#i woke up and chose the nuclear option

[ninoochat]

Song

[josiebelladonna]

poking my head out to say that one of the reasons why i logged off (save for fb, ig, and my writing pages of course) was to get away from everything and everyone. i can’t explain it but... people in general are just really pissing me off. the constant snide cockiness that pervades politics, certain things being so unavoidable that i have no choice but to step away or it’ll drive me insane, and people still not listening to me...

alright, the only reason my callout posts seemed so long was because that’s just my thought process. i think like a scientist and i’m also an emotional person. really, no offense, but all things aside... people on here are getting more and more emotionally disconnected, and it’s frightening. it’s why you have far more memes than art now. memes are forgotten in a short amount of time (look no further than that bernie meme; literally everywhere for like two days and then i never saw it again), but art makes you smart and opens your heart, and i even said in my fair use post that i do what i can to simplify it. but serious things like that are naturally complex, so sometimes you literally just can’t. you have to go long because there’s a lot involved.

i decided on the nuclear option with the fair use post, and then i left it to not only get away, but to show that daveigh has absolutely no right to get mad at me on any reasonable front. she actually never had the right to get mad at me. you chose to act like that, not me. you chose to hoodwink and steal from me and countless others and then play the victim. you chose to let it get to you, and then you chose to throw a tantrum like the real mature adult that you are, and then bring that same disgusting behavior into another fandom. it’s all on you.

in fact... this is the kind of thing you learn about in the 12 step program and i know this because i went through al-anon and al-a-teen, and it was the whole point of her fic stay. no one forces you into problematic behavior: you decided to do it and it’s no one’s fault but your own if you can’t take it. if anything, my ramblings are... meant to help her. it’s all meant to help, and you know, what NOT to do in the world of writing or anything creative. if i ever seemed mean, it’s because it’s all very upsetting for me. and the fact she keeps hitting back to me tells me just how callous and truly uncaring she is.

i also feel like people on here are acting very strange as of late. i can’t explain it but things on here feel “off”. every time i look at my dash, i think, “something’s not right here. i don’t know if it’s me or trauma from last year or something else. but there’s this unspoken feeling on here that everyone is out of their goddamn minds.”

another reason was i started getting sick. spoiler alert: it’s sinusitis. i woke up last tuesday with the absolute worst headache i had in years, and my face was killing me all day yesterday. just this hard, incessant pounding in my forehead and around my eyes that actually woke me up. some old geezer in the market wasn’t wearing a mask but i was, and i was keeping the six feet distance from him, and i washed my hands twice + used the hand sanitizer they have at the front door.

but a week went by and i never developed a cough or a fever—still haven’t. in fact, i actually feel fine otherwise, and i take my vitamins and eat healthily to beef up my immune system, but it all checks out as a sinus infection. i probably picked up some bacteria in wally world because evolution is a thing and i live in a 45 bastion: this area is full of rich white bible-thumpers who sincerely believe that he’s still president and laugh at the notion of mask wearing and barely wash their hands to where a germaphobe like myself is like, “i don’t even want to be within 10 feet of you, let alone 6.”

seriously, this pandemic has made me so agoraphobic. i don’t know how you essential workers do it. when i woke up that morning and my head was killing me and my nose was all runny, i had every right to assume that it was... it. you know... it. so figure it was easy for a smart person like me to assume that.

i remember actually thinking yesterday, “i can’t have this. not me, not here.” because i know how it can all slip away, be it your reputation or yourself. so i stepped away because we live in a time where something innocuous like a sinus infection is enough to bring on a new level of unwelcome anxiety.

but i’m working on my webcomic and writing the dead of night, and i’m also going through and proofreading now it’s dark and publishing it back up to wattpad—and once again, my new name there is nowitsdark 😘

[whump-me]

"Forced to watch" (an demon getting punished for falling in love with an angel, so they hurt the angel?)

My first @badthingshappenbingo fill! This one is also for @justplainwhump, who requested “forced to watch” with characters who are more than friends.

Feel free to send in requests! I’m don’t write other people’s characters, but can write whatever type of character you like. Red checks have been filled, yellow lightbulbs have requests waiting.

This one got away from me a little bit - I definitely didn’t intend it to come out as long as it did…

—

The demon stretched lazily as a noise from the kitchen woke them. Amazing, how they still found themselves waking up with a smile every day. They had thought they would have grown bored with playing human long before now. But how could they get bored when the universe, in its generous irony, had sent them such an endlessly interesting companion?

“How about breakfast in bed?” they called. “Food is, as always, optional.”

No answer.

They frowned. That was an invitation that wasn’t often turned down. “Hey, you okay out there?”

Still no answer. Frowning, they freed themselves from the covers and opened the bedroom door.

The first thing they saw was the angel facedown on the floor, wrists and ankles bound not with rope but with chains of hellfire that had already begun to blacken the skin underneath. The angel wasn’t visibly gagged, but seemed unable to open their mouth to speak—or to scream, even as they contorted in visible agony.

Through other eyes, the man standing above the angel might have looked like no one. Just another smarmy asshole in a suit. But the demon didn’t need their eyes to feel the power radiating off him, as hot and deadly as a nuclear explosion. And if that hadn’t been enough, they couldn’t ignore the way their own body seemed to twist and warp under the skin as their entire being called out to the one who owned them.

Satan was standing in their apartment.

The demon lowered their eyes to the ground. “I’ll return to my post immediately.” They didn’t let themselves feel anger, or sorrow, or bitterness at the thought of a lifetime in Hell remembering these few brief years of happiness. They allowed themselves only resignation. They had always known, deep down, that it couldn’t last forever, as much as they had tried to convince themselves otherwise.

Satan’s laughter cut through them like a volley of knives. “Did you think it would be that easy? After you let this into your bed?” He kicked the angel hard in the side, sending them into the wall with a sickening thud. “After you turned your heart to something beyond my service? You will return—but not yet.”

He regarded the angel thoughtfully before turning back to the demon.

