerer Supreme that I’d get it back. I intend on keeping it.” You tell them.

“No way to get ‘em back. Thanos destroyed the quantum tunnel.” Tony says.

“Hold on!” You watch as Scott disappears, likely shrunken back to his regular size. “That wasn’t our only time machine.”

The sound of a horn playing Spanish music makes you turn your head.

“Anyone see an ugly brown van out there?” Steve asks.

“Yes! But you’re not gonna like where it’s parked!” Valkyrie shouts, she’s in the air, riding on a pegasus.

“Scott, how long you need to get that thing working?” Tony asks.

“Uh, maybe ten minutes.”

“Get it started. We’ll get the stones to you.” Steve says.

“We’re on it, Cap.” Hope says—Scott’s partner.

“Do you need me to clear a path for you?” You ask, “Because it won’t be that hard.”

“No, I can fly him there.” Hope tells you.

You continue through the battle, coming upon a patch where there is no one. You climb a pile of rocks, surveying the area to find Thanos, fighting Wanda. She’s got him stuck in the air, squeezing him with her magic.

That’s when the first blue light hits the ground, causing a blast, killing a dozen of your dead. It’s not only one, though, as more following, firing straight into the crowd without any prior aim. Thanos doesn’t care who he hits, as long as he doesn’t lose this fight.

You watch as the sorcerers cast shields, holding them above their heads, working together to cover a small part of the field. You don’t move for shelter, holding your stance. You glance over your shoulder to find Arzorath, still guarding the hole as you instructed him to.

“Help, somebody help!” Peter shouts.

“Hey, Queens, heads up!” Steve says back.

Mjolnir flies through the air, you can see it from where you are. You reach up, pressing the ear piece. “Anyone have eyes on Thanos?”

“He’s by the van!” Scott shouts back, “I need backup!”

You sigh out your nose, jumping down from the rocks, heading straight into the fight once again. “Arzorath!” You shout, looking over your shoulder. He raises his head. “More!”

He raises his arms, throwing them down as he grabs a chunk from the ground, ripping it out and throwing it into the crowd of Thanos’s troops. By widening the hole, it creates a bigger flow. In seconds, you see the difference, as they rush to follow you, and then past you to create a path.

The blasts from the sky become more frequent, like hail. At least half of the dead come to jump at you to protect you, bringing you to the ground. They hold you there, refusing to let you move, until it suddenly stops.

In the silence that comes after, you’re pulled to your feet. When you walk, they do too. The ship above suddenly changes its target, firing into the clouds in the distance.

“What the hell is this?” Sam asks.

It doesn’t matter, you’re able to make it halfway to the van by the time the object from the atmosphere finally makes an appearance, slamming directly through the spaceship, and coming out on the other side. It must destroy the inside, setting off explosions, as the blasters power down, and the ship begins to fall, heading for the lake.

The object in question is Carol, as she does a loop, and flies up through the bottom, coming out of the top. She lands somewhere in the field, presumably where the gauntlet must be, not too far away.

Your concern switches when Thanos’s army begins to run at you. For a moment, you think that it was a stupid choice to run out here this far. Then the sound of bones rattling, and the groaning begins behind you. You turn halfway, finding that your people have followed you all the way out here.

“Destroy them.” You say. With a layer of an undead shield in front of you, you continue forward, watching as Wanda flies past you, followed by some of the other girls. You throw your hand out, pointing their way. “They don’t get hurt!”

Valkyrie and Wanda work together to take down the two leviathans above, while you use Carol’s path of destruction as a way to get to the van faster. When the fire rises, smoke hovering like fog, you cover your mouth, refusing to slow down. But when you come out on the other side, you watch as Carol makes a dive for the van, only for Thanos’s weapon to hit the portal at the same time.

This causes a blast, throwing the weightless dead back. You fight to stay on your feet, leaning into the wind. The gauntlet glove goes flying, landing a few feet away. Thanos runs at it, causing you to jerk forward, too. Tony runs right into him, throwing him to the ground.

Thor lands, Stormbreaker glowing bright blue as he swings at Thanos. When he spins around, intending for a hard hit, Thanos grabs the handle, stopping him. He raises his free hand, and Mjolnir flies to it, acting as a block. Thor’s eyes are bright white, using the power of lightning. Steve runs up behind Thanos, jumping on his back.

Thanos headbutts Thor, reaching back to grab a hold of Steve, and somersaulting forward. When he lands on top, he punches Steve across the face, knocking him unconscious. He crawls the few feet to the glove, getting it in his hands, before Carol kicks the back of his knee, hitting his jaw,

When Thanos fights back, she dodges. She makes the mistake of trying to grab the glove, leaving an opening for Thanos to grab her. He twists, chucking her into the rock and rubble. Once again, reaching to put the gauntlet on his hand, this time succeeding.

