#its ironic when you dodge a bullet by dying

[katsona-the-katsequel]

Being honest, of all people and Persona users in the series, I think Nyarlathotep would hate Makoto and Kotone the most. To such ungodly level that, by jungian "pyshics" (enantiodromia), turns back to respect. That's because they reached the answer to life's greatest question; they are "living, breathing" affirmations of life's potential to become whole and individuated, incarnations of the archetype of the Self, the meaning of life that Nyarlathotep always tries to deny (he is chaos in the absurdist sense, after all).

Though I agree he would lost interest on them after a while, despite the Great Seal showing him wrong into a fundamental level. I also agree with his interest for the PT. Just like Yaldabaoth, Maruki, Enlil, Salmael... and, really, a long list of deities show, good intentions can easily turn into catatstrophes for humanity.

You raise some good points. Maybe if Nyarly bothered to see what they were about beyond "fighting to stop Nyx", Minato/Kotone would become his new hyperfixation. I like to believe Nyarly (if he's still around by P3) began to gain an interest in SEES beyond seeing them as another ones' puppets after Ikutsuki's betrayal. This interest would grow as Minato/Kotone began to formulate their own beliefs and stand out more as the true leaders even outside the field, and peaked in the fight against the Avatar.

If Minato/Kotone had survived the fight (Nyarly probably realized they would die by Seal anyway) then they would have reached Tatsuya-levels of interest. A Great Seal doesn't provide much for philosophical conversation and they're impossible to try to corrupt. Its a Seal. This is probably a good thing, since Nyarly would have gone for the "let's traumatize them until I break them" route. Nyarly, in all his stupid glory, probably went "it doesn't count because they died in the end. So there. I win and everyone is doomed no matter what", completely missing (or ignoring) the point.

[nitrosodiumrapidproto]

Looking at Bullet Hells

I'm not such a fan of this genre, since the games often lend themselves to high skill levels and punishing gameplay loops. Not only that, but they are often intertwined with the roguelike genre, and the idea of dying over and over with minimal upgrades seems more akin to chiseling my way out of a prison cell rather than a fast-paced adventure. Still, some of them are quite good.

Ikaruga is a vertical bullet hell with some very interesting ideas. You are in a ship called the Ikaruga, and you face two kinds of enemies: white and black. You can switch the polarities, and you are immune to an enemy if you are the same colour (i.e. a black enemy cannot damage a black Ikaruga). The game is insanely fast, and there are no interludes or stat screens between levels. It just keeps going and going, and I think that constant momentum is a unique point for the game. The designers planned the levels around a "mountain and valley" meta loop where the action would switch between crescendos and building tension. The level backgrounds are these sweeping shots of pre-rendered areas, like gargantuan industrial facilities or forest vistas. Enemy squadrons can appear from below, before moving to the foreground. The actual designs are also very interesting, almost resembling crabshells with a lot of curved and rounded elements. There is also some kind of story, told to the player through brief (and I mean brief) text interludes between areas. From what I understand, you are some sort of freedom fighter, piloting the Ikaruga against a caste of world conquerors armed with the power of the gods. The game is overall very polished, and the unique element would be the polarity-switching mechanic.

Smash TV is a game I have heard a little of. It was compared to Serious Sam by Civvie 11, and now I can see why. The plot is simple: in the year 1999, there is a game show called Smash TV, and you're the newest contestant. You fight through rooms of enemies who come at you in hordes, from bat-wielding goons to fat guys with bombs strapped to their chests. There are also enemies with guns, and dodging all the projectiles and thugs running your way gets hectic. The game has an interesting aesthetic - you're constantly reminded you're on a game show as you cross backstage areas between each level, crowds cheer when you kill enemies, and the sleazy host pops up in the corner occasionally to goad you on or quote Robocop. The pure chaos of the combat is definitely the unique selling point of the game; enemies explode into gibs when you blast them, and the insurmountable hordes make the game progressively more challenging in the arcade style of ramping difficulty. It's quite an interesting idea for a game and something I would check out in my own time.

Vampire Survivors is an interesting sort of bullet hell - it's not fast or frantic, rather the skill comes from target prioritization and knowing how to kill off the hordes of bloodsucking legions before they get to you. It takes place in rural Italy, and as the name would suggest, you find yourself besieged by every sort of classical monster, ironically except vampires. Your player attacks automatically, and you get permanent character upgrades to make the fight easier in the vein of a roguelike. Interestingly the "bullets" aren't so much the projectiles as they are the enemies, beelining towards you as they did in Smash TV. Some have called this a "bullet heaven" game since you do most of the gratuitous projectile-slinging, but as I mentioned above, dodging is still a key element in the game so I think it fits. The unique selling point would be the slower gameplay and roguelike focus, since it is less demanding of your reflexes.

Undertale is an RPG foremost, but its combat system lends itself to the bullet hell genre. You have options to FIGHT (just start swinging, which will earn you XP but set you on the Genocide route), ACT (which can lead you to spare a monster for the Pacifist route), ITEM (mostly for healing yourself) or MERCY (options for sparing or running away). Between your turns, you enter the enemy's turn, where you move a heart in a box and avoid oncoming projectiles. Some enemies have unique attacks that require you to be still, and they can change the properties of your heart so it can't move but has a shield, or is affected by gravity, or can only move along set lines. Usually bullet hells priorities the player moving wherever they want to avoid projectiles, but Undertale is interesting in that it literally puts the player in the box, and plays with their abilities to dodge projectiles movement-wise rather than just putting more projectiles in. The unique selling point of Undertale itself is the meta-fictional story elements.

Touhou is a game I had vaguely heard of before. You play as one of two characters who I believe are some sort of priestesses, and levels consist of linear waves of enemies which throw projectiles at you in rhythmic motions. You are constantly firing, and the game requires incredibly tight precision to dodge between the volleys of bubbles headed your way. Bosses usually have massively intricate projectile patterns, almost resembling mandalas, and you have just enough space to avoid them. The artstyle is curious and somewhat implacable, though it uses an anime-esque style for all the characters. The levels themselves are usually featureless, save for the spirals of magic crystals headed your way. The unique selling point I think is the high level of skill required, and the music, which is very distinctive and unique for each stage.

SUMMARY:

Bullet hell games usually require high skill levels, and as such, have repetitive player death as a common game loop. This is why they go hand-in-hand with the roguelike genre, which treats death not as a factory reset button but an important point of progression where the player goes back to the start with new skills and some new mechanics at their disposal. Undertale is more merciful, as the focus isn't on the fight system mechanically, meanwhile Smash TV revels in its chaos so that you inevitably die and put another quarter into the machine. I like games that use every aspect of the player experience in one cohesive loop (i.e. death/game end not being the end of the meta loop) but the skill required is too much for me usually.

If I had to change one thing about most bullet hells, it would be their difficulty. The constant cycle of death isn't appealing to me, and bullet hells as a whole either attract a more masochistic brand of games who like the difficulty, or hardcore roguelike fans who have invested so much time into the game that death is no longer a setback. I am neither of these, and so it makes the genre frustrating and impenetrable.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Infected/Undead Boyfriend (Ryan Chen) 3 (FINALE)

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Part 1  -  Part 2

Warning: some language. Long chapter ahead!

When It Rains, It Pours Part 3 (FINALE)

It was always raining in November-– or was it now December?

It was hard to tell: the rain had turned harder and harsher, solid ice and snow fell across what was desolate and overgrown lands, where the city life grew smaller, a distant reminder that they still hung in an area. The coating of snow grew harsher the more the days passed, and bitter was its storms and winds to you and your surroundings.

How you managed to get out before losing yourself was an amazement to you and those of your rescuers.

"Hey, five minutes before we depart—you good?"

You blinked lazily, back to the surrounding sounds that were not of the dead crawling and walking on the grounds, of laughter and joy that you had missed and forgotten the sounds of. You remembered where you were: the warmth of the fire spreading across your limbs as you looked up from the floor, a hand in reach for you to take.

Justin was the first and the only one you had really spoken and befriended who wasn't a relative to you, a friend you shared rum and morbid chats with when the two of you were on night duties, staring up at nothing by the sky. He was cute: brown hair and eyes, pretty smile, but he was just another hole filled.

'Okay, okay, humour me with this,' He asked you when the blizzard was raging outside of your camp, the howling winds rattling against the iron doors. 'If you could take anyone with you, in the world, where would you go and with who?'

There was only one name that came to mind that night, the lines of your face creasing as you smiled sadly. 'You'll have to let me think about that one.'

"You good, tiger?" You took his hand as he hauled you up to your feet, dusting away the snow from your worn jeans. "You seem... out of it. You can tell me, I can get someone else to do this if you're not feeling up to it."

"No, it's fine, I'll be out in five." There was a haunting, dreadful pause from Justin, observing you silently when time didn't seem to go any faster, before he nodded, heading out of the hall, his distant figure fading through the groups of crowds waiting.

You gathered your things slowly, fumbling with the leather jacket, dipping your fingers into the deep pockets, fumbling with the smooth edge of the card still occupying it. Never did it seem to lose its feel, thankfully. Get a grip on yourself. You sighed, securing your knife into your boot. Three years... three fucking years and you still mourn.

The snow had settled once you had been brave to face it, crunching satisfyingly under your boots each step you took to the stables, waiting there was Justin and a few others you didn't take time in memorising their names.

"You ready?" Justin asked, strapping more ammo into his backpack. "Help yourself to some more. Heard there's infected up north from here roaming. Potentially they could come down."