“You,” he said, cradling the demon’s chin in his hands, “are a child of Hell, created to my specifications like so many of your kind. You never lost Heaven, and if you were ever allowed to cross its threshold, you would turn away by choice. You don’t belong in that world. In their world.”

He bent down to slowly stroke the angel’s wing. Trapped between him and the wall, the angel shuddered, but couldn’t so much as try to squirm away.

“I, on the other hand… I still remember how it felt to fall. I chose that fate for myself, and even so, thousands of years later, the pain is still my most vivid memory.” His hand tightened around the delicate wing.

A moment ago, the demon had been resigned to their fate. Now they couldn’t breathe. “You have no reason to punish them. I’m the one who disobeyed.”

“I have no intention of punishing this creature,” Satan assured them. “They mean nothing to me.” He yanked out a handful of feathers and let them float to the floor. “Everything I do to them will be solely to punish you for your disobedience.”

They had never been one to beg. They were willing to start now. “Please. I’ll do anything you want. I—”

Satan made a small gesture, and the angel’s mouth unsealed. Their scream cut off the rest of the demon’s plea.

The angel met the demon’s eyes. “It’s all right,” they said raggedly, even though every word clearly cost them something. “I’ll be fine.”

No. No, it was most certainly not all right. There had to be something the demon could do—some way to stop what they knew was coming—

“Do you like their wings? Does it make you jealous to see what you can never have?” Satan ran a finger along the base of a wing, his expression wistful. “Or do you simply take pleasure in seeing them nobly soaring through the sky like the proud creature they are?”

He grabbed the wing roughly at its base. The angel tried to hide their flinch, but didn’t manage it quite well enough. At least not for someone who knew them so well.

“What will they be without their wings, I wonder?” Satan mused. ���Bound to the earth, broken and useless. Forever remembering their former glory. They will never be whole again, after this. Never again the creature you loved.”

The angel swallowed. They set their jaw, trying to be brave, biting back a scream or a protest. But they couldn’t hide the raw panic in their eyes.

“But I don’t think we’re quite ready for that yet.” The hand grasping the wing made a small motion. The snap of bone seemed much louder than it should have been, almost louder than the scream that followed.

With his other hand, Satan yanked the angel’s head up to look into their eyes. “Have you ever even felt real pain before? Or have you lived the same coddled life as the rest of your kind?”

Pleas spilled from the demon’s mouth. “I’ll take all the pain for them, and more. Torture me for a thousand years, imprison me until the end of time, just let them go.”

“Don’t worry about me.” The demon could see the force of will it had taken for the angel to stop screaming, let alone to force out those few words. “I can take it.”

“Can you? Let’s test that theory.” Satan snapped another bone, drawing another scream from the angel’s lips.

Through the sound of their love’s agony, the demon could barely think straight enough to keep their words coherent. “Whatever you want—I’ll do whatever you want—just stop this, please stop—”

“You disgust me. I expected more from one of my servants.” Satan regarded the demon with a look of deepest contempt before turning to the angel. “You mean to tell me you actually love this useless, snivelling creature?”

Even now, even here, the angel managed a soft smile. “More than my own life.”

If the screams hadn’t already broken the demon’s heart, that would have done it. Because if not for that love, the angel would still be flying free and proud, somewhere far from this place.

“Ah.” An answering smile, this one cold and cruel, played at the edges of Satan’s lips. “But do you love them more than you love your god?”

And the angel hesitated.

“Answer me.” Satan shot a burst of hellfire at the angel, letting it singe their ear. Instinctively, the angel tried to flap away, crying out as the movement sent a fresh burst of pain through the broken wing bones. Satan didn’t give them a chance to recover; he kicked the angel onto their side, then stepped on one of the wings to hold it in place while he began to burn the other.

He cut off the angel’s howl of pain with a slap to the face. “I don’t want your pathetic shrieking. I want an answer.” The smell of smoke and burned feathers filled the room. “Answer me.”

“No.” The quiet whimper felt louder than all the screams that had come before. “No… not… more.”

Oh.

The demon had known, of course. Even if they had never thought about it, even if they had never let themselves think about it, they had always known. Angels were what they were, and theirs was no exception. And an angel’s devotion to their god would always come before any mere love affair.

But the words still slid into their heart like a knife.

Satan’s full attention was on the demon now as he drank in their reaction. “It hurts to hear what you really mean to them, doesn’t it?” he said softly. “Would you still make all those grand sacrifices for them, knowing the place you hold in their heart?”

But Satan had chosen the wrong question, because the answer came easily. “Of course,” they said, meeting the angel’s eyes. They felt the truth of their words as they spoke them. “They have a bigger heart than anyone I’ve ever known. That heart has room for more than one love, and more than one loyalty. Even if they only gave me the smallest fraction of their heart, it would be more than what something like me is capable of.”

“Then how unfortunate that someone so much worthier than you is forced to suffer for your mistakes.” Satan removed his foot from the angel’s wing. “As a reward for your honesty, creature of God, I won’t drag this out any longer.”

Before the demon could begin to process what was happening, Satan grabbed the base of the burned wing with both hands and tore.

The wing ripped free of the flesh as easily as if he were a human child tearing a wing off a butterfly. The angel’s screams were like nothing the demon had heard before, in Hell or on earth. If the pure essence of pain had been transformed into sound, it would have sounded exactly like that. When the screaming stopped, the demon thought—hoped—the angel had lost consciousness. But the angel’s eyes were still open, wild and unfocused but still cruelly present.

Satan let the wing fall to the floor, where it lay in the growing puddle of blood. He bent to run a bloodstained hand through the angel’s hair and down the one remaining wing. “These aren’t just for flying, you know. Your wings are what bind you to Heaven. Without them, you’re cut off from everything that gives your life meaning.” He turned to the demon. “One more to go. Would you like to do the honors? Ensure that this one no longer has any rivals for their affection?”

The demon almost gagged at the thought.

