#imagine it comes down and this time it's nebula who wastes it or something | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

king-of-better · 2 years ago

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3rd Night: Air -SORA-

Miyako is taking Keita and Hinoki to Mode Warp HQ for testing of Keita's abilities. He is in awe of the top of the range C-21 plane they'll be taking, Hinoki wishing he was more aware of the tests about to be done on him. Sakura senses impending disaster for the dolls on the bird.

As Keita marvel's, Hinoki is concerned, and asks about Betterman. Miyako uses the example of a plankton found in North Carolina that as it was studied rapidly mutated to suit new environments, taking 24 different forms and possessed a powerful toxin, and could erase human memory of it, Miyako supposes Betterman is a similarly adaptable primate, they know from Sakura that the combat form is called Nebula, and the human form is called Lamia. Keita points out the similarity with Hinoki, and while recalling someone once close she snaps at him and leaves. Alone she panics, wondering about Lamia, as the lights flicker.

In response to questions about Betterman's biology, Miyako, while unwittingly giving confusing signals, explains being more evolved is not as obvious as it seems. As the lights go out they go to find the attendant, but find he is just a dummy. Lights return, and all screens show a masked figure telling them to die. Hinoki, trapped as well, finds another dummy. Even the cabin crew are dummies, to Keita and Miyako's confusion, though they are on autopilot.

Li calls Akamatsu to Sakura, she keeps talking about the state of the plane. When Akamatsu tries to call the plane, it is immediately sabotaged, along with other features. Keita drags Miyako to a service elevator to reach the hold, she accidentally falls in top of him.

Figures are still approaching, Keita finds there's a speaker hidden, creating the illusion of people aboard. Miyako compares the situation to how human imagination causes them to fear the night in ways other animals don't, when and actual threat appears, dummies moving on their own. They get to a hiding spot, and the thing that comes from the opposite door is Hinoki, annoyed Keita left her, but soon sounds are hammering all exits.

As things seem hopeless, Keita spots Betterman Nebula flying inside the plane, the plane drops Dummy Bombs at them as dummies burst into the safe room, but Psycho Voice turns all the dummyes to dust. Unfortunately, the plane is crashing.

Betterman Nebula creates a Ground Effect, slowing the descent, and psychically controls the plane. The makes figure appears on the screen again.

4th Night: Awakening -MEZAME-

Miyako and Akamatsu discuss the recent events, as Hinoki and Keita are now being flown back. The intended crew had been abducted at the airport, and the dummies were the Crushman 11 series developed by Akamatsu Industries, and while they are remote controllable, the attacks and exploding would have to be due to tampering, though Miyao is more interested in Betterman, and why he came and saved them, tests have confirmed Keita is a strong Dual Kind, and as soon as Kaede and Yanagi are back they want to resume investigation of Bottom The World.

After a crazy weekend, Keita makes his usual journey, looking at his new, Mode Warp issue communicator Miyako gave him, which can also track Hinoki if need be. When he tries to greet Hinoki on the way she ignores him, classmates looking down on him.

Sushi tells Keita a bunch of classmates have gone missing, discussing the history of the school building, once build as a waste faculty until plans feel through, supposedly a bureaucrat killed himself over this, wondering about a curse, or mutant. In his free time, Keita brushes up on learning Kakuseijin's details, and spots Hinoki, who is annoyed with Keita getting flustered by Miyako, but eats with him when he approaches. For secrecy reasons she wants to keep quiet they know eachother.

Repairs on Kakuseijin have basically finished, Sakura senses something waiting to awaken.

As Uchhintalkd about rumours about a C-21, Hinoki helps a teacher and encounters a strange smell as lights fade, a man in welding gear targets her. She rins, forcing herself to go through a no entry door. As the man catches up, Lamia appears behind, with the words Pectofelis Fraum, unleashes energy from the jewel on his chest, incapacitated, the man deliberately explodes his gas.

Keita sees the explosion and rushes to find Hinoki, who has wound up midway down the basement and lost her communicator. Keita eventually finds a flowing figure, suspecting Algernon, then finding the communicator. He finds Hinoki being chased by robots, she hugs him in relief.

After trying to call Akamatsu, the robots and a heavy duty machine start chasing, unknowingly Betterman's bird is watching.

Guided by Sakura's abilities, Akamatsu Industries with the Main Tech Carrier break into the school and drop Kakuseijin down to them, fortunately Akamatsu had insider knowledge from working on the plant, the robots were originally theirs, but Accept Mode analysis confirms it too was modified. Keita again performs exceptionally, and manages to defeat the enemy at the last second.

Akamatsu wants to know if Sakura can sense who is using their tech to target Hinoki and Keita, all she can say is criminals. Keita asks Hinoki to at least be open with their childhood association.

The bird, after confirming Lamia cannot yet see the enemy, tells him with Keita's skill he had no need to help them.

5th Night: Netherworld -ZIGOKU-

Head Diver 02, Yanagi Sho, and Head Diver 03, Kurenai Kaede, have arrived from Mode Warp France (I presume fresh from the later published Extra Chapter of Lion Reine), and they discuss with Miyako the loss of Cactus, who Miyako seems to miss alot, the funeral has already happened, but with the situation accelerating, they have had need to recall the pair, and their Neuronoid.

Kakuseijin is surveying Bottom The World Keita has a panic, and is teased by the co-pilot in the Womb Head, Kaede. Hinoki isn't pleased about this arrangement, especially when Keita is flustered by the teasing, but it's important for test data, as Sho tells her, as well as Kaede's ESPer status helping track the problem.

Thinking back to immediately after the previous incident, Miyako told them the attacker was identified as the principal, but due to damage from the explosion they cannot confirm Algernon, although the true culprit managed to set a cable to take control of the old systems, which ran to Bottom The World.

Keita worries about seeing the glowing figure, Kaede trusting he saw it, right before giving him control after they hit darkness and danger from rocks, guiding him to avoid. Subsequently, something else strikes, and Main Tech Carrier loses contact, with Sakura expressing worry. They prepare the Quatri, or rather Tyran, for Sho and Hinoki, Hinoki in the Womb Head, and Sho in Cereb Head gets a message from Sakura, asking him to be wary of what he can't see.

Tyran in Accept Mode makes it's way to where Kakuseijin lost contact, the sensors pick up attacks, but what hits them cannot be seen, and hits from the opposite direction.

Understanding what Sakura said, Sho takes control in Active Mode, and manages to dodge shockwaves to reach a tunnelling machine, right after this the Main Tech Carrier loses signal, and they lose sensors, but Sho manages to rip out a power lead.

Based on Tyran's failure to perceive attacks properly, Sho believes someone among the staff has sabotaged Tyran, and has Hinoki switch to as manual control as possible. After some internal debate, Sho decides to press forward.

In Main Tech Carrier, attempts to restore contact are going poorly, as Sakura notes the Algernon possessed person is nearby.

Tyran comes across a large computer area, positing the attacks were programmed from there, right before they are attacked by Kakuseijin, Keita and Kaede quickly confirm they have no control over it.

Someone is actively doing this, and Sakura is starting to realise.

With Linker Gel running out, Sho prepares a Break Synthesise, to Hinoki's shock, but Kaede puts her faith in her partner. The enemy has Kakuseijin start it's own, and Sho has a realisation as he faces Keita head on right before the two Synapse Attacks meet, and Sakura knows it too.

The two Neuronoids have cancelled each others attacks, thanks to Kaede's dowsing and Sho preparing the exact right attack.

Sakura senses the enemy trigger an explosion of the facility.

Sakura senses the true identity of the Algernon possessed individual, something even Lamia and his partner would have been misled on if not tapping into the Limpid Channel.

Kaede has managed to save the physical lost data by being able to memorise binary code.

Lamia confronts the Algernon possessed Heichi Kazuho.

This ends the Dark Chapter.

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from-a-reckless-writer · 4 years ago

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wrote a thing.

She is sitting behind you; back propped up against the harsh cement wall the double-deck is pushed against. She isn’t wearing her shirt, merely draped it over her frame. She is like this with you. Always partially naked, almost always bare but never completely. A sleeping short but no bra, there; grinding on your thigh with only a tank top and no underwear, here; and now, chest bare with only a shirt draped over.

You hear rustling and you know she is reaching for the pack of cigarettes and lighter on the head of the bed.

You are proven right.

You hear the flicker of the flames and the string of cigarette smoke climbs into your nostrils. You lace your shoes first before even wearing a bra. The first time you did this in front of her she laughed at you.

Shoes first before a bra? If you hadn’t just fucked my brains out I’d have half a mind to call you a psychopath.

She always smokes the same brand of cigarette. The ones whose sticks are black, as if a premonition of the blackening of her lungs if she keeps at it. It is always the one with the menthol aftertaste.

“Do you always have to have cigarettes after sex?”

“They're called stimulants for good reason you know? And besides…”

She trails off and it irritates you, because her trailing off means that she knows you’re thinking the same thing; implies that with you, she doesn’t feel the need to finish her words out loud because she is all too aware that you have already finished the sentence in your head.

It is most irksome.

“Besides what?” You spit out, even though you already know the answer; even though you know that she knows you know.

“Besides,” she drawls, and even with your back to her, you know there is a puff of smoke around that one word.

“You like the taste.”

You feel liquid fire running in your veins. Of course, that’s what she would say. That’s what you were thinking of, wasn’t it?

“They’re bad for you.”

You hook the clasps of your bra together.

“Mm. Like how I’m bad for you?”

“Fuck you.”

“You just did, baby.”

******

There is no love there, you think as you wait for a cab below her apartment.

Above, you know she is listening to the trashy music you know she doesn’t really like but always listens to. You hate that you don’t know the reason why she does this. You hate that she always seems to know more about you, than you about her.

You imagine what she does when she’s alone in her apartment.

In that cramped space of a studio apartment, where the kitchen faces the door of the bathroom and the bedroom is three steps away from said kitchen. The one place you’re sure would always be burned to the back of your lids till the day you die.

It’s yellow walls eternally living in the gray matter of your brain. It has embedded itself there, along with the image of her spread open for you each time and every time.

You raise your hand to hail a cab. A car stops in front of you, you look up one last time.

There’s the silhouette of a woman behind the curtains.

You leave.

******

The city rolls past your windows. Manila in the middle of the night feels like a neon lucid dream. Well, it is, if you look past the homeless children in the streets and the rows of carton boxes inhabited by cold bodies on the sidewalk.

You think about her and how cold the metal frame of a double-deck feels at night. You never ask about the person who used to occupy the top part of the deck. You don’t ask about how there is a whole drawer of clothes that she doesn’t touch.

You don’t ask and she doesn’t answer.

It’s always been like that between you, hasn’t it? An eye for an eye. A tit for tat. What you give is what you get.

The entire taxi smells like orange Lysol and you suppress a gag reflex. It gives you a headache. But the pain of it is nothing compared to the chasm inside your chest.

It’s been getting bigger and bigger, wider and wider, you notice. The gap always increases whenever you decide to lace your shoes and hail a cab.

You ignore it.

******

She doesn’t call you, the next Friday.

It’s not the first time she failed to call. Often, it’s a work thing or a university thing...or both.

She’ll call the next evening; always eager to fuck off the stress the prior day has inevitably brought.

She wouldn’t even bother with foreplay on days like those. It’s fine by you. You’re more than happy to get down and get to work.

You’ve always been an efficient employee after all.

Because that’s it, isn’t it? This is just a contract between the two of you. If you need an itch scratched, you'll dial the familiar number and she'll show up on your doorstep and the next minute her hands would be down your pants and vice versa.

It works. It’s fine.

But then, she doesn’t call.

Not during that Friday night and not during the next evening and before you know it, a whole weekend passes by.

You find your hand on her doorknob on Monday morning.

******

She slams the door in your face the moment she realizes you’re behind it.

You pound your fist on the locked door three times, twist the knob roughly for good measure.

“Tangina, just let me in.”

You hate how fucking needy you sound.

******

You wake up falling backwards, the back of your head hitting the bone of her legs painfully.

“Aw. Pucha, what the-”

You look up and there she is, looking down on you and then she is muttering under her breath.

“Idiot. Who fucking waits outside somebody’s door?”

You scramble to your feet.

You embrace her. Tightly. It surprises you both. You hear the breath get whooshed out of her lungs.

You feel her stop fighting against the hug. She turns soft. She sobs.

You let your shirt get soaked.

******

You don’t fuck that night.

You hold her instead.

******

You feel nauseous on the ride home again but this time you know it isn’t because of some cheap air freshener.

There is something different churning in your gut. It makes you want to throw up. It’s got to do with the ever widening chasm in your chest and the woman in the studio flat, you think.

No, you don’t think. You know.

You elect to ignore it again.

******

There is a man with his arm around you when you run into each other in the LRT. In the distance you can hear the whistle of a security guard. You can feel the rumble of the oncoming train underneath your feet. Somebody says, Please observe the following for your safety and protection while inside the station...Thank you for patronizing the LRT.

You watch in real time how a nebula dies.

The light bursting, exploding and then blinking out of existence all in the same breath.

“Nice to meet you.”

She extends a hand to the man beside you.

You try not to think about the fact that that same hand had trailed up and down your body not only two nights ago, how those fingers had mapped out every single scar down the back of your thighs, how that hand had cradled your face so softly before even softer lips descended on your own.

“Well, I should probably get going. I’ll let you go now.”

The five words grate against your veins like broken glass atop cement walls grazing trespassing robbers.

You try to crane your neck to follow her disappearing figure.

His arm gets in the way.

******

She doesn’t answer your Friday night call.

And the Saturday morning call.

And the Saturday afternoon call and the evening call.

And the Sunday morning call and the afternoon call and the evening call.

Once again, you find your back against her door on a Monday.

******

She finds you there; sitting stupidly, head thumping repeatedly against the wood.

You scramble to stand up so quickly you almost trip over your own feet.

“Hi.“

—is the most stupid thing to say in the history of stupid things to say.

“You didn’t answer my calls,” you’re quick to add.

“No answer is an answer.”

She jams her keys into the door.

“Yeah, I figured.”

You twiddle your thumbs, eyes cast to the floor.

She opens the door. You follow, naturally.

She takes off her shirt.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Well, isn’t this what you came for? Let’s get it done and over with. The sooner the better, I have an essay deadline tonight.”

“No, I-”

“You what?”

You stare stupidly, mouth closing and opening like a fish, with no words coming out.

“Ano?” She demands, “Wala? Well, if you’re not gonna fuck me I suggest you get out and stop wasting my time. Like I said, I have a deadline tonight.”

You can take the dismissal for what it is.

Or...

You can fight back.

You can call her out on her bullshit.

You can apologize for your stupidity.

You can-

You rush towards her and smash your mouths together harshly.

You make her cum three times that night, her letting out your name in breathy whimpers.

It doesn’t feel satisfying. It just leaves you feeling empty.

She doesn’t smoke after, this time. She just gets out of your arms, pulls out a chair, a charger and her laptop.

She gets to work.

You dress yourself. Shoes first, then bra.

“I’m sorry.”

******

You stop hearing from her.

You know better than to call her non-stop.

No answer is an answer.

******

The apartment is empty when you get there.

The landlord says it’s been empty for two weeks now.

She didn’t leave her future destination nor her new address nor her new number.

She didn’t leave anything behind.

Well, except maybe for…you.

#this isnt supercorp so pls just scroll past #because sometimes u just gotta write the most cliche thing to write about and get it out of ur system

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whenisitenoughtrees · 4 years ago

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a slow voice on a wave of phase

Logan has a voice like a galaxy, shot through with silver and streaked with stars, and today, Roman has realized that he is in love.

Roman has seen colors in sounds for as long as he can remember, and Logan's voice paints the night sky across his vision. It's no wonder that he falls in love with him, though it is surprising that he took this long to realize it.

(Wherein Roman pines, Remus' input is surprisingly helpful, and Logan has a lot more feelings than anyone is giving him credit for.)

Content Warnings: Remus-typical inappropriateness, mild Roman-typical insecurity

Word Count: 5,629

Pairings: Logince, platonic Creativitwins, brief mention of Dukeceit

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

The idea comes to him suddenly, and by ‘suddenly,’ he means ‘with the force of a giant shark crashing through the wall of his bedroom at ninety miles per hour,’ because that is how Remus makes his entrance: half-naked, dripping wet, and straddling the back of a two-and-a-half ton great white.

“Tada!” Remus crows, sliding onto the floor. “You bet I couldn’t do it!” The shark, presumably irritated either by the lack of water dooming it to slow asphyxiation or by the loud, annoying man yelling in its face, flops around on the floor helplessly. Roman watches it through half-lidded eyes, and briefly considers getting up to deal with it before it starts knocking things over.

“But the proof’s in the pudding!” his brother continues, slapping the shark with a wink. Who the wink is directed at, Roman has no idea. Hopefully not the shark, though he wouldn’t put it past him. “Or in the big-ass shark! It only ate me three times before I got to ride it!” At this, he makes a disgusting motion with his hips, calling attention to the fact that his swimming trunks really do not cover enough, and Roman wonders just what, exactly, he did to deserve this treatment.

“What are you doing in my room?” he demands. Or at least, he means to demand; it comes out sounding more like an exhausted sigh, and he supposes that he shouldn’t have expected anything different. Lying in bed in pajamas is not a position from which one can demand much of anything, even if that one happens to be a prince with an incredible amount of creative power at his fingertips.

Not that he’s feeling much creative power at the moment.

Remus finally seems to register his tone and position. He stalks forward, his nose wrinkling, and Roman is greeted with a close-up view of his brother’s bare chest, which is just about par the course. It could be worse, he supposes. At least he’s shirtless and not pantsless. Mostly.

“What crawled up your ass and died there?” Remus asks. “Ooh, was it a spider, like, the itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout, except the waterspout’s your--”

“Oh my god,” he says, and finally works up the willpower to sit up and shove his brother away. “Can you stop?”

“Can’t stop won’t stop!” Remus trills gleefully, but Roman ignores him in favor of standing to inspect the shark in the middle of his bedroom floor. It is, he has to admit, a bit impressive, and all those teeth are equal parts cool and terrifying. He would likely be more impressed if it wasn’t expiring on his carpet, or if there wasn’t a shark-sized hole in his wall leading to parts unknown. He frowns, focusing and waving a hand, and both the shark and the damage disappear. Unfortunately, the water all over the floor does not.

“Wow,” Remus says. “You are no fun.”

“If you think I’m leaving an open path to your side of the Imagination in my room, you’re…” Remus grins at him, propping his head up in his hands and waggling his eyebrows expectantly. “... nevermind.”

“I never do mind,” Remus agrees, and takes the initiative to flop down onto his bed, thus getting water all over his bedsheets, because he’s an inconsiderate jerk. “So, what’s got you all down in the dumps? Usually, I crash a shark through your wall and you get all pissy about it, but you’re being boring. What gives?”

Roman glares, and seriously considers trying to remove him too. There was a time when he would have been able to do so easily, a time when he knew for a fact that he belonged in the light and Remus belonged in the dark, with all of the other things that ooze and crawl. But things aren’t so black and white these days, and now that Thomas has begun to tentatively ask for Remus’ input every now and again, it’s harder than ever to make him leave when he gets it in his head that he wants to be somewhere. He is, in that way, a bit like a pimple, or a particularly persistent mold. Neither of which he can actually call him to his face, because he’ll just take it as a compliment, but the fact remains that once he grows on, it is incredibly difficult to scrape him off.

“What gives is that I want you out of my room,” he tries, crossing his arms, but Remus makes a tsking sound.

“Oh, sure,” he says. “That’s why you were lying there all sad and shit? You looked like someone that decided that their idea of fun is to lie down in the middle of the street and see what happens.” He pauses. “Actually, do you think Thomas would--”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

He pouts. “Boo,” he says. “You never let me do anything. But I mean, really Ro Ro, it can’t be a creative block. I’ve seen you in one of those, and you get all whiny and sick and then you start acting like you’re a poet in the 18oos and you’ve got consumption.” He lays a hand across his brow. “Oh me oh my, if only I could write one last poem before I cough my whole lungs out of my body. Ooh, could you imagine what that would look like? Your lungs, just sliding out of your mouth like big grey sacks?”

“First of all, no, gross,” Roman says. “Also, I didn’t know poets dying of consumption sounded like congested Southern belles.”

Remus waves a hand. “Eh, not the point,” he says. “And maybe the poets didn’t, but you sure do.”

“Hey--”

“But my point,” he continues, “is that it can’t be that, ‘cause Thomas has got a backlog of weeks’ worth of ideas to peruse if he actually wants to do something, which means that’s not your issue.” He rolls over on his side, so as better to make eye contact. “So what is your deal?”

Roman opens his mouth and promptly closes it again. Honestly, if this were about anything else, he might consider telling him. As annoying as he is, he feels closer to Remus now than he has in years, perhaps to the point where he could feel comfortable sharing something personal. Sure, Remus will probably laugh or make fun, or twist it into something weird or a horrible innuendo, but at least it would be out there, in the open, and someone else would know of it. At least there would be proof of its existence outside of his own mind.

But this? Can he share this?

Because the deal isn’t a messed up audition or a troublesome idea. It isn’t even one of his usual personal issues, like the self-doubt that creeps into his mind in the small hours of the morning, the whispered thought that none of his ideas are worthy of use, that he himself is failing in his purpose, a mere facsimile of the prince that he is supposed to be.

No. For once, it’s not that, and he refuses to fall down that rabbit hole.

The deal is that Logan has a voice like a galaxy, shot through with silver and streaked with stars, and today, Roman has realized that he is in love.

-----

It took a while for either of them to notice that none of the others experience the world the way they do. They never thought to question it; Roman saw colors in sound, and Remus heard music in images, and that was just the way it was. It wasn’t until they were a bit older that they figured out that the weird looks they garnered when they brought it up, when Roman mentioned a teacher with a corn-yellow drawl or when Remus talked about a picture in 3/4 time, weren’t just disapproval directed at the way the Creativities saw the world, but instead a genuine lack of understanding.

They stopped talking about it, eventually. Or rather, Roman stopped talking about it, and Remus accepted that nobody would pay attention to his eccentricities as long as he presented them in a certain way.

So really, it’s not that Roman is hiding it. It’s just never come up.

Remus’ voice is like an oil spill, black and thick and oozing, but with flashes of lime green running through it, the color of slime and radioactive waste. Patton’s is pink, yellow, and blue all swirled together, like a field of flowers, or every flavor of cotton candy all at once. Virgil’s voice is more difficult to pin down; once, he thought it was a black, swirling smoke, but as the years have passed, Roman has realized that the smoke is not black, but dark purple, only showing its true color when light is shined through it. Janus’ is similarly difficult to interpret, but lately, he has likened it to a still, quiet forest, all dark green and brown, secrets lurking just under the surface.

But Logan’s has always been his favorite. Because Logan’s voice sounds like space itself, a backdrop of black peppered with millions of shining, twinkling lights, mixed with bright galaxies and spinning nebulae, vast and beautiful and incomprehensible. At his calmest, it is a void, the light of the stars distant and cold, but when he gets excited, when he begins to ramble about a topic, the stars increase in number and illuminate his whole face, swirling in his eyes and hair, and Roman could listen to him for days.