"Yeah, thanks." You grabbed a large bar, stuffing it away before paying attention to the black stead you had named Diamond. "Hey, girl. Ready to stretch those legs?"

The beauty snorted almost in reply, a genuine smile gracing your features when you had clamoured up, mentally and physically preparing yourself for the arduous journey that would take place. An hour away from the Jackson base was the Crow's Nest: the barren hub used to scout the area, to keep eye on roaming hordes.  

"The snow has settled, but with it, the dead grow. Watch out for yourselves, keep close to the path and don't stray." Justin gave final warnings before you all set off, the large electric gates of the once well-known powerplant creaked open, a vast, vicious cold greeted you the moment you stepped out.

The journey left you frozen and missing the heat from indoors, reminding yourself why you had gone out in the first place was to get away from everyone, but now you had dearly missed the sweet sight of civilisation creeping back to normal. I can be back and everything will be fine. You told yourself, and you foolishly believed it.

When you finally arrived, there were little dead who had managed to get through the other side of the pen, and taking them out was no issue. The base on top was all but a cosy place: desolate, reeking of decay and too cold. When you finally reached the windows that showcased the cast white outside, did you finally breathe out in somewhat respite.

"See that out there, that's the city you came from, right?" Justin pointed out to what looked like nowhere, but even where the sky and snow met with vast starkness, there was still an outline of a desolate and barren city, broken and crumbling skyscrapers still reaching to the chilling sky.

It was miles out, you realised, but the routes out were like a maze on its own.

"Don't tell me you're thinking of going in there for fun?" You asked, the man beside you rolling his eyes exasperatedly. "You would have to be fucking insane to want to go back in there."

"Even so, what kept you sane?"

The name you so missed to say was on the tip of your tongue, memories that swept through your mind nearly brought you to tears. Maybe, in some reality, the two of you could've been that couple, living out your days in a decaying city, filled with dead, going down as the world would never miss you. But in some ways, it was for the good. You blinked the tears away before any could fall.

"Faith, a hell of a lot of it." The winter sun was dead as well as the last of those memories. "I'm done with it, done for good."

In the distance, when the snow settled quietly, a dull, thunderous cry, followed with the faint sounds of bangs going off, a chorus that never seemed to quieten, only did its cries grow louder and louder, until-

"Infected have made their way into the bunker!"

You turned with Justin in surprise, the thuds of gunshots and its chambers thudded in time with your heartbeat, rousing the adrenaline as you moved like clockwork to make your way back down, back into the darkened, gloomy hallways so narrow it barely fitted enough, but now stood with both humans and dead.

Even war has never looked like this. There were bodies already, a mixture of dead taken down and those who had fallen, bleeding to the ground in puddles, eyes frozen and bodies stiff. "Come with me down to the east wing." Justin guided you away from the onslaught, away from the crowded corridors as the two of you run further away from the noises.

"You know how many they'll be?" You rasped, trying to steady your breathing, the grip on your knife straining your fingers.

"I don't know," Justin answered. "But whatever you do, don't think recklessly. You're a strong fighter, so don't think about dying."

"I could say the same with you." You stopped when you stopped outside the double doors, slightly ajar and smeared blood wiped across the handles and door. "You ready?"

No. You thought. I don't even want to be here. "Yes."

The door was opening wider before you could realise: the noise loud and shrilled, as were the following, inhumane cries and shrieks that followed. Through the darkness of the room: the boiler room, you could see, maybe four or five dead, twitching and grotesque.

And two of them charging towards you both.

Justin made light work of the largest one, leaving you to deal with the other, all snarling and baring its mangled, blackened teeth. You reared back as it did too, causing you to collapse into the wall but not fall, supporting yourself and keeping its head from coming any closer to the flesh of your face or neck.

You struggled for what felt like forever, until you kicked it as far away from you, shoving it into Justin's grip as you charged, using your knife to lodge it into the jellied head, one final cry came before its head slumped, black blood seeping through.

"Good job," Justin let it drop against the wall. "A bit quieter would've been better though."

"Yeah, thanks though." You caught your breath, iron in your throat when you exhaled, feeling like knives stabbing you a thousand times, not helping with the cold of the room. "Shall we continue onwards?"

"We could take down the rest of these- Hey, watch out!"

You turned in time to hear the raucous grunt of something collide into the side of you, causing you to stumble, crashing into the boiler behind you, the wind knocked from you with such force, your vision dotted. "Shit!" Justin shouted from the darkness, and you could hear the struggle, gunshots and more animalistic roars. "Justin! Are you okay?"

"Go! I'll distract it!" You heard his retreating voice, the heavy footsteps follow before you had time to catch the large creature leave, a dreadful smell of mildew and rotting flesh filled your nostrils, almost making you gag.

"Fuck." You grunted to stand, head dizzy, aware that the noises and clicks were coming from the rest of the dead in the surrounding area you shared with them. "Shit!" Quickly, you picked up the blade fallen, dodging the remaining dead as you continued in a haze through to the back of the room, hopping over the wall to get through to the bunker. The sounds of the dead never faltered, sounding all around you and nowhere at all, limbs shaking, clothes drenched not with water.

I'm going to die, I'm going to die—I'm fucked, I'm fucked. You tried to keep moving, but you kept running into dead ends and parts cornered off, leading you to believe that there would be no way of escaping.

Something scampered in your peripheral, large and skinny, you braced for the worst when its shadowed body crawled around in the dark, closer and closer. You pulled your gun out, trying to steady your breathing and keep an eye on it. It didn't move like any of the other dead—perhaps a new one you weren't aware of.

You decided to try and take a shot, the bullet ricocheting off a pipe and exploding with gas, letting out and creating a thick, never-ending mist that you found hard in trying to see through. There was the sound of shoes scraping against the floor, someone running towards you and grabbing you, and you screamed, their face guarded as you tried fighting them off you, away from the floor so they wouldn't have full control over you.

Your fingers gripped the gun, reminding yourself to not let go of it, and you finally- after some struggle- kicked the creature in the stomach, letting it stumble back as you finally tried to take another shot.

In the mist that was fading slowly as you tried to focus, the legs of the figure finally appeared, a full body appearing like someone of a horror film, head turned from you as you squinted to whatever was standing in front of you, your time to take the shot faltering.

"Ryan?"

The lithe humanoid figure was as dishevelled as you could recall once he twisted his torso to look back on you. A distant memory that floated in your mind, of peace and tranquillity, it now stood in front of you as some bitter, warped illusion. He was everything you remembered of him, the same clothes but now wearing a different jacket to the one you still wore in honour, his hair seemed longer, more messy and unkempt, strands pulled out from the bun, guarding his soft, unsteady dark eyes. He looked thinner from the last, a walking apparition whose skin was washed pale and bruised black and blue, his cheeks hollowed and eyebags darkened.

"Oh, god," the grip on the trigger loosened shakily, eyes dotting with sudden tears. "It's you, isn't it? I'm not fucking dream, am I?"

The man didn't seem responsive at first, playing into the belief he was some sort of hallucination after all, but his mouth opened, a quiet voice answering. "Yes, it's me."

The noise that left your parted lips was shaky and warbled, a string of tears flowing down your cheeks when everything slowly fell apart. "Why," your words were twisted and you fumbled clumsily. "Why... why did you leave?"

He was silent, the hard struggle in understanding what he was thinking. He seems… ashamed. You thought, watching his shifting eyes. You watched the pain that didn’t seem to be hidden beyond his eyes, even when he spoke. “… You belonged with them, not me.”

“How would you know that? I—you could’ve come with me, Ryan. We’re an open community, we can help you-”

“No,” his voice was strained, his eyes more red than usual. “I can’t be fixed.” He lifted his black t-shirt, the skin bruised as his face had been, inflamed and almost maimed. “I was bitten.”

“But you didn’t turn.”

“No,” his smile was soft, downturned. “Perhaps turning would’ve been the better option. But I live with these decisions. You need people, not me.”

“Ryan,” you took a hesitant step towards him, still, the tears fell. “Do you know I still think about you? Even after all these years.”

“No,” he laughed silently, his eyes glassy and cold. “I did too. A lot.”

“Please, please come with me. I promise you, we can help you—we could fix you.”

Ryan watched, not showing signs of moving away from you as you slowly made your way to him, outreaching your hand for him to hold. Just… just to hold once more, to feel him again. How you craved it like it was a lifeline.

“I—I can’t describe how I’m feeling right now.” His words were hushed when you were close to him, feeling his breath fan against your wet cheeks. “You don’t have to describe anything,” you murmured. “Just… let it happen.”

He leant into you first, his lips were warm and memories swarmed in your mind like you were drowning. His being, his smell: so sweet and inviting, your memories were swelling and rising, bringing a feeling of levitating, back to a time when you felt loved and needed. Back in his arms in an excluded room, forgotten altogether but in each other’s arms.

When you pulled away, he leant his forehead against yours, warm and damp from cold. “I missed you so.” He muttered softly. You had so many thoughts, too many emotions that everyone argued with things they wanted to say before the other. But the same thing was in your mind, replaying over and over again.

It plagued you, as you took his hand into your own, squeezing as if your life depended on it. “Ryan, I-”

Your words were there, masked and clipped from the noise that came from in front of you, a large reverberating noise that was sharp and rung, smoke appearing as Ryan stumbled forward, allowing you to catch him. He was limp, colder than usual and not from the cold. He was shaking, muttering something in a quiet, weak voice, but you couldn’t hear him, even when you flipped him carefully, seeing his mouth open and close, you looked up in time to witness the devastated eyes of someone you wanted to forget.