“Very well. Then I’ll do it—my way.” This time he didn’t tear the wing away all at once. Instead he ripped it from the angel’s back little by little, staring into the demon’s eyes the whole time. The angel was beyond screaming now—their mouth opened as they thrashed helplessly, but no sound came out except a series of strangled gasps.

“Just a little more, and they’ll lose the thing they love above all else,” said Satan, tugging at the wing slowly, almost lazily. “Were those few years worth it, to do this to the one you love?”

“I’m sorry,” the demon whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

The angel’s mouth opened and closed as they tried to answer. But they were too far gone to speak. The demon wasn’t even sure how much they understood anymore.

And then it was done. The wings lay on the floor, useless now, obscene. Satan gestured, and the angel’s bonds disappeared, although they didn’t seem to notice. He kicked the angel aside like they were a crumpled fast food wrapper lying on the sidewalk.

The demon rushed to the angel, stroking their hair, murmuring meaningless reassurances. The angel trembled, making soft desperate mewling sounds, staring at nothing. Did they even know the demon was there? The demon doubted it.

“I’m sorry,” the demon whispered again. “Forgive me.” Then they stood and held out their hands to Satan, preparing to be dragged back to Hell. It would almost be a relief—no torture that awaited them there could be worse than this.

But Satan shook his head. “Stay. Patch them up, as best you can. Try and make them whole again, knowing that you will always fail.” He smiled his cruel smile. “Watch them try to pretend that you’re enough.”

He disappeared, leaving the angel and the demon alone together.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Tearing Us Apart (ANGSTY Dean/Cas coda for 14x19 “Jack in the Box”, 1.5k)

After breaking out of the Ma'lak Box, Jack blips out from the Bunker. Dean's furious the trap didn't work, while Cas is furious at Dean for even attempting to lock Jack away. But then Dean tells him what he has planned, and makes the Box look like the better option. Can Cas make Dean see reason, or does the rage consume him too much that Cas might need to find another way to show Dean that they don't have to go nuclear.

(Link to ao3)

          “Dean! Dean I’m not done discussing this!” Castiel follows Dean out the room, on the heels of his hunter’s thunderous steps.

           “There’s nothing to discuss,” Dean yelled, leading Castiel down the expansive, almost never-ending series of hallways. “If there were we’d have a whole lot more plans on the table. But we don’t – there’s only one left.”

           He disappeared around a corner and Castiel sped up. “Dean!” he yelled, “Dean you cannot be suggesting that!” They made it halfway through the Bunker’s main room before Dean stopped and turned on his heel.

           “Oh I am, Cas,” Dean says, “I’ve always been suggesting it. Since the day Jack was born we should’ve ended him right then and there!”

           “You don’t mean that.”

           “And how do you know what I mean?”

           “Because of what Jack means to us. All the good Jack has done,” Castiel tells him, “All the lives he’s saved and the – the joy he’s brought to our family.” Dean’s mask hardly cracks, the indifference only fueling Castiel’s ire. “What he’s brought back.”

           “Jack only brought back pain, and death, and –“

           “Me.”

           Dean startles, expression shifting into shock for half a second before falling back into the harsh lines. “You –“

           “Yes, Dean, he brought me back,” Castiel says, inching forward, “When I was trapped in the Empty.” Dean glances away, jaw tightening. Castiel found the flaw in Dean’s armor and he hammers away. “We wouldn’t even be arguing right now if Jack hadn’t saved me from the Empty.”

           “You saved yourself,” Dean says, “Told us you annoyed the Empty into kicking you out.”

           “But Jack woke me up.”

           Dean sighs, kneading at his brows. “We would’ve managed to save you Cas,” he whispers, “I… Maybe we would’ve figured out where angels went…”

           “Dean, you wouldn’t have,” Cas sighs, reaching for him, “Jack… he helped make our family complete. He’s a part of us… been with us through all the good and bad, fought beside us – hell, we launched an effort to save him.”

           “And that’s where we made our mistake,” Dean cuts him off. He shakes off Cas’s touch and steps back. “Trying to bring him back. Why’s it that… why’s it we never learn…” He chokes on a sob, clearing his throat to hide it. Castiel heard him anyway.

           “It’s not about learning, it’s about hope,” Cas tells him, “And you never give up hope – why should we do so now?”

           “Because I don’t have any left to give Cas!” Dean shouts, “You think that shit grows back? No… but life takes, and it takes… and it takes until I have none left to give. I’m all out of hope – burnt it up along with Mom’s corpse.”

           “Dean…” Castiel’s voice wavers, lips twitching. “I… I can’t condone this. Killing Jack –“

           “I wasn’t asking for your permission,” Dean scoffed, “Didn’t when we locked him up, and I’m not now.”

           “Why Dean?” Cas asks him, “He’s our son – I should have as much a say in his fate as you do –“

           “Because I already know what you’re going to say,” Dean tells him, “Why should we fight now when you can be mad at me all you like after.”

           “There’s not going to be an after, Dean.”

           Dean glares at him. “You gonna try and stop me Cas?”

           “If I have to,” Cas says, “But I don’t want to. Not if I don’t have to. Dean, I know there’s still a part of you inside that knows Jack can be saved. That we can still fix this –“

           “There’s nothing left to fix, Cas. You can’t save what’s broken when it’s not there anymore…”

           “He had an accident –“

           “No, Cas, dogs have accidents. Kids have accidents,” Dean seethes with fury, shoulders shaking, “What Jack did wasn’t an accident. He might have said he was sorry but I don’t buy that he meant it. He can’t. He doesn’t have a soul like us –“

           “I don’t have a soul, Dean.”

           He pauses, shaken. Castiel continues, “All I have inside me is grace… and yet here I am. I know the difference between good and evil I feeI I…” his chest tightens, fingers tremble. “I feel so much… because of you. Because of everything you showed me.” Castiel takes a deep breath. “I… know… that if we can get to Jack and apologize, redouble our efforts in teaching him then maybe we can get back to the Jack we remember. To the strange sort of normalcy we built.”