He’s always known that he has a bit of a crush. But he’s always thought that a crush was all it was, and if it was a bit longer-lasting than crushes are meant to be, well, it’s not as if there are a lot of other options. The mindscape proper only has seven inhabitants, and it would feel wrong to try to date someone from the Imagination, considering that he controls the place. So, he’s been content to linger on his feelings for Logan, never pushing for anything more than he would be willing to give, because another thing that he’s always known is that never in a million years would his feelings be returned.

Logan, as he has said himself so many times, does not do feelings. And even though Roman knows very well that Logan is not nearly as unfeeling as he would like to pretend to be, that does not mean that he would be comfortable with, or even open to the idea of a relationship. And even if he were, he would not choose to be with him, would not choose the embodiment of dreams and fantasies, everything that logic attempts to deny. So it’s a hopeless crush, a one-sided romance for the ages, the type of story that Roman would be captivated with if he weren’t at the center of it, if thinking about it didn’t make his chest tight and his eyes sting.

But this morning--

Oh, gods of Olympus, this morning--

He has no idea what prompted the epiphany. By all rights, this morning was like any other morning: Patton at the pancake griddle, Virgil slumped and half-awake at the table, Logan sipping at his coffee. Roman made his usual stunning and gorgeous entrance, ready to tackle the day’s challenges like a true knight would, and traded his usual morning barbs with Virgil. But before he could even sit down, Logan looked up at him, smiled slightly, and said, “Good morning, Roman,” a galaxy glittering around him, and Roman took a brief moment to think about how much he loves him.

And then stopped up short. Because, what? Love? No?

Except, yes.

These feelings have been bursting in his chest for so long, fireworks setting off whenever Logan speaks, whenever Logan so much as looks his way. And he thought they were a crush, no more than that, if not ignorable then at least possible to work around. But that’s not right, has never been right, and in this instant, years’ worth of suppositions came crashing down around his ears.

So, his mind racing, the silence stretching too long, he did the only thing he could think to do.

“I, uh, forgot a thing,” he stammered, and beat a hasty retreat back to his room, ignoring the way Patton called after him. Upon closing the door behind him, he changed back into his pajamas and collapsed back on his bed, his mind whirling, intent on not facing anybody else until he has to.

Because he loves Logan. Is in love with Logan. Has been in love with Logan for years and years now, has been pining away without even understanding that that was what he was doing.

Frankly, he’s not sure he can think of a worse position to be in.

-----

Which brings him here: his floor wet, his arms crossed, and Remus staring expectantly at him, waiting for an explanation. And Remus isn’t one to back down easily, which leaves Roman in a predicament.

He could try lying. But he’s not sure he could lie well enough about this, and frankly, he doesn’t want to risk Janus getting himself involved. But the only other option is the truth, and he’s not sure he wants Remus to know the truth, not sure he trusts Remus not to hold it over his head, to mock him or to stick his fingers in an open wound that he himself has only just discovered.

Because Remus would definitely do that. Both literally and figuratively.

“Bro,” Remus says, looking amused, “whatever it is, I’m almost positive it’s not that deep. You know what is deep?”

“What?” Roman replies, hoping beyond hope for a change of topic.

“My butt!” Remus says, and then cackles.

Roman buries his face in his hands, and Remus’ laughter stretches on and on and on, filling the room with slick oil, painting the walls with slime and noxious fumes, and green squiggles worm their way onto the backs of his eyelids, and he absolutely cannot do this right now.

“I’m in love with Logan,” he mumbles into his hands, and the laughter cuts off abruptly.

“You’re what?” Remus asks, and Roman looks up from his hands. Remus has sat up in his bed, and is staring at him with a peculiarly intent expression.

“I’m in love with Logan,” he repeats, firmer this time. He holds Remus’ gaze, daring him to say something, so of course, Remus does, erupting into laughter once again.

“You can’t be serious,” he says in between giggles. “Really? Logan? He’s such a stick in the mud. A stick in the mud with a stick up his butt. It’s like a flag, except, instead of a flag it’s Logan, because the stick is both in the mud and up his butt.” He pauses, and Roman’s face must be doing something, because Remus sobers just a bit, raising an eyebrow. “Huh. You’re actually serious.”

He groans, plopping down in the middle of the floor, ignoring the way the dampness of the carpet seeps into his pants. “I don’t know what to do,” he moans, more to air his grievance than to accomplish anything else. It’s not as if he’s expecting Remus to have any useful suggestions for him.

But Remus shifts on the bed so he can face him completely. “Okay, you’re gonna have to explain this one to me, because I don’t get it,” he says. “Whenever I look at Logan, I get robot noises and video game music on full blast.” He breaks off, humming a few bars, and Roman has to admit that it’s not an unpleasant tune, though not one he would think to associate with Logan. “Plus,” Remus continues, “he’s so boring. Sure, he’s fun to wind up, but he’s all about the rules and being logical and no, Thomas can’t do that, he’ll get acid burns, so why don’t we watch a documentary instead?” He says the last in an almost perfect imitation of Logan’s voice, his face darkening. Oddly, when Remus does it, Roman doesn’t connect the sound with space at all, hearing only the same oily splatters that his brother’s voice usually consists of. “I don’t want to watch documentaries. I want to do shit.”

Roman shakes his head. “You don’t hear what his voice actually sounds like,” he insists. “It’s… gods above, he talks, and it’s like he brings all the stars down to earth. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve heard in my life.” He scrubs a hand across his face. “And sometimes he smiles and says something smart, and I’m just, wow, I would die for you. Do you know how pretty his smile is? And he’s so frickin’ smart.”

Remus’ expression has frozen halfway between awe and disgust. “You’ve got it bad,” he says, and Roman groans.

“You think I don’t know that?” he says. “I just don’t know what to do about it!” He sighs. “Theoretically, I know all about romance and wooing. I’m the romance guy! But when I think about wooing Logan, my stomach gets all twisted up in knots. Like a sad pretzel. I mean, grand gestures and gifts are the way to go, right? But what even could I give him that he would like? He hates things that are ‘frivolous and unrealistic,’ but that’s my whole thing!”

Remus cocks his head. “Bones,” he says sagely.

He blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Give him some bones,” Remus says, nodding, like this makes perfect sense. “Like, two, maybe three bones. Boys like bones.”

“... Where am I getting these bones?”

Remus’ face brightens. “I’ve got a few extra!” he proclaims. “Wanna see?”

“I-- no,” he says. “Stop. I’m not giving him bones. Why do you--” No, best not to question. “Nevermind. Is that how you got Janus to date you?”

Remus grins. “Nah,” he says. “I mean, maybe that helped. I think what really did it was that I wrote him our song.”

“You wrote him a song?”

“No, stupid, our song,” he says. “Like, how I look at him and I hear a song. And then I’ve got a song, too. So I figured out a way to mash them together. And then I gave it to him.” He sighs, almost dreamily, if Remus has a dreamy setting. Roman would like to never hear that again, thank you, because frankly, he doesn’t much want to hear about whatever weird relationship his brother has with Deceit, and he sort of regrets bringing it up in the first place. “He really, really liked it. Said it was the best thing he’d ever heard.” Remus pauses, an odd light entering his eyes. “He said something about it being from the heart. I tried giving him my actual heart, but then he said that wasn’t what he meant.”

“From the heart,” he mutters, considering. So, something heartfelt, personal. Remus literally gave Deceit something that showed how he perceived him, everything that he felt. But how can he do the same and make sure that it’s something Logan likes? Logan likes science, likes math and numbers, likes facts, and Roman doesn’t know anything about any of those things. All he knows is how Logan makes him feel and the way his voice shines like starlight in his mind’s eye, and he’s not sure how to translate that into something Logan would appreciate, or even understand.

And then it comes: the idea.

“Holy shit,” he says, spine straightening, the burst of inspiration setting his mind to whirring. For an instant, he sees it dancing before him, an image of perfection, within his reach if only he can replicate exactly what he envisions. “Remus, you’re a genius!”

Remus gawks. “I am?” he asks, and his face brightens. “I already knew that, but fuck yeah!”

Roman laughs, bright and free, clambering to his feet. “Okay, okay, I know what I’m doing,” he says. “So I need you to get out, but god, thank you so much.”

Remus hops off the bed without protest. “Anytime, bro bro,” he says, sauntering toward the door. “Remember to put in a good word with Tommy-boy for me. And if you end up fucking, put a sock on the door.”

“You’re gross,” Roman says, pushing him out. The words carry no bite, and the last thing he sees before closing the door in his face is Remus grinning at him, an expression of pure delight.

-----

In the end, it takes him a week. A week holed up in his room, only occasionally emerging to grab food, and he knows he’s making everyone else worry, but he can’t stop himself, doesn’t dare stop until what he sees in his mind has been set to paper, exactly how he wants it. It has been so long since an idea has gripped him like this, since he has been so inspired to create, since he has been so sure in his ability to make something beautiful, and he feels as though he could subsist on his exhilaration alone.

When it is done, he steps back, admires his handiwork, and proceeds to sleep for twenty-two hours straight.

On the eighth day, he steps out into the hallway, canvas tucked securely under his arm, and makes his way down the hall to Logan’s room.

He takes a deep breath before knocking, hoping to steady his nerves. He hasn’t had much time, these past few days, to worry about whether or not Logan would like it, but now, he’s wondering if this was a mistake, if this is something that would be better kept to himself. He can wave off the others’ concern by pretending he was working on hypothetical ideas, or that a quest in the Imagination ran over-long. He doesn’t actually have to give this to Logan at all, doesn’t have to bare himself like this, doesn’t have to risk his scorn and judgement.

But what else is love, in the end, if not a risk worth taking?

He knocks, and moments later, hears footsteps from inside. He barely has time to check that there is a smile on his face before Logan opens the door, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“Roman,” he greets, and though nothing outwardly changes, Roman’s brain insists that a shooting star streaks across his vision. “We haven’t seen much of you these past few days.”

“Ah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “right, sorry. I just got caught up in the creative process, you know how it is.”

“I do not,” Logan says. “Nevertheless, I am glad to see you well.” He pauses. “I was… somewhat concerned after your hasty exit the last time I saw you. I wanted to ensure that I did not do something to offend you.”

Oh, shit. He’s been so busy that he hadn’t bothered to think about how that moment might have been interpreted. And there is an odd note in Logan’s tone that implies that this is actually something that’s been troubling him, and Roman feels like kicking himself for letting him worry about it.

“No, no, not at all!” he says, gesturing with his free hand. “I just got struck with inspiration in that very moment, so of course, I needed to retreat before the idea was lost.” He winces internally as the words leave his mouth. It is a lie, but only just; it certainly wasn’t inspiration that he was struck with. That came later.

“I see,” Logan says, and Roman hopes that he isn’t imagining the way his shoulders relax, if only slightly. “That is good to hear. In that case, was there something you needed from me?”

“I--” He breaks off, swallowing hard. This is the moment of truth, the last second in which he could turn back. He is, essentially, offering up all of his emotions on a silver platter, even if Logan likely won’t recognize that fact. Still, rejection at this point would hurt worse than any failed audition, worse than any mistake he has ever made, and he has made so many.

But he has spent so long on this. He wants it to be seen by its object.

“This is for you,” he blurts out, and shoves the canvas out in front of him like a shield. Logan takes it, startled, and Roman watches as his eyes flicker across the painting, widening ever so slightly.

After a week’s worth of work, he knows exactly what Logan is seeing. A painting of blacks and dark blues and purples, pinpricks of whites and yellows and reds, a display of the cosmos swirling on a backdrop of the void. Everything that Roman sees when Logan speaks is here: the inky darkness of his calm, the supernova of his anger, the stars that glitter and twirl in his excitement. It is like no view of space that mankind has ever seen, because this universe is Logan, completely and utterly, is comprised of the galaxies that drip from his tongue when he speaks.

This is how Roman sees him. This is how Roman loves him.

The silence stretches on for a long time, so long that Roman is tempted to declare the whole thing a bust, to laugh and play it off like it’s no big deal, like his heart won’t be completely and utterly crushed if Logan hates it.

“You painted this?” Logan finally asks. His voice sounds choked, a star collapsing in on itself. Roman shuffles his feet.

“Uh, yeah,” he says. “I just thought, um, you like space? So I, uh. Do you like it?”

He tries not to sound needy, tries not to sound like his happiness is contingent on the answer he receives. He’s not sure how much he succeeds.

“It’s… adequate,” Logan replies, and Roman could dance, could sing his relief to any and all who would listen, because he knows Logan well enough to know what that means. And if that’s the best he’ll get, he’ll take it and go and be glad, because Logan likes it, and that is more than enough for him. He feels like he’s on top of the world, like he’s floating in space himself, orbiting the moon and staring into the sun and being blinded and loving every minute of it.

“Actually,” Logan says, and for a second, Roman’s heart drops into his shoes, before he continues with, “it’s… it’s far more than adequate. I don’t know much about art, but I know a piece of expert craftsmanship when I see one.” He looks up at Roman, his eyes shining. “You made this for me?”

There is an emotion in his voice that Roman cannot name, but it is speckled with so many stars, more than he thinks he’s ever seen at once. More stars than void, at least, shining and shimmering with light.

And Roman wasn’t planning to do this. Was planning to take this slowly, was planning to give Logan his offering and leave, using his reaction as a gauge for the next step, if he dared to take a next step at all, if he came away with the conclusion that Logan would not hate him for attempting a romance. But the way Logan is staring at him, wide-eyed and open, as if he has been gifted something incredibly precious, makes him want Logan to understand just how much this means, just how much it says. Just how much of his heart and soul he is putting on the line.

Dear sweet Beyonce, he’s actually going to do it, isn’t he?

“I did,” he says. “Um, okay, I’ve never actually explained this to anyone, so bear with me.” Logan tilts his head, confused, but is otherwise silent. “Uh, have you ever heard of the thing where people’s senses get crossed? Like, say, you associate a color with a particular number or letter?”

Logan’s eyebrows furrow. “Are you referring to synesthesia?” he asks.

He can’t stop his smile. Logan’s heard of it. Maybe that will make this easier. “Yeah, that,” he says. “So, uh, Remus and I have that. He hears music when he looks at things, and I, uh. Well. I’ve sort of got the opposite.”

Logan stares at him. “You’re telling me,” he says, “that all these years, you’ve both perceived the world in an entirely different way from the rest of us, and you’ve never said a word about it?”

He winces. “I suppose?” he says. “Are you angry?”

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Logan is angry. He didn’t intend for Logan to be angry. He’s going to be angry if Logan is angry, angry with himself for spoiling this moment, for daring to reach for more than he could have. He should have left it alone, should have taken Logan’s enjoyment of the painting for what it was and not pushed for anything more. God, his heart feels as though it’s trying to claw its way out of his throat.

But Logan shakes his head. “No, just… surprised,” he says. “When you say you have the opposite of what Remus does, do you mean that you see images when you listen to music?”

“Sort of?” he says. “Not really images, more just arrangements of colors, if that makes sense. And I don’t actually see it with my eyes, just in my head, even though it feels like I’m seeing it with my eyes, sometimes. Even though I know I’m not really.” He pauses for a breath. He doesn’t think he’s explaining himself very well, but Logan is sill listening, so he has no choice but to push on. “And, um, not just music. Any sound, really.”

Logan nods, seeming to take it in stride. “I think I understand,” he says. “It truly is fascinating how so many of us exhibit traits and quirks that Thomas himself does not.” A measure of excitement bleeds into his voice, flaring up like the sun, and Roman resists the urge to blurt out something incredibly sappy and highly inappropriate for the moment. “So, this painting--” He glances back down at the painting, still gripped in both hands, and then abruptly stops talking.

“It’s, uh, it’s you,” Roman says, attempting to fill up the sudden quiet. “It’s your voice. I mean, it’s what I see when I hear your voice.”

“It’s… me?”

“Yes,” he says.

“You… you see this when I talk?”

“Uh huh,” he says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Logan’s head is lowered, his voice too soft to read well, and Roman’s nerves begin to return in full force. “Was this weird? I’m sorry if this was weird. I just, your voice is so gorgeous, and I really wanted to paint it, and I’m probably making this worse, aren’t I? If you don’t like it anymore you don’t have to keep it.”

At last, Logan raises his head. His face is burning bright red, and Roman really, really hopes it’s not in fury, hopes that he hasn’t just ruined everything. Slowly, Logan sets the painting down to rest against the wall and steps forward. Roman, for his part, is rooted in place, tracking every movement, every breath.

“Roman,” Logan says. “Don’t be idiotic.”

And then, he backs Roman against the wall and kisses him.

He doesn’t kiss like Roman would have expected. There is nothing cold about it, nothing clinical; instead, he is hard and demanding, insistent and passionate, and as soon as Roman’s brain reboots, he returns it just as eagerly, deepening it, placing his hands on the sides of Logan’s face to hold him there, hold him where he can taste him, because he has fantasized about this moment but never, ever thought that this dream could come true. And when Logan pulls back, he doesn’t go far, his face lingering bare inches from his own. His breaths puff across his skin, and behind his glasses, his pupils are dilated.

“So I take it you like it,” Roman says. His voice is hoarse.

“I do,” Logan says. His face is flushed, twisted in what is probably embarrassment, but he doesn’t look away. “And lately, I have found myself rather liking you, too. I, ah, didn’t think you returned the sentiment.”

Roman blinks, and then, throws back his head and laughs. “Are you serious?” he asks. “We could have been doing this already?” He tugs Logan’s face closer to his, resting their foreheads together. Logan turns an even more brilliant shade of scarlet. “Just in case I didn’t make it clear,” he says, “I really, really like you, Logan.” He strokes a thumb across his cheek. “My galaxy,” he breathes. “My starlight.”

Logan makes a noise deep in the back of his throat. “Yes,” he says, and it’s almost a squeak. “That is satisfactory.”

And with that, with starlight gleaming behind his eyes and his heart tapping out double-time, Roman laughs, and pulls Logan back in.

-----

A few nights later, he finds a collection of questionably-shaped bones sitting on his dresser. He is less than enthusiastic, but Logan seems interested, so he kisses his boyfriend-- his boyfriend!-- on the top of his head and leaves him to his scientific study. Of bones. Because Logan is a weird nerd, but that’s alright, because he loves him both in spite of it and because of it.

He just. Loves Logan. All of him. So much. And Logan likes him back, and now they’re together, and really, nothing could be better than this.

He briefly considers the merits of getting Remus a gift basket, but ultimately decides against it. They’ve never needed that sort of thing between them, and if the next time Remus intrudes on his space, he doesn’t protest as much as he usually would? Well, they both understand, and that’s more than enough.

Writing Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina

#sanders sides #ts sides #logince #creativitwins #ts roman #roman sanders #ts remus #remus sanders #ts logan #logan sanders #sympathetic remus #long post #my fic #*blows kiss to my collection of disney movies*#this one's for you roman #happy birthday to the best gay disney prince

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chayacat · 3 years ago

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Devil’s Sweet Star (35)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut

***

5 days. The Roseville festival takes place in 5 days. Time flies too quickly. Far too fast. And the pressure on your shoulders is only growing. What if it doesn't work? What if the cake was ever missed at the last moment? Or that it falls on the way? Or that people don't like it? That would be a deep shame, and a deep disillusionment. But we must not be discouraged. We must remain positive and if it fails, so be it. It takes a first time to everything. And then we always learn from our failures, right? Failing is not a fatality, we must not give up at the first failure we suffer. Otherwise, we never move forward. On the contrary, every failure we suffer, every mistake we make, must push us to be better if the opportunity arises again.

For now, you have something else to do. Since the nebula’s attack, you had to have the damage repaired. Fortunately, by chance, your insurance covered the costs. But it will not be able to do so ad vita eternam. We will therefore have to increase security. Inspector Wilhelm offered you to post a policeman to monitor the establishment from the opening to the closing of the café. He will not be inside but on the sidewalk opposite, under observation. That way if there is ever a problem, he can intervene quickly.

As for the apartment, it has progressed well. Mr Lawson has dealt with the problems of leaks; he now has to deal with the floor. On your side with Jed, you have repainted all the pieces according to your tastes. Even if there have been debates about certain rooms such as the chamber. But in the end, you always found an agreement. And mixing your two colours gives... impressive and original results in itself. Once the floor will be done. You can finally live together. You look forward to it.

Today you were closed. But you're still working on the festival cake. Corey having returned to work after his few days off, Amy too, you had decided to close exceptionally to work on the cake as the festival approached. Even so, your young employee was still feeling some pain.

“Are you sure it'll be okay, Corey? You know if you're in too much pain, you can go home it doesn't matter, Amy and I can manage together.” you said worried to see Corey's slightly grimacing face.

“Don't worry about me! It's okay! the doctor told me that the pain would persist for a few days. I just have to take my painkillers when I'm really in too much pain. But for now, it's okay.” responds Corey with a smile.

“Don't make the hero either. If it ever gets worse you may have more than pain. So don't force too much.” replied Amy.

“Oh, come on Amy! I'm not a kid now! I'm not in sugar either! If it really doesn't go well, I'll go home, it's promised.”

“Yeah yeah...if you say so. I’ll keep an eye on you anyway.”

You smile as you look at them. They are so adorable, even when they argue. it shows how much they care about each other. Kind of like you and Jed in a sense. Surprisingly... you haven't heard from Ghostface. since... since you made your deal. He must be busy preparing everything. But he still finds a way to talk to you. By piece of paper that he deposits either at your apartment or at your café when it is closed. Sometimes the "letters" are accompanied by small gifts. Either a flower, once with a necklace, earrings ... You were wondering how he was able to buy them. If he bought them of course.

You're not really looking forward to honoring your part of the market. Because who knows how it might turn out? But you were able to turn this out to your advantage as well. He will tell you everything. He will show you his true face, tell you his name. And finally, you can put a face on the man who since your arrival, knows you much more than you know him. Finally, you can claim to be on an equal footing. Even if it's not really the case.

But deep down... do you really want it? Do you really want to destroy all the mystery around him? After all... it brought him a certain charm... even if he is a murderer, the mystery that surrounds him about his identity makes him more attractive, more... Take that out of your mind, pickle brains! You have a boyfriend! And given the night you spent the other night... Ghostface is just the appetizer. Under his shy mood, Jed is much wilder than you dared to imagine.

“Ok! let's see what this cake gives! if it is good then we can do it bigger for the festival!” you said with a smile.

“Yeah but... It's a cake for 12 people. and we are only 3. We will not be able to eat everything... and it would have been a shame to waste it.” responds Amy with a worried face.

“What are we going to do with the remaining shares?” ask Corey.

“Hum... I think I have a little idea. I know who would be delighted to have them.” You replied before you take out your phone to call Jed.

“Hello? Honey? Is there a problem?” asks Jed on the other line.

“Oh Jed... If you knew how much! It is a tragedy! I have here a test cake for the festival but unfortunately it is 12 parts! and there are only 3 of us! Unfortunately, I'm going to have to throw it away...” you answer in a dramatic theatrical way.