“Get away from it,” Justin’s words were followed by him stepping closer between the two of you, gripping your shoulder. “You’re lucky I came in time. I heard gunshots, I got worried-”

“You shot him.” You weakly said, frozen and still holding Ryan, the grip on him still tight and there for him to know you were still holding onto him, keeping him safe.

Justin seemed as confused as he tried lifting you off the ground, “I’m trying to help you, that thing-”

“Stop it. Stop it!” You swatted his hand away sharply, reaching around to hold and stabilise Ryan, the shot to his stomach was bleeding profusely, soaking through your fingertips. “He’s dying, he’s fucking dying.”

“Hey, hey, what—” he said your name, shaking you out of the breakdown. “It’s infected—look at me, what do you mean?”

“I love him, Justin! I know him, I know him! Ryan Chen, he’s not one of them!” You were blubbering and muttering constantly before your eyes landed on Justin’s, wild and red and sore. “Help me, please, I can’t lose him again.”

Justin hesitated once more, before he urged himself forward, peeling the heavy bag from his back to bring out the gauze and wrappings, whilst you sat and remained rigid, and you wished you could’ve stayed where you had been, to begin with.

-

You noticed now, how quiet things could be when you were left with just your thoughts, alone in the world when you pushed so many away. Your fingers were knotted together tightly, wrung together in a tangle when you fidgeted, nothing to distract you from the unknown time ticking.

“Hey, you’re the girlfriend of “Ryan”?”

You looked up to the woman who had come through to greet you in the small waiting room, blinking away your thoughts to be back with the present. “Yeah, yes… how is he doing?”

“He just came out of surgery and is in a stable condition.” Relief was one of the emotions you were feeling, but it was hard to explain anything else at that moment. “You can go in to see him shortly.”

“Thank you.” A gentle hand pressed into your shoulder, squeezing encouragingly. “Hey, he’s gonna be okay. He seems strong.”

“He is,” you uttered sadly. “He’s a fighter.”

-

“Ryan! Take it easy! We’ve got all night!”

Your laughter was bubbling, easy and light, as you were led down the long path, where the trees grew in size and foliage, grew thickest, hiding your bodies as you ran beneath the moonlight. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“We’re almost there.” He was not as out of breath as you had been, but his smile was bright and blooming, skin radiant as if he was reborn. “I’m not dragging you back to get more stitches.” The two of you stopped eventually, continuing at a brisk pace until you reached the end of the hill, watching over the once city the two of you had resided in, distant yet glooming.

“It… it still looks like shit as I remember it to be.” You exhaled, looking over Ryan from your right side. “That place still holds a lot to remember, don’t you think? The outbreak, the deaths, the burning of bodies.”

“I got to meet you.”

“You did,” you squeezed his hand encouragingly. “After I fell through the ceiling. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You shared a laugh, all thoughts aside when you stared across the distance. That city did hold some darkness and pain to you, but you knew that you would get out of there, not as one, but as two.

[nukacola-reactions]

Any chance of some FNV whump? Companion reacts to being lost and running out of food/water in the desert.

Arcade: You would think a followers doctor would know how to survive lost in the desert. Or at least know how to avoid getting lost in the first place. All logic in Arcade’s mind was driven out by panic, replaced by facts. He kept muttering the rule of threes to himself as he searched for someone... anyone. Knowing you can survive up to three hours in extreme climate, or that human cells start to die at 120 degrees wont do him any good now. He stumbled and tripped over himself, collapsing in the dirt. He didnt have the strength to get back up.

Boone: He never expected to die this way. Slugging his way through the vast emptiness of the southwest. The only landmarks were the dozens of mountains that never moved, fading into each other. He was trapped in a bowl of sand, never getting any closer to the edge. Boone was low on ammo. He had a broken leg and a sunburn that stung like the devil’s nails. After what felt like weeks, staying alive by drinking from the odd barrel cacti that he found, he saw a small group of NCR soldiers on the horizon. His life could be held onto for a little while longer.

Cass: Have you ever had a hangover while dehydrated and half starved in the middle of some god-forsaken desert? No? Lucky you. Alongside the dizzying illness that had overtaken her, Cass’s heart problems acted up. Her blood plasma levels were too low, it turned to sludge in her veins. Death’s embrace was a gift.

Christine: The solitude was nothing new. The never ending march was nothing new. The maze of invisible walls, turning you this way and that, was nothing new. The most alien feeling was being lost in the open. The desert was an unforgiving place, empty to anyone who didn’t know where to look. But Christine was a survivor. She didnt spend years in the Big Empty and Sierra Madre to die from thirst. Her mission wasnt over yet. Sunburnt and dehydrated, she refused to die.

Dean: Death was something Dean was good at avoiding. He had survived nuclear bombs, toxic gas, and shambling corpses looking to tear him apart. But it seemed like his luck had finally run out. He sneered. “Luck.” Ah yes, the luck of watching your world crumble around you. The good fortune of being trapped in a maze of crumbling buildings, once meant to house glorious festivities. Luck was never something he had. If anything, dying in this desert was luck. The damnation he had endured was finally over. He was free.

Dog and God: No food. No food. No food but the occasional mole rat. Not enough. Need more. Hey, hey we need to focus. No food... hungry. Hey, listen to me you idiot- Shut up. Excuse me? Shut up. I need food. Hungry. No, what we need is water and shelter from this sun. Food- Listen to me! Utobitha is north of here. We go there and we can get food. North... hungry... Yes, yes, food is north! Go! Go north...

Follows-Chalk: How ironic that a man named after his internal compass would be lost in the desert. He knew where he was going... he thought. He was going south. South to Nevada, to Vegas. He knew what he was doing. The cacti would tie him over for water, and digging under the sand to sleep would prevent sunburn and freezing to death. The desert got cold at night. He knew this. He knew what to do. Just keep going south.

Joshua: No town would offer him shelter and no man would give him water. Half covered in bandages covering long burnt and blistering skin, raw due to sunburns. He was dehydrated and overheated... his blood was running thick... Nowhere to go... Both the NCR and the Legion would take his head. The Legion especially.... The Legion.... His Legion.... The army he built from nothing, that threw him to the dogs. Did he deserve it? I dont... I dont know.... No, no they threw me out. They... I didnt... He collapsed in the dust.

Lily: The problem with being 10 feet tall is you needed more food and water to keep going. Unfortunately, the desert wasn’t the most generous supplier. The occasional bighorner would tie her over until she got home. Home to Jacobstown. Or was it the vault? “What was that, Leo? No, thats a bad idea.” Keep going. That was what she had to do. No sense in anything else when survival was the top priority. “Leo, please, stop...”

Raul: He had been staggering around this desert for so long that he ran out of snide comments. He was also dehydrated and had a headache that could put the courier’s to shame, but that wasn’t important. He had dodged death for so long... so many times he thought it would finally be over... but it never was. A town appeared on the horizon. Hope. He staggered towards it. But hope was full of raiders, and Raul collapsed in the dust to a stray bullet.

Ulysses: Out of everyone, Ulysses was the most suited to this environment. This was simple compared to the divide. He would kill mole rats for food and drank from any cacti he came across. Keep going was all he knew. Just pick a direction and start walking, keep walking. Keep going, kill a mole rat, keep going, drink from a cactus, keep going, keep going, keep going. It seemed to work. Before long, he found himself staring at a small dusty town.

Veronica: The world is a much bigger place than the bunkers of hidden valley. Its much more unforgiving. Scribe robes weren't built to withstand the harshness of the dessert. They weren’t built to keep out the heat or to protect from sand. Veronica knew a great deal about survival, but none of it was practical knowledge. She swore to herself that she’d never leave the valley without a full canteen of water ever again.

Vulpes: He had never noticed how hostile the mojave was towards Legionaries until he was stranded. Blending in was easy enough, but as soon as he spoke people turned away. He’d never known that the legion accent was recognizable. He was stranded, no food, no water, no weapon. Too tired to run from the NCR troopers approaching him.

Waking-Cloud: Lets be real, she wouldn’t get lost in the first place

[lyssismagical]

i know its not really all that original of a prompt but could you do something where peters identity is reveal on a school field trip??

Thanks for the request!! 

*

Peter’s had a pretty bad record with field trips so far. Between the radioactive spider bite at Oscorp and the whole dying on a foreign planet on a field trip to MoMA… It wasn’t particularly a good streak.

But this was different, right? It wasn’t his field trip, he was chaperoning Morgan’s field trip. That’s different. His bad luck shouldn’t affect this trip… he hopes.

“C’mon, M. We’ve got a bus to catch!” Peter exclaims, shoving his shoes on and trying to find his keys.

“Peter, you’re stressing too much about a field trip,” Pepper says, helping Morgan slide her backpack onto her shoulders and slip on her sparkly shoes. “And before you ask, your keys are on the coffee table, your coffee in on the dining room table, and your snacks are all with Morgan.”

Peter grabs his things quickly, kissing Pepper on the cheek before scooping Morgan into his arms.

“You excited?” he asks as she settles on his hip. “A trip to the nature museum?”

She’s smiling excitedly and she nods. “Yeah! There’s an ex-ex-”

“Exhibit?” Peter offers.

“For butterflies! And we can hold them if we’re really careful.”

Pepper pulls Morgan’s backpack strap over her shoulder from where it had slipped. “Have fun, be safe. If you need anything, and I mean anything, Peter, you know our number.”

“I’ve got this, Pepper, I can chaperone a first-grade field trip.”

And he could.

It was easy peasy. A walk in the park. He’s Spider-Man. He can watch his group of five students for a few hours while they make their way around the nature museum.