           “Cas,” Dean starts. His name hangs like a loose thread, his hunter unsure of where to thread it. “Cas,” he tries again, “you… you might not have a soul but you’re – you’re not like them. Like him.”

           “And why is that?” Cas asks, “I bleed like my brothers and sisters – I should know, having stabbed many of them. For you. Even today, when Duma threatened Mary and John my blade entered her without thought. Everything I do I do for my family… please, we can’t tear ourselves apart from the inside.”

           “I never asked you to do all that Cas,” Dean says, eyes cold and dangerous, “You… sometimes, you can’t save your family no matter how hard you try. Because when the world wants something gone hard enough… it’ll do anything.”

           “Dean –“

           “And I didn’t tear this family apart,” he adds, “He did.”

           “Jack is scared, confused –“

           “He’s a ticking time bomb and the longer he’s out there the more people are gonna get hurt!”

           “And we can stop him, together,” Castiel says, “Communicating, understanding… it doesn’t have to be like this.”

           Dean swallowed around a rock. For the first time Castiel couldn’t tell what Dean felt. It was like running his hand along a brick wall, the barrier frightening him. “Is this what this is, Cas?” Dean asks him, “Are you making me choose?”

           Castiel huffs. “I’m not making you do anything. I only hope that whatever you do… you don’t end up regretting.”

           His hunter kicks at the ground, burning holes into the floor. Pocketing his hands, Dean glances up. A wounded look flashes in his eyes before he covers it up once more. “Are we done here?”

           Castiel sighs. “Yes, we're done.” He moves to leave, but freezes inside the doorway. “I just… I want you to know… the Dean Winchester that I… that I…” the word can barely escape past his lips, “that I care for… he won’t be able to pull the trigger on someone he considers family.”

           “You know that for sure?”

           “I’ll let our history be answer enough.” He leaves after that, storming down the hall. Castiel doesn’t get very far, a hand shooting out to stop him.

           Sam steps out, frowning. “Hey.”

           Castiel glances back out the room he left. “How much did you hear.”

           “A lot… what was said and…”

           “Yes.”

           Sam offers him a comforting smile. “I think you did a good job,” he says, “Dean, though, he’s not someone who can change his mind easily. You need more than one person…”

           Castiel nods. “Are you going to talk to him?”

           “Yeah,” Sam tells him, “I agree with you. I’m sorry we put Jack in the box, I didn’t… I didn’t want to do that either. Figured it was better than Dean’s alternative…”

           “Go,” Castiel says, “Tag in as people would say.”

           Sam does, stepping in only seconds after Castiel walked out. Castiel waits a few minutes, listening in to their conversation. When Dean raises his voice again, he fights back a snarl. Then he continues on the path he chose after talking with Dean, before he was interrupted.

           Dean’s room isn’t far off from where he was. He enters with no hesitation, the space as much as his as it was Dean’s. Castiel heads towards the nightstand, opening the second drawer. It’s filled with his hunter’s hidden entertainment – magazines, lube, a vibrator, and two pairs of panties. He finds what he came for hidden under pink satin.

           Castiel holds the spare set of keys up and smirks. Dean mentioned them off-hand once, saying he made them in case Sam decided to prank him and hide the first set. He feels bad for a beat before tamping it down. Then he stalks off towards the garage.

           It won’t stop his hunter, but it’ll slow him down. On the way towards Baby, Castiel shoots off a quick prayer to Jack. Nothing elaborate, just a simple plea. Asking him for a chance to talk. To try and make up for all that happened in his absence.

           He’s not sure if it’ll work. But he has faith in himself and his family, that they can move past this dark night and into the sunlight even if he has to drag them there himself. God might not intervene, but Castiel has no problem with it.

           Even if every attempt to fix things on his own has ended in failure, Castiel will never give up. He might fall but he’ll get back up again. Talk with Jack, convince him to come back and show Dean that there is something left to fix.

           He holds onto that the entire drive.

[isomnelyswear]

Paranormal vacation part 2

Starker fanfiction.

French girl trying to be spooky in English.

Tony rotated on his feet. There was a shadow outside, around five meters away. It looked human. Peter retreated. The thing went in their direction. Rapidly. Tony closed the window roughly. The shadow disappeared.

"This... This isn't a cat !

- I'll go outside. You stay in.

- No no no I'm coming with you."

They both turned on their phones lights and went outside. Peter walked a feet behind Tony. When Tony broke a branch, Peter shouted.

"Shh, stay quiet. Here, come."

Tony gave him his hand. They looked where the shadow was and all around the house. There was no sign of anyone. They went back inside the house, still holding hands.

"It's late. We must be hallucinating. Or see something that was further.

- Yeah... You're right..."

Peter nodded. Their fingers were laced together. Their chest were touching.

"Mr Stark..."

This time, they were looking straight in the eyes. Peter licked his lips with Tony watching his mouth. The younger's breath was warm and trembling. After long second hesitating, Tony kissed Peter's cheek.

"Time to go to bed, he whispered in his ear."

Peter nodded again. They went to bed in silence.

Tony lay on his back. He closed his eyes. His heartbeat was high. Too much feelings in only one night.

A shout woke him up in surs. He stood immediately and ran to Peter's room. The kid was sitting on his bed, shaking. His window slammed violently. There was the same repugnant smell than before.

"What's happening ? Are you hurt ?

- No... I ... I heard... Holy shit..."

Tony closed the window and sat next to his pupil. Peter took off his wet t-shirt.

"I heard a voice. It was calling me. It said "Peter". Then it grabbed my wristles. It felt so real...

- Hush now."

Tony hugged him.

"Please stay Mr Stark. Please. I need you.

- I'm not going anywhere. You can rest now. I'll protect you. I swear."

Tony barely blinked until Peter was asleep. He stayed awake all night. Nothing strange happened. He finally slept when the sun was sweeping the floor.

When he opened his eyes, Peter wasn't around. Tony straightened and ran through the house to find Peter cooking peacefully.

"Is everything alright Mr Stark ?