“... Are you trying to make me fat? I know I can eat at will without gaining weight but still... if you did it... I can't say no. I came with Mattew and Melina. And we'll take a share of it for the boss. Keep it for us tonight.”

“Thank you, my love! See you soon! I love you!” you replied with a smile, while Amy and Corey were laughing.

“See you soon Honey. I love you too.” he responds before hanging up.

You put away your phone with a satisfied smile. Definitely, talking about cake is a good way to get Jed to come. Despite his body certainly skinny but finely trimmed, Jed seems to be a big gourmand. And to say that he can eat as much as he wants, he will not take a gram... while you, you have to be careful. You are not fat on the contrary! You are as well-proportioned as your size! Amy and Corey were laughing, looking at you at the same time.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“You're both too cute! it's adorable a couple like yours!” responds Amy.

“I could say the same about both of you. You are both equally adorable, I did well to take you both.”

Your two employees looked at each other, before looking away by blushing, which made you laugh. Jed arrived around noon with Melina and Mattew to taste the cake. These two do not lose an opportunity to eat. You prepare a share for the boss of the newspaper. And serve a share for everyone, and then one for yourself. You each taste your turn a slice of the cake, and all the faces lit up with a beautiful smile.

“It's too good! I love this mix! Mango, Pineapple and Passion Fruit, it's too good!” said Mattew.

“I'm not a particular fan of the passion fruit... but I admit that the mixture is well find! I like it very much!” continue Melina.

“Me too! (Y/N) we must absolutely make this cake for the festival! I'm sure the whole city will enjoy it!” said Amy cheerfully.

“Yes, why not... what do you think? Do you think it could work? You ask, looking at Jed.

“It is very good... But at the level of presentation and decoration ... you should make it more colorful. to do it only in white, it's too much marriage cake. I'd be you I'll add a mango coulis, or a chocolate coulis, something that makes the cake more colorful. And given that it is in honor of the city... you could make mini monuments out of sugar dough? With the town hall at the very top. After that is only my opinion.” responds Jed, putting his glasses back on his nose.

“You’re right. Thanks Honey! You’re the best!”

“By the way, what about the guy who broke the windows of the café? Any news?” asks Corey.

“Wilhelm cooked him for hours, the guy refused to say who he worked for. But hey anyway he's going to be judged and he's going to pay for the damage he's caused, as well as for assault and battery on you. He will take a few months in prison as a bonus.” said Melina.

You all chat for a few more minutes before everyone leaves, Jed taking the slice of cake for his boss. In addition, he informed you to keep the remaining shares for both of you for later, but also that he will return very late tonight. The work... always work. During the day, Mr. Lawson phoned you to warn you that the new floor was installed and that the apartment was officially habitable. Tomorrow you can start living there and moving your belongings. Jed too. Fortunately, you had started to make boxes. On the other hand, you will have to ask your neighbours to help you for furniture a little too heavy.

As Jed advised you, you had made a chocolate coulis and a mango coulis for the cake, as well as the sugar dough decorations. And indeed, the result is magnificent, it makes it much more colorful and much better taste level. It's time to go home. for once, for a long time, you will be alone tonight... normally. Tonight, it will be a small rice salad, with tuna, corn and thin slices of tomatoes. Simple but effective, fresh and light too.

You watch tv a little while eating, just to have news from all over the world. And the news is not famous. It's sad. Once the meal is finished, and the dishes are done, you change to get ready to go to bed. Suddenly you feel a fresh wind stroking your arm, taking a shiver from you. When you head to the source of this slight cool wind, which came from your room, you find that the window was open.

“Miss me Sugar ?” said a man voice.

“Long time no see... I thought you had finally found a new victim to harass. Whatever you still find the time to send me messages.” you respond, facing Ghostface which was leaning against the wall of the room, chuckling.

“Don't forget my little gifts. You see I spent some... complicated nights. stalking, conspiring, killing... avenge. it's not easy the life of a murderer you know. My life during the day is no better either. So, I take a little break. And what better way to relax than to see my beautiful and sweet star.”

He approached you, gently taking you by the waist, suddenly bringing you closer against him. You hear him humming your neck, like an animal smelling its prey. You hear a noise near his face, a sign that he lifted his mask slightly. Suddenly you feel his tongue licking your neck which made you react. You try to get away from him, but his strength was far greater than yours.

“You don't respect our market. It had been said one evening once that Hoggins would have died. Not before.” you said frowning.

“And I intend to respect it! but... I need to relax... and I must give you a... a taste of what awaits you. It will be nothing compared to what I would do during our little... private evening.” He responds chuckling.

“Don’t you dare...”

You don't have time to finish your sentence as he took your assault lips. If at first you did not let yourself be done, astonishingly you must be more docile after a few minutes, letting his tongue enter your mouth to play with yours. He pushed you gently on the bed, putting himself above you, without letting go of you. You feel his hand gently go down along your body, stroking your thigh. You can't help but take out a little moan between two kisses. He backed up his face, sneering, with a sneaky smile on his lips.

“Finally, you like it huh... you hide your game well. I like that. I love when a woman reveals herself to my eyes. You are like packed treats, which you have to unpack, again and again until you can finally enjoy it. And I intend to savor every piece of your fragile little body down to the smallest detail.” he said before resuming his assaults.

He unbuttoned his pants to throw them to the side before doing the same with your clothes. He left your lips to attack your chest. His hand went to caress your intimacy making you moan and lightly arch your back. You didn't want, you only want to, kick him in the head, push him back violently and call the police. Or Jed. But in your heart, you enjoyed all this. You don't want it to stop. You want it to last all night. You still feel guilty for Jed. If he learns that... who knows how he will react? If he gets angry... you are afraid of the consequences.

“Don't worry for your little boyfriend... He will never know about this . That will be our little secret, just you and me.”

He smiled at you before slowly bringing his face closer to your ear.

“Enjoy my sweet little star. I promise you that I will fill you until dawn.

Strangely you believe him. And strangely... you love it.

***

(Phew this week has been busy! between my driving hours and the few appointments, I didn't really have time to rest! As for the next fanfiction I would write, maybe I'll do it on Re8 Village with our dear Heisenberg ~ I might also do an intro instead of starting directly with Chapter 1! I'll see when I start writing! I hope you’ll like this chapter like the others ones! Well, it's time for my brain to rest! Have a great weekend to you all! See ya!)

#dbd fanfic #dbd #dead by daylight #ghostface #danny johnson #jed olsen

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darkherolovercroissant · 4 years ago

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Nyctophilia

(n.) love of darkness or night. Finding relaxation or comfort in the darkness

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: Angst & suicide

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the cold and damp air swirls around you and it touches the skin that was once warm, you feel a chill. You feel the warmth that spirals around just magically disappear, just like the ashes that were once the man who you were madly in love with. You never acted on your feelings because Bucky never seemed to be interested. He was a very touch starved individual, but never wanted your touch. He was seemingly against the way your fingers grazed his flesh arm because if even one inch of you touched his metal one, he’d flip out.

Steve always said it was because he never really believed he deserved a chance at happiness, but when you asked him if he ever wanted a chance he said yes, but not with you. You immediately began holding back and seemed to turn into a shadow in the night. You stopped everything and just seemed to ignore his existence. Steve was annoyed with how Bucky just straight up continued like it was a normal day, Bucky never saw much of you these days. It wasn’t until you walked into the dimly lit kitchen that one cold September night that your shirt looked too heavy on your frame and your cheeks were sunken in.

You no longer had any light left in your eyes nor shiny glow in your skin. Your hair looked dried and about to fall out for how rough it looked. You never smiled anymore and when Nat grabbed your arm the one day he saw you wince and let a tear slip down your cheek, She had unintentionally hurt you. Steve was worried and when it came time for Tony to fly out with Pepper, everyone had plans...except for you. You stayed behind and somehow so did Bucky. He watched as you stayed outside for three hours in the cold crisp November night. Your hair blowing in the breeze, your light and almost see through nightdress was the only thing that covered you. You sat in the field and watched nothing but the darkness surround you.

How you survived as long as you had was a mystery to the team. It was almost as if God and the Devil were not interested in seeing you at the time. You were with Steve down in Wakanda and teamed up with Wanda to help take down the threat that would be the main threat before Thanos showed up. You were such a sad sight to see. Ta’challa couldn’t even look at you without fear of breaking apart. Shuri was concerned as well as a near death avenger showed up for war. How the hell did you have plans on fighting when you were already fighting yourself.

Bucky was the target of numerous punches from both the King and Princess. You had Wanda poking inside your brain, but you were too weak and tired to fight her off. When that evil monster showed up and took the mind stone from Vision, you saw how this was gonna end. Thanos stood toe to toe with you, him looking at your shaking frame as he saw you about to die by your own hands.

“You poor little thing. The world hasn’t been so kind to you, has it?” He says with sincere sympathy.

You fall to your knees as he crouched down and lifts your chin up with his left hand.

“This isn’t your fight, little one. There’s nothing I hate more than a miserable creature, I think I’ll just end your suffering myself.” He says as he starts to use the power he had already from the gauntlet.

The power surrounding you and yet you didn’t feel anything. Thanos started draining your body when gunfire and the roars of thunder distracted him. Your body falls limp at his feet and when Bucky sees your body hit the ground, his eyes darken and he feels like the winter soldier takes over, of course Thanos snaps and all of a sudden he’s gone. Bucky starts running over to you and he sees your face just barely coloured. He starts to feel funny and as he takes one last deep breath, he calls out for Steve and as he turns around, Bucky is already dust.

————five years later————-

The time heist as Tony called it became a ideal plan. They were going to redo every failure leading up to Thanos. They were going to bring back the half of the population that was taken by Thanos.

“Nat. You and Y/n will be getting the soul stone.” Steve says

Nat smiles at you and grips your hand tightly.

“We’ll see you in a minute” Nat smirks at Steve.

——

“What is this place?” Natasha asks as you head further to what looked like an edge.

“So this is Vormir?” You mumble as you approach the end.

Nat grabbing your hand as you looked over the edge.

“Nebula mentioned that Thanos took Gamora here. She said while Thanos left here, Gamora never did. The soul stone is from here. In order to receive the stone, a soul of something you love must be gave in return.” You say as Red Skull was floating around you two.

“Precisely, young one.” He says

“Nat. One of us ain’t leaving here.” You say as she looks at you with glossy eyes.

“I know who it’s gotta be, y/n. However I don’t want it to go down like this.” She sniffed the damp air.

“Nat! They are depending on us. I don’t like this either, but we need that stone before Thanos comes for it.” You say

As you turn to walk towards the edge, Nat grabs your arm and throws you behind her.

“Nat, what the hell!?” You were annoyed

“You have a future, don’t waste it.” She says

“No I don’t. The only future I wanted was something that the world made sure I’d never have.” You whisper

“You are the backbone of the avengers, Natasha. I’m just some girl who was acquired from S.H.I.E.L.D.” You say

She pulls you into a hug and you saw the window of opportunity closing. With quick thinking you managed to jab Nat with a temporary paralysis shot and as she fell you looked her in the eyes and smiled.

“I’m tired of fighting, Nat, I’m done hurting. Make sure you win.” You smile before you run and jump towards your death, Thunder erupted above Natasha signaling your end.

As she arrived back in the compound, Tony and Steve almost screamed when only Natasha came back. She was in tears and passed the stone off to Bruce before storming off. Heading into your old room, she noticed an opened notebook on your desk.

November 3rd.

How can sunshine possibly come from our darkest times?

Skipping through the notebook, Nat found depressing journal entries that made her fall to the ground. You were this depressed and the fact that she didn’t even do anything, must of felt like the worst betrayal ever. You truly were tired of hurting and you were beyond exhausted.

———

Portals opened everywhere and everyone who was ever dusted, came back to help kick Thanos to the curb like the trash he was. Bucky was so excited to see you again and finally admit what was bothering him. Only to see Nat look at him during the battle with pity and continued on fighting leaving him with concern.

You had found relaxation and comfort within the darkness and it was time for you to become one with it. You were tired of fighting yourself and it was the best thing to have happened to you.

After the battle, Bucky couldn’t see you anywhere. Rushing over to Steve, Bucky almost threw up due to stress.

“Where’s y/n?” He begged for an answer.

The dirt and blood covered the air as Steve looked at his feet.

“I’m sorry, Buck.” He whispered

“Where is she?” He demanded

“Bucky!”

Natasha called him over and Steve helped him before offering him his shoulder to cry on.

“She sacrificed herself for the soul stone. She’s the reason we got the stone before Thanos could.” Nat says

Bucky felt the gun drop from his hand and the air get sucked from his lungs. You didn’t actually do that...did you?

“What?” He was so broken and yet angry at himself for doing this. He wanted you, but he didn’t deserve you. Tony walked over and placed his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“We didn’t know what was going to happen, Bucky.” Tony said as Pepper and him walked to a portal. Wong opened a different portal all for Bucky and as soon as he walked through, he was inside your room. Noticing your notebook pile, the very newest but still old notebook that remained open caught his eye. It was opened by Nat to a very specific date.

August 29th

The day I discovered that I was in love with Bucky was the best day ever. I remember being like a small school girl all over again. He constantly swims through my head at the worst times and always makes me happy. I really love him and I honestly don’t know how I’m going to tell him.

September 13th

That feeling of purity is now tarnished. Who knew that my crush would turn out to be something so stupid. Who was I to believe that the world would ever treat me the way I wanted to be treated. I was stupid to believe that I had a chance with him. Being told straight to your face that they can’t see you as their source of happiness really takes your confidence away.

September 20th

Who knew something like this could ever hurt as bad, ‘cause I sure as hell didn’t. I just am so tired of being this sad. I’ve been sitting out in the darkness for weeks and it’s honestly the only time I feel safe and appreciated. No one is there to make me miserable and no one is there to talk. I finally can express how I feel without rejection. The darkness is my sense of comfort.

November 18th

It’s been hard lately, but I’m doing better. I felt like talking to Bucky again, but I just realized that it’ll only be pointless. I have completely lost my feelings for him, I’m done hurting. I’m done fighting.

November 28th

Vormir was brought up and I heard about how Gamora was sacrificed to get the soul stone. I can’t imagine how poor Nebula was taking her sisters death. I can only hope it wasn’t painful, because in the short time I knew her...Gamora was one of the nicest people I could’ve ever met.

If you’re reading this

I know it’s stupid to leave notes, but to whoever sees this, if I’m not there, well then my plan worked. I’m so sorry to everyone I left behind. I never wanted to say goodbye, but it hurts to fight for something you don’t want to fight for anymore. I wish you guys all the best and I hope that whoever sees this realizes that I’m in a better place and that’s simply all I ever wanted.

Bucky sat on your bed as tears fell down his cheeks. You were the tiniest bit of sunlight in all of his darkest days and he failed to tell you how much you meant to him. Now the one person who made him feel something was making him feel everything. He closed the notebook and laid on the bed and closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I didn’t deserve you darling.”

As that night hung over the sky, Bucky made his way to the field and sat on the grass and let the darkness comfort him as the emotions just escaped him like lost souls trying to escape hell.

“I wish to be where you are.” He whispers as the cold and damp air dance over his skin as he welcomes the mystic touch of nature.

#marvel #bucky barnes #mcu #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky angst #avengers endgame #bucky barnes one shot #angst #bucky fanfic #bucky fic

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writingpaperghost · 3 years ago

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Like Father, Like Daughter (Part 13)

Chapter 13: There's a Light That Shines, and it's Power is Mine

Stuff starts really happening.

And I've hit what I have written. I... have kinda got distracted with the Ex-Aid roleswap AU before finishing this. Whoops

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22967815/chapters/82004605

After Zero finished explaining what had happened with Noa, Mayu sighed. “Okay, so what’s our plan while they do that?”

Laiha provided an answer, “Let’s head back to the Nebula House, we can have REM check in with Riku and the others,” She crosses her arms, “If they’ve found Emari’s base, then they’ll have probably found Noa.”

“That’s a big if,” Kurow says, “But…”

Mayu turns to him, “Don’t say it’s not your problem or something,” It’s not even pleading, Mayu just straight up told him not to, “You’ve helped this far. And whatever Emari’s got planned, it can’t be good for you in the long run either.”

It was hard to tell for sure what Kurow was going to say, but he responded with an insistent, “That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Though Mayu wasn’t entirely convinced, “I was going to say that Emari probably has something more planned than just Noa and whatever weapon she’d absorbed.”

“Well,” Leito began, “There’s only one way to find out.”

So the five headed back to the Nebula house. It seemed that Riku, Pega, Zena, and Moa were still out searching, since the only ones at the Nebula house were REM and the baby now drowsily peaking out from under the blankets to watch Don-shine.

“REM,” Laiha calls, “Have you heard anything from Riku and the others?”

REM responds, “So far, they haven’t had any significant progress,” Which wasn’t exactly good news, but it wasn’t unexpected, either. “But, they do think that they might be close.”

“That’s better than nothing, I guess,” Mayu notes, “We should probably go help them look?”

Kurow nods, “I can think of a few places that might be good to look,”

Sitting down on the couch, Leito sighs, “I think I’ll just stay here and help REM watch after Yuji,”

Zero quickly takes control and nods, “Right, sounds like a plan,” He’s in the process of returning Mayu’s glasses to her face for her when he adds, “Let’s go.”

Once again in the rules of splitting up, Mayu and Zero were a pair by default, with Kurow and Laiha making the other pair. Since Kurow had places he thought that Emari’s base might be, he led the way while Laiha followed. Mayu and Zero, meanwhile, had to figure out where to look on their own.

“What do you think?” Mayu wondered aloud, “Like where should we start?”

“Uh, shady alley or something?” Zero offered, “I don’t know, recon’s not really my thing.”

“Yeah,” She agreed, laughing quietly, “You’re thing is more hitting stuff.” Zero wisely chose not to mention how he’d delt with the barrier around the Earth.

“Well, I guess we’ll try your idea,” She continued, “Not like I have any.”

Zero didn’t seem entirely convinced by that, “Er, I was joking,” He said, “I’m pretty sure a shady alley would be a terrible idea.”

“Too late!” Mayu declared, “Let me find the nearest shady alley.”

The nearest shady alley wasn’t exactly close, but Mayu sure enough found one. It looked exactly like a shady alley would. Empty, with some garbage coming out of a couple of the trash cans, and little light. Mayu experimentally took a step in, then looked around to see if anything had happened. Nothing did, so Mayu figured this plan was a bust.

“I could have told you it wouldn’t do much good,” Zero commented, “I mean what proper villain just hides their base in a shady alley,” Mayu keeps walking through the alley anyway, while he’s talking. Mostly because she doesn’t know what better to do. Then she reaches the end and turns around.

“Well, that,” She begins, “Was terribly uneventful.”

“Well yeah, what were you expecting?”

“I dunno, maybe a raccoon or something?”

“A raccoon.”

“Yeah, you know, a trash gremlin.”

“I know what a raccoon is,”

Before Zero could continue, the ground shakes and a loud roar rings out. Looking towards the source, Mayu can see something in the distance. With all the buildings in the way, it’s hard to make out the exact details, even of something that large. It seemed like some sort of lizard like monster, with a frill or flower around its neck – whatever it was rather floppy.

“Guess that’s our cue,” Mayu notes, already pulling the Ultra Zero Eye out.

She can’t actually see him, but she’s pretty sure Zero nodded, “Yeah, we’ve got a Jirahs to fight.”

“Let’s go!”

---

When Kurow said that he had some ideas as to where he thought Emari’s hideout was, he turned out to be rather accurate. He’d quickly led Laiha to some shady but mostly abandoned part of the city.

“What makes you think his base is here?” She asked, warily observing their surroundings as Kurow kicked at a boarded up door.

“If you were an evil alien trying to do god knows what,” He began, finally knocking the door open, “Then wouldn’t you go to the part of the city that no one goes to? Especially if you’re trying to keep a low profile.”

She rests a hand on her sword, “If it’s that obvious, doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”

“Yeah, well, some people are idiots,”

Kurow peers into the building, then shrugs before moving on and kicking open another door. Laiha watches him for a while and lets him do his thing, already under the impression that he’d probably prefer it that way. Instead, she looks around, keeping an eye open for anything unusual or dangerous.

Soon enough, Laiha does catch sight of someone, but it’s not any aliens, at least not any she doesn’t already knows. She calls out, catching their attention and Riku, Pega, Moa, and Zena walk over.

“Laiha,” Moa smiled, “If you’re hear, then that means you found Mayu?”

Laiha nods, “Yes, Zero took care of that,” She gestures towards Kurow, “Kurow thinks that Emari’s base might be here. Zero and Mayu are off somewhere else searching.”

Zena nods, “We’ve come to the same conclusion,”

It was then that the five hear Kurow call out, “Hey, I think I find something.” They make their way over to where Kurow stood, in front of an opening in the wall, the door of which seemed to be disguised as an old refrigerator. Briefly, Kurow notes that Pega, Riku, Moa, and Zena are now there, but doesn’t say anything.

“Well,” Pega begins, almost hesitantly, “It’s definitely suspicious.”

“Very,” Moa agrees, “I guess we ought to investigate.”

The six enter the opening, with Riku in the lead, Zena, Moa, and Laiha right behind him. Kurow stayed back a bit, closer to where Pega trailed behind. The thing was, Kurow really didn’t want to get into more fights than he had to, but even with so many people here, he figured there wouldn’t be much choice. Certainly, this was where all the Magma’s had gone to.

At first, they didn’t see anyone, though that quickly changed with the appearance of one meandering Magma. Zena quickly took him out, though, with little fuss. Kurow had a feeling it wouldn’t be that easy all the time.

They wandered further, not finding anything particularly helpful, until they stumbled into several more Magmas. Kurow didn’t think that they’d be able to handle this many as easily as the first. While there was six of them, which was equal to the number of Magmas, Pega, to Kurow’s knowledge, wasn’t a fighter. Moa seemed reliant on her gun, which would only work so well in this close of proximity. Laiha at least had her sword, Kurow wasn’t worried about Zena, and he could only presume that Riku could fight given he was an Ultra. (Kurow would learn very soon that Riku was no good at fighting outside of being an Ultra.)

As Kurow dodged out of the way of one of the Magmas’ fist, he catches a glimpse of Riku’s poor fighting. Riku, who barely dodged out of the way of the Magma’s attack, wasn’t even able to hit it. At least Moa had managed to get some distance and was shooting at the Magmas, with Pega hanging out in her shadow. Laiha managed to disarm the one she was fighting, who also had some kind of sword like weapon. Kurow kicks the Magma he’s fighting’s legs out from under him, knocking him to the ground.

Through some miracle, they manage to knockout the Magmas they were fighting. Annoyed, Kurow grumbles, “Why is the Ultraman so bad at fighting?”

Riku at least looks a bit embarrassed, “It’s different like this,” He rubs the back of his head, “I don’t know why.” Kurow can’t imagine how it was different, or why Riku was worse at fighting at this smaller size, but he supposed there wasn’t much they could do about it. They still had to find Noa.