He kept all of the kids he was in charge of alive and safe and there was only one close call where he thought he lost one of the boys, but they were just looking at the dinosaur fossils in the exhibit over from theirs.

Tony, with all his spare money lying around, made sure to rent out the whole place for their field trip, so there wasn’t even any issues with anybody trying to get pictures of him or Morgan since their identities got released to the public.

It wasn’t calm, but it was nice. And it was always rewarding to see Morgan so happy, he even sent Pepper and Tony a few pictures he got of Morgan holding a butterfly.

“We ready to head back to the bus?” The second chaperone asks. There’s a total of four of them there to help out with the twenty students. “We got everyone?”

Peter does a quick head count of the group of students sitting, awaiting instructions, surprisingly patiently.

He turns to tell the other chaperones that they’re good to go when his spidey-sense goes off. His heart drops.

With barely enough time to spare, he jumps at the chaperone beside him and they go tumbling to the floor, barely missing the bullet that whizzes past them.

Screaming erupts at the same time the doors and floor-to-ceiling windows shatter.

Peter acts as fast as he can, racing towards the terrified children. He needs to get them to safety. They are the number one priority. Screw his identity, screw self-preservation. He needs to get those twenty six or seven year old to safety, no matter what.

He can hear the chaperones pleading for their lives behind him and he begs silently that they can keep whoever’s here distracted for just a few minutes.

“Stay quiet, stay hidden,” he tells the children. He flips a few tables on their sides to make a wall, easily ripping the bolted down legs out of the ground, and ushers the kids into hiding, losing precious time.

He turns as soon as the kids are behind the metal tables, hidden from view and he smiles at the guards who have their big weapons pointed at him.

The chaperones are on their knees, hands behind their head with one guard watching them.

“What’s up with this, guys?” he asks, keeping a façade of nonchalance as he slowly starts to move away from the tables, keeping their attention on him. “A museum, really?”

“How about you shut up and join the others over there while he get what we need?” one man speaks up, rolling his eyes behind his ski mask.

“No, that’s him,” a woman says. “That’s the boy. We just need to get the girl out of hiding.”

Peter raises his hand. “Am I the boy? That’s exciting, isn’t it? Unfortunately, though, you aren’t going anywhere near the girl or taking us anywhere.”

“You’ll do as we ask,” The woman retorts, hefting her weapon onto her shoulder. It looks like alien tech.

“Actually, no, I won’t. You take a step towards the girl, and you lose, you hear me?” Peter says, quickly throwing on a confident façade.

In all honestly, he’s a little worried about the alien tech and the heavy weaponry the guards are holding. Plus, it’ll be a fight of one to eight, which he doesn’t think is really fair. But he’s fought way worse than these dumbasses.

One guard takes a slow step towards the table, but not slow enough. Peter catches it and he throws his arm out, shooting a web at the guard. The webs catch and the man stumbles forward, getting webbed to the ground just as the other guards start firing at Peter.

He works solely on adrenaline and on a desperate big-brother-protection that’s ignited within his chest. Nothing, absolutely nothing, will stop him from keeping Morgan safe.

Pain flares in his leg, but he pushes through it, against it, and dodges bullets to the best of his abilities, throwing webs left and right almost blindly, relying on his spidey-sense to keep him alive.

And then, everything silences.

He falls to the ground, eyes darting open and towards the table almost immediately. All eight guards are webbed to the floor, most of them knocked out. The table is chipped and dented, but none of the bullets have gone through and Peter can’t see any blood besides his own and the guards’.

“You’re Spider-Man?” one of the chaperones asks, eyes wide. The world is still and quiet. And then they seem to realize. “Oh, shoot, man, you need medical attention.”

The world tips blurrily to the side and Peter doesn’t realize until his head hits the ground that it was him tipping, not the world.

“Petey!” Morgan shrieks.

One of the chaperones grabs her, holding her and the rest of the kids back. “Let’s get all of you onto the bus and back to school, alright? You’re parents will be waiting there for you. Peter’s going to be just fine, we just have to give him some space.”

All of the kids look upset at that. Peter was their favourite volunteer. Everybody always fought to be on Peter’s team and it was Peter’s favourite thing in the world.

“Peter?” one boy pipes up. It’s the boy from his group, the one who wandered off to look at dinosaur fossils. Peter throws all of his attention on the boy. “Are you okay?”

The young hero tries his best to offer the boy a smile. “Yeah, Jake, I’m gonna be okay. You listen to Miss T, though, alright? I promise I’ll make it up to you guys.”

“Come to Show and Tell next week?” a little girl asks, tears streaking down her cheeks. “Please?”

“Course, kiddo, wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The kids are finally satisfied with Peter’s answers and they all helpfully follow the chaperone out to the waiting bus.

“You need help, man.” The two chaperones left are kneeling over him with wide eyes and shaking hands hovering uselessly between them. “Should we call emergency services?”

“Fuck, no,” he mutters, pain washing over him and sending black dots dancing across his vision. “Tony’s coming.”

“Tony… Like Tony Stark?” one guy asks, eyebrows creasing. “How does he…”

Peter lifts his arm which he only now realizes is stained in blood, but his watch is flashing red with the Iron Man symbol in the center.

“Coming,” he repeats, slurring through his ideas. “Here soon. Gonna be okay. Not Spider-Man.”

“We all saw you there, man, you can’t deny you’re Spider-Man.”

The first guy elbows the second. “Your secret’s safe with us, Peter. Don’t worry about that right now.”

Before Peter has to endure the conversation any longer, the Iron Man suit lands just outside the museum and then, within a blink, Tony’s at his side, gently lifting him into a sitting position and shooing the chaperones.

“I thought you were boasting about how good of chaperone you’d be and how there was no way this trip could go wrong,” Tony says. “And then this?”

Peter shrugs, wincing when a stab of pain shoots through his arm. “Had to keep ever’one safe.”

“You did, kiddo, I can promise you that much. You did a good job.”

“Tired.”

“Sleep, buddy, I’ll take you to Brucie and get him to patch you all up, okay? Sound good?”

Peter hums in agreement, eyes already closed, and body leaning into Tony’s warmth.

The suit materializes around Tony and he’s lifted into the air.

The last thing he hears before the world goes dark is Tony murmuring, “Thank you for saving Morgan.”

*

“Never going on a field trip again,” he says before he even bothers to open his eyes. He’s comfy and warm and he knows before he’s really aware that he’s definitely pumped full of pain meds.

Tony laughs somewhere near his head. “Yeah, kiddo, I can second that one.”

“Petey okay?”

Peter quickly opens his eyes, throwing on a wide smile. “See, M? Told you I’d be okay, didn’t I?”

Morgan seems skeptical, narrowing her eyes, before she seems to determine Peter’s telling the truth. She crawls up onto the end of his bed, and lifts a book up.

“Mommy took me back to the giftshop,” she explains, nodding excitedly. “I got you a present!”

He takes the book from her and flips it over. There’s a picture of a butterfly on the front.

“Thanks, M. Sorry I ruined your trip with my bad luck,” he says, smiling when Tony rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother trying to correct him.

But Morgan grins. “It was super duper fun and now everybody knows I’m Spider-Man’s little sister.”

[iamartemisday]

lokane, spy!au, fake dating, “okay, maybe i’m crazy but did i just hear you say that out loud?” :)

Jane Foster was about to become the youngest person in the state to earn a Ph.D. in astrophysics. That was the only reason she allowed Darcy to talk her into going drinking that night.

Fortunately, Darcy’s version of a night on the town wasn’t as ridiculous as Jane had feared. They, along with two or three of Darcy’s political science friends, stuck to the local bar where all the college kids hung out. It was big, loud, and way too bright for this time of night, but the drinks were good and the live music was pretty listenable. 

She could honestly say she was enjoying herself, and then the bomb dropped.

“Let’s play truth or dare!” Darcy shouted, forgetting for a moment that she was a drunk grad student and not a preteen at a slumber party. “Jane, truth or dare?”

“Why am I going first?”

“Because I called your name first, duuuuh,” Darcy dragged it out until her friends stopped laughing. “Come on, pick! Pick or I’ll pick for you.”

They were all cheering, egging Jane on. The pleasant buzz of alcohol in her brain was already starting to sour. “Fine, dare.”

Darcy’s smile grew. “I dare you to… go flirt with the first hot guy you see.”

The two friends ooohed. Jane glared at them, but they didn’t seem to even know which direction she was in. Sensing no other option beyond arguing with Darcy for an hour (once the girl had an idea in her head it would take the full force of the U.S. Marine Corps to make her consider changing her mind), Jane sighed and took another swig of beer. 

“Okay, here we go…”

There were a couple of attractive guys at the bar. Some of them had dates, others had that distinct ‘Chad’ look of the kind of guy who thought he was a gift from God. Near the corner, a tall man in a black leather jacket sipped on a fancy cocktail, somehow managing to blend in and stick out all at the same time. That he was, to put it mildly, quite easy on the eyes was also worth noting. Jane made the mistake of staring at him for a second too long, and now Darcy was whistling.

“I think you’ve found your target,” she sang. 

“You’re really going to make me do this,” Jane said.

“If it gets you the one thing you need most of all, then of course I will.”

“This guy is going to get me sufficient funding for my research and proper lab space.”

Darcy glared. “The other thing you need most of all. Just go!”

As they chanted her name, Jane started for the bar. She tried to swerve a bit so it looked like she was just getting a refill, but her feet inevitably guided her to the tall man. At first, he ignored her in favor of his drink. It wasn’t until she was standing directly in front of him that he deigned to look her in the eye. 