- Yes, everything's fine. I didn't see you upstairs."

Peter nodded. He was appreciating Tony's naked legs and torso with a shy smile.

"I... I did a brunch. It's already noon so ...

- You're perfect. I'll go change and I'll be back."

They ate outside, in silence. Peter looked up and down so many times that Tony sighed.

"Is it a problem ?

- No ! No problem sir !

- You keep looking at me like you want to tell me something, so speak.

- I... I am sorry. For last night I... You don't seem to have sleep a lot and it is all my fault.

- I don't care, you don't need to be sorry."

Peter opened his mouth and closed it right after. He bit his lips. Tony was way too sleepy to try to read his face.

"I told you you can speak.

- Well, it's quite embarrassing."

Tony felt an electricity ticking under his skin. His brain worked at full speed. Did he speak in his sleep ? Did he have a boner ? Did he unconsciously touch the boy ?

"Spit it out now.

- Can you sleep with me tonight ?"

Tony laughed with relief. Peter blushed and scowled.

"You don't have to, if you think it is nuts. I just sleep better when you're around. No need to make fun of me.

- I wasn't making fun of you. I can sleep in your room as many times as you want."

Peter smiled.

"Thank you Mr Stark ! "

The younger man relaxed immediately.

"So what should we do today ?

- I wanted to visit Oban, a city near this place. But I think working in the lab could be a good option too. I'm tired.

- Ok ! What should we work on ?

- Well, we used the ark system here as a generator. We must find a structure that can handle the energy for bigger places. Like the tower. Or a city.

- Let's do that."

They worked all day, burning with passion. Their technology was the futur, they were sure of it. In Tony's mind, the equation was simple : being independent of fossil energies meant no more war for the countries which owned it, meant maybe avoiding a nuclear war. Their generator could save lifes. Millions of them.

In his earlier carrier, Tony used to build weapons. Of course, his society thrived. Until the day his best friend, Rhody, lost the fonction of his legs because of him. The "enemies" had taken his weapons against their compatriots and allies.

Tony decided to visit the fighting countries. He met several persons, kids, urged to fight. His guns were used by eight years old child. He couldn't bear it.

After this, he chose to make Earth a better place. To forgive his sins, while helping humanity. This epiphany led him to the scientific contest where he met his heir. He understood that as a sign that he stepped in the right direction.

At 11pm, Tony put music. Peter discovered many songs while they were working.

At 2am, Peter fell asleep on his desk. At 3, Tony noticed. He approached the kid to wake him up when the smell came back. There was no window in the cave.

"It has to come from the ground, Tony whispered for himself."

He fixed Peter's perfect face a few minutes before gently shaking his shoulder. Peter had an hard time opening his eyes.

"We should go to sleep sweetheart, Tony mumbled."

They went upstairs. Peter stretched and undressed before laying on the bed. He looked at Tony who hasn't move a muscle.

"You're still ok to sleep here?

- Of course."

Tony undressed too, he went to bed with only his boxer on. He didn't think the situation would make him so unconfortable.

Tony was on his back, focused on the roof. The smell had decreased, but was still there. He heard Peter moving a little, then stop. The young genius did it again. And again. He arrived against Tony's shoulder. Tony opened his arm automatically, and Peter stalled his head on his chest. Stark could feel his whole body against his.

"Goodnight Mr Stark.

- Good night Pete'."

"Mr Stark... Mr Stark please... Wake up"

Tony opened his eyes. Peter was laying close to him, whispering his name. The smell filled the entire room.

"What is happening ?

- Shh... Listen. Can you hear that ?"

Tony yawned and tried to focus on the sounds around him. First, he heard the wood wracking. It was getting closer to the room's door. The footsteps stopped in front of the door. For a minute, all that Tony could hear was Peter's hot breath near his neck.

A white noise began suddenly, like an old television.

"What the fuck... Whispered Tony."

A light human form appeared, standing in front of them. Its finger pointed at a shaking Peter. It was moving slowly to them. Tony hugged Peter closer.

The footsteps restarted. Something was slamming the door. Tony looked quickly at the door to see the handle moving violently.

"Go away... I said go away ! He yelled firmly."

At the end of the order, the sound of his voice was echoing alone in the room. The light was gone too.

"We must leave this place now, and burn it."

Peter looked at him with tears in his eyes. He seemed shaken.

"We can't...

- What do you mean ? Have you see this thing ?!

- It was ... I'm sure of it... It was aunt May."

Tony was perplexed.

"That was a freaking ghost ! Or a spirit ! I don't mean to be rude Peter, but it just can't be your aunt May !

- I swear ! I recognized her ! She was pointing me !

- There is no way it was ...

- Well I don't know !"

Peter straightened.

"Maybe we're on an old Indian graveyard and it opened the gate between life and death, or we are the seven's full moon of an antic Maya calendar, or she was secretly Scottish but this was May !

- Even if she was, she doesn't seem to want you some good Peter !

- It may not be easy to communicate with living forms, maybe we misunderstood the signs ! For all I know, it could be the last chance I have to say goodbye to my last family member ! We have to stay !"

Tony sat on the bed and took Peter's hand.

"This is crazy Peter. When we watched an horror movie, you told me "why didn't they run?!" Well this is the exact same circonstances.

- Mr Stark... Please."

How could he refuse anything to those wet brown eyes ?

"We'll talk about it in the morning. You try to sleep. I'll watch over you. Come here."

He lay down on the bed and took Peter in his arms. He hugged him tightly and kissed his forehead.

After twenty quiet minutes, Peter whispered against Tony's chest.

"You smell so good Mr Stark..."

Tony was nearly happy to be so scared. His body didn't react fully to the sensual but sleepy sentence.

"Thanks kid. You sleep, now."

Tony had never expected his first night sleeping with Peter to be this terrifying.

They were eating breakfast in the day light when Peter initiated the conversation that was burning on their tongues.

"About tonight... First, I'ld like to thank you for not forcing me to leave or... Burning the house."

Tony chuckled, drinking his coffee.