“We need to keep moving,” Zena says and they all nod in agreement. There wasn’t much time to waste. The group continues to search through the base until they come across a room, containing who they were looking for.

Inside the room, Noa was seated in a chair, not even tied up or anything. Instead, she sat with her arms crossed, glaring at one very scared looking group of Magmas that was cowering on the other side of the room. There’s something about her that doesn’t feel quite right, the energy that normally simply simmered was now boiling.

“Honestly,” She said, sounding irritated and not having noticed the new group standing in the doorway. “Some henchmen you are.” Was she seriously criticizing the Magma on their henchmen skills?

“This- this is unprecedented!” One particularly brave, or perhaps stupid, Magma protested, “You’re not normal!”

The energy bristles, then spikes when Noa grumbles, “Ugh, you guys are ridiculous,” She stands up from the chair, “Hey, how do I-?” Then she noticed the group in the doorway. An excited smile graces her face, “Hey guys!” She waves.

Moa is the first to break out of her shock and respond, “Noa! You’re okay!”

In response, Noa shrugs and looks far too casual for someone who got kidnapped, “Yeah, I went right past panic and straight to calm about… an hour ago? I’ve just been giving these guys are hard time since,” She points towards the group of terrified Magmas, “Apparently, they think I’m scary.”

“You could blow us all up,” One said in a shaky voice, then hides deeper in the huddle.

Noa doesn’t acknowledge them, “Anyway, can we get out of here?”

Riku looks a bit dazed when he answered, “Yeah,”

#ultraman zero #ultraman geed #mayu igaguri #like father like daughter #my writing

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qandnoablog · 4 years ago

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Returned (Marvel Imagine)

Title: Discovered

Pairing: There is no final pairing (since I follow along with the movies as accurately as I can) but [Y/N] does gravitate towards Loki

Warnings: Based on the movie - Avengers: End Game

Part: 17, [16], [15], [14], [13], [12], [11], [10], [9], [8], [7], [6], [5], [4], [3], [2], [1] Short story: [3], [2], [1]

Key: Y/N - Your Name Y/L/N - Your Last Name

Word Count: 2,280

Summary: Without much time to mourn the Avenger’s most recent fallen, the team resumes their original mission in returning all that have been dusted. Sadly, before anyone has time to rejoice, the compound is under attack and chaos ensues. What more awaits [Y/N] and will peace ever come?

Note From Author: Here is another part, finished, edited, and out for all of you! I hope you enjoy it and stick around for the next part :)

Part 17 - Return

The moment [Y/N] felt her feet on solid ground, her eyes scanned the room for two specific people. When her eyes landed on them, she first felt relieved, then furious.

“Are you two insane?!” [Y/N] hollered as she knocked both of them over the head with her abilities, gauging each power to do a good amount of damage to each one.

“Easy there, Tiger,” Tony began, rubbing the sore spot on his head, but [Y/N] didn’t let him finish.

“I already felt crappy about letting you all down when I lost the Tesseract back in New York, but now you both make me sit out when I could have helped you get back another one? Stephen Strange already pulled that stunt over on me back on Titan, but you… You both did the exact same thing!”

[Y/N] would have drone on and on, but suddenly the atmosphere in the room plummeted. She sensed something amiss and then turned her attention to the loud sound behind her.

Clint had fallen to his knees, his expression solemn, and his eyes did not meet anyone else's. Everyone focused their attention to him and then realized the one person missing from their group.

“Clint, where’s Nat?” Bruce asked.

That’s right. Natasha Romanoff was nowhere to be found. And Clint had the air of grief and mourning around him. His smile during their departure was gone and all that was left was sorrow and guilt. Tears glimmered in his eyes as the immense emotions he felt poured onto everyone around him. He didn’t need to say a word. Everyone already knew the answer.

Bruce fell to his knees while the others bowed their heads. [Y/N]’s anger vanished into thin air and she stared at Clint for a good few seconds before tears fell from her eyes and streamed down her face. She took one step forward, then another, then another, until soon she was right in front of the man. Then she kneeled down and embraced him, both to comfort him as well as leaning on a friend who understood the pain of loss she was feeling.

Natasha was one of the first few Avengers [Y/N] had gotten to know. And throughout their journey, Nat was always helping her out. She had trained her in some self defense, taught her how to wield some weapons, and was there for her when her family had turned to dust. Natasha had stayed at the Avengers compound and allowed [Y/N] to stay with her when she had nowhere else to go. She had considered Natasha as her family, and she had also seen [Y/N] the same way.

And now, that strong, unbreakable woman was gone.

Holding onto Clint, [Y/N] cried and cried. She didn’t care if she was the only one that wailed out in sadness, or that the only sound coming from the compound was from her. She just held on to her friend, who must have been feeling much worse than her, and cried. Cried at the unfairness of it all.

“-!” a voice called out to her, stirring her back to consciousness, but she could barely make out the sounds, let alone who the voice belonged to.

Sore all over and unbelievably dizzy, [Y/N] just wanted to close her eyes and sleep for the rest of her life. But someone kept shaking her, rattling her as if in a panic. A groan escaped her throat as she resisted, not wanting to open her eyes, but the person just wouldn’t leave her alone.

“Hey, hey, hey! [Y/N], stay with me!”

Finally, she was able to register the words and her eyes flickered open. Though the image was fuzzy, she could make out the shape of the man behind the voice. Groggy and disoriented, she tried to recollect her thoughts while blinking away the haziness that clouded her sight. That’s when she remembered what had just happened.

After the team had finished up the new gauntlet, placing all six stones into the gear, there was a brief debate of who would put it on and snap those dusted back into existence. It was ultimately decided that the safest option was Bruce, because the stones consisted of mostly gamma radiation. None of them knew if he would survive, so everyone stood by, ready for any potential risks at hand.

Everything should have been over after the snap. Everything should have worked and gone back to normal after Bruce had succeeded in bringing everybody back. Everything should have ended, peace finally being restored… But then… But then something happened.

All hell broke loose as the whole compound began to crumble under the surprise attack. Clint was knocked unconscious and [Y/N] acted purely on instinct. She jumped down into the gaping hole of the floor, tackling into him, and her barriers encased the two as they plummeted down. The last thing she remembered was… Was holding onto Clint as she braced for impact.

“Oh, thank god,” Clint breathed out as he saw [Y/N]’s eyes coming into focus. “Thank God…”

“Clint?” [Y/N] coughed, the debris all around them making the air difficult to breathe. “What-?”

“I don’t know,” he answered as he took out a light and inspected their surroundings.

Given the circumstances, the two had made it out with very little injuries. Seeing how the whole compound seemed to be laid to waste, it was a miracle that no bones were broken. Clint had been unconscious when the two fell down, but he could guess that it was thanks to [Y/N]’s abilities that the two were relatively alright. And when he woke up and she didn’t, his heart nearly stopped in his chest. He had lost one friend that day. He couldn’t lose another.

Looking up and around, calling through the comms to see if they could get in touch with anyone, Clint happened to spot something lying under the rubble not too far from them. It was the gauntlet! Now the size of Hulk’s hand, it had fallen down with them during the pandemonium. How all this had happened was unclear at the moment, but thankfully the infinity stones did not end up lost or worse… In the wrong hands.

A low growl echoed through the tunnel, snapping them into battle positions. Clint reached for his arrow, his bow ready, while [Y/N] quickly got up and readied her powers. Seeing no enemies from one end, Clint quickly turned to the other. [Y/N] followed and noticed something move under the dim, red lights. He fired an arrow, lighting up the tunnel, and both were alarmed to see several alien figures creeping towards them.

“Shit,” she muttered.

Outnumbered, Clint retracted his bow and [Y/N] sent out a wave of her powers to push the enemy back. The animalistic creatures were thrown off, and in that brief time period Clint grabbed the gauntlet and the two retreated into the opposite direction.

Sprinting in the cramped space, it was only a matter of time before these beasts caught up with them. Still, neither Clint or [Y/N] were willing to go down without a fight. The moment the aliens got too close, [Y/N] sent out a blast of her powers and sent them back just a few more spaces. But being unable to stop and actually go against them face to face, it was hard to do any permanent damage.

Thinking fast, Clint placed a few arrows along the path. She wasn’t sure what he was planning, but she didn’t have time to ask. Instead, she just trusted him and tried to provide him with a little more time.

“Shield!” He instructed, leaping forward, and [Y/N] acted without a second thought.

The two were wrapped in a bubble of her energy, just when a chain of explosions went off in the dimly lit tunnel behind them. Thrown by the force of the trap, the two stumbled onto the metallic floor, her shield coming down as they rolled to safety.

Still, it was not enough to bring all the aliens down.

Clint tossed [Y/N] the gauntlet and held onto her waist as he shot out a grappling hook from his other arm and hooked it to his belt. Then the two shot into the air, right before the animalistic alien could pounce on top of them. Still, they persisted.

With his free arm, he drew his sword and sliced through the first alien that jumped at them while [Y/N] adjusted her weight with her powers to lessen the burden on Clint. With that, she gathered up her energy, condensing the air before her, and shot out several waves that sliced through her opponents. Though it wasn’t as clean as Clint’s blade, she disabled enough for them to safely make it to the top.

Landing hard onto the solid floor, Clint released [Y/N] and turned back to the hole with his sword raised, ready for any more oncoming attacks. She quickly got up, ignoring the new bruises and cuts, and was about to join when the two realized that no more were making their way towards them.

Slumping back down, [Y/N] caressed the gauntlet as both she and Clint finally were able to take a breath.

“Oh, hey,” Clint panted as he lay on the floor, noticing footsteps approaching them. “I know you.”

It was Nebula. She had fought with them against Thanos, her father, and had stuck by them after all this time, and though Clint didn’t know her all that well, she was a part of their team now. Relieved to see a friendly face and not an enemy, the two let down their guard.

She reached out for the gauntlet, and having no reason to doubt a friend, [Y/N] extended it towards her. But the next words that came from Nebula’s mouth rattled her to the core.

“Father,” she said through some sort of communication device, raising alarm bells for both [Y/N] and Clint, “I have the stones.”

“What?” Clint asked in disbelief, but before he could stand, Nebula had put her foot down on top of him and pointed her gun to his head.

“What are you-!” [Y/N] began, her powers just about ready to knock the gun from the blue woman, but another voice interrupted her.

“Stop,” a woman commanded, stepping out from the shadows with a gun pointed at Nebula.

She was just as alien as Nebula, but her skin was green and her hair a mix of black and red. And unlike Nebula, she was someone [Y/N] had never seen before. But her gun wasn’t facing neither her nor Clint. Instead it was directed at Nebula, whose side was currently in question.

The blue and green alien had their weapons at the ready, one pointed at Clint while the other pointed at Nebula, but neither were ready to fire. [Y/N] was beyond confused and didn’t know what to make of the situation. So instead of going for the offensive, she focused her powers around Clint and herself to solidify their defenses.

“You’re betraying us?” Nebula questioned, her eyes never leaving the stranger.

Then, the next arrival that walked into their standoff made [Y/N]’s head spin.

Another Nebula walked into the room, her hands up to show that she was unarmed. Startled, the first Nebula stepped back and shifted her aim from Clint to the other Nebula. Using that opening, Clint rolled away and dragged [Y/N] back to a safer distance, away from all the guns.

“You don’t have to do this,” the unarmed Nebula said, trying to reason with her other self.

“I am this,” the first Nebula countered.

“No, you’re not,” the green alien argued, resolute in her claim.

The three went back and forth, two trying to convince the one, while Clint and [Y/N] tried to make sense of what was going on right before their eyes. It seemed that the unarmed Nebula was the one [Y/N] had gotten to know over the years, but the other Nebula and the green woman were a mystery to her. And Clint was beyond confused, since he had only just met Nebula and didn’t know what to make of any of this.

“No!” The green alien cried out just as the enemy Nebula pointed her weapon at her.

In that split second, the Nebula that [Y/N] knew drew her gun and shot her other self right in the heart before she could fire. Groaning in pain, the enemy Nebula backed up to the fencing and slid down to the ground, the light in her eyes fading and the tears that had welled up dripping to the floor.

Though she was no longer able to make a sound, it was clear as day that the enemy Nebula did not want her life to end this way. Just like the one [Y/N] had gotten to know, she wanted to abandon her orders and join the two before her. Sadly, she was unable to break free of her father’s hold on her.

Brushing aside the questions that bubbled within her, [Y/N] slipped away from Clint and picked up the gauntlet. Although she didn’t quite understand all that went down between the three of them, she knew one thing was crystal clear.

The enemy Nebula had reported to someone and called him, “Father.” And having known Nebula for those past five years, [Y/N] knew exactly who they were dealing with. The monster that started all this tragedy was back.

Thanos had returned.

[PART 18]

Tags: @themeanestlittlewitch @stressedandbandobessed7771 @moistpotatobear @fxckingfat @e7here4l

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undermounts · 5 years ago

Text

Bound―Chapter 2: An Agreement

Summary: After twenty-two years, Diana and Gaius reunite.

AO3 | Masterlist

Pairing: Gaius Augustine/Diana Leigh (BB MC)

Notes: I was going to wait until Sunday to post, but let’s just get this show on the road. Buckle in y’all for a slow burn

Aosta Valley, Italy, 2042

Diana was vaguely aware of tall blades of grass swaying in the wind around her, delicately caressing her arms and cheeks, like soft whispers against her skin, as she sat on the ground, the young boy draped across her lap, unconscious. She held him gently, eyes closed and fingertips pressed to his forehead as she immersed herself in his mind.

Nebulae of indigo and amber matter swirled around her as she focused on the silvery threads that wove together the tapestries of his recent memories, delicately removing the strands that formed her own image as well as Gaius’s and the two Daughters’.

Diana observed through his memories as the young boy wandered onto the front porch of his home, curious about the noise in the street outside. A shout. A crash. Diana watched as he rubbed sleep from his eyes, still yawning when the second Daughter of Rheya had appeared before him, seemingly out of nowhere. She was smiling and for a moment, the young boy smiled back. Diana felt the moment he realized there was something wrong about this stranger who appeared so suddenly, whose smile seemed unnaturally wide. The street beyond had gone quiet, there was no sign of whatever ruckus had roused him from sleep. Uneasy, he stepped back towards the front door, smile fading.

“Where are you going?” the woman crooned, stepping forward as he stepped back. “The sun is down. It’s time to play.”

On the corporeal plane, Diana’s body shuddered in response.

Diana removed those threads of memory, weaving together the gaps she had left with the remaining material and supplementing doctored versions of what she took away. When the boy woke in the morning, he would not remember cunning smiles, vicious fangs, and sharp knives. Instead, he would only remember dreaming of empty fields, soft grass, and the sky full of stars above.

As she polished up the new memories, Diana felt him there, on the edge of her perception. She felt his amusement, his restlessness, his… curiosity. Even detached from her body, she could feel the intensity of his gaze, burning like a brand on her skin.

“Would you stop that?” she snapped, concentration broken, her consciousness now split between her own body and in the child’s mind palace.

“Stop what?” Gaius hummed, voice perfectly neutral. If she could, Diana would have rolled her eyes.

“Staring. It’s distracting. And rude.” Diana huffed, eyes still closed.

She heard Gaius scoff, but he turned away nonetheless, soil crunching beneath his boots. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

Diana scowled but slammed her mental barriers back up, retreating into the boy’s mind to finish her work in peace.

Hardly a minute later, she had finished, withdrawing from his mind with a satisfied hum. Diana had taken longer than necessary to alter the child’s memories, but her work was seamless. And if she was being honest with herself, she was stalling, staving off the moment she would have to face the new predicament she suddenly found herself in.

Gaius was here. Gaius, who she had not seen in more than two decades. And he had come to her aid.

Diana opened her eyes, letting her hand fall from the boy’s forehead to the ground beneath her. She took a deep breath, looking first to the moon, bright and luminous overhead, and then to Gaius.

He had already been watching her. Again.

“So it is done, then?” he asked, waving his hand towards the boy although his eyes remained locked on hers.

Diana swallowed and nodded, shifting the boy, still fast asleep, in her arms to stand. “Yes. He won’t remember any of this.”

Before Diana could get to her feet, Gaius was there, lifting the child from her arms and tucking him against his chest with a gentleness Diana had never seen in him before, although his face remained perfectly placid. It was...an odd sight. Although she had made peace with Gaius many years ago, Diana was admittedly having difficulty reconciling her last memories of Gaius, even when he was free of Rheya’s corruption, with the man standing before her, cradling a child.

Her thoughts must have been clear on her face because Gaius huffed at her expression, turning on his heel and striding towards town without a second glance. Wordlessly, Diana drew her coat tighter around herself and followed.

Once the field had given way to the edge of town, Gaius slowed, letting Diana lead the way to the boy’s home, guided by the memories she had witnessed. She waited outside, leaning against the wall of a nearby building as Gaius silently entered the house to put the child back in bed.

Her mind reeled, still coming to terms with the fact that Gaius was here in Aosta with her. No one had heard a word from him since he left New York City. Jax had speculated―more like hoped―that Gaius had died, unlikely as it was. Adrian and Kamilah had agreed that as long as he wasn’t causing trouble, he was the farthest thing from their minds. Diana on the other hand, had secretly hoped that he was somewhere out there, trying to do some good in the world. Like he promised her he would.

It wasn’t often that Diana thought of Gaius, but whenever she did, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was foolish for vehemently holding onto a promise Gaius was under no obligation to keep.

When he finally emerged from the house, Gaius blinked at Diana, as if surprised she was still there. Diana watched as he hesitated, and then crossed the street to where she stood. Did Gaius ever hesitate? They stood together in the shadows, the air between them taut as they sized each other up. Finally, Gaius spoke first, breaking the silence.

“You’re different.”

Diana raised an eyebrow, pointedly looking him up and down. “And you’re wearing pants.”

It was true. As far as outward appearances went, Gaius looked just as he did twenty years ago, wavy hair still falling at about chin-length, one eyebrow forever lifted as if he regarded everything he saw with detached amusement. The only difference was he had ditched the doublet for something more modern: black jeans and a sweater of the darkest blue.

A muscle feathered in Gaius’s jaw as he stared down at her. “Perhaps you aren’t so different after all.”

Diana smiled slightly at that.

With a sigh, Gaius turned, scanning the streets around them, eyes glinting in the moonlight. “We shouldn’t stay out here. Just in case there are more… cultists,” he grimaced as if the word had left a bad taste in his mouth. “...around”

Diana opened her mouth to protest that the Daughters of Rheya weren’t a cult―Serafine and cult simply did not fit together―but the more she thought about it, the less inclined she was to argue with him. Instead, she frowned slightly, glancing between Gaius and some spot southwest of where they were now. Diana pushed off the wall, waving a hand at Gaius. “Come on. I’ve got a room. We can talk there.”

Diana felt like she was dreaming.

She sat on the edge of her bed, watching as Gaius absently roamed around her hotel room, running his hand along the mantle of the fireplace that crackled to life along the far wall.

Gaius was here. In her room. Wearing jeans.

She shook her head and cleared her throat. They sat in silence for long enough. “What are you doing here?”

Gaius glanced over his shoulder at her, firelight flickering across his countenance. “I could ask you the same thing. Shouldn’t you be back in New York, helping stray pups find their forever homes?”

Diana grit her teeth. “Is that what you think I do?”

He shrugged indifferently. “Isn’t that the sort of thing you good do-ers… do? You and Adrian, the good Samaritans.”

Diana let out a long breath, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at him. “I’m on… a mission.”

“By yourself.”

“I can handle myself.” The moment Diana said it, she braced herself for some sarcastic comeback. Clearly, she imagined Gaius scoffing.

Instead, he merely said, “I know.”

“I―you what?” Diana blurted.

Gaius turned, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall beside the fireplace. He regarded her for a moment longer, and Diana was surprised to find that for once, he wasn’t amused or calculating when he looked at her. He seemed… thoughtful.

“I said I know. I know you can handle yourself,” he reiterated, speaking slowly, deliberately. “You expected me to mock you, I can tell. But that wasn’t my intention, Diana. But it is… rare, isn’t it? For one of you lot to go off alone?”

“It was how I wanted it,” Diana shrugged, keeping her voice carefully even as she gauged Gaius’s reaction. If he was curious about what that meant, he didn’t let it show.

Instead, he simply nodded and seated himself in one of the leather armchairs by the fire. “I know what you are capable of. I haven’t forgotten.”

“You shouldn’t,” Diana said, although she didn’t know why. There was no menace behind her words. No reason for it. Gaius wasn’t here to fight her, she knew. He was no longer the man she feared, the man who had been her enemy. But old habits died hard she supposed.

Gaius hummed as he hunched forward, elbows on his knees, hands interlaced before him as he searched her face. For what, Diana didn’t know. His pose was so relaxed, far from the stiff, proud posture he once held.

“I haven’t forgotten either, Diana,” Gaius began, eyes finally falling away to his hands, “my promise to you.”

Diana let a slow breath, her heartbeat suddenly loud in her own ears. All those years she had dared to hope…

It had not been for nothing.

Gaius sat there, eyes downcast, wringing his hands. Was he… nervous?

“I know I can’t undo what I have done. And I know twenty years is not enough to atone,” he said softly. “I am not looking for praise or approval. I know I don’t deserve that. But I just need you to know. I am not wasting this second chance you’ve given me. You did not spare me for nothing.”

Diana stood and crossed the room. Gaius’s eyes followed her as she went, but quickly fell to his hands again as she sat in the chair across from her. For a moment, she was reminded of herself as a child, of how she used to extend that helping hand to her mother on bad days, hoping for acceptance while fearing rejection. How long had Gaius been alone, trying to atone, hoping that the one person who had faith in him hadn’t given up?

“I promised you I would do you proud,” Gaius continued, shadows flickering across his face. “I will never forget that.”

Diana reached out slowly, laying her hand over his as she whispered, “I knew you wouldn’t.”

He looked up, blue eyes searching hers and Diana almost gasped out loud from the relief she felt pouring off of him in waves. The sheer amount of gratitude. All of it, strangely, for her.

She didn’t know what to make of that.

After a moment, she withdrew her hand and leaned back, disentangling herself from all of his emotions now that skin-to-skin content had been broken. She could still feel some of it, echoes of his presence, but at least it was somewhat muted. Odd, that she could feel any of Gaius’s emotions at all, especially so acutely. She knew that he had some small affinity for psychic power, enough to shield himself. So why…?

Curious, she shifted the conversation, distracting Gaius as she sent out minuscule tendrils of power, just enough to probe his mental shields, but slight enough to avoid detection. “How did you find me here?”

Gaius scoffed, straightening, a bit of his usual self shining through once again. “You were hard to miss, Diana.”

“What do you mean?” She frowned, brushing against the fortified walls of his mind, solid and impenetrable. She supposed that was wise of him, to keep his mind guarded in her presence, all things considered. Although that didn’t explain why she could sense his emotions as if they were her own.

He leveled her with a cool gaze and she felt rather than heard his sardonic amusement. “You’re like a beacon, Diana. I was a good couple of miles away when I felt you out of nowhere, burning like a wildfire on the horizon. I have only felt that sort of power once before, in you,” he shook his head. “So I came running. But surely you didn’t need all of that to fend off two measly vampires.” She sensed the implication in his voice and frowned.