Your stomach flies at the sight of the power coursing through his arm, as he raises his hand to snap his fingers. He almost does, until Carol gets her hand between, dragging him down to her height, trying to pull it off. He tries to punch her, but her power creates a shield that he can’t penetrate. When she flies above him, now pushing his hand toward his face, he reaches up, pulling the Power Stone free, and transferring it to his other hand.

She can’t catch herself in time, as he shouts, punching her away. She disappears, leaving a trail of kicked up dirt.

You find Tony, laying on his stomach, dirt and blood smeared across his skin. He’s not looking at you, but to a different part of the field. When you follow his gaze, you’re met with the sight of him.

It’s Stephen, in the same condition that all of you seem to be, too caught up in trying to hold the lake water at bay. Still, he manages to hold up his index finger, telling Tony one.

The confusion lasts less than a second, when you remember one of the last conversations you had together before Thanos showed up on Titan. Out of fourteen million timelines that he lived through, there was only one where you won.

You don’t want to take your eyes off of him, lips parted. The urge to call his name is on the tip of your tongue. He’s right there. He’s so close.

You’re forced to when Thanos puts the Power Stone back on the gauntlet.

You stomp your foot, hard, the dirt around you shakes. “Arzorath, come!” Pain slices through your wound at the sudden movement. “The rest of you, get him!”

They’re faster than you thought they’d be, adjusted to their worn down bodies. They begin to throw themselves at Thanos. In the beginning, he’s able to swing them off, but as the dead come out of the shadows, far through the field, the number is overwhelming. He’s just about to use the gauntlet to swing them away, when a black mist surrounds him. The screams of pain begin, as the poisonous cloud corrodes his skin.

Arzorath appears beside you, materializing out of the air. You cup your hands, watching as he dumps the stones into yours carelessly, since they have no real value to him.

The stones begin to slide over your palms without an order, adjusting to sit in their rightful places over your knuckles. You pull the Time Stone out, holding it in your free hand, not ready for the pain it’s about to inflict. You take a few deep breaths, releasing the power you hold over your army.

They fall into a useless heap of bones and rotten flesh. Thanos bursts out of it, raises his hand, still assuming the stones are on it. You look over, watching as Arzorath crumples to the ground, the life leaving him, too. You can’t afford to have any of them around. Not if you plan to do this.

“I am inevitable.” Thanos says, snapping his finger.

It doesn’t react, there is no flash of white light, the people don’t begin to fall, he fails.

You turn your head, meeting Tony’s eyes, which begin to widen when he realizes why Thanos’s snap didn’t work. “(Y/n), don’t!” He shouts. “You have Stephen! He’s here!”

“You have Morgan!” You tell him. “And I have something a lot nastier than just myself.”

Thanos’s head whips in your direction. You get down to your knees, to the ground, the same way you had to in the past. With the hand that isn’t holding the Time Stone, you press it into the dirt, leaning forward, pulling. You reach through, searching for that miserable monster that had come out four years ago when you’d done this.

This is your only chance—your only trick. It rests, slumbering, refusing to rise at your will. It isn’t until you give a little of yourself, what little dark energy you have left from conjuring so many of the dead, does it wake. And when you pull, it flies up at you, not slowing down.

You can hear Thanos running at you, shouting.

You open your eyes, slapping the Time Stone into its place on your knuckle. The energy that flows through you is different, brighter. This is not the same dark force that you’re used to. You’re able to feel the burning pain up your arm and stabbing into your neck, before it’s gone.

The beast travels through your feet and up your body, heading straight for your mouth. It sets you on fire inside, and you’re barely able to lift your hand in time to snap your fingers, when he takes over, doing it for you. You’re weightless, flying through the air, wind caressing your skin, cradling you like a newborn.

And then you hit the ground.

You roll several feet, arms blocking your face, until you stop on your back. You can see a leviathan coming right at you. And when you manage to finally get your eyes open after blinking, you find that it’s gone, nothing but dust in the wind. You let out a breath.

“(Y/n)!” Stephen’s voice is close, coming toward you.

The ground feels like it’s spinning under your body, creating a whirlpool, sucking you down with it. That would be nice, to join the ones that have kept you safe throughout this fight. Maybe you could give them a proper thank you.

There’s mechanical footsteps coming your way, when you look over, it’s Tony. His mouth is open, hands reaching for you. He’s cut off by someone else, dropping to their knees beside you.