"I think... Yes, I think this thing, whatever it is, is trying to communicate with us. Maybe it is in pain. It could be just asking for help in a strange way. Plus, I'm pretty sure I saw May last night. I came to one conclusion."

Internally, Tony hoped Peter was about to say they should leave asap.

"We should establish a communication with it."

The older man blew, but didn't disagree. Peter's eyes were shining with determination.

"And how could we do that exactly ? Use an ouija ?

- I was thinking about calling a paranormal specialist.

- And you've already checked on the internet to find one.

- Of course I did. His name is Dr Strange. He is very well recommended by several persons with occult manifestations.

- Is there any way I can convince you not to call this man ?

- No way sir."

Damn, he loved this young man so hard.

[angelasscribbles]

Listen, I realize this is a serious situation but this.....

“What?! W-why?!” Constantine shook his head, completely dumbfounded at the scene he was witnessing. 

I'm just......

Learn to knock old man!!!!!

Constantine pointed to Maxwell accusingly. “This is all your fault. I knew letting some little faggot live in my house was a bad idea!”

Soooo......Constantine is totally going to get sleep murdered by Liam now........

“Bastien.” Constantine spoke curtly into the phone. “I need you to do something for me. I want Maxwell Beaumont out of this house by morning.. Liam too, if he protests. Get my lawyer over here by 9 am sharp tomorrow. If Liam goes with Beaumont, I’m officially disowning him. And tell him to bring those divorce papers that I had drawn up years ago…Yes, I am serious. Dead serious.”

HOLY FUCKING SHEEP SHIT! He chose the nuclear options, didn't he?

The two were exhausted, and soon they both drifted off to sleep.

unhandcuffed...uh oh....I knew it....

He woke up on the floor in the middle of the night.. 

After hearing his father say terrible things.. 

And now his father was missing.

“Oh shit.” Liam swallowed hard, his wide eyes never leaving Maxwell’s. “I killed him.”

I think we all saw that coming..... (unless Eleanor did it.........I just saying....)

Either way, I'm not sad Connie is dead....

Unintentional

Chapter 11 - Caught

Book: The Royal Romance AU

Pairings - Liam x Maxwell, Drake x Riley

Synopsis- Since childhood, Liam has held a terrible secret that even he doesn’t know about. As the years go by, he suspects more and more that there is something wrong with him. Can he put his life together and find happiness?

Series Warnings- oh so many: language, drinking, violence, sexual assault, abuse, murder, homophobia, bullying, mentions of suicide.. Also there will be lemons in some chapters. 

Chapter Warnings - homophobia (homophobic slurs)

Word count- 2,000

18+ only

Click here to catch up.

Keep reading

[runawayjay]

Survivor’s Guilt

Summary: Survivor's guilt weighs on both Clarke and Bellamy, but then he hears her through the one-way radio. (a.k.a.the awful post-season 4 angst no one asked for but I wrote anyway.)

“Bellamy, I hope you made it.”

Clarke let the radio go silent after she spoke what she’d only thought for so long. She’d made herself choke them out, because the truth was survivor’s guilt would kill her before earth got the chance. The newly irradiated planet had new lethal tricks hidden within the seemingly green paradise she’d found, even if the radiation had been dissipating for three years. Still, Clarke thought those were easy. Easier, anyway, than the new lethal tricks her own conscious had hidden in her.

“Bellamy, I hope you all made it.”

The bunker was quiet. The Ring was quiet. Clarke lived in a world of silence, and the hardest part was that she lived.

“I need you all to have made it.”

She whispered the last into the radio, certain no one was there to hear her no matter the volume of her voice. Tears strangled her throat, and Clarke threw the radio over the cliff—throwing it so hard she stumbled and fell—throwing it like she had the tablet on the satellite tower when the deathwave hit. She hadn’t gotten the power uploaded to the Ring. She hadn’t gotten her friends the power they’d needed to live. She’d killed them, and lived.

Survivor’s guilt.

Clarke never really understood how bad it could feel to be the last one standing, if she could even call her feeble position on the new green earth “standing.”

She’d found Madi, and a few other Nightbloods, once she’d learned it was safe to leave the island bunker. She’d been comforted to have people around and have someone to speak with that wasn’t herself and a one-way radio. Still, Madi was just a child, and most of the Nightbloods no older. They weren’t strangers to pain, but they didn’t know Clarke’s pain—Clarke’s burdens and the heaviness that turned her marrow to lead with each impossible choice she’d made. They didn’t know like her friends knew, like Raven, Monty, Harper, Murphy, Emori, and Octavia knew—like Bellamy knew.

Even with the Nightbloods, Clarke was still in a world of silence, and she felt even guiltier for finding the smallest bit of comfort in their company.

Survivor’s guilt.

Clarke hated it.

All she had left was the day-to-day grind of just being on the ground, attempts at making life easier for Madi and the younger Nightbloods than it had been for her, and her memories. Clarke thought a lot about those memories, the good and the bad. On somedays she thought more about the good ones, but on others…

Today was a bad day and as Clarke tasted salt on her tongue from the wet tears sliding down her face, she kept thinking about all the choices she’d made.

She kept following the numbers, because Clarke found they were decidedly safer when making a decision. When Clarke made them herself, people died when they didn’t need to. The numbers were a god of chances and risk, and whenever it told her something was too risky, she chose the other option—the “only choice.” The only choice, like making a list of one hundred people based on genetic survivability, specialized knowledge, and reproduction fitness. The only choice, like shutting the bunker that could hold thousands in on her small hundreds of people and leaving the rest outside for the deathwave. The only choice, like pointing a gun at one of her best friend’s head when he tried to open that bunker. The only choice, like climbing that radio tower to upload power to the Ring but failing anyway.

The number god was cruel. Even the only choice didn’t have enough chance after all. For all Clarke knew, she never got power to the Ring.

For all Clarke knew, her friends were dead.

Bellamy was dead.