“I…” Diana trailed off, remembering the talisman she had come here for. She glanced down, withdrawing the bundle of fabric from the inside of her coat. Its presence was dim now. Slumbering. Carefully, she unwrapped it.

“What is that?” Gaius watched her intently, eyes flicking from the item in her hand as he gauged her reaction.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, turning it into the firelight. “I… I dreamt of this. Weeks ago.”

“That’s why you’re here.”

“For this and other things,” Diana murmured, frowning at the talisman. It bothered her that she still couldn’t identify its purpose. It had to do more than flash every now and then, right? She glanced up at him, momentarily considering just how much to tell him. “When I found it, it was as if it were calling to me.”

“And then what? You touched it?” Gaius huffed, then seeing her expression, pursed his lips. “...Of course you did.”

“I’m sorry, weren’t you the one who wanted me to go around touching random, powerful things to see if I was the Bloodkeeper?” Diana snapped, pocketing the talisman with a huff.

Gaius merely rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. Typical.

“Anyways,” Diana continued, taking a deep breath to soothe herself. “My power reacted when I did. Beyond my control.” She clenched her fist against her thigh, recalling the way it had torn free of her body. “I don’t think it went anywhere. Just a burst of energy and the gemstone flared for a second. That’s what you must have sensed.”

“Must have been,” Gaius echoed, expression unreadable. They sat in silence for a while longer, each of them left alone to their thoughts, conversation evidently over. After a few minutes had passed, Diana fidgeted in her chair, glancing from the fire to Gaius, who seemed to be perfectly unaware of oppressive air in the room.

Now, what were they supposed to do?

Gaius wasn’t her friend, but he wasn’t her enemy anymore either. Diana didn’t know what he was to her anymore, or what she was to him. She didn’t know what to call someone whose life had been in her hands twice before. She had decided his fate more than twenty years ago and given him a second chance to atone. Whatever that made them, Diana didn’t quite feel right telling him to leave, although she didn’t know if that meant she wanted him to stay.

Diana cleared her throat, about to ask him what he planned to do next and if he had a place to stay when Gaius got to his feet, crossing to the window that overlooked the town of Aosta below. Diana watched as he studied the streets and buildings beyond, his silhouette limned in the moonlight. She noticed, with some relief, that the only emotions she felt now were once again her own. She wasn’t entirely sure why their consciousnesses had merged like that, although she admitted it would have been nice to know what he was thinking at that moment. When Gaius spoke, his voice was calm and steady, like a general laying out a plan.

“More will come looking for you, Diana. I imagine that the Daughters of Rheya you encountered and I were not the only ones who felt your power. ” He turned to face her, hands clasped behind his back. “It would probably be in your best interest to leave as soon as possible.”

Diana nodded slowly, glancing over at the digital clock that sat upon the nightstand. It was just a few short hours until dawn. She supposed she could leave at any point during the day, since sunlight did not have the debilitating effects on her that it did on other vampires. But she had grown used to the graveyard shift with her friends at home and was surprisingly tired, both from the long plane ride she had taken earlier that day and the amount of power she expended tonight.

As if Gaius had heard her thoughts, he added, “I can stay and keep watch while you rest and make the proper travel arrangements. And then I will continue on my way.”

Continue on my way.

Diana tilted her head at that, an idea coming together. Whether it was a good idea, she wasn’t quite sure. “Where will you go?”

Gaius shrugged, glancing out the window. “I don’t know. Wherever I am needed.”

“So you just… wander? Until you find someone who needs rescuing?”

He huffed, brow quirking, “It’s surprisingly effective. But yes, I suppose I wander until I come across someone in need of help or hear of places where I could be useful.”

She nodded, contemplating this new information. For twenty-two years Gaius had roamed alone protecting humanity. And she had never heard a word of it.

“What if...” Diana began, watching Gaius closely to study his reaction. “What if you came with me? I have quite a bit of wandering to do myself. I’m sure you can find some humans to save along the way.”

Gaius simply blinked at her as if he couldn’t believe what she had just said. Diana wasn’t even sure if she had really just proposed the idea either. It was absurd, honestly. The idea of her and Gaius traveling around Europe together, all because of one chance encounter―

“You’re asking me to come with you.” Not quite a question.

“Yes,” Diana answered without hesitation. Then she added, “I don’t know what lies ahead of me. It wouldn’t help to have some backup or someone who knows Europe and its history better than I do.”

Gaius stood there silently, mulling this over. His gaze was intense, unrelenting as he studied her, weighing her words and searching for any hint of insincerity in them. Seemingly satisfied by whatever he had worked out, Gaius let out a long breath, jaw set in resolution. Then, he dipped his chin, ever so slightly. “Alright.”

“Like, ‘alright,’ you’ll come with me?” Diana reiterated, eyebrows raised. She realized that she had been the one to invite him along, but she hadn’t anticipated that he would actually say yes or what to do if he did.

“Yes. I’ll accompany you on… whatever it is that you think you are doing.” He sighed as if in anticipation of the trials that were to come. “Something tells me that wherever you go, trouble will follow.”

Diana’s lip quirked up. “Which is why this is an excellent proposition for you.”

Gaius merely sighed again. When he wasn’t looking, Diana smiled.

tagging: @bigmemesplz, @somin-yin, @mkamra2355

#gaius x mc #gaius augustine #my writing #bloodbound #adrian raines #kamilah sayeed #jax matsuo #lily spencer #rheya apostolous #choices #my fic #bb3

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ohmygoodnessgraciouss · 5 years ago

Note

can you write one where loki survives the fight at the beginning of infinity war and you disappear from the snap and how he reacts? thanks!!

Masterlist

Words: 1173

Oh, wow. My heart died at this request. Not-so-fun-fact: I almost killed Loki off immediately after Y/N died. Oops.

That could’ve been interesting. So, spoiler alert. I think you all knew he wouldn’t die anyway. Imagine a part two where Loki is in Endgame. Imagine the reunion. Awww, that’d be too cute!

Three more requests by the way. I’m almost up-to-date. Yay!!

“Did we just lose?” Peter Quill asked shortly after Thanos disappeared with the Time Stone. You sat there, shocked, holding your arm tightly to try to stop the bleeding. You and Tony had to deal with an entire moon as the others were tossed away, resulting in your arm being cut.

Loki rushed over to you, ripping a part of his clothing to wrap the wound. His eyes showed worry and concern, but you reassured him you were fine. Doctor Strange stayed still on the rock he was on, looking around at the group. He knew what would be coming up in only a few short minutes. He saw it millions of times but he braced himself as he wished for it to not happen somehow.

“This is all your fault!” Loki yelled at the man angrily. You could almost see his blood boil. The god thought he was going to die by the hands of Thanos only a couple days ago and then you saved him in the nick of time. It was an idiotic move in his opinion, but the Mad Titan respected your bravery and moved on since he didn’t need to kill.

“My fault? I’m sorry, let’s see you find out that your girlfriend is dead and see how you react!” Peter retorted. Loki glared at the man, not wanting to waste any more time on him.

Tony rolled his eyes at the two. He clearly didn’t care about Loki at all since his last encounter with him before this was 2012. He couldn’t take the other idiot’s side though because he was pissed about how he cost the plan. "Both of you quit it. We need to figure out we’re going to do now.“

"There’s nothing can we do,” Strange spoke up. "We’re in the endgame now.“

"We don’t even know how far away from Earth we are right now. The ship has to be repaired. Vis has the stone. Wherever he is, Wanda is. Hopefully, they could contact the others. They may stand a chance,” You stated. Loki was confused by who you meant.

“Who are Vis and Wanda?” He asked.

“Vision is a robot that has the mind stone that powers him up and Wanda is his girlfriend who was experimented on with the stone. She’s super powerful.”

“Stronger than Thanos?”

Your gaze flicked up to him. "Maybe not, but she’s the best chance we’ve got.“

Tony pulled Peter Parker up as the others walked closer. Dust and debris started flying around as if the battle just ended. The air changed drastically though, and you knew you were in trouble.

"Something’s happening,” Mantis said out loud as she looked around. As Peter Quill kept an arm around her, she turned into dust. She let out an audible gasp as it happened before she was gone.

Your eyes widened at the sight. "He won,“ You quietly muttered.

Drax looked over at his quickly disappearing right arm before looking back up at his friend. "Quill?” He called out to the man. He started to fall back, but before he could do anything, he was gone.

Tony took a few steps forward as you felt Loki wrap an arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer. "Steady, Quill,“ Tony said.

"Oh, man,” Star-Lord knew what was coming as an odd sensation filled his chest. He didn’t need to look down as his body turned into dust before everyone’s eyes.

“Tony,” Stephen called, “There was no other way.” Within seconds the man was gone as well.

“Stay with me, Y/N, I can’t lose you,” Loki said as he brought you even closer. You felt like you were in a death grip.

“I don’t know if I can control that,” You stated as you felt weaker. It was like you were grasping onto some sort of stability that you couldn’t find. You grasped his hand, feeling it shake faster and faster.

“Don’t you dare leave me.” He kissed the top of your head, breathing in your scent.

Suddenly, you couldn’t feel his hand anymore and looked down towards it. The brown dust particles started leading up to your elbow as you couldn’t feel your hand anymore. It wasn’t painful at all. It was almost peaceful as if you were falling into a deep sleep.

You looked up at him quickly before your vision could turn black. He couldn’t stop looking at your quickly fading arm, fear, and sadness filling his green orbs. His mouth was agape as he looked at your face. He moved his hand up to cradle your cheek.

“Whatever happens, know that I love you no matter what, Loki. Not even death can stop that,” You said as darkness started to fill the edges of your peripheral vision.

“I love you too,” Was the last thing you heard before everything was gone.

Loki held some of the dust in his hand in shock. Only seconds before he was holding you in his arms. Tears clouded his sight, but none dared to fall.

“Mr. Stark?” The god heard Parker ask. He didn’t care what was going on then. He couldn’t even turn to look at the quickly fading Spider-Man. All that mattered was that his love was gone.

They say just before you die is when your life flashes before your eyes. Loki found out right then and there that it isn’t true. Memories of him fighting you and the Avengers played back in his mind. You were able to survive that. Memories of watching you fight alongside Thor on missions that he sent the two of you on as Odin played as well. You survived every single one of those, including Surtur. You even survived Hela and fighting Thanos in the ship shortly after Asgard blew up. How could you die from this?

It didn’t feel right to him at all. You deserved a long and happy life. He didn’t deserve you at all, but he stayed by your side to make sure you were okay. He was supposed to be the one to protect you from the titan that tortured him senselessly. He couldn’t protect you from this though. And it practically killed him there.

None of the torture he suffered through back in 2011 felt as painful as what he just experienced in a minute. This was the worst thing Thanos has ever done to him. He wouldn’t have cared if anyone else died, but you were the one to vanish. He would’ve sacrificed himself if he had the choice.

Loki couldn’t even feel angry by it yet. The dust started blowing out of his hand, which was when he could finally look at something else. When he looked up, he saw that Tony and Nebula were the only ones left. The silence was deafening.

Loki knew that Thanos had made a big mistake. He couldn’t figure out which one it was though. It was either killing you or letting him live. Either way, he was determined to get his revenge now.

Thanos was going to regret killing you.

#loki x reader #loki #odinson #laufeyson #thor #avengers #tony stark #endgame #infinity war #spiderman #peter parker #peter quill #starlord #guardians of the galaxy #fanfiction #fanfic #romance #angst

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loveforpreserumsteve · 4 years ago

Text

Not Without You (Canon Divergence Stucky Fix-It-Fic)

Fourteen:

"Guys!" Natasha panted as she burst into the room. Holding onto the wall as she caught her breath, she told the group, "You're not going to believe this!"

Hysterics ceasing, Steve righted himself and watched as she turned to run in the opposite direction, back the way she came. Stomach churning, Steve didn't waste any time as he followed. Easily catching up to her as he kept his eyes open. Expecting something catastrophic to have happened. Even though there was a grin tugging at her plump lips, Steve refused to think of anything positive happening.

"You need --" breath "-- to get --" breath "-- a life."

Steve rolled his eyes at that. Returning his attention forward, he crashed into the lab after Nat. That was when he found a woman with green skin sitting on a bench with a wool blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She was clearly shaken, and Steve looked around for Carol. Usually, if there was someone from another planet, it was because of her. And as far as Steve could remember, he hadn't come across anyone with such a vibrant complexion barring Nebula.

"It works," Nebula breathlessly announced.

"What works?" Steve asked, brows furrowing.

"The time machine," Scott answered, looking in awe between the two women.

Noticing that the blue woman was wearing the time suit, Steve's brows furrowed further. Perhaps a nap would've helped the cogs in his brain work quicker, but at the moment, he needed it spelled out for him. Spelled out in really easy words.

"This is Gamora," Bruce introduced, "Nebula's sister."

"Nice to meet you," Steve greeted, extending his hand to the woman.

"From 2018," Bruce finished, causing Steve to stop, mid-shake.

Steve redirected his gaze to the woman, in awe now. Looking her over, he was trying to find any deformities or injuries or something that could've happened in the travel. Heart pounding when he didn't find anything.

"How?" Steve asked, looking from Bruce to Scott to Nebula.

"We sent Nebula back to a place she knew, at an exact time that she remembered," Bruce said, gleeful of the situation.

Scott smiled, "It was so awesome! One moment, we're hoping Nebula will come back in one piece --"

"What?" Nebula asked.

"-- and then we're afraid she split in two," Scott continued.

"What?!" Nebula's voice rose.

"But it's alright! She wasn't split in two; she just had another person with her," Scott eased as though he was genuinely concerned about the trial possibly causing her to split.

Steve's throat felt tight with emotion as he fought back tears of joy. This was going to work! He was so happy that he could kiss someone! However, the only one that he'd want to kiss was gone. But as his eyes trailed back over to Gamora, he knew that he'd get him back. Hopefully soon.

"Did you really have doubts about me?" Tony arrogantly questioned as he stood beside Steve.

Steve glanced down at him, but couldn't fight the grin that tugged at his lips. Crossing his arms along his chest, Steve playfully rolled his eyes and teased, "I'd be an idiot to doubt you."

"Oh, here I was thinking that --"

"Tony, don't make me punch you," Steve gave him A Look that stopped him from ruining the moment.

"So," Cassie started, looking over the adults, "What do we do now?"

"We find the stones," Bruce answered.

"Then, we bring everyone back," Clint said, earning a nod of approval from Steve. As siblings did, they fought and reconciled faster than one could even utter a, "sorry."

"Because that's what heroes do," Thor finished with a loud belch that worked as an exclamation point.

Gamora's expression twisted in disgust at that and Steve sighed. Clapping a hand companionably on Thor's shoulder, he pulled the God of Thunder closer. Once the man was close under his arm, Steve took the beer out of his hand and downed it instead. Half-rejoicing when Thor's protests became encouragement.

Brows furrowing, Steve asked, "Wait, if you brought Nebula's sister back with her, how are we all still here?"

"Still here?" Tony questioned, clarifying, "As in why did nothing change?"

"Yes?" Steve's brows furrowed deeper while he pressed his lips together. Feeling like an idiot under Tony's gaze.

"That's -- uh," Bruce pushed his black frame glasses further up his nose, "That's not how time works. Changing the past doesn't change the future."

"I'm confused," Steve admitted while Scott gleefully pointed at him and said, "See?"

Clearly having already had this conversation with everyone else who had been there, Bruce rubbed at his temples, "If you travel to the past, that past becomes your future. And your former present becomes the past. Which can't now be changed by your new future."

"But what about Back to the Future?"

"Right?" Cassie's brows furrowed while Tony asked Steve, "You've seen Back to the Future?"

As it often did, Steve's mind wandered over to Bucky. Instead of saying he watched it because of his science-fiction loving beau, Steve answered, "It's about a man out of time."

Thankfully, Tony dropped it at that and didn't question him further. Which surprised Steve probably more than it should have. Nonetheless, Steve knew they didn't have time to talk about movies.

They needed a plan.

"Okay," Steve took in a deep breath, looking around at everyone standing in a loose circle, "So, the how works. Now we gotta figure out the when and the where. Almost all of us has had an encounter with at least one of the six Infinity Stones."

Cassie rose her hand, "I haven't."

"I don't even know what the hell you're all talking about," Scott said, glancing around at everyone.

"Regardless," Bruce cut in, "We only have enough Pym Particles for one round trip each, and these stones have been in a lot of different places throughout history."

"Our history," Tony reminded. Shoving his hands into his pockets, "So, not a lot of convenient spots to just drop in."

"Which means we have to pick our targets," Clint assumed.

"Correct," Nebula confirmed, looking over at her sister who seemed a bit shaken by it all. Considering what happened to him -- and everyone -- in 2018, he could only imagine what she must be going through.

And really, thank god for Natasha who suggested, "Might be better if we take this to somewhere more comfortable."

"That's a marvelous idea," Thor agreed, raising his hand, only remembering a moment later that he wasn't holding a beer and continuing, "We shall replenish our libations."

Steve closed his eyes and let out a quiet sigh. It was, as always, more directed at Tony who joked, "That's the spirit, Lebowski!" Not many others in the room understood the reference, but those who did uncomfortably shifted before ultimately deciding to leave for the common area of the facility. Choosing not to mock a man who was clearly struggling with his mental health and physical appearance. Which Steve was determined to help with. Even if that meant being a shoulder to lean on.

#not without you #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x bucky barnes #marvel #fanfic #wattpad #ao3 #canon divergence #post infinity war #endgame au #nomad steve #hurt/comfort #fix it fic #otp #eventual happy ending

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itsthejuggernautbitch · 5 years ago

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Of All the Stars, The Fairest - Chapter 1

Pairing: Nebula/Original Female Character

Summary: After being captured by the Sovereign for stealing Anulax batteries, Nebula expected to be handed over to the Nova Corp. and transported to the cell where she’d likely spend the rest of her life (until she could break out, that is). If she’s learned anything in her life, it’s that nothing ever goes as expected.

Chapter 1: Supersonic Rocket Ship

Author’s Note: It’s a tragedy there’s not more for Nebula. Let’s fix that.

Also, not to be that bitch, but this is on Ao3 now. I would very much appreciate kudos/comments, if you’re so inclined!

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

Ilana always felt like she was waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Waiting for every meal. Waiting to train. Waiting for Ayesha to finish her duties for the day so they could move on to some new task. Waiting for the tailor to come and fit her with some new garment that Ayesha had ordered to be made. Waiting for Ayesha to release her from duty for the evening. No matter the day, no matter the time. Always waiting, but for what, Ilana did not know.

Nothing really ever felt out of place in her life - at least, not in a way she could describe. Sovereign society ran about as smoothly as any machine could. Every individual Sovereign was bred to exact specifications, their purpose literally encoded into their biology, and while there was enough deviation in their genetic codes to keep everyone reticent with their own disposition and beliefs, everyone toed the same strict line. There was hardly any crime, so there were no prisoners to capture and guard, no fights, no nothing.

Ilana was Ayesha’s Chief Guard, and she was beginning to suspect that her presence in the High Priestess’ court was mainly decorative. Really, she wasn’t sure what her job actually entailed short of standing around menacingly and playing Ayesha’s dress-up doll. Ayesha rarely left the planet on any sort of business, preferring to have prospective non-Sovereign allies and guests send diplomats to the Sovereign.

And since there was little to no crime, political prisoners were really the only people taking up jail cells. Anyone outside of the Sovereign who wanted to attack them came directly to them, and that only happened when the odd scavenger came to rip off Anulax batteries. Not that many people tried to steal the batteries. The Sovereign was the only source of Anulax batteries in the galaxy, but they also had one of the most formidable fleets imaginable, which usually drove interested parties away.

It seemed that Ilana’s job was to stand next to Ayesha with her laser spear held high and look polished and pretty for visitors and diplomats. Years of physical and mental training were very much wasted.

Hence, the never-ending feeling of always waiting, waiting, waiting.

“Chief V’Syeth?”

Ilana broke from her reverie and looked out upon the empty court. She’d been instructed to participate in the usual debriefing, which she loathed doing. She stood to the direct left of Ayesha’s throne - her right-hand side was occupied by the Admiral. She’d never liked the Admiral. As pretentious as Sovereign could be, even amongst themselves, his noxious personality was truly special.

“Yes, High Priestess?”

“Were you listening to the Admiral?” Ayesha asked, the slightest edge of annoyance breaking through her mellifluous voice. The High Priestess didn’t turn her head, though she gave Ilana a truly righteous side-eye.

Not really, but Ilana had absorbed the gist of the conversation. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Then you will send your guards down to the landing bay to retrieve the prisoner immediately.”

Right, the Admiral’s forces had captured a scavenger trying to make off with a set of Anulax batteries. She could imagine the scientists down in the basement rioting over their hard work nearly being stolen. If she’d had any amount of sympathy for the Admiral, she might have felt a little sorry for him that he had to deal with the screaming nerds.

“Yes ma’am, I shall,” Ilana replied automatically. Life was easier when she gave the initial polite answer before asking questions for clarification. “Shall I escort the prisoner myself, or shall I send Mersi and Metai to retrieve them?”

“I prefer to have you at my side, as you well know,” Ayesha replied curtly. “Your personal intervention will not be necessary as long as the prisoner is compliant. Mersi and Metai will suffice.”

“Duly noted, High Priestess. I’ll send them now.”

Ilana stepped off to the side away from Ayesha and the Admiral. The implant in her hand functioned as a pager when she needed it, as well as really anything else. All the guards had one. She waved her hand and instructed the girls to escort the prisoner to the holding cells.

Perhaps, Ilana surmised, she’d go have a look for herself later once the hustle and bustle had calmed down. Political prisoners were a hot topic, and she felt obligated to see what the fuss was about this time. Not to mention she was curious as to why this prisoner wanted the batteries badly enough to attack the Sovereign head-on, alone. Anulax batteries were serious business since they could power an entire hemisphere of a planet, but at the end of the day, they were just batteries.

Ilana returned to her place next to Ayesha and tried to focus on the Admiral’s debrief of the encounter. Intruder alert, alarms went off, serious injuries, blah, blah, blah. The usual.

“We’ve also received a hail to capture the girl alive, per the Nova Corp.,” the Admiral stated, brandishing his stylus at the tablet in his hand. Presumably, the tablet contained the reports and transcript of the hail from the Nova Corps. “They’ve requested that we hold her until they’ve rebuilt their fleet and can afford to send a transport ship to retrieve her.”

Ilana started. “Her?”

The Admiral rolled his eyes. “Yes, Chief. Her.”

Female political prisoners were unheard of – usually because they were too smart to get caught.

“Why do the Nova Corp. want her?” Ayesha asked, dancing right over Ilana’s question. Whatever pulled Ilana out of her trance had triggered an alarm in Ayesha’s head, though she couldn’t put her finger on why. “Is this something we could use?”