It’s Stephen, your Stephen, as he pulls you into an upright position by your shoulders. You let out a cry, abdomen screaming in reaction. He’s got your face pulled against his chest, one arm across the back of your shoulders to keep you from moving.

“(Y/n), stay with me.” He tells you. “Stark—!”

You can’t see much through the haze, like a film over your eyes. But with Stephen’s face so close to yours, it doesn’t even matter. You throw your head back to get a proper look at him, something you’ve been waiting to do for five years. Of course, there’s a mess across his skin, a few strands of hair out of place.

You reach up with the hand that doesn’t have the stones, wiping a patch of blood away. “I’m fine.” You murmur, eyelids drooping. You begin to fall back, but Stephen catches you, pulling you back against his chest.

When you shakily breathe in, you’re hit with his cologne, a smell you’d thought you’d lost forever. You wrap your fingers around his blue robes, staring at the side of his face.

“What can we do?” He demands.

Stephen’s so beautiful, even in a state like this, especially when he’s angry. You remember that being the first thing you thought about him when he stepped out of his car, the second time he almost hit you. He’s handsome, and he’s yours, in front of you. He hasn’t aged a day. Still as perfect as he was the day he was taken from you.

“I’m okay.” You whisper, but your voice is drowned out by Friday, listing your vitals out loud.

You’re so, so tired.

Stephen jerks you, your eyes fly open. “Don’t close your eyes, (Y/n). You have to stay with me.”

You hum, trying to listen. The worried look on his face has only deepened since learning about your heart rate and blood pressure. You think you can hear Tony making suggestions, all of which Stephen shuts down.

“I just…” You close your eyes, wanting to rest. As you settle, ignoring Stephen’s demands for you to stay awake, a voice from below calls.

Brace yourself.

All you can do is twitch your eyebrows, before a sharp gasp comes through your mouth, eyes opening. Your hand grips at his robes, knuckles turning pale to keep him from going anywhere. The energy resurfaces, bouncing to your temples, a headache slams in after.

You grit your teeth, toes curled as the needles press into every inch of your skin, reminding you that you’re alive. Telling you that you’re not allowed to die. Stephen’s hand is cupping your face, leaning over you.

“I told you;” You breathe carefully, feeling it begin to subside, “I’m fine.”

Stephen smashes his lips into yours, rough and demanding. He holds you there for a long minute, feeling you on him, until he decides when to pull away. You touch the side of his face, a light laugh escaping you.

“I missed you.” You tell him, tears in your eyes. “I can’t live without you.”

“So this is what you do?” He asks, bewildered. “You sacrifice yourself?”

“It’s been a rough five years.” You sniff, reaching over to pluck the stones from your suit. “But this is what had to be done, right?”

“Right.” He says, voice sad, getting to his feet. He helps you up, and catches you when you stumble a step. When you take one toward Tony, he shakes his head. “Are you sure…?”

“Yeah.” You mumble, pulling his hand up to give him the stones. “Here.”

Tony’s standing a foot or two away, staring at you. When you stop, slightly hunched over, he closes his eyes. “You’ve got to be the dumbest person on our team. I could’ve done that.”

“And survived?” You ask.

He doesn’t say anything at first, “Probably not, but it would’ve been more thought out than that.”

“You’re telling me that wasn’t thought out?” You ask, looking back at Stephen. A smile appears on your face first, and when you begin to laugh, you have to force yourself to stop. “I think that went pretty fuckin’ well, don’t you?”

“I would’ve changed a few things.” Stephen comes over to you, “But you’re right.”

“You shouldn’t have…” Tony’s shaking his head, eyes drifting away.

“You saved my life, remember?” You ask him, voice wavering, “That day I told you I was working on a different way to bring them back? I owe you for that.”

“You didn’t.”

“I never—not even in my nightmares—would have let you take the Infinity Stones. Even if it meant that it killed me.” You press your finger to his chest. “We’re even.”

“We always have been.” He tells you.

Stephen reaches to grab you when you sway, not being able to stabilize yourself. “Let’s sit down, (Y/n).”

“Sure.” You don’t resist, letting him lead you to a slab of concrete that’s flat enough to sit down. When you do, the aches in your body leave, you take in a deep breath. “Stephen?”

“Yes, my love?” His eyes are already on you.

You take his hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “I love you.”

He smiles, tilting his head slightly. “I love you too, (Y/n).”

#ilguna #stephen strange imagine #stephen strange oneshot #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange fanfic #stephen strange x you #strephen strange x yn #stephen strange x y/n #doctor strange imagine #doctor strange oneshot #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange fanfic #doctor strange x you #doctor strange x yn #doctor strange x y/n #marvel #angst #fluff

80 notes · View notes