“Hi,” Jane coughed. 

“Hello,” he said with a crisp British accent that made her shiver. 

“Uh…” she swallowed.“Having a good night?”

“That depends,” the man said, “are you here for me?”

The way he said it struck a weird note. Not enough to set off red flags, but Jane couldn’t help but wish she’d gone with one of the Chads. 

“Er… yes!” She said firmly. “I’m here… to see if you want to get a drink. With me, that is. You know…”

It was as if every drop of beer she’d consumed in the last two hours had all evaporated. Suddenly, Jane was painfully aware of the length of her skirt, the sweat on her cheeks. Even her tongue was too heavy in her mouth. 

The man appraised her like a painting up for sale. When he wasn’t doing that, he was looking to the side for no reason. “Are you… here for the Manhattan?”

Jane blinked. “You mean the drink? I guess I could try it, though I’m not really-”

“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice hardening. He wouldn’t stop looking at the crowd.

“Uh… Jane,” she said.

The man nodded. “Jane, I’m sorry to tell you this, but your life is in danger.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, Jane couldn’t help but laugh. Doubling over, she struggled to regain her composure before she made an even bigger fool of herself. 

“Okay, am I crazy, she wheezed, “or did you actually just say that out loud?”

When she looked up, the man was not laughing. He wasn’t smiling. He looked dead serious.

“Wait,” she said, between dying giggles, “my life is-”

“Excuse me.”

The man had her against the wall. It hit her like a jump cut in an action movie. One second they were two feet apart, making small talk like the strangers they were. Now she was in his arms, her back against the wall, her lips warm on his. 

Jane’s tiny gasp of surprise was lost in his mouth. His arms were like iron, impossible to budge. The height difference meant he had to lift her off her feet. Her shoes scraped the floor uselessly. Any resistance she offered was weak and performative. God, could he ever kiss…

When he drew back, Jane tried to lean in. He dodged her lips, not letting go of her hand even as he pulled away and scanned the crowd. “All right, the men at the door have moved on, but I’m afraid the security footage of our conversation will be on its way to their superiors as we speak. Right this way, please.”

The man led Jane down a dark hallway and through a side door. A sign on the wall read ‘Employee Entrance Only.’ The whole space was painted bright red and reeked of cigarette smoke. Something about that stench dragged Jane back into clarity.

“Wait a minute,” she said, snatching her arm away, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have time for explanations,” the man said.

“Yes, we do!” Jane put her hands on her hips. “Look, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea back there, but my friends dared me to go flirt with someone, so if I don’t get back soon, they’re going to think something’s wrong.”

“If you go back, they will die,” the man said.

Jane opened her mouth, but she didn’t know if it was to scream for help or curse at him for even daring to threaten her and her friends. He didn’t wait for her to decide, dragging her out into the cool night air. Cars lined the streets, including a pair of Ubers waiting for their wasted patrons to gather themselves and come outside. The man had his free hand in his pocket, as if to get his keys, but none of the cars beeped. Was he going to steal one? Was she about to be kidnapped and driven away in the trunk of a stolen car?

“This way,” he said, pointing left. “I had to park a block away so they wouldn’t recognize my car, though since the mission has been compromised, it really doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Let me go!” Jane tried to pry his fingers off. As thin as he looked, he was insanely strong. “I’ll scream for help. I will!”

“I’d prefer you didn’t,” he said, “both because it is rather grating and because it won’t help you in the slightest.”

“You really think you can take those guys in the bar all by yourself?”

An unkempt man huddled in the doorway of the next building over, homeless by all appearances, sprang up and unleashed a barrage of bullets from a machine gun hidden under his frayed jacket. Jane screamed as her new friend shoved her behind a car and returned fire. Though his gun was smaller, his aim was true. He got the man once in the shoulder and then between the eyes. As soon as he went down, three more appeared. One attacked from behind and was quickly dispatched with a knife to the jugular. 

Bullets flew. Voices screamed. Sirens blared. When it was over, the man from the bar was the only one still standing. He checked all the bodies, stealing their weapons and crushing their phones under his boot. 

“I apologize for the mess,” he said. “Frankly, I would’ve preferred you didn’t see any of that, but I suppose it can’t be helped.”

“Uh…” Jane’s jaw was on the ground as she stared at the bleeding bodies. “Uh…”

The man offered her a hand, somehow sensing that this was the most terrifying experience of Jane’s life and that her entire notion of reality had just been put through the wringer. “Come along.”

Jane tried to follow, but her legs felt like iron. “I… what is…” 

“I will explain everything when we are safe,” the man said. “All you need to know is that you’ve stumbled upon a highly delicate international operation and by approaching me, you have given my enemies reason to believe you are involved. It should go without saying this puts you in significant danger.”

“But,” Jane gasped, shaking her head. “I don’t understand. I don’t even know you.”

“You may call me Loki,” he said, guiding her down the street. “I am not at liberty to divulge more information at this time, so let’s get to my car and then I will be happy to answer all of your questions. Is that acceptable?”

The ground swayed. Blood rushed to Jane’s head, pounding in her ears. If it wasn’t for Loki holding her, she would still be on the ground. “I should’ve picked truth.”

As if he knew what that meant, Loki smiled. “We all make mistakes, but as long as you’re with me, this one will not cost you your life.”

That was not nearly as comforting as he thought it was. So it was weird that she kind of believed him...

[alternatewarning]

Chaotic Elegance - Whumptober 2020 Fic

Entry Number 7 and 10 for Whumptober 2020: Carrying and Blood Loss/Trail of Blood

Title: Chaotic Elegance Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Pairing: Hints of Gladio/Prompto Rating: M Trigger Warnings: Gore, Major Character Death Summary: In an effort to protect Noctis during a heated battle, Prompto is badly injured. "Out of medical supplies and potions, the group races against a ticking clock to get him back to town.

Cross posted to Ao3

Most of the time the four of them fought in some chaotic sense of a formation.  Gladio would run in front, his sword easily taking down anything small or unprepared for the human behemoth.  Noctis would warp over to whatever enemy looked like it was the most likely to become a hassle and daggers would come flying after him, Ignis close behind.  With significantly less training than the other three, Prompto would follow behind, throwing off shots at any and every enemy that got close enough to aim at.  It wasn’t that structured in any way shape or form, but worked.  Rarely were they in each other’s way for more than a second, often turning a run-in to a two-pronged attack.  But sometimes things didn’t go as planned, even with such a thin hint of a plan to begin with.

It started when their toe-to-toe battle with an entire platoon of Magitek infantry was interrupted by a pack of elder coeurls who were much more intent on Noctis and his retainers than any of the ax-wielding magitek.  There were so many enemies to avoid that the entire battle was starting to become a hazy cluster, thunder streaking down from the sky as the cats seemed particularly interested in turning Noctis into their dinner.

“Noct, look out!”  Gladio’s warning wasn’t fast enough.  One of the larger black and white monsters was charing at the prince with it’s fanged mouth open wide.  Noctis’s back was to the creature as he was sidestepping the heavy swing of a trooper, twisting in the direction of the cat.  In a move so quick that he almost seemed to warp, Prompto was in front of the cat, gun aimed to fire.  While he managed to move fast enough his bullet didn’t down the monster, only wound it, and it didn’t present the attack.

The elder coeurl snapped its jaw, the predator catching all of Prompto’s shoulder in one bite.  It leaped back, mouth still clamped around the gunman, dragging him with her.  He stumbled to the ground, his right arm trapped in her maws.  Two more of her pack suddenly appeared, drawn in by their trapped prey.  Before any of the others could get to him, the monsters were already on top of him, claws and fangs tearing into skin.  The blond managed to get off a few shots, trying to at least maim the one holding him but everything was a blur of lightning, fur, and pain.

Prompto’s body quickly vanished under their assault, the giant creatures accidentally hiding the fact that he had been downed by their large size.  Eventually his grunts and ‘get off!’s warped into screams as they continued their attack.  It was enough to draw the attention of the others and the pack quickly scattered once one of them was killed by a combination of a lance thrown into its side and a greatsword rending it in two.  As the other two dodged away to be chased down by Noctis and Gladio, Ignis rushed to Prompto’s side.

The boy’s shoulder had been gouged by the coeurl’s fangs, clear teeth marks pierced into his clothing.  His chest looked like it had been nearly ripped open, claw marks tearing flesh and spattering the ground with blood that now tracked bloody paw prints away from the scene.  There were other, smaller wounds, like a few cuts to his face and more bite marks in his leg, but Ignis was much more worried about his chest.  He reached into the armiger only to find their healing items empty.  No potions, nothing at all.  He was out of healing magic himself, as well.

“You two need to wrap this up, and fast.  We are out of curatives and Prompto needs healing immediately.”  There was no time to focus on if they heard him or not.  Since his shirt had already been torn to shreds Ignis ripped it off, deftly tearing the fabric into strips.  He needed to focus on wrapping as many of the wounds as he could.  There was already a pool of blood below the blond and he was strangely quiet.  Still awake, at some point he had reached out and grabbed Ignis’s with a pale, white-knucked grip, but he seemed to be focusing so hard on breathing he didn’t have the spare thought to scream.

“Hold still, Prompto, this will hurt but it needs to be done.”  Ignis started to wrap what he could, praying to the Six that it was enough.  There were still sounds of battle all around him but he needed to focus on this and only this.  The shoulder wound was deep but not lethal, his leg was much more shallow so for now it would have to go ignored.  He started to wrap the chest, his gloves already slick with blood.