“Allegedly, she’s a daughter of Thanos,” the Admiral replied. He swiped the screen of his tablet, poking at it viciously. “And according to these reports, she seems to be telling the truth. The Nova Corp. sent a mugshot with the hail.”

Ayesha hummed. “So, that would mean there’s likely a price on her head?”

“I took the initiative to check. It’s a substantial reward, High Priestess,” the Admiral confirmed. “The Nova Corp. even have one on her”

“Have they offered us a price?”

“No, High Priestess. They have only ordered us to house her until they can collect her.”

“Then we will keep her for now, until she is claimed or a bounty hunter comes through. We’ll wait for someone to give us a price, once the word gets out that we have her,” Ayesha replied. She waved the tablet away, and the Admiral stepped back. “Though, I suppose she could be used as a bargaining chip if the need arises.”

“We will ensure round-the-clock surveillance,” the Admiral said. He stepped back away from Ayesha’s throne and stood at the head of his entourage of Navy soldiers. “Until the Nova Corp. arrives, or a better offer presents itself.”

Ayesha crooked her finger at Ilana, who’d actually been listening. “Chief V’Syeth?”

“Ma’am?”

“I am entrusting you with guarding her during the night shift. You will rest upon your relief of duty to me and proceed directly to the holding chambers upon rotation.”

“Noted, ma’am. I will report tonight.”

Ayesha nodded. “We have much to discuss between the two of us, Chief. Admiral, you will take your leave. Handmaidens, you are all dismissed for the night.”

Once the crowd of Sovereign had taken their leave, each bowing as they retreated, Ayesha beckoned Ilana forward. Ilana took a knee in front of the High Priestess, leaning on her spear like a staff. It wouldn’t do to fall out of form in front of the High Priestess, even out of the public eye. Ayesha expected perfection - always had - and Ilana had been genetically engineered to fulfill that expectation – despite her increasingly diminishing attention span.

“Rise,” Ayesha ordered. “Come forward, Ilana.”

Ayesha took Ilana’s chin and tilted her face up. It was a gentle gesture - exceedingly rare coming from the High Priestess. She’d always had a soft spot for Ilana, ever since the girl was a child. She’d watched her grow from a toddler to the woman who became her Chief - genetically bioengineered to be the strongest, the fastest, logical and strategic, and perfectly Sovereign.

And yet, Ayesha had always known that something inside of Ilana was… amiss. She was nothing short of biological perfection as all Sovereign were, but Ayesha had known since Ilana was a child that the Sovereign would not make this girl happy. It was simply in her nature - she would always be waiting for something. Ayesha could not say what, but as soon as she’d seen the prisoner on her surveillance screens, that something seemed closer to falling into place. Ayesha could simply sense these things, innate oddities in a creature’s biology. It was a strange feeling, but one she’d had before

Ayesha, ever the scientist at heart, wanted to test this something.

"You have always been my favorite, Ilana," Ayesha hummed, stroking the girl's cheek. She dropped her hand. "I dislike seeing you so melancholy, and you have been distracted lately. Can I do something to help you deal with whatever you're feeling?"

"I did not realize that I've been distracted, High Priestess. Or melancholy, for that matter."

Ayesha hummed in a gentle expression of her disbelief. "I know when you're lying."

Ilana grimaced. It was worth a try.

"I just… still feel like I'm waiting for something," Ilana replied. She took a seat in front of Ayesha’s throne, feeling suddenly like a child again. “It used to fade, but it won’t go away now.”

"What do you think you're waiting for?"

"If I knew that, I'd go get it. You know that."

"Indeed," Ayesha replied, pursing her lips. She’d personally helped train this girl in the hopes that whatever oddity, whatever weirdness would twist her around, would stamp itself out before it ever got to this point. Every Sovereign was made to exact, perfect specifications – but sometimes, the science of these things was just a little too exact. Best not to let her dwell on it.

“Maybe it’s the lack of challenge,” Ilana said. “I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic, after all.”

Ayesha had to agree. "I’ve thought of that, and I hope that’s all it is. I've given you a heavy responsibility today. A daughter of Thanos… could give you trouble. But perhaps the challenge will give you perspective on what it is you require."

"Perhaps it's just a challenge that I require, not so much perspective."

"I disagree, but nevertheless, I expect that you will receive both challenge and perspective from your assignment.” Ayesha waved her hand. “You are dismissed. Rest - you have a long night ahead of you."

Ilana bowed, then turned and walked out of the back entrance of Ayesha's throne room. Her sleeping quarters were only a few doors down - a necessity bred from duty. The only room closer to the throne room than hers was Ayesha's favorite handmaid’s quarters, and that was only because Ayesha hated waiting longer than necessary when she rang.

She had a few hours before she was set to report for her first shift. Her first order of business was to wash up after a long day in full regal armor. Once she'd cleaned up, she still had plenty of time left on her break. It was just enough time to nap and make dinner while she scrolled through Mersi and Metai's report from the transfer.

The transfer to the holding cells had gone smoothly (as if it wouldn't with the prisoner in laser handcuffs). As for the woman, she was surly and mean, but she hadn't spoken more than to order them to stop touching her. No begging, no bargaining - as if she knew her fate or was planning an escape. The latter most likely, Ilana surmised. A daughter of Thanos would be nearly impossible to keep imprisoned in a normal holding cell. But she was in Sovereign territory, and their holding cells were simply inescapable.

Once she'd finished with the report, she donned her functional armor, grabbed her laser spear, and set off for the holding cells.

Like everything else on the damn planet, the holding cells were plated with gilded gold. And, like everything else in the Sovereign world, the halls she strolled down were gold. Smooth, seamless gold. The floors were gold. Her armor was gold. Her fucking spear was gold. Everything gold. It wouldn't kill the designers to put a little black, or silver, or anything but gold somewhere.

Metai, Ilana’s second-in-command, met her at holding and intake to debrief her on the current state of the prisoner. Just over Metai’s shoulder, Ilana could see Mersi, Ilana’s other second, still standing guard. The pair were currently the only set of living Sovereign twins; they had not been genetically designed as twins, but rather the fertilized cell had spontaneously split and copied the chromosomes to result in two engineered guards.

Metai inclined her head in the customary almost-bow performed by subordinates of the High Priestess’s Guard. “You took long enough getting here.”

“High Priestess ordered me to rest before my shift,” Ilana sniffed. The twins had emerged from an adjacent birthing pod to hers and been trained right alongside her for their entire lives. She liked Metai and Mersi just fine, but both twins had a habit of addressing her with unnecessary familiarity while on the job. It was fine outside of work, but she had to remind them of their places on the job. “I slept. I ate. I’m here. Now debrief me.”

“Yes, Chief,” Metai replied. She caught herself before she rolled her eyes, though the intention was not lost on Ilana. “The prisoner has been silent so far. She will not respond to questions. She will not acknowledge us when we speak.”

“Maybe you’re not asking her the right questions.”

Metai sighed. “You’re more than welcome to try questioning her yourself, Chief. If you get an answer out of her, I would love to know.”

“I’ll give it a shot,” Ilana said, shrugging. She motioned towards the door. “I’ll take it from here. You and Mersi are dismissed.”

Ilana walked in past the security door and took Mersi’s place in front of the cell. She would be the only guard for the rest of the night.

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

An hour passed in relative silence. The only sounds in the muted gold room were Ilana’s slow, collected breathing and Nebula’s foot tapping. The sounds echoed in the hollow metal room, cavernous and nearly deafening considering the monotony. (It really wouldn’t kill the designers to put up some drapes or a tapestry or something, anything, to cancel out the reverb.)

Finally, the silence was broken by a new sound - the sound of a stomach growling. Ilana looked back over her shoulder at the woman in the cell. The woman looked right back up at her, eyes hard and empty, and averted her gaze by looking back down at the floor. She seemed defiant still, despite her circumstances. Perhaps she was planning on trying to escape. It was fine if she was - the cell was nigh inescapable and Ilana could certainly see to it that she was confined.

Ilana was almost sick to her stomach watching this woman sit in confinement. She wasn’t a fan of prisons, but it was likely the empathy she felt could be attributed to having never actually taken a guard shift. It wasn’t her job, and never had been, to stand guard over prisoners - only the High Priestess.

Still, there was something about the woman that interested her. Something that made her heart twist. It could have been her blue-and-purple skin contrasting against the gold of the holding cell. It could have been her eyes, staring off into space, searching for a breach in the cell, sizing Ilana up in case she had to fight. She didn’t know what it was drawing her to this woman – someone who would see her dead in order to escape to freedom – but it was intense.

The woman’s stomach growled again, louder, and she twitched as if trying to force her stomach to quiet itself.

Ilana turned. “When was the last time you had something to eat?”

The woman didn’t respond. She merely glanced up at Ilana and looked back down at her feet. Her stomach growled again, but she gritted her teeth and didn’t look up.

“Can I get you anything in particular?” Ilana prodded, unused to someone remaining unresponsive in her presence.

Nothing, once again.

“Are you going to ignore me?” Ilana huffed. The woman looked up at her, then looked back down at her feet again. “Well, if you won’t tell me, I’ll just bring you something that I like.

“I’m fine,” the woman snapped, finally acknowledging her. Her growling stomach, once again, betrayed her.

Ilana quirked a golden eyebrow and held her communicator up to her mouth. “Metai, please bring two food trays up to the cell block. I’m hungry, and it’s not polite to eat alone.”

“Be there in twenty minutes, Chief.”

“Make it fifteen, please,” Ilana replied. She lowered her hand down to her side and resumed her guard stance.

Ilana took both trays of food from Metai when the soldier finally walked in the door (thirty minutes late, probably on purpose). She placed one tray in the grate between the bars and slid it through for Nebula to grab. Nebula took the tray without a word.

Ilana sat down on the holding cell floor and dug into her own tray of food. She wasn’t hungry exactly - she’d eat enough to make it look like she was and give the rest to the grumpy prisoner because she knew the kitchens would probably short her on food. After she finished, she wordlessly pushed the rest of her tray through the grate. She didn’t check behind her to see if Nebula would take the rest of the food, but she had a feeling that she would.

Ilana rested back against the holding cell wall. “What’s your name?”

Again, silence.

Ilana rolled her eyes. “Give up the stoic act, please. You just answered me.”

“Nebula.”

“Your name is Nebula?”

“Yes.”

“You have a beautiful name,” Ilana replied. “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

They remained silent for the rest of the night.

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

Ayesha had made short work out of putting out feelers for a bounty on the prisoner. She knew of several groups who would be only too happy to take the girl off their hands. Now, she just had to wait until an offer presented itself. That, or she would have to wait until the Nova Corp. could retrieve her.

With her job for the day done, Ayesha had a chance to finally relax and ready herself for bed. She chose to partake in her usual evening activity, which was basically spying on people through all the cameras surveilling the palace. Her main concern was her experiment - why did she feel so strangely about this prisoner, and why did it feel like something had clicked into place?

She instructed the monitor to pan to the holding cells, down to where Ilana and the prisoner were located. She found exactly what she expected to find - Ilana standing guard, the prisoner sitting on the floor in the corner of her cell. What she did not expect was the overwhelming feeling of oneness she caught from staring at the screen.

There was no physical synergy on the screen - just a prisoner and a guard, standing on opposite sides of a door. Two beings as separate as could be. She did not know why, but as Ayesha watched, it seemed evident to her that this prisoner was what Ilana had always been waiting, waiting, waiting for. She could feel an influence far different from hers orchestrating this feeling. Ayesha could see it because she was different. She was the High Priestess, and she’d been created to know. She suspected she would soon find out why.

As she watched, Metai brought two food trays. One, Ilana passed through the grate in the holding cell door. The other, she kept for herself. She picked at it for a few minutes, then handed the rest of her tray off through the grate to the prisoner.

Ayesha would concede that this was a simple enough transaction between guard and ward. It was just the unfailing sensation in the back of her mind that something was off.

And then Ilana asked for the prisoner’s name and said no more.

Ayesha switched the screens to something that didn’t make her so twitchy. There was nothing she could do until something actually happened if it ever did. But she would be on the lookout for it.

#nebula #mcu!nebula #gotg!nebula #nebula x reader #gotg #nebula x ofc #nebula imagines #nebula headcanons

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tenroseforeverandever · 5 years ago

Text

The Perfect Blend - Chapter 4

Characters: Tenth Doctor (aka James Noble); Rose Tyler; Clara Oswald; Amy Pond; Jeanne Poisson; Donna Noble; Sylvia Noble; Wilfred Mott; Mickey Smith; Martha Jones; Clyde Langer

Tags: Human AU; fake relationship AU; coffee shop AU; stalkerish!Reinette; hurt/comfort; angst; romance; fluff; Christmas; New Year; New Year’s kiss

Story Summary:

Trying to escape from an predatory ex-girlfriend who will not accept their break-up, James Noble (aka The Doctor) finds himself in a coffee shop where he meets a barista (aka Rose Tyler) who makes him the perfect cup of tea and lends a sympathetic ear to his tale of woe.

Chapter Summary: In which Mickey feels the need to connect the dots…

Chapter Notes: You’d think, with all this time in social isolation, I’d be more productive! Alas…

Hugs and kisses to the brilliant @rose--nebula and mrsbertucci for looking over this chapter. They kindly did this days ago, and I kept forgetting to post! Oops! LOL

Anyway, hope you enjoy. <3

Read also at: AO3; Tsp (when approved); FF

THE PERFECT BLEND - CHAPTER 4

NEW YEAR’S EVE

James felt cold panic clutch at his throat, stealing his breath. Here it was, late afternoon on New Year’s Eve, and he had yet to secure a date for the gala. He’d had no time to continue his quest today, as he’d spent the entire day at the University, setting up his fireworks display and tinkering with the holographic projectors. Then he’d rushed home to change into his (unlucky) tuxedo. Not that he believed in such superstitious nonsense, but he couldn’t help but notice, nothing good ever came of him wearing that blasted black suit.

On his return trip to the Uni for another quick systems check before guests started to arrive, he’d walked by Pete’s Coffee Dimension and, despite running late, had been drawn inside. He’d been tempted by the thought of a nice, fortifying cup of something hot, maybe even the “best cuppa in London”, and in the back of his mind, had been thinking maybe the pretty barista he had met there on his last visit would be there this time too. He’d been hoping to bask in her quiet compassion, even for just a few minutes before his life turned completely to hell.

But the barista hadn’t been there, sadly, just some bloke, who was pleasant enough, James supposed. He’d told James the barista’s name was Rose (a beautiful name that suited her perfectly!) and had just disappeared behind the counter to prepare him a cuppa, spouting some cryptic, vague assurances that he had the answer to all of James’ problems.

James was not reassured. He ran his hands through his hair and down his face. His heart was thrashing out of his chest. Blimey, he needed that cuppa… If he could only get it down his anxiety-tight throat.

Jeanne would be at the gala tonight, on his arm or not. She had her own ticket, he knew. And she would be relentless (proper predatory-level relentless) when she saw he’d come alone.

Despite his many varied (and increasingly desperate) attempts to do so, he hadn’t been able to find anyone who was suitable (or willing) to be his plus-one for tonight. He couldn’t ask his work colleagues. Most of them were considerably older than he and happily married, and he honestly didn’t think for a minute he’d be able to pull off a convincing act of love with any of those few who didn’t have prior attachments. He’d made some hesitant requests of the students and junior scientists he knew from various labs throughout the Science department, but they either all had plans for the evening (quite right, too!) or had just told him in no uncertain terms that they didn’t want to get involved in his dating debacle (also… quite right, too!)

There had been one graduate student whom he’d been hopeful about. She worked in the lab next to his and was sweet and smart, and he had always gotten along quite well with her. He also knew her to be unattached and, while not the sort to party, thought she would enjoy a festive evening at the gala. But Petronella Osgood had nearly passed out from an anxiety-induced asthma attack the moment he proposed his ruse, and James had spent the evening in the A&E with her as she recovered from the trauma. He decided right then, he wouldn’t press the matter with her any further. He didn’t wish to cause her any more stress, and upon further consideration, decided he would rather suffer the horrors of Jeanne on his own, than subject the poor girl to a potential confrontation with the French woman and her nasty temperament.

With his options rapidly dwindling, he’d even considered paying for an escort, but after some frantic research, he’d discovered that even the semi-reputable ones were ridiculously pricey, and while he would have had no trouble financially, it was a bloody waste of money. Surely Jeanne had already cost him enough. Besides, quite frankly, the idea of using an escort was… weeell… repugnant.

As a last-ditch measure, he’d called on his friend, Jack Harkness, a pan-sexual playboy, and a true friend, through and through. He’d expected Jack to be more than happy to help him stage a fake coming-out, announcing he was gay. Afterall, Jack had been trying to get into James’ pants for years, though not in any serious way. He was a tease, but he understood that James considered him to be a friend only… no benefits of a sexual nature attached. But, as it turned out, Jack had picked this festive season to finally set aside his lecherous ways and settle down. He’d announced to James that he had a new boyfriend, Ianto Jones, with whom he was “exclusive” and had lots of “plans for private New Year celebrations.”

And now… James was out of time. Doomed. And he was spending his last precious moments of a Jeanne-free life, hiding in a coffee shop, like the coward he was, desperate for a cuppa and a glimpse of an absentee barista.

He heaved a great, sad sigh, and taking off his glasses, allowed his head to sink into his hands, despair overcoming him.

“Rose! Rose!” Mickey hissed at her through the pass-through.

Rose rolled her eyes at Martha (who giggled in response) and sighed. “Honestly, Micks, can I not leave you alone for five minutes without something going wrong?” she teased as she approached the opening to the coffee bar. “What’s up?”

“Well, I might not bother to tell you now, since you’re being like that.”

“C’mon, Micks…”

“Oh, alright. I have a customer who’d like one of your cups of tea. Wanna put the kettle on?”

“That’s it? That’s what you wanted to tell me?”

“Yup. You know I don’t have the knack you have for making a good cuppa.”

“He’s not wrong,” Martha piped up from behind Rose.

“Oi,” Mickey protested, “I can make a decent cuppa, but as long as Rose is here… Besides, we don’t want the place to get a bad rep from my one substandard cups of tea. Oh, and yeah, it’s for here, so put it in one of the china cups and bring it out when it’s ready, yeah?”

“Bossy!” Rose chided with a grin.

“Someone needs to take charge, otherwise the two of you would be frittering away the time, blathering on about who-knows-what.”

“The nerve! I’ll have you know we’ve completely cleaned the storage room and done inventory, while you’ve made a couple of espresso shots and wiped down a few tables.” Rose turned to Martha. “Are you seriously planning to marry this one?”

Martha’s eyes gleamed. “For better or for worse, that’s what I hear. I guess this is the worse.”

Mickey grumbled at them. “Just hurry and get out here with that cuppa, yeah.” Then he turned and stomped away, out of Rose’s line of sight.

Five minutes later, Rose rushed out from the kitchen, with a hot teapot of Darjeeling, a couple of complimentary biscotti, and a china cup and saucer on a tray. She paused briefly to pick up the milk from the fridge, then raised her head and stepped out from behind the service counter. She stopped short at the sight before her.

It was him. The Doctor.

She twisted around to look behind her, taking in Mickey’s cheeky grin. “I’m gonna kill you,” she mouthed, her cheeks burning.

“Go on,” her friend mouthed back, gesturing her out into the seating area with a sweeping motion of his hands. Martha stepped up behind him and Rose sighed as she watched the young woman’s eyes light up when Mickey whispered to her who the customer was. She clapped her hands silently together, bounced on her toes, and motioned to Rose in no uncertain terms to move her arse out there and deliver the tea.

Shaking her head at her friends, Rose turned back to the seating area and, taking a deep, fortifying breath, she moved toward the Doctor’s table.

He was sat there with his head in his hands, looking miserable, his gorgeous fringe spilling through his fingers. He was wearing a tuxedo, so she assumed he had somewhere to be tonight and couldn’t help but wonder why he was here instead. Unless it had something to do with that ex-girlfriend of his…

But that wasn’t Rose’s business. He had ordered a cuppa, and she would deliver it to him. That was her job. Nothing more to it than that.

Then why, she wondered, was her heart throbbing somewhere in the region of her throat? Why was her mouth as dry as ash and her palms hot and sweaty? Why did she feel that faint, fluttering hope rising in her chest again, the one she’d felt every time the bell over the door had rung over the last few days? The difference was, this time, the source of that hope was actually sitting right in front of her, waiting for her to deliver him a cuppa.

She fought back her giddiness. I have to remain impartial, she told herself. She’d probably find out he wasn’t as wonderful as her memory (and imagination) had made him seem. He’d probably turn out to be a right arse. And maybe that would be for the best. After all, despite her protests to the contrary, she knew Clara was right: she’d been mooning about him since his first visit, prior to Christmas. She needed to get on with her life, and not spend her time fantasising over men she wasn’t nearly accomplished enough to date. Yes, surely, he was a truly horrible person.

With that fortifying thought in mind, she stepped up to his table.

James’ head shot up out of his hands when he heard the soft sound of a throat clearing hesitantly. He’d been so lost in his troubles, he’d not noticed anyone approaching his table. His bleary eyes struggled to make out the source of the sound: a haze of pink and yellow. He picked up his glasses and snapped them onto his face.

Instantly, a most welcome sight came into focus before him. The pretty barista… Rose… was standing before him, cheeks flushed the colour of her namesake, and holding a tray that held what he knew was certain to be the best cuppa in London. His troubles seemed to instantly recede in her presence. (Of course, he warned himself, they hadn’t actually receded, just been put on the backburner of his brain for a blessed few minutes.)

“Hello.” She offered him a shy smile and flushed a deeper shade of red.

He waggled his fingers at her. “Hello.”

“Hello…” she bit her bottom lip endearingly, “…Doctor.”

“That’s me!”

She nodded her head rapidly, fervently agreeing with this statement.

“Is that my tea?”

“Oh, blimey! Yeah… course…” With shaking hands, she unloaded the contents of the tray onto the table. “Would you like me to pour?”

He nodded this time, his usually non-stop gob failing him.

She set his cup in front of him and, lifting the little teapot, poured out his tea with a practiced flair, allowing a few bubbles to form on the surface. “For good luck…” she murmured, as she set the pot down.

“I’m sorry… what?”

“Oh… the bubbles… in your cup… they’re supposed to predict good fortune or some such rot. Generally, financially, but if they cling to the side of the cup… erm… like these ones…” her voice dropped to nearly subaudible levels and she averted her eyes from his, “…they foretell romance.”

“Romance?”

She picked at the little knit cozy covering the pot. “Erm, yeah… each bubble represents a… well… a kiss.”

He beamed at her, covering her fidgeting hand with his. It was warm and soft, and fit perfectly under his. “Thank-you… Rose? Right?”

She met his gaze with wide, wondering eyes and nodded again, a bashful smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “Erm… yeah. Rose. Rose Tyler.”

“Rooooose Tyyyyler.” He rolled the words in his mouth, enjoying the sound and feel of them. “Weeeell, thank-you, Rose Tyler. Not that I believe in superstitions and portents, but I am prepared to suspend my disbelief for tonight. I am more than willing to entertain the possibility that you have changed my fortune with your expert tea pouring. Maybe tonight won’t be the disaster I thought it was going to be, after all.”