So, Clarke wiped her face dry, got up, and started the craggy descent downwards to retrieve the radio she’d thrown. She’d need it, because talking to a dead Bellamy about what she was doing now was better than thinking about a live Bellamy and what she’d done then.

Clarke got up because it was the only choice.

Bellamy was staring out a window of the Ring, looking down at an irradiated earth. It wasn’t as angry and red as it had been the day of Praimfaya when he’d looked down in this same spot, holding an empty Baton, an empty bottle of bourbon, feeling quite hollow himself. Now, earth was starting to calm. There was a single spot of green that he could see, but most everything else was a wasteland.

Bellamy stared at the green, hoping she was there, and hoping she’d lived. She’d gotten power to the Ring like she’d said she would, but did she survive?

Part of him said yes, the part that hooked into his heart and pulled it into his ribs until it hurt. That part told him Clarke Griffin was capable of anything, that Clarke Griffin was a storm more alive than any nuclear power meltdown. The deathwave couldn’t extinguish her. She’d outlast it, because if anything was certain about Clarke it was her stubbornness.

The other part of him said no. It told him that storm and stubborn or not, Clarke was still just human. Her Nightblood wouldn’t save her from the deathwave, and she didn’t make it to safety.

It told him he’d left her.

It told him she’d died.

It told him he’d lived.

Bellamy and his friends had mastered the Ring within the first few months. Raven and Monty had tackled the first problems, teaching everyone else along the way. Eventually, their algae had bloomed. The CO2 scrubbers worked without any hitch too big for them to fix. The ship held. The power was steady. They were alive, and while every day on the ground had been a fight, up in the Ring there wasn’t much of one.

The only thing left to kill Bellamy was the survivor’s guilt.

Bellamy had said that if Clarke had died, he wouldn’t let her die in vain. He’d promised to do everything he could, and Raven had promised with him. They’d kept their word for three years. They were still trying to make good on that five-year plan to get back to the ground.

Bellamy was still trying to make good on meeting Clarke again.

“Bellamy!” Raven called, swinging into the room by holding onto the doorway. He turned from the window, alarmed until he saw the grin on her face he’d missed so much. It was her grin of triumph, and her way of letting the world—or, at least the people who now created her world—that Raven Reyes had bested the number god of chance. Finally, she said, “It’s working. All we have to do is wait.”

Bellamy felt cold apprehension spread through his chest until his palms began to sweat. He was afraid of hoping, but it was impossible not to. He was still breathing, after all.

 “I’ll take first watch,” he said, following her out.

Bellamy could still hear Raven’s grin, even if he couldn’t see it. “Knew you’d say that. I’ll have Monty switch with you when he brings you dinner. Murphy says he has a new algae recipe he’s trying out.”

“It’s algae. How many different ways can you make it?”

Raven gave a short, loud laugh. “How many different ways has life tried to kill that cockroach?”

Bellamy shrugged a shoulder. “At least as many ways he’s tried to make algae.”

The radio room was silent, but as he rounded the table Raven had rigged up he saw the power light was on. Bellamy sat down on the stool and hardly heard Raven say the radio only worked one way; they could find enough parts to use as a transmitter that they weren’t already using for something else vital to survival. He’d hardly heard her leave. She’d been scrounging enough parts to build a radio as soon as they were all certain the rest of the Ring was in stabilized order, yet it had still taken her the better part of three years to make it.

The Ring wasn’t always in stabilized order. While Raven and Monty may have tried to teach everyone else as much as they knew, there was still only one Raven and one Monty.

The hours passed and Bellamy sat, listening and waiting and hoping in his heart against what guilt his head told him was the reality. Eventually, he guessed he’d fallen asleep. Monty never came to wake him or switch watches, but that didn’t mean another voice didn’t try.

“Bellamy, I hope you made it.”

Bellamy rolled his head from the back of his hand onto the cold metal table. It woke him only a little, yet not as much as the next thing the voice said.

“Bellamy, I hope you all made it.”

  He opened his eyes and stared. The radio static met him like an old friend, and it was the pounding of his own heart that answered her—answered Clarke.

“I need you all to have made it.”

[asheewrites]

Gabaliens 10

The tiny critter just didn't move. Sleeping and not moving. What would I DO with it?! I stared down at it and considered my options. The only option that came to mind was actually... just putting it back down. Sitting like this was uncomfortable. While it was fluffy, it was just... it was just a ball of floof. Then I grabbed it around it's non-existent waist and carefully moved it towards the floor. 