“Iggy…”

“Shh, you will be alright.  Just hold on a little longer.  We will head back to town once Noct and Gladio are done.”  He wanted to look Prompto in the eyes and promise him he would make it but he wasn’t in the habit of lying to the dying.  

By the time he was out of shredded shirt to use as wrapping it was obvious the Prompto was starting to fade.  There was a loud crack of fire erupting not too far away from Ignis’s back which was hopefully the last of the fighting.

“Iggy…I don’t feel so good.”  Just as the advisor was starting to lift him from the ground Gladio landed hard on his knees next to them.  Wordlessly he lifted the shivering boy into his arms, cradling the blond to his chest like a precious treasure.  He looked even paler than normal, his skin bleached against Gladio’s chest.

“Noctis, we are leaving now.”  The prince warped next to them after slicing the head off the last of the troopers.  His blue eyes went wide once he realized that the blood all over Prompto, and now Ignis as well, was his.

“Prom!  S---.  We have to hurry!”  He turned and ran, nearly tripping over himself as he started towards the nearest down.  Gladio followed behind him, one arm wrapped around Prompto’s back and the other under his knees.  The gunman was mumbling and shivering, fading in and out as they ran.  Ignis followed up the rear, trying to swallow the bile in his throat once he realized that even if he couldn’t see the other two, he could have easily followed the trail of blood.  Something was still bleeding badly enough that it was dripping down Gladio’s leg and leaving half formed bloody shoe prints in the dirt.

At first it seemed odd that Nocits ran ahead instead of trying to stay neck in neck with his Shield to guard his friend.  But it was obvious soon enough.  Ahead of the pack, his utter panic was enough to help him carve through any monsters that even appeared in his line of sight.  This left Gladio free reign to just run.  It was a single-minded focus that pushed all of them harder than their lungs could take.

Gladio hated how cold Prompto felt against him.  And how still.  Normally he was always moving, looking around, talking, fidgeting, on his phone, something.  He was never still for more than a millisecond, to the point that the Shield was a little shocked he could take a steady picture.  But now he was still as death.  At some point he’d wrapped a hand into Gladio’s shirt but even that felt weak, as if a gust of wind would pull him away.

“Hey blondie, hang in there.  We’re almost to safety.”  

“Gotta hang on…’s a rough ride, big guy.”  There were lights in the distance, the familiar artificial shine of an outpost.  It wouldn’t have the best medical facilities but there would be something.  Just as they were getting close there was a familiar, pained groan as the ground suddenly opened up into a flickering pool of darkness.  A gigantic iron hand slowly reached out, grabbing the ground like a ledge.  An Iron Gaint.  And not just one of them.

“Gadio, keep going.  We will take care of things here.”  Before the two daemons had even finished pulling themselves from the abyss, a series of daggers were launched towards them as Ignis yelled the orders over their cries.

“But Iggy-”

“Go!  Noct and I can handle this.”  The prince was already no more than a streak of blue was he threw his sword and warped into one of the daemon’s hands, causing it to try and swat him away like an annoying fly.  With a deep grumble Gladio continued to run, shifting the limp body in his arms ever so slightly.  At some point during that short exchange Prompto had closed his eyes and now he was worse than just still, he was completely limp.  The lights came close and closer until finally he was within their aura of safety.  The outpost had a small hotel with a half-sleep man at reception.  But he suddenly jerked awake with the sound of a behemoth coming through, throwing open a door for Gladio to rush in.  The man was gone in an instant, yelling over his shoulder that he was going to grab potions and whatever else he could.

With a gentleness to rival his rising panic, Gladio slowly lowered the younger man onto one of the beds.  His head lolled to the side, limbs landing where he was placed.  The wraps that had been his shirt had already soaked through, everything now a messy, dirty shade of red.  Against the light grey of the bedspread Prompto looked like a porcelain doll, his skin too pale to have ever been alive, his freckles standing out like black specks across his face.  He wasn’t breathing.  The innkeeper returned with a handful of vials and the Shield quickly grabbed the first, shattering it over the shredded remains of his chest.  He watched, listening for a gasp, a breath.  But nothing.  No change.  He was still limp and pale, lifeless.

“Prompto...come on.”  He reached out for another and again broke the bottle over the worst of the wounds.  And again nothing changed.  Gladio’s stomach leaped into his throat, closing off his air.  They hadn’t gotten here fast enough.  He hadn’t gotten here fast enough.  Slowly he took one of the other’s small hands in his own.  There was no pulse against his wrist, nothing.  Just a bloody shell all devoid of its sunshine.

[miumiu-chan]

Miyase Go STORY 1 Chapter 11-3

Subbed video: STORY-1 11-3

-Warehouse-

I decided so and tried to run over, but at that moment.

[MIYASE]: “——“

[REI]: (!! He saw me......-)

Right after the momentary eye contact——

[KUJO]: “——!”

Miyase-san,—————hugged Kujo-san and dropped to the floor with his chair.

[REI]: (!?)

[KIRISHIMA]: “——!”

The syringe needle was————...not stuck in.

Instead, Miyase-san had a knife in his hand.

The rope that restrained Kujo-san fell to the floor like a powerless snake's body.

[KUJO]: “Go......-“

[MIYASE]: “I can't kill you.”

[REI]: (Miyase-san......!)

[MIYASE]: “But......Kujo-san finally let me meet my mother.”

[MIYASE]: “Only Kujo-san was always there by my side as my “family”.”

[MIYASE]: “That’s why, it is true that I have a lifetime debt of gratitude to him.”

[UEMURA]: “Miyaseeee! You bastard, so you really are a traitooooor!”

[REI]: (Oh no! He’ll be shot——!)

[RULONG]: “I won’t let you shoot ♪”

[MEMBER E]: “Guah......-!”

[REI]: (Rulong-san......!)

His brilliant roundhouse kick hit the wrist of the member with the gun.

The dropped handgun ended up in Rulong-san’s hands.

As soon as the concern of bullets disappeared, Miyase-san also cut off the restraining rope on Kujo-san's legs.

At the same time, Rulong-san ran up to Kirishima-san while keeping them in check with the gun——

[RULONG]: “The watchdog is also released. You did well.”

[KIRISHIMA]: “I don’t know who you are, but thanks!”

[RULONG]: “I know you, but you’re welcome.”

The speed of the series of movements and the cooperation between the two conveyed a solid relationship of trust.

[REI]: (Rulong-san knew that Miyase-san wouldn’t kill Kujo-san.)

And Miyase-san also knew that Rulong-san would block the sniper.

[UEMURA]: “Don’t f**k with meee! I’ll kill you! Including that woman, I’ll kill everyoooone!”

The members were ready to fight and attack.

Uemura, who was completely in a state of derangement, took out a gun from his pocket.

———However.

[KIRISHIMA]: “Don’t use such a dangerous thing in a fight!”

[UEMURA]: “Gah......-!”

Before he could even ready it, the gun was thrown out of his hands by Kirishima-san landing a hit on him.

The lump of iron that fell to the floor——

[KIRISHIMA]: “Even I know about something like Juteho violations!”

Kirishima-san kicked the gun away, and it went deep underneath the abandoned equipment left in the warehouse.

[MIYASE]: “Kirishima-san, thank you.”

[KIRISHIMA]: “No prob! You hurry and bring Kujo-san and Rei to a safe place!”

[MIYASE]: “Yes......!”

Miyase-san stood up while supporting Kujo-san on his shoulder and looked over here.

I avoided the iron pipes that had fallen from the side, and tried to run to Miyase-san, but——

[MEMBER]: “Too bad for you.”

[REI]: (!?)

One of the members restrained both my arms from behind.

[RULONG]: “It’s prohibited to sexually harass Little Flower!”

[MEMBER]: “Guah......-!”

[RULONG]: “Down with one shot, huh. If you’re so weak, then don’t become yakuza.”

[REI]: “Rulong-san, thank you!”

[RULONG]: “Hurry over to Go-chan. After cleaning up here, I’ll probably join.”

[MIYASE]: “This way!”

[REI]: “Okay......!”

[UEMURA]: “As if I’ll let you goooooo!”

[REI]: “!”

I squatted down and dodged the top of the protruding knife.

But, Uemura’s knee quickly approached the tip of my nose.

[REI]: (I can’t avoid it......!)

[MIYASE]: “To do such a thing as direct violence towards women.”

[UEMURA]: “Uguah......-!!”

[RULONG]: “A~ha. Go-chan’s elbow is merciless.”

Uemura, who had Miyase-san's elbow hitting his chin, wobbled and fell down.

[KIRISHIMA]: “Alright—! That was an awesome attack just now, Miyase!”

[MIYASE]: “It is a special move that Kirishima-san taught me before.”

[REI]: “Thank you, Miyase-sa——“

[UEMURA]: “Uu......guu, damn iiiit! DIE MIYASEE!!”

[MIYASE]: “——!”

[REI]: (He threw the knife——)

The knife, with its blade dyed with blood, fell to the floor with an empty sound.

[KIRISHIMA & RULONG]: “!”

[MIYASE]: “......Ngh.”

[KUJO]: “Go......!”

[REI]: “Blood is......!”

[MIYASE]: “It just scratched my thigh a little.”

[MIYASE]: “If you are not hurt, then I am fine.”

[REI]: “Miyase-san......”

[MIYASE]: “Now, let's leave it to Rulong and the others and leave here quickly.”

[REI]: (Right! Anyway, we have to get out of here!)

[UEMURA]: “Gu......-, I definitely won’t let you goooo! Block the doorway!”

——At that moment.

As if to drown out Uemura's rage, a single shot sounded.

[KUJO & MIYASE]: “!”