“That’s the spirit!” Rose cheered.

“Would you join me?” He reflexively squeezed her hand. “For a cuppa, that is?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d… I’d like that. I’m sure I can find an extra cup around here somewhere. Coffee shop and all, yeah.”

Mickey rocked from one foot to the other, his frustration building with each passing minute. “What are they on about?” he grumbled, gesturing at Rose and the Doctor. “Look at them! Look!”

Martha arched her brow at him. “Yeah, I see them.”

“What the hell is he waiting for, then? They’re obviously into each other. He’s holding her hand and they’re makin’ eyes at each other. It’s sickening, really. So why the hell doesn’t he just ask her out to that gala of his? Urrrrgh!”

“I think he may need a little help with that.”

“What? Why? She’s beautiful and available and–”

“Yeah, but from his point of view, she’s at work. And who knows what else is going on in his head. Maybe he just needs another little nudge.”

“Blimey, he needs more than a nudge. He needs someone to connect the bloody dots.”

“Off you go then, Mickey-Matchmaker. Go connect those dots.”

“Me? Why me? Don’t you think this might require a woman’s touch?”

“Look, this was your idea…”

Mickey glowered at his fiancée.

“Not that I think it’s a bad idea. Like you said, they’re obviously… attracted.”

“Attracted? They’re practically undressing each other with their eyes!”

“Right. All I’m saying is you need to go out and finish the job.”

“What about you? You just gonna stand here whilst I make a fool of myself?”

Martha flashed him a cheeky grin. “Yeah, something like that. Consider it moral support.”

“Pffft, moral support, my arse.” He scowled. “Well, since you’re obviously gonna leave me high and dry… here goes!” He took a step out toward the table where Rose and the Doctor were lost in each other’s gazes but pulled up short at Martha’s next words.

“Oh, and by the way, for my part, I already contacted Amy.” She arched a smug brow.

“And…”

“She can’t wait to help out. Champing at the bit, she is!” Then Martha added in a stage-whisper, “So Rose will have no excuses. Don’t let her worm her way out of this.”

James sat staring blankly at the bloke (Rickey?), a piece of biscotti half-way to his mouth. His brain had surged into overdrive, processing information and probabilities, but it seemed to have forgotten it was connected to his gob, which opened and closed uselessly. He looked over at Rose who gawped back at him with an expression that probably mirrored his own.

He had to admit, the bloke’s plan had merit. He could see himself falling for this girl. If he was being honest, he was already teetering at the edge. He’d just never considered asking a total stranger to accompany him to the gala (apart from his fleeting research into escorts), and he wasn’t entirely sure Rose was even vaguely interested. For one thing, it was all very last minute, the epitome of last minute; frankly, if he could define last minute, this would be it. Secondly, weeell, while she obviously didn’t have any plans to celebrate the New Year, she had plans… working-type plans, plans that were obviously very important to her. And much more important than his stupid University Gala. And, C, no three… thirdly, why the hell would she even want to go out with him? He thought he’d felt some attraction between them, but she didn’t know anything about him… zip, zilch, nada, nought! He could be an axe-murderer for all she knew, a rapist, a–

His rambling thoughts screeched to a halt as he saw her expression morphing from shock and bewilderment to…

“What the actual fuck, Mickey?” she hissed at the young man who stood before them with a proud grin on his face. Her face was now fiery with embarrassment and anger. “How dare you?”

James tugged on his ear and watched, helpless, as Rickey’s grin collapsed. “But it’s perfect, babe, don’t you see?” James had to give the man credit. He’d never be able to face the wrath this bloke was facing, despite having survived Donna (and Aunt Sylvia) for many years. “He needs a date. You need to get a life. Simple.” Rickey (the idiot) ploughed on, clearly oblivious or indifferent to the immediate threat to his existence.

“Oh, I need to get a life, do I?” Rose snarled. “What is all of this, then?” She gestured around the shop. “Seems to me I have a life. A perfectly good life, thank-you very much. I don’t need you–”

“Yeah? Well, me and Martha, we think you do. Babe, you never see beyond these four walls, except to go upstairs–”

“To my home!”

“Home then. My point is, you never leave this building, except to pick up things for the shop.”

“This is my dream…”

“Look, Rickey…” James interjected, shooting a glance at Rose, who was glaring at her friend with pursed lips.

“It’s Mickey!” Mickey snapped.

“Right, sorry… Mickey then… Look, mate, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, and I certainly wouldn’t say no to having Rose on my arm at the Gala this evening, but–”

Rose swept around to face him, the fire in her eyes dying out and a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. “You wouldn’t?”

James ran his hand through his hair again (he must look a mess…) “Weeell, no… no, of course not… I’d be honoured… Would you like to come?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Would you, though?”

“Yeah!”

“I just thought because you don’t really know me…”

“Yeah, I thought because you don’t really know me… and I just… I just work in a shop; you might not want me to…”

“Oh, I’d love you to come,” he gushed.

James sensed, rather than saw Mickey backing slowly away. His attention was riveted on the beautiful, blushing woman sitting before him. She beamed at him, her tongue touching the corner of her mouth. “Okay.”

He beamed in return, but his smile quickly dropped away, doubts racing back to the front of his mind. “But you… I mean, you don’t know the first thing about me….” He glanced down at the remains of his biscotti, pushing the crumbs around with a restless finger.

Rose’s hand closed over his, stopping his fidgeting. “I know a little… and,” she fixed him in her warm gaze, “I’d like to know more… But, oh God… oh no! I don’t have anything to wear. Certainly nothing that would do for an event like this one!”

“All taken care of,” a young woman James hadn’t noticed before piped up from the service counter. “Amy is more than happy to lend you something. It’s all arranged.”

“But, Martha…”

“No excuses!” Mickey added. “You’re going! You deserve to get out and enjoy yourself.”

Rose turned her nervous smile back to James and shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I’m going, then. That is if you’d still like me to come.”

James felt his spirits soar. For the first time in weeks he didn’t feel like he was plunging head-first into the depths of despair. Maybe his tux wasn’t such a portent of doom, after all. “Oh, yes!” He swept to his feet and offered her his hand. “It’s a date!”

“Yeah…” she chirped, standing and lacing her fingers with his, “…I guess it is!”

“Oh, yes!” he repeated. “Allons-y, Rose Tyler.”

#ficandchips #ten x rose #human au #coffee shop au #fake dating #stalkerish ex #romance #hurt/comfort #fluff #angst #christmas #new year #new year's kiss #tenroseforeverandever's fic

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aha-my-villainous-thoughts · 5 years ago

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Please, keep me. (Good Omens)

I’m back and I’m aimed with another long chapter full of cute visuals and sweet angel moments. I had some time to myself this week to really hammer through about 4k of words into it, and I needed to chop it up to make more accessible chapters. The last chapter of this chapter will be at the beginning of Part 11, which is a shame as I wanted every chapter to be self-contained.

I hope whoever reads this enjoys! Part 1 is here, and the parts are tagged ‘please keep me’ and should be tagged with each part as they go.

Part 10

There had been a look in Aziraphale’s eyes as they had parted ways, a slight distracted glaze as he absentmindedly stroked Crowley’s head in goodbye. He had watched the angel turn and leave with the same faraway expression on his face, already rummaging for the checklist in his pocket. Crowley waited until the angel was out of sight, walking towards the hall and his supper, before slithering into his usual hiding place in the shelves. His collection of paper notes had grown gradually, secreted away from Aziraphale when the angel was distracted or borrowed from inside books he could smell the angel’s touch on. The nest rustled as he settled in, wriggling into his stash and he used his tongue to trace across the handwritten words.

He had found so many scattered ones now that he had cultivated a series of favourites. One was taken from one of Aziraphale’s favourite books, if the repetition of scent on it’s spine was any indication of the times it had been revisited.

I loved him against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be. - C.D.

Crowley could almost hear the soft voice of his Keeper breathing over the words, with a slight sadness but with the same intensity of love he was used to. This note was lovely, but there was something held back in it that always moved Crowley onto his next favourite note, a scrap of paper written with a smudge of ink along from the last word.

The minute I heard my first love story, I started looking for you. - J.R.

Something about this one made him shiver from the base of his tail all the way through to his snout, with a barely suppressed wriggle of happiness. He couldn’t describe the feelings that it brought up in him, but they made him feel like someone was whispering a secret into his ear, like he was hearing something that should be private and safe and only for him.

Greedily he moved onto the next one.

I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees. - P.N.

These words had an effect on Crowley he couldn’t understand. A kind of warmth broke out across his scales and he felt giddy with happiness from it, like some kind of glow from inside his form was filling him up with light and joy and excitement. There was a tinge of desperation in it, like a knife’s edge traced across his heart and wanted more than anything to break skin and flow into Aziraphale, to pour himself like a golden liquid across his angel and intertwine them together like stardust tossed across the sky.

He couldn’t begin to process what these feelings meant, something about the intensity of them both scared and excited him. Instead he just settled down into the little paper cocoon and sighed heavily, his thoughts slinking back to his angel and his expression. He had looked pensive, thoughtful, but there was a certain hunger that Crowley had no doubts related to his thwarted search for sweet treats. Crowley knew the angel wasn’t fully satisfied, even after their wonderful adventure meeting creations in the forest. He would have to remedy that.

A resolution came to him quickly, and he wasted no time in leaving his little hiding spot and slinking his way back into the library alone. He had time, he was sure, to find what his angel hungered for.

He was late.

Not too late, but late enough to hurry. He almost tripped on his robes hurrying up the stairs into the open sky, pushing himself away as to reach his work station just a little quicker. He glanced around as he came level with his latest project, a large twisted nebula with pockets of explosive gases that reared up in a pattern similar to a bulbous coral he had found among the aqua houses. He felt eyes on him, but only flicked his gaze across the sky to try and identify who had observed him. Seeing no one, he turned his attention back to his nebula and set his mind solely into the shades of dust he was painting. Every so often a secret smile would find its way onto his face, as thoughts about what he had found for his little Keeper crept in. He couldn’t wait for the Day to come so he could lead Aziraphale to their latest adventure.

He knew there would be nothing but praise and adoration from his angel for his ‘little thing’, and just thinking about the delights he had in store were enough to distract him all the way through the Night. Nothing would stop him from seeing his angel’s face light up.

When the time finally came for Aziraphale to come find Crowley in the library, Crowley was in place and almost giddy with excitement. He had struggled to get any rest during the Dawn shift, replaying how he would reveal the new adventure to Aziraphale over and over again. Each time he had imagined a more elaborate scene, a more dramatic discovery of pleasure, and with each replayed fantasy he indulgently added more nuances to Aziraphale’s joy. At first the angel merely gasped in joy, but over time that evolved into a litany of delighted praises upon Crowley, compliments and adorations heaped upon him as the angel took in every little bit of his surprise. He added to Aziraphale’s beaming smile until it was a grin, his eyes crinkled and even his chin disappearing in such pleasure as Crowley intended to give him.

These thoughts and fantasies refused to quiet as Crowley lay in his bed, fussing and fidgeting until close to the ringing of the Dawn’s ending bell. Without waiting for cover, he simply dressed quickly and made his way towards the library with an anxious spring in his step and most possibly the most mad hair he had ever left his room with. Nothing mattered beyond arriving in the library and finding his angel.

Now situated in his nest, he had the urge to pace maddeningly, but was limited by the books and his array of notes. His tail flicked from side to side instead, and he waited until he heard the telltale foot falls of his angel.

“Good morning,” came the soft warm voice and all the anxiety in Crowley melted away like ice. He sighed heavily and wound his way out, still overcome with the love in Aziraphale’s eyes as they were finally reunited.

“How is my little thing this morning?”

Crowley blinked slowly, head reared up towards Aziraphale and wriggled in answer. He made a slow lazy loop around the angel’s ankles and flicked his tongue towards his fingers, trying his best to convey both his own happiness and the requirement that Aziraphale should follow him.

“You clever thing, what are we doing today?”

Crowley tugged with his tail from his position still looped around Aziraphale’s feet, inclining his head towards the library corridors. Aziraphale looked at him, then up, before meeting his eyes again with a wide smile.

“Oh, you know already, don’t you? How exciting!”

With a triumphant hiss Crowley started to lead the way, weaving his body along the stone floor as Aziraphale followed behind him. Every so often he would look over his shoulder to find the angel still smiling at him, his eyes shining with excitement. When they came to their first fork, Crowley chose the left without hesitation and internally smirked when Aziraphale made a soft ‘oh’ noise and quickly hurried to follow. This continued for some time, with Crowley retracing his steps (or slithers) to their destination and Aziraphale following him in complete faith. Finally the library began to change around them, signalling that Crowley had been correct that he would be able to find his way back.

At first the changes were subtle, the stone passageway giving way to large cobblestones that then descended into small slotted bricks, the groves between them spotted with moss. The bookshelves had become a rougher wood, unpolished and the books themselves went from being neatly organised into rows to being stacked and slotted into the spaces in a fairly haphazard way. Light glowed down from above them, casting shadows from the bookshelves towards the path and glowing on the covers of free standing towers of books left in the passageway which Crowley wove in between with ease.

Aziraphale had stopped to bend and move these books out of the way, commenting how warm the light on his back was, when Crowley heard a noise of discovery from the angel.

“Oh, little thing, look!”

Crowley doubled back to where the Keeper was crouching to find the angel cupping something in two hands as he removed it from the bookshelf. Crowley came to him to peer inside his hands and found the angel was holding a small glass ornament of a mouse. It was small, close to the size it had been in the mural, and almost completely clear except for a slight tinge of pink at the nose and paws, with two bright black eyes. It was positioned standing on two hind legs, nose pointed up to investigate. Aziraphale was smiling at him, before meeting Crowley’s eyes.

“What a sweet little object,” he said admiringly. “And to think it was just hidden away in with these books,”

Aziraphale carefully restored the mouse to its shelf and continued to weave between the stacks of books after Crowley. They went slowly now, with the angel carefully looking out for more treasures tucked among the hodgepodge towers of books. Aziraphale pointed out a dish with a collection of perfectly round glass marbles in it, each one coloured differently. Crowley noticed a little ceramic vase only a finger’s length tall with a single sprig of lavender in it. They saw more tiny ceramic animals tucked up, as well as a sculpted bronze bull with flowers in its shaggy hair. As they made their way through, more objects appeared - a globe of the Earth they were working on which Aziraphale sent spinning on its pivot, a metal watering can, a small stack of colourful river rocks, a collection of spiky chestnut shells and their conkers nearby. Each discovery was delightful to Aziraphale, who had a compliment for every one.

Nosing his way along the path, Crowley was happy to go at his angel’s pace and not rush their adventure, but he knew their destination would far outweigh these little discoveries. As he slithered, a flash in the corner of his eye caught his attention. On investigation he found a little space in between two books with something wedged in, just catching the sunlight beaming down on them. He looked closer. It was a gold ring, large enough for an adult. A golden signet ring with a badge in the centre and a crown of metal feathers around the band. A suggestion of a lion in the badge, but Crowley’s snake eyes had limitations with the smaller details. It was beautiful.

Crowley turned to look back at his angel, who was currently looking at a small wooden puppet of a frog and telling it how wonderful it was. Crowley once again felt that pang of warmth spread through him, and turned back to the ring. It took only a quick wriggle of his tail and a tug to free the ring from the bookshelf, and he admired it in the light for a moment, before turning towards his Keeper.

Even while completely engrossed in his attention to the puppet, Aziraphale turned towards Crowley as if he could sense his presence, and smiled widely.

“Oh, little thing, isn’t this frog - oh my, what do you have there?”

Crowley held out the end of his tail with the ring threaded over it, inclining it towards Aziraphale’s open hands. The angel plucked it from him and regarded it carefully, turning it between his fingers.

“Oh! Oh my!” he said with a breathy voice. “What a beautiful ring you found,”

He met Crowley’s eyes who nudged his snout forward, brushing it against Aziraphale’s hand.

“For me?”

Crowley inclined his head a little, suddenly feeling bashful at the tone of disbelief in Aziraphale’s voice. The angel opened his mouth and closed it again, looking back at the ring and then at Crowley.

“This is for me?” he repeated. It then occurred to Crowley, from the softness in Aziraphale’s voice, that his angel had never received a gift before. It didn’t occur to Crowley that, in fact, neither had he.

“Oh, little thing,” sighed the angel, with a small smile that turned into a laugh, “Oh, you sweet thing,”

Crowley nudged his hand again, unable to process the seemingly endless series of emotions that he saw playing out on Aziraphale’s face that happened to mirror the ones thudding through his form. All he knew was that he needed to see his angel wearing this ring, smiling that smile.

Aziraphale slipped the ring onto his pinky ring and turned his hand out to admire it. There was a slight catch in his throat, and Crowley saw a shimmering at the corner of his eyes.

“Oh, little thing,” he said, his eyes beseeching “I can’t begin to tell you…”

It appeared that since the first time of knowing his angel, Crowley found his Aziraphale was lost for words. The angel shook his head softly, unable to look away from the ring, except to meet Crowley’s eyes and smile again.

“Thank you,”

Aziraphale bent down, his hand under Crowley’s jaw and his lips brushing the top of his head in a gentle and entirely unexpected kiss.

When Crowley looked back on this day, many years after the moment had passed, he would describe it as one of the happiest days he had ever spent in a complete state of emotional bedlam. Whilst on the exterior he had simply blinked slowly and then calmly turned to lead the way to their destination, his interior thought process had completely, and wondrously, short-circuited.

The bookshelves fully began to give way to red bricked walls, with a series of rose bushes trellised along them. Crowley could hear Aziraphale stopping at each one to touch their petals and admire their beauty, but he didn’t stop until he reached an archway leading into a short dark tunnel of brick. At the far edge, only a short distance, was a curved metal gate with the sunlight pouring through it. This was where he waited for Aziraphale to join him.

“I can’t tell you how excited I am, little thing,” said the angel as he walked up to the gate. “You must have found something wondrous,”

For you, of course, thought Crowley, and then slipped himself through the metal railing of the gate and into the sunlight. Aziraphale opened the gate to follow, and let out a small gasp as he took in their surroundings.

They had come out into a small rectangular courtyard. Along one side ran the same red brick garden wall with more trellises of roses before joining up to the three sides of a two story red brick house. It had a thatched roof and white window frames and sills, but green shutters which were carefully pinned back to the brick walls. There was a stable door leading into the house, the top half wide open with the same green painted wood.

In between them and the door was a small courtyard garden, with a path criss crossing across in between four raised planting beds for vegetables.Just beyond them was a very small patch of grass with a small metal table and two deckchairs, the striped fabric faded by the sunlight. Crowley didn’t stop to watch the butterfly loop over the green bean plants, or at the brilliant colours of the roses, he turned back to watch Aziraphale’s face.

The angel had stopped in his tracks and had lifted his hands to his mouth, his eyes moving from one little piece of the whole beautiful picture to the next. His eyes were wide, and Crowley watched carefully for the moment when the angel didn’t just take it all in with his eyes, but also with his nose.

He didn’t have to wait long before Aziraphale turned his head a little, breathed deeply through his nose and flared his nostrils with a sudden flash of his eyes.

“Ooh… what’s that marvellous smell?”

If Crowley had the ability to smirk in this form, he would have been grinning from ear to ear. He turned and inclined his head towards the stable door before leading Aziraphale across the middle of the courtyard. The window beside was open and just visible behind the swaying net curtain was a large pie, gentling wafting its sweet perfectly cooked scent out towards them.

He reached the stable door, lifted himself up to flick his head over the edge and unceremoniously plopped the various long loops of himself into the kitchen of the house.

“Little thing! You shouldn’t -”

Aziraphale leaned over the door but his scolding was immediately curtailed by the sight of so many goodies. There was not one, but three pies resting on the window sill next to them, each one with painstakingly intricately cut pastry on their curved tops. Under the window sill the kitchen counters formed three sides of a square with a large metal sink underneath the window looking out towards the garden. Within the sink sat a large used mixing bowl with a series of spatulas and whisks and spoons inside it, waiting to be cleaned up.

Beyond the area of the stove and counters the rest of the kitchen was bright, light poured across the window sill and lighting up the well scrubbed wooden table which held a large glass cake stand with a magnificent victoria sponge cake, tall and sandwiched with jam and cream and lightly dusted with icing sugar. The rest of the table was covered in trays of gingerbread on baking parchment, a mixture of gingerbread men, snowflakes and other larger pieces. Crowley ignored the angel’s continued half hearted protests as he slithered his way across the kitchen floor and found his way onto the closest kitchen chair, making his way towards the window sill bathed in light.

“I suppose you’re going to make me come in there and fetch you, aren’t you?” said Aziraphale finally, with an expression that looked hopeful and a tone designed to sound perfectly peeved at the whole situation. “You little fiend,”

Crowley hissed lazily and flicked his tongue towards the angel, enjoying the performance from his little Keeper. No matter how bothered Aziraphale pretended to look at him, he could easily see the plain delight at gaining access to this place. Aziraphale’s hand had just finally stopped dithering and was reaching for the inside latch to open the door when footsteps were heard in the hallway outside of the kitchen.

“Oh good, you found your way here finally,” came a voice, and Aziraphale’s face cleared from worry to delight again. It was the little girl from the forest, now without her red cape or basket. She was carrying a cloth of bundled herbs in her hands, her hair in tight pigtails and her feet bare. She set the herbs down and turned to Crowley, smiling. “Hello, Mr Snakey, very nice to see you again,”

Crowley inclined his head in greeting, and curled himself into a loose series of knots along the windowsill, spreading as to let his glittering scale soak up as much of the sun as possible.

“Are you coming in? I made some lemonade,” she said, turning her attention back to the angel.

“Oh, um, yes, well I - um,”

Aziraphale let himself into the kitchen after a little more dithering and came to join the little girl at the table as she removed a large jug of cloudy lemonade from the large cold box in the corner of the kitchen. She dropped a trayful of ice cubes into the jug, before grabbing the herbs and stripping the mint leaves straight into the jug. Once this was all done, she poured a large glass and handed it to Aziraphale.

“Oh, thank you so much,” he said, smiling deeply. “How did you know we were coming?”

She smiled at him and then a little more secretively at Crowley.

“Of course you were coming! You were invited, weren’t you? Didn’t your friend bring you directly?”

Aziraphale’s eyes flashed brightly at Crowley, who pretended to ignore him and flicked his tongue lazily at the small saucer of lemonade now placed in front of his snout on the sill. He knew the angel had a lot of questions, but a lot of them got stuck wanting to come out altogether in one go.

“What’s your name?” the little girl asked him, sweeping through the surprise on his face as he opened and shut his mouth, trying to find a single question to start with.

“I am the Keeper Aziraphale,” the angel told her, sipping his lemonade and sighing heavily. “And that fiendish little creature on the windowsill is my companion, I call him little thing, as he has yet to tell me his name,”

She considered this for a moment.

“He’s not very little though, is he?”

“No I suppose not, but he is my little thing regardless,”

She nodded, as this made sense.