On the way down, it woke up and started to wriggle it's tiny, tiny legs. I felt it against my fingers. It made slightly distressed noises, too. I still sat it down. And it looked up at me and panted, with it's tiny tongue out. I looked back down at it. It looked happier, when our eyes met. And, with a careful, unsteady motion, it got on it's hind-legs (stubs) and wriggles it's front legs (stubs) at me. I still did not know what to do with it, though. When I reached down to pet it, there was instant happiness. My halfhearted pets already did that. Mh. After a few seconds of pets, I retracted my hand again. Immediately, it looked sad. This time, I didn't give in. So it got back and all four... and then trotted off. Perfectly fine. So it just went and annoyed the first being it found. It will be fi- "YIPP!", the tiny thing exclaimed. And panted some more, looking at me. ... it stood next to the nightstand. When I looked, it padded it's tiny paws on the side of it, making pleading noises. And there were... leaves up there. The bloody leaves the alien had brought me. The little thing started to scuttle back and forth between me and the table. Back and forth. Back and forth, one 'yip' at a time. So pulled myself up and made my way to the edge of my bed... reaching over and taking the veiny things between my fingers. With a frown, I leaned down: "... bon appetit?" It came hopping like a bunny, happy and excited. And then put it's mouth into the leaf. I didn't know if it actually had teeth to rip it to shreds, but it certainly sat there and made chewing motions at the leaf. All the while looking happily at me, thankful. What a simple creature. It took ages to consume this single leaf. But then it wanted back up. And did not give up. At least not before I did. The sound of little, desperate feet on one of the bedposts was not nice. So I took it and put it back up, where it draped itself over my lap again. Not exactly very imaginative, but... well... it's that's what the tiny thing wanted... I sat there and pet the purring thing. Admittedly, it was somewhat nice. Reassuring, cause it was a living, breathing being, which was actually... kind of normal. It was soft, too. A plus. ... still not convinced, though. When the alien came back in, he looked, saw me with the tiny thing and looked pleasantly surprised: "You've bonded already!" To which I raised a brow: "... you... do know that no one likes to be referred to as a 'specimen', right? I'm a person!" "Uh... opinions vary and... you chose to be a slave, so y-" "I!", I interrupted him, "I did not CHOOSE to do anything like that. I was coerced. Forced. The other option would have been death. WORSE than death. Who the hell would choose to be a slave?! This is ridiculous!", because that was the second time he said that. Choosing to be a slave. Don't make me laugh. At which he blinked at me. And the little thing nudged it's weirdly wet nose against me. I shoved it away. Gently, but determined. "Oh. Ah. There are some races that like to subject themselves to slavery, declared another way of life would be unnatural... it happens. And that should be the kind that is actually purchasable. Trade of unwilling people is...", he rubbed his head, "... I suppose I will have to look into this for a bit. So... ah... you are a person. Yes. You did bond, though. It sat on your lap, your... personal space" I shoved it away a little more. He would... 'look into it'. Well *great*. "... it is a helpless, living being, no one would simply let it die. It doesn't deserve that", I shook my head, "... I don't really know what to do with it" He looked at me like I explained nuclear fusion to him. Nuclear fusion was probably easy for him, though. Then he tilted his head: "... bond with it? It provides warmth and physical sensation, also a sense of companionship?" I looked at the thing, then said: ".... it's a noisy ball with hair" "... oh", he looked disappointed. I shook my head and sighed: "... what does it eat? It desperately wanted the leaves on the nightstand" He looked over and grimaced a little: "You gave it powerbars? Oh... well... it seems fine" After scratching the back of his head, he continued: "... you can replicate some food!" "... I have nothing to replicate", I grumbled "Oh! Nono, it's got models that you can replicate, you simply have to choose" "What, like Star Trek?" "... uh... what is 'Star Trek'?", he said it very carefully. "... nevermind, just explain to me how the 'replicator* works. And so... I got a course in Replicator and computer... for further use. Well it would be slightly less boring.

[engsinanalani]

It took just three minutes for officials on Hawaii to realise that the text alert warning residents of an incoming missile strike had been sent in error. There was no missile. Yet it took another 35 minutes for panicking families – holed up in garages, cowering under tables or frantically saying their goodbyes - to be sent a second message with the comforting news that annihilation was no longer imminent. A day later the island chain’s public officials say they have instituted a new system to reduce the risk of mistakes and to ensure errors can be more quickly corrected. But that still leaves a shaken population coming to terms with their 38 minutes of panic. “So this was the most terrifying few minutes of my LIFE!” Paul Wilson, a professor at Brigham Young University-Hawaii, wrote on on Twitter. “I just want to know why it took 38 minutes to announce it was a mistake?!?” The islands were just waking up on Saturday when they were bombarded with phone messages and warnings broadcast on TV and radio. “BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND TO HAWAII. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL,” it read. Hawaii was already on edge. It recently began conducting tests of its emergency nuclear sirens, something not done since the end of the Cold War, and holding “Are You Ready” drills. The state is first in line if North Korea follows through with threats to use its growing nuclear arsenal on the United States. To make matters worse, a handful of sirens sounded on Saturday morning even though they were not part of the emergency network triggered by an employee of the Hawaii Emergency Management Agency (Hema) during a routine test at 8:07am. Drivers abandoned cars on the highway north of Honolulu to huddle in a tunnel. Tourists thronged hotel lobbies unsure what to do. And families raced to their garages, the closest thing to a shelter on islands where basements are few and far between, or tucked children into storm drains. I woke up this morning in Hawaii with ten minutes to live. It was a false alarm, but a real psychic warning. If we allow this one-man Gomorrah and his corrupt Republican congress to continue alienating the world we are headed for suffering beyond all imagination. ;^\ http://pic.twitter.com/Kwca91IIy2— Jim Carrey (@JimCarrey) January 13, 2018 Those away from loved ones later spoke of the agonising decisions they were forced to make. A Washington Post journalist published a message he received from a friend who had just dropped one child at the airport when he received the missile warning. “I chose to go home to the two little ones – I figured it was the largest grouping of my family knowing I likely wouldn’t make it home in time,” he said. Meanwhile officials were desperately trying to recall the message. At 8.13am Hema cancelled the warning, meaning it would not be rebroadcast to phones that had not yet received it. After another 10 minutes, officials posted on Twitter and Facebook that the alert was false, according to their timeline of events. Yet it took until 8.45am for Hema to send a new message to phones cancelling the original alert. It took 38 minutes for phone messages to be sent telling residents there was no threat Credit: Splash Vern Miyagi, the agency’s administrator, apologised and said officials had to wait for authorisation from the Federal Emergency Management Agency before issuing a retraction. He said an unnamed employee pushed a button sending the alert rather than the option for testing. When prompted by a safeguard asking whether they were sure they wanted to send it, the employee clicked the option for “yes”. “I can’t explain that. Like I said, it’s a human error that we’re going to fix,” said Mr Miyagi. David Ige, governor of Hawaii, promised a full investigation into what went wrong. “Today is a day most of us will never forget,” said David Ige, the state’s governor, during a news conference at Diamond Head Bunker, the emergency command post from where the mistaken alert was sent. · Hawaii's nuclear alert shows perils of instant communication Officials promised to build a “cancellation template” to make it easier to correct mistakes and instituted a new system to ensure two people must sign off on future alerts Scott Saiki, the speaker of Hawaii’s state legislature, said the system had failed miserably. “Clearly, government agencies are not prepared and lack the capacity to deal with emergency situations,” he said in a statement.

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