[REI]: (There’s still a member who has a gun!?)

[AOYAMA]: “Nobody move!”

[REI]: (Aoyama-san......!?)

[AOYAMA]: “The office work principle of our sniper is to aim only at bad guys.”

[AOYAMA]: “Don't even move a finger if you don't want to be shot.”

[UEMURA]: “A sniper......!?”

-Yui Side-

[YUI]: “Jeez, guns are uselessly heavy and I’m not good at using them but————it’s for our comrade.”

[YUI]: “If you move, I will shoot without mercy, you villains.”

[REI]: (It’s Yui-san......!)

[RULONG]: “Aaaand a lot of my family has already arrived here ♪”

[RULONG]: “Kagetsu who violates the rules is not family so——“

[RULONG]: “Prepare yourself?”

[UEMURA]: “What do you mean......?”

[UEMURA]: “Weren’t you just a dog of the Korean side!?”

[RULONG]: “Licorice does not allow traitors like Kagetsu.”

[UEMURA]: “Wha-......Did you say Licorice!?”

[UEMURA]: “Then, you were a person from the Chinese side?!”

[REI]: (Chinese!?)

[REI]: (So Rulong-san wasn’t a minion of the Korean fixer?)

[RULONG]: “I‘ll collect all the flower drugs along with their profits ♪”

[UEMURA]: “Miyase, you bastard, you were an accomplice of the Chinese Mafia!”

[AOYAMA]: “Don’t talk to anyone without permission.”

Uemura's strong agitation strengthened the confusion of the other members who were suppressed by the bullets.

[REI]: (I'm still not sure of Rulong-san’s position but......)

For now, the Chinese Mafia, who was in conflict with Kagetsu, was probably an ally of Miyase-san,

Aoyama-san and Yui-san were here too.

The muzzles of my comrades slowed the movement of the enemy.

[REI]: (And above all, Miyase-san didn’t betray Kujo-san!)

[AOYAMA]: “Miyase Go, Kujo Soma, and Kirishima Koya will accompany me.”

[AOYAMA]: “The DCD has already suppressed the area around this warehouse. Walk out slowly.”

While giving instructions, Aoyama-san’s eyes seemed to ask me “Are you okay?”

I gave him a firm nod.

[AOYAMA]: “No one else move. ——All right, you three, and Izumi, start walking.”

[REI]: (When we get out, first we have to take care of everyone——)

[KUJO]: “Ngh......”

[MIYASE]: “Kujo-san......!”

[REI]: (Eh!?)

Suddenly coughing, Kujo-san pressed against his chest and kneeled in place.

[KIRISHIMA]: “A seizure......!?”

[KUJO]: “Kh......I can’t, walk.”

[MIYASE]: “For now, let’s hurry and get out.”

Miyase-san supported Kujo-san with his shoulders and tried to stand up again.

However, the feet of Kujo-san who was in pain were uncertain.

In front of such two people———...Kirishima-san saw me and,

At the same time, I moved.

Standing opposite to the side Miyase-san was supporting, I put Kujo-san's arm around my shoulder.

[KIRISHIMA]: “Alright. If you guys are supporting Kujo-san together, you can leave your backs to me.”

[KUJO]: “Nh......I apologize, for involving you.”

[REI]: “No. I came here on my own will.”

[MIYASE]: “......Let’s go.”

Kujo-san was supported by Miyase-san and I from both sides, and we slowly walked.

Kirishima-san was protecting us who were going toward the exit, it gave us a powerful boost to take a step forward.

[MIYASE]: “Kujo-san, take slow and deep breaths.”

[MIYASE]: “Just a little more, and we’ll be out of here.”

[KUJO]: “Go......-“

[UEMURA]: “DON’T......F**K WITH MEEEE! Oi, all of you guys become my shield!”

[KIRISHIMA & MIYASE]: “!?”

[AOYAMA]: “Don’t move......!”

[UEMURA]: “Shut up! Kujo Soma will be killed here!”

With a new syringe in Uemura’s hand, he ran ferociously this way with only madness on his face.

There was the sound of firing.

The members who surrounded Uemura as “human shields” fell down one after another.

But, Uemura’s threat was still approaching.

[KIRISHIMA]: “I’ll stop him! You guys hurry and ru——“

[MIYASE]: “Kirishima-san! Please take Kujo-san and her and run!”

[KIRISHIMA]: “Ha!?”

[MIYASE]: “I won’t let you kill them.”

[MIYASE]: “All the friends here are my family.”

[KIRISHIMA & KUJO]: “——!”

[RULONG]: “Go-chan......”

I was so glad to hear those words.

[REI]: “With this, I can believe in Miyase-san completely.”

[MIYASE]: “Eh......-“

Miyase-san, who was trying to confront Uemura alone in order to protect his family, I strongly pushed him toward Kujo-san and Kirishima-san.

[KIRISHIMA]: “Rei!?”

[AOYAMA]: “Izumi......!”

I took a bigger step than anyone else.

To Uemura who went mad and raised his syringe, I took the hit myself.

Two sounding gunshots echoed into my brain——...

[YUI]: “Izumi......!!”

[MIYASE]: “-......You’re lying......”

[UEMURA]: “Uguh......! Damn, that hurts......!”

The smell of blood and the strong scent of artificial flowers filled my nostrils.

Uemura’s knees buckled and he fell on the spot.

Apparently, he took a bullet to his leg and arm.

When I saw the bad guy let go of his consciousness, I———...

[REI]: “Nh......haa......-“

I slowly sat down on the spot.

The syringe was stuck just below my collarbone.

Because of Uemura's tenacity, the “Deterioration F” was all in my body.

[MIYASE]: “Rei-san......!”

[REI]: (Miyase-san......)

...———You finally called my name again.

[idkxwriting]

World Spins Madly On

Author: idkhaylijah

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader - Professor AU

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Endgame spoilers at some point - but the Russo brothers lifted the ban...so that’s more a courtesy ;) 

Also this is AU - so while it does take place after Infinity War, the time line does not follow Endgame - hopefully if you’re flexible you’ll enjoy it, idk!

A/N: So this is for @thatfanficstuff​‘s 1500 challenge. I couldn’t decide what to do, so Kat gave me the Professor AU. Everyone (including myself) kind of assumed I’d write it for Elijah - but I wanted to go out of my comfort zone a bit. I’ve never written Steve, but I adore him and also Professor Elijah has been done quite a few times (even though I love them all). Thought I’d switch it up a bit.  **Also sorry this is late - it’s been in my drafts but I haven’t had a chance to post yet!

He hadn’t intended on staying.

It had been weeks since the snap. Weeks since he had failed, since he watched his friends disappear right before his eyes.

And it hadn’t just been the battlefield.

The world had gone dark, quiet...empty.

Empty was exactly how he had felt. It was how they had all felt. There was no fixing it. No replacing what they had lost.

And they had lost everything.

But life went on, time moved forward, and just like he had done when they pulled him out of the ice, he kept moving. It was the only thing he knew how to do. If he stopped it all came crashing down around him, suffocating him, and he couldn’t afford that.

He hadn’t intended on staying. 

He had meant only to check in on her, make good on his promise, and move on.

Instead he had found himself watching her, entranced by the way she moved. His world had flipped on its axis once more, and for the first time in a long time he felt hope. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about her, but he held onto it, and the idea of that hope being ripped away from him was too much.

He was so tired of loss.

So he had stayed. At first it had been for a few days, waiting for his moment, but then Nat called with an assignment.

“How do you feel about teaching?”

He was grateful for the distraction, though he was sure his skill set was being wasted on this mission. S.H.I.E.L.D. had fallen apart since the snap, agents struggling to rebuild without their commanding officers, and Captain America being a fugitive was the last thing on their mind, so he took it.

He knew Nat threw him a bone, giving him the opportunity for an easy assignment gathering intelligence. He was sure the position of interim history professor at the college where she attended as a senior was no coincidence. Nat was observant, and giving him a chance to do what he came to do. He didn’t fight it though, needing life to slow down, at least for a little while.

It was an easy get in, get out job - but she had walked through the door to his classroom and he was ruined.

And so a week’s intel mission turned into a month, which rolled into two. 

Two months in, and what was left of his team wasn’t pushing him, though they chatted weekly - if nothing else to remind each other they weren’t alone. The calls always ended the same, that there was nothing new, but they’d keep hoping.

And the more time he spent with her, the easier he found it to be hopeful. To keep moving. He let his mind wander to her, instead of the dust that haunted him. He thought of her eyes, the way the Y/E/C of her irises danced when the sun hit them just right. He thought of the blush that would creep up her neck, and he found himself wanting to know just how far down it went, feeling the guilt settle into his stomach like iron.

She was technically his student, and even if it was temporary, she was still so young. She would be graduating college in just a few months and had her whole life in front of her while he was so tired from the weight of it all. Even so, it didn’t change the fact that she-

“Professor Rogers?” A soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. He jerked his eyes up to his office door to find a girl he vaguely recognized from his class. She rapped her knuckles on the door frame as an afterthought, blushing furiously under his gaze.

He was not unfamiliar with the way women reacted to him, though he never seemed to get used to it. He swallowed, clearing his throat, trying to ignore the way she batted her lashes. “Yes, Miss….” he trailed off realizing he didn’t remember her name.

“Please,” she giggled. “Call me Allie.” She shifted further into the room, placing her books on the edge of his desk to reveal her tight shirt, leaning forward so her cleavage was on display.

He averted his gaze, busying himself with a stack of papers he was trying to get through. Paperwork, as it had turned out, was not his forte. “What can I do for you, Allie?” He asked politely.