“I like your name, it’s very pretty,”

“Why thank you. May I ask your name?”

“My grandmother calls me Dorothy, but my mummy calls me Dottie. My pa likes to call me Dot, so I don’t mind which one you want to use,” “Oh my, so many lovely options! I suppose I might call you Dorothy, if that’s ok?”

She nodded, finishing her glass of lemonade and pouring them both another glass. From the window Crowley continued to lazily taste his saucer, and watch with a hidden smile as his angel relaxed.

“This is a beautiful home you have here, Dorothy. Your garden is lovely,”

She nodded again.

“It takes a lot of work keeping it free of weeds, but it’s worth the hard work. There’s plenty of fruits for jams and pies, although I still need to go to the market for the flour and butter for the cakes,”

“Did you bake all of these yourself?” Aziraphale asked, lust evident in his bright eyes as his gaze lingers on each sweet treat. Dorothy smirked a little, and plucked an undecorated gingerbread man from the closest tray. She snapped him in two pieces and handed one to Aziraphale.

“I made all of the cookies, and I helped with the cakes but my mummy did all of the pies. She’s forever baking pies for the neighbours,”

Watching Aziraphale’s expression as he accepted the legs of the gingerbread man, Crowley knew he hadn’t heard anything she had said about the baking. His eyes had grown wide, his mouth open a little as he brought the biscuit to his face. He sniffed first, closing his eyes briefly to savour the solid tang of fresh ginger and cinnamon. Crowley held his breath as the angel bit into the soft gingerbread, knowing he would remember this moment for the rest of his existence. Aziraphale’s eyes were still shut as he chewed softly, and his eyebrows tilted in a pleading, awed expression as he gave a gentle but muffled moan of happiness. When he did open his eyes, he first looked at Dorothy and smiled as he chewed, but then his eyes found Crowley’s and held them.

Nothing could describe the warmth pouring from the Keeper into Crowley in that moment. It was nothing short of pure adoration. He didn’t say anything, just shook his head a little in disbelief. Crowley couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of his angel glowing in his cream robes, the sunlight gleaming off his curls and his wings tucked neatly into the corner. He was just perched at the table so carefully, his feet crossed at the ankle and the biscuit still held in two hands close to his face like he was in a form of devotion, giving his own silent prayer to Her for creating the flavour he was savouring. He appeared as if he was made of pure sunlight.

Perfect, thought Crowley softly, suddenly overcome by the swell of emotion rising up in him. Just… perfect.

Soon enough the gingerbread man was gone, and Aziraphale had regained his voice.

“Such marvellous creations,” he sighed. His voice was soft and gentle, like a breeze plucking at dandelion seeds. The dreamy look on his face would stay in Crowley’s memories forever. “Just like I had always hoped,”

“Have you never had gingerbread before?” asked Dorothy, her eyes widened and a little concerned for him.

“My dear, I have never eaten anything like that before. Angels do not tend to eat anything besides bread, honey and nectar. Sweet things, to be sure, but nothing like this,”

“I’ve never had nectar, but we get honey from our neighbour’s bees in exchange for some of our rhubarb,” Dorothy said. “Fancy never trying gingerbread before!”

“Thank you ever so much for sharing it with me,” Aziraphale said earnestly. His hands were still clasped loosely together in front of him, giving him the appearance of an angel in praise.

“Would you like to help me decorate some more?” Dorothy asked, already getting up from the table to start opening cupboard doors and pulling out boxes. “I have so much to do, and I would guess if you’ve never eaten gingerbread before, you’ve never decorated it either,”

“One decorates it as well? In what fashion?”

Dorothy slid two boxes onto the kitchen table, one brimming with coloured icing in small tubes with metal nozzles, and the another stacked with pots of colourful sugary sweets Crowley recognised from their reading in the library - gumdrops, candycanes, jellied fruits, sprinkles and chocolate buttons. Aziraphale leant forward in excitement.

“These certainly aren’t painted rocks,” he said, picking up a little pot of hard boiled sweets in bright cheerful colours. Dorothy laughed as she slid the trays towards them on the table.

“You went to visit the Hatter, didn’t you? Isn’t he peculiar?”

Aziraphale made a face and huffed lightly, accepting the parchment of gingerbread.

“Peculiar is definitely one word to describe him,” he muttered, one eyebrow flicking dismissively and Crowley hissed a low laugh to himself, enjoying seeing his angel be just a smidge petty. Aziraphale’s eyes met Crowley’s again and the angel smiled so warmly at him that Crowley had to avert his gaze. Those loving looks of Aziraphale tended to overwhelm him lately.

It turned out that even with Dorothy’s careful guidance and several quickly scribbled guides, Aziraphale was a disaster at decorating gingerbread men. He couldn’t seem to get the correct pressure to squeeze out the coloured icing, frequently squeezing too hard and sending small spurts of sugar across the table. He also seemed consistent in accidentally placing the side of his hand directly into the icing he had correctly applied, somewhat altering its original course. When it came time to add the gumdrop buttons, he couldn’t get them to unstick from his fingers and it seemed several more got eaten than were successfully applied. Crowley wasn’t sure exactly how he had managed it, but Aziraphale had also managed to get a smudge of melted chocolate on the tip of his nose as he worked, leaning so close to his work with the tip of his tongue stuck between his teeth in concentration. This was even more impressive as they so far had not even brought out the chocolate drops to the table yet.

Watching his angel fumble and curse lightly and try so hard to do well, Crowley found himself swimming in a sea of adoration. How could a single form contain as much charm and sweetness as his little Keeper? How could Crowley’s form, restricted as it was to his serpent shape, manage to lock away the sheer force of devotion he felt towards this silly little angel?

Next to her hard working student Dorothy worked steadily, laughing gently with Aziraphale, correcting and encouraging whilst somehow managing to decorate two whole trays of gingerbread men and snowflakes while Aziraphale smudged his way through one. When they were finished, he watched her slide the trays into a cupboard with lots of smaller shelves for setting biscuits, including the larger undecorated pieces.

“What are these for?” Aziraphale asked as he handed her several trays of geometric shapes.

“These make a gingerbread house, I make the same one every year but always do the decorations differently,”

Aziraphale’s face was a picture.

“A gingerbread house?” he practically squeaked. “That sounds marvellous! Are you not making it right now?”

Crowley fought back another little laughing hiss, his angel was so precocious when he wanted to be. The little hopeful pout on the Keepers face was turned towards him again, but instead of dissolving into a warm smile, the pout turned into a little scowl and he wrinkled his nose at Crowley.

“Quiet, you,” he said, “Don’t think just because I think you’re the best and most wonderful little thing in all creation, I won’t come over there and teach you some manners, you little fiend,”

Crowley hissed again, this time with a wide grin on his snake features, and wriggled his head a little from side to side without breaking eye contact. It was a playful challenge, and he saw Aziraphale about to take the bait except Dorothy had turned back and tugged on his sleeve.

“Ignore him, he’s a teasing snake. The gingerbread needs a little longer to set before I start putting it all together,” she said. “You can help me in the garden instead,”

Aziraphale looked stricken for a moment, looking at all of the sweet treats still in the kitchen untasted, but he pulled himself together and nodded. By the back door she slipped on her garden shoes and a dusty pinny, handing another larger one to Aziraphale, who must be said looked absolutely splendid in pink.

Crowley gave up his sunbathing spot to follow them lazily back into the garden. He decided the best way to enjoy the afternoon gardening when he didn’t have hands to help was to weave his way in between Aziraphale’s legs when he wasn’t looking, and get in his way at every opportunity.

There were a lot of opportunities.

“You really are trying my patience, little thing,” the angel told him, lifting his middle section out of the way of a large patch of ripe strawberries. As he plucked them free he offered one to Crowley who lapped his tongue lazily at it, before twisting away to reveal his crimson belly. Aziraphale popped the strawberry in his mouth and moaned lightly, his fingers grazing along the ridge of scales in thought.

“Nearly the colour of strawberries,” he commented, one fingertip pressing to Crowley’s sunwarm scales. “Not quite raspberry either. Maybe a little more like cherry? Hard to say. Either way, cherry or not, will you please get out of the way?”

Crowley hissed in pleasure, and continued to wriggle his belly up to the sun. He would have continued with this campaign of annoyance all the way through the harvesting of the sugar snap peas had Aziraphale not picked him up entirely, his two hands scooping him up and placing him behind his shoulders. Aziraphale was clearly a lot stronger than he looked at first glance, and Crowley found his head spinning a little as he realised the angel had draped his long body across his shoulders much like a feather boa. The realisation that he was now in a perfect prime position to both completely revel in his angel’s company and also utterly annoy him was a very pleasant one.

“Is he always that active?” asked Dorothy a few minutes later as Aziraphale attempted to weed the tomato plants with a very friendly snake winding the tip of his tail through his white curls one by one. Aziraphale sighed critically, one hand going to brush a thumb against Crowley’s jaw absentmindedly.

“Hardly ever. I suppose it’s all this sun and excitement,” he commented as Crowley’s tail now moved and formed a delightful dastardly handlebar moustache across his upper lip. “Absolute little fiend,”

Worth it, thought Crowley.

After they had finished in the vegetable patch, Dorothy directed them to the deckchairs under the umbrella. Aziraphale sank down into it with a satisfied groan, slipping Crowley off from his shoulders and depositing him underneath the chair to hide in the shade under his robes.

“That’s enough sun for you, you little hedonist,” he told him, unable to fight the smile on his face.

Oh, I’m the hedonist? Thought Crowley, smirking. Pot, meet kettle.

Despite this he found that this lovely spot of shade suited him very well. He arranged himself into a gentle coil, nestled his head under one of his many loops and closed his eyes. Above him Aziraphale sighed heavily and smiled, taking in the garden in the afternoon sun. He stretched his feet out, cracked his neck and stretched his angels out behind him until the primary feathers brushed against the brickwork.

“You have such large wings,”

Dorothy had returned, bringing a fresh jug of lemonade out to them. Aziraphale accepted his glass from her with thanks, suddenly aware of what effect the sun and the exertion of weeding had played on his form.

“Yes, but in this form they tend to be a little on the smaller side, for a principality at least,”

“You mean sometimes they’re bigger?” asked Dorothy, her face a little confused as she took the deckchair next to him. Aziraphale watched a butterfly amble through the tomato plants.

“Yes, in my true form they’re extremely large in relation to you, but in relation to an archangel they’re not very big. I suppose it’s all about perspective,” he said, sipping his lemonade. He jumped a little as he felt a tickle from his left wing, the one closest to Dorothy. She had reached out and was running her fingers along his large primary feathers. Below them Crowley’s eyes opened.

“They’re so soft,”

“Oh, yes, um, well,” stammered Aziraphale, “It’s just that… well, you see,”

Crowley lifted his head, unsure if he should do something. Aziraphale’s flustered state was not Dorothy’s fault, for she had no idea what her simple touches meant. An angel’s wings were very sensitive, even in the form Aziraphale was in. To touch them so carefully was a very personal act, as preening them was usually done in solitude or with a trusted companion. In the correct context, touching another angel’s wings would be considered an intimate act. It was hard to say what it might mean to have a human touch them, but it was obvious from the way Aziraphale stumbled over his sentences that he wasn’t sure himself.

“It’s just that I’m so terribly ticklish,” he finally told her, twitching his wings away and folding them carefully behind the deckchair, his primaries crossing over very close to where Crowley lay curled.

Good save, thought Crowley.

They continued to sit out in the garden for some time. The sound of Aziraphale and Dorothy’s soft voices as they chatted lulled Crowley along with the buzzing of bees and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. It seemed the perfect space for a nap, and Crowley didn’t fight sleep as it began to trickle over him.

“So why would your grandmother live so far into the forest if you have such a lovely home here?” he heard Aziraphale ask, the clink of ice cubes in his glass.

“She likes the privacy, and there’s always something exciting going on,”

“Oh, yes, I can understand that, new adventures can be quite thrilling after all,”

“Do you like adventures?”

“Oh yes, of course. In fact...,”

Aziraphale’s soft voice describing their days out was exactly the kind of lullaby Crowley would have dreamt up for himself when sleep evaded him. The angel had such a gentle voice, one made for lulling across syllables and almost dancing through his words. Add to this the wonderful fact that Aziraphale was endlessly praising his little thing’s uncanny ability to find the best new adventures each time, and Crowley was a very happy and very indulgent snake, who also happened to be completely and blissfully asleep.

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blancheludis · 5 years ago

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@whumptober2019 Day 8: Stab Wound

Fandom: MCU, Avengers Characters: Tony Stark/Pepper Potts, Nebula Tags: Lost In Space, post-Infinity War, Infection, Friendship, Hope, Grief, Hurt Tony Words: 2.370

Summary: Stranded in space, Tony knows he is going to die, whether it will be from infection, starvation, or the lack of oxygen. He has been running from his fate since he flew that nuke through the wormhole. This time, at least, he won't be dying alone.

---

The wound gets infected. Of course, it does. Tony has built his suits to withstand extensive damage and to administer first aid so he can keep standing long enough to get to Medical. Being stranded in space with no hopes of reaching a hospital within a reasonable time frame never really registered as a possible emergency – and that despite him having nearly died in space before.

As it is, the infection might at least kill him before the starvation does, or the lack of oxygen. Since the engine failed, all three scenarios have become rather likely.

The fever and the lack of nutrients leave him no quiet minute. He sees Peter dying in his arms whenever he closes his eyes. He worries about what he will find back on Earth. If Rhodey or Pepper are gone too, it might be the better option not to get back at all.

Nebula is a soothing companion. She does not have much regard for the limits of a human body, and Tony is almost convinced she would have left him on Titan if he had not pulled his weight in getting the ship back into shape. As little good as it did them.

They do not talk much at first, both caught in their grief and their anger, wanting to forget what happened while wishing to enact their revenge. They are a good team in steering the ship while breeding. At least until the engines die.

“Thanos knows you,” Nebula says when they have tried everything to get the ship running again.

They are sitting in the cockpit, staring at the vast expanse of empty space in front of them, wondering if this is the last thing they will ever see.

Tony imagines the stars being blocked out by the Chitauri ships, imagines them being swallowed by a leviathan. His fear has not abated by meeting the creatures’ master.

“I’ve seen his army before,” Tony says, unable to meet Nebula’s eyes, even while he feels them burning into him.

What a pair they make. Thanos’ daughter and the man who could not stop him despite knowing he was coming.

“When he sent Loki to Earth.” Nebula nods as if there is nothing strange about that. Perhaps she remembers Thanos’ disappointment at Loki’s failure. Perhaps she thought she could have done a better job.

Tony has not yet asked her why she ended up on their side of the fight. Losing her sister might have been the reason, but there is too much resentment buried in Nebula’s movements, too much desperation.

He is glad to have an ally, even a tentative one. If he were stranded in space alone after seeing his entire team disintegrate – he is sure he would have never even made it this far.

“I sent a nuke after him,” Tony says and even manages a smile. They were all still so young back then. The Avengers were still full of opportunity instead of old grudges. “I should have died back then.”

Tony has stopped counting the times he should have died. Has stopped weighing it against the reasons to live. He never really liked the answers he got from that.

“You’re going to die from this,” Nebula says solemnly, looking at him with old eyes.

Tony turns to look at her, away from the stars. “Yes.” Another small smile. He is ready.

Nebula leans forward, reaches out as if to touch him but stops herself a few inches over his feverish skin.

“You’re not going to die from this,” she says, and maybe that is what she has been saying all along. He is not sure. He does not even know which version he prefers.

Death is just another old friend. He has been waiting patiently at every turn Tony took. Perhaps it is time to stop avoiding him. He has let enough friends down already.

“Thanos does not just remember anyone’s name,” Nebula remarks quietly.

Her thoughts circle around the same topics Tony’s does. About loss and their defeat, about whether Thanos can be stopped, even though the worst has already happened.

“I’d say I feel honoured,” Tony replies without humour, “but frankly I don’t care.”

Nebula gets up abruptly, leaving him to his fever dreams, to his fears flashing in front of his eyes. Nothing new here. Only that they have all come true.

The ship is not big enough for them to never run into each other. Neither of them wants to be alone anyway, although they would not admit to it. Nebula is quiet. Any other time, Tony might have talked for the both of them, tried to put her at ease, to open up. Now, however, he simply joins her in silence and they fit together well despite that.

Tony does not know what to do with himself. He is in constant pain, the fever makes him see things that are not there. He hears Peter’s last words over and over. He wonders what he could have done to keep his world from falling apart.

Pepper has always prophesized that Iron Man would kill him. First the palladium poisoning, then being targeted, then ending up on the wrong side of Captain America’s shield. Now he got stabbed by his own invention. It does not matter whether it was Thanos’ hand guiding the sword, or whether it is the infection killing him. This is Tony’s own doing.

He still has so many regrets. More now than when he left Earth. He should have known there is no escaping them.

The thing is, he does not particularly want to go back to Earth. He has seen his entire motley group of fighters disintegrate into dust on Titan. If he does not go back, they will all still be alive. Pepper and Rhodey and Happy. Even Steve and the rest of the Avengers. He will not have to grieve any more people, will not have to look May and confess that he could not save Peter. He will not have to search for a way to save everyone and fail.

“This will help.”

Nebula appears next to him suddenly. He does not know when he last saw her. It could have been hours, could have been days. If she does not want to be seen, she disappears, no matter how hard he looks. Tony wishes he could do the same, could escape his own constant scrutiny.

She thrusts something into his face. It looks like a mixture between a tube and a soldering iron. It is nothing to eat and it does not look like they will get the engines running with it. Perhaps Nebula is offering him an assisted suicide to end his suffering.

“What –” he asks but stops himself. He is not sure he wants to know. Less so when he sees the impatience on her face.

“It’s for the wound,” Nebula prompts.

Without further ado, she tugs at Tony’s shirt while pushing him back into the pilot’s seat. He still looks when she pulls off the bandages, revealing the oozing mess underneath.

The wound is not big as much as it is deep. The blade did not cut any vital organs or Tony’s suffering would have been over much sooner. If Thanos had done it right, Tony would not have needed to see Peter die. He could have gone home before that.

The nanites Tony applied helped to stitch his insides together, but what is left is still an ugly crater of inflamed skin and burning flesh. Considering how much punishment Tony put his body through over the course of his life, it is a miracle how well it fights against the infection. If this was a full-blown sepsis, he would not manage to be upright at all anymore.

“This will hurt,” Nebula says. That is the only warning Tony gets before she lowers her technical wand down on his skin and pushes.

It does hurt. More than the actual stabbing. More than the various forms of torture the Ten Rings put him through. It feels like his insides are torn apart and someone is branding him at the same time.

For several agonizing minutes, Tony is caught between wanting to scream and clawing at his skin. He struggles, unable to think clearly. In his weakened state, he pushes against Nebula’s arm and chest, tries to keep her away from him. She does not even budge. She does not tell him to stop either, she simply keeps doing her work, without pity or anger.

Then the pain becomes too much and Tony welcomes the darkness pulling him under gladly. Perhaps his life will look brighter when he comes back to consciousness.

---

The stars look the same when he opens his eyes. They are teasing him from far away, laughing at these two insignificant beings trapped in eternity.

Tony breathes while he keeps himself very still, afraid of the pain he clearly remembers. There is still an ache originating from his side, and he still feels clammy, feverish. The agony he has come to accept as his new normal is dampened, though.

When he stirs, he does so abruptly, sitting up straight in the pilot’s seat. It does hurt, but it is more like the pulling of a bruise than the grinding of inflamed flesh against itself.

“You’re awake,” Nebula says.

She is sitting next to him, looking him over with somewhat less detachment than he has come to expect of her. Tony hopes she is not going soft. Dying in space is hard enough without losing someone else he cares for. Then again, it might already be too late for that.

He does not know what she has done, but he feels much better already. Still weak, still grieving, still aching, but he is not on death’s door anymore. He cannot help but think that she should not have wasted that miracle on him.

“Why would you do that for me?” he has to ask, unable to think of a reason on his own.

Why would you save me? Why would you not take the chance of having more oxygen and water for yourself?

She scoffs as if she knew what he was thinking. “Thanos is afraid of you,” she then say. If she really thinks that, they remember the fight on Titan very differently. Only one of them is afraid and it certainly is not the one who just won the war. “And the Wizard gave up the Time Stone for you.”

Tony closes his eyes, breathing against the instant panic flooding his system. Strange had promised he would not do this, that he would not give the stone up for anything and certainly not for Tony. His life would have been a small price to pay if they could have stopped Thanos for it, if only they could have kept the stone out of his hands.

“I didn’t ask him to,” Tony says. It is nothing more than a whisper, thanks to the shame he feels at having to admit his part in failing the entire universe.

“I wouldn’t think so,” Nebula speaks up impatiently. She does not look like she is angry at Strange giving their chance away. “He was a guardian. He wouldn’t have given up the stone if it weren’t for a purpose.”

What purpose could be good enough to damn half the universe for? Strange said he could see the future, that he watches fourteen billion paths and that they won only one of them. What good is it to save Tony’s life if he is only going to die now, adrift in space?

“It’s done,” Tony says, almost choking on the words. “We’ve lost.”

Nebula looks at him like he has said something stupid, like she thought better of him.

“The stones are as old as the universe,” she says, disgust in her tone that has nothing to do with their mission. “What has been done with them can be undone.”

Tony shakes his head and welcomes the dizziness that comes with it. He does not want to hear this, does not want to be caught in highly hypothetical hopes where this is not their reality, where they do not have a way out. Having hopes only leads to getting crushed worse than before. He is sure he cannot deal with the terrifying ordeal of piecing himself together again.

“We failed,” he says with as much firmness as he can muster. “You saw it. We weren’t – we weren’t enough and now they’re dead. And I – Peter –”

Tony will never be able to forget the way Peter clung to him, becoming less with ever breath, feeling every second of his death where the others simply faded away.

“I lost my sister,” Nebula snaps him out of his memories. Grief clings to her voice, but she is still holding onto her anger. “We haven’t been close but – we can’t let him get away with it.”

Thanos already got away with it. It is done.

“Without the engines, we’re not going anywhere,” Tony says, reaching for a tangible reason of why they will not be able to save the universe, just so he does not have to say that he does not think he can do it.

Strangely, Nebula’s expression softens. It is barely enough to notice, but Tony has looked at her a lot over the past days, the only living thing within thousands of lightyears.

“Sleep, Stark,” she says, sounding almost soft enough that Tony could believe she has a plan. “Your wound should get better now.”

And then what? They are still going to die out here. They have still failed. Tony thinks it is still nice that Nebula believes he still has a purpose, that things might not be as hopeless as they look. One of them should have the courage to meet the future head on.

Sleep does sound good, though. He is tired. Their situation will not get worse if he closes his eyes for a bit. Once he wakes, the same stars will greet him, the same empty expanse of space.

Nebula will be here too, at least. That is the one good thing about this entire miserable situation. He will not die alone.

#whumptober2019 #no. 8 #stab wound #tony stark #nebula #whump #hurt tony #adrift in space #infection #grief #post infinity war #friendship #hope #my writing #ao3 #fanfiction

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