She bit her lip, leaning further in until her perfume clouded the area, a sharp overly-floral scent filling his lungs and burning his nose. “I was just hoping for some one on one tutoring,” her lashes fluttered, and she pushed her arms together, accentuating her chest. “I could really use the help...Captain,” she added flirtatiously for good measure.

He stifled a cough, wondering if it would be too obvious if he stood to open a window and let the room air out. Deciding he’d wait, and he had faced worse, he smiled up at her. “Of course,” he quickly grabbed a pen and scribbled down some information on a pad of paper, tearing it off and handing it to her. “Tutoring is available on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the library, but you have to make an appointment, so be sure to check in with the librarian to see which tutors are available.”

Her face fell and she stood, straightening her shirt and taking the paper from his hands. “Right…” she mumbled, grabbing her books and storming out.

He leaned back in his chair, sighing in relief. Dodging bullets was something he knew.

“Ugh, open a window.”

He sat up, smiling at the familiarity of her voice washing over him. “Y/N,” he stood. “What are you doing here?”

She ignored his question, dropping her bag in an empty chair and crossing the small room to open a window. “Let me guess, Allie?”

He chuckled. “How did you know?”

“Please, the stench of her perfume can be followed all the way from the library,” she joked. “So she finally made her move, huh?”

He shrugged. “She was looking for tutoring.”

Y/N laughed at that, tucking her Y/H/C hair behind her ears. She cocked her head, studying him, and he was sure she could see everything - every inappropriate thought he had since meeting her, the guilt he felt at his ever growing feelings, the tiredness he felt at fighting them. He was sure just by her looking at him she had stripped his layers away and saw it all.

“Here in 2019, that’s called flirting,” she teased.

He nodded sarcastically. “Very funny,” he groaned as she once again pointed out their age difference.

She turned to look out the window, her face falling slightly. “I was just wondering if I could eat lunch in here?” She asked.

It wasn’t uncommon. He had become a mentor to her, which had blossomed quickly into an easy friendship. They often shared lunch, at first under the pretense of discussing history, which quickly turned into sharing their experience in the After.

He learned that she had lost her family and a boyfriend, and he shared about his failures. She was quick and confident in her reassurances that he was a hero, that he had done everything he could, and sometimes he even tried to believe her. He let her words sink into him, replaying them in his darkest moments when he’d wake and try to shake the memory of the dust away.

Their talks had started out weekly, which turned into two or three times a week. He cursed himself for never finding the right moment to tell her. He should have told her when he had seen her that first day, she deserved to know and he had made a promise.

But as time went on he found it more and more difficult, the words dying in his throat as new words tried to force their way out.

I want you. I need you.

This week she had been by every day. He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall behind her, leaning back to sit on his desk and crossing his arms. “It’s a little late for lunch,” he commented.

She shrugged. “Early dinner?”

God, just the thought of being able to take her to dinner was exhilarating. He wished he could ask her. “I’m sure you have something much better to do on a Friday night,” he said instead.

She laughed sadly at that. “Today would have been my dad’s birthday,” she explained. “I just didn’t want to be alone.”

He stiffened at the mention of her father, swallowing thickly. “Y/N….”

She turned to him, her eyes glossy. “It’s okay,” she forced a smile. “I should get going. Have a nice night.”

She picked up her bag and rushed out of the room as he watched her go. Even after she was gone, he watched the space she had left, waiting for her to come back in. Wishing he could chase after her, knowing it was best to let her walk away.

He tried to work the rest of the day, his mind racing with thoughts of her. Deciding it was useless, he sighed heavily, packing his own things up and heading out for the night.

*****

He didn’t cook. It seemed pointless to cook when it was just him, and he was just so damn tired. He missed home. Missed Nat, missed Banner. He missed Thor.

Hell, he’d even take the racoon at this point.

He wandered the city streets, searching for a place to eat and resolving himself to ending his stint as a Professor first thing Monday morning.

He stepped into an Italian restaurant he had discovered the first week he was in town. It was a family owned hole-in-the-wall, quaint and homey.

The hostess greeted him with a sad smile. “Just one?” She asked. They had served a lot of tables for one recently.

He smiled tightly at her, but before he could answer his eye caught a table in the corner. “Actually, my party is already here, thank you,” he said before crossing the room.

“Y/N,” he greeted, drawing her attention from her menu.

She looked up, startled, her eyes red rimmed and glossy. She wiped underneath of them with the sleeve of her sweater, taking a deep breath and plastering on a smile. “Professor Rogers, hi,” her voice was laced with question.

He shrugged. “One of my favorite spots,” he offered. He gestured toward the chair across from her. “May I?”

She shifted in her seat. “Yeah, of course,” she nodded.

He took a seat and they sat in awkward silence for a few minutes, both unsure of what to say. Outside of the classroom or his office was unfamiliar territory.

The waitress brought wine and took their orders as the silence stretched on. Y/N picked at her napkin, shredding the edges into strips until it was almost gone.

He thought it was better to not acknowledge the fact that she had been crying, figuring the less he knew the less he’d want to pull her into his arms, but that didn’t last long. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked.

Her lip trembled and a tear fell down her cheek. He offered her his own napkin, which she smiled at before dabbing under her eyes. “I just miss them, you know?”

He nodded. He knew all too well. Without thinking he reached across the table, placing his hand on top of hers. He took in a deep breath at the contact, stilling as he felt the warmth of her delicate hand beneath his calloused fingers.

She froze for a moment and looked down at their hands, the pink tint he had come to adore crawling up the skin of her neck, but recovered quickly. “I'm sorry, I’m a mess,” she took a deep breath, pulling her hand out from under his and throwing her head back as she centered herself.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he reassured her.

She shook her head and when she tilted her chin back down she looked more relaxed. “Nope, no more crying for me tonight,” she chuckled. “So tell me, what big plans does a professor have on a Friday night?”

The laugh that escaped him was self deprecating and he ran his hand over his beard before throwing his arms up. “You’re looking at it, I guess.”

She made a show of wincing. “So sad and pathetic,” she teased.

“It is, isn't it?” He looked around at the empty restaurant.

She smiled at him, and his heart lifted, the weight of the world that rested on his shoulders a little easier to bear for a moment.

“Beats sitting in my apartment grading papers,” he offered.

She pressed her lips between her teeth, holding back her laughter.

“What?”

She shook her head in amusement. “Just the idea of Captain America grading papers,” she snickered. “It’s a little ridiculous when you actually stop and think about it.”

He smiled at that. “I feel ridiculous,” he admitted.

“Don’t, you’re an excellent history teacher.”

“Thank you,” he nodded.

“Of course it helps that you were there,” she jabbed.

He clutched his chest, feigning hurt. “Ouch!”

“Oh come on, big, strong Steve Rogers hurt by little ol’ me?”

He smirked, his eyes falling to his lap. He shouldn’t feel pride that she thought of him as big and strong, but how she saw him mattered - whether he wanted it to or not.

The waitress broke the moment, bringing their food out, which they were both quick to dive into. They made easy, light conversation, and Steve imagined it was exactly how a date would have gone.

It was the best non-date he had been on, and it was ending all too soon.

He offered to walk her back to her apartment under the guise of being a gentleman and making sure she got home safely, but if he were honest his motives were selfish. He just wanted to be in her atmosphere a little while longer.

When he got to her doorstep they lingered. He rocked on the heels of his feet, his hands in his pockets as her laughter trailed off.

“Thank you,” she said when she turned the key.

He smiled tenderly. “Of course,” he said. We’ll do this again, he wanted to promise.

She was about to head inside, when she caught him by surprise, turning and leaning up on her toes, throwing her arms around his neck. Before he could react her mouth was on his.

Her lips were soft and smooth - and so much better than he had imagined.

She pulled back just as quickly as she had kissed him, her hand moving to cover her mouth, her eyes wide in shock.

Steve stood, frozen on her doorstep. He wanted to open his mouth, to say something - anything. But he was so afraid he’d ask to come inside.

Or worse, he would tell her all the reasons it was a bad idea and she’d walk away.

Instead he stood there dumbstruck.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” She gasped.

He shook his head, but before he could form a clear thought she disappeared with a promise to forget it ever happened and a slam of her door.

He wasn’t sure how long he lingered on her doorstep, but when he went home he dreamt not of a snap and the dust, but of her lips.

*****

Monday morning came, and Steve paced the classroom, waiting for the first class to come piling in.

Waiting for her.

She came in at the last second, her head down and made her way toward the back of her room, sinking into her seat and avoiding his gaze.

He did his best to conduct a lecture, but his mind was reeling, so instead he offered a pop quiz, letting students leave as soon as they were done.

Y/N was one of the last few to remain, her pencil working furiously over the page, her eyes darting to the clock. He knew she was trying to get out of there quickly, but she also cared about her grade.

He didn’t give a damn about the quiz.

She dropped her pencil, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder as she made her way toward his desk. She slipped her answer sheet wordlessly onto the pile, but before she could get out the door he called after her.

“Miss Y/L/N, I’d like to speak to you in my office, please.”

She froze on the spot, her eyes finally meeting his, and he recognized the fear that flitted across her features. “I have another class after this,” she explained.

He nodded. He knew her lunch hour was free. It was always free. Free for him. “I’ll see you at 12:30,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

*****

When she knocked on his door, it was so timid he almost didn’t hear it.

“Come in,” he said.

She stepped inside, careful to leave the door open, he noted. “Hi.”

He stood and stepped around his desk, taking a breath. “Close the door,” it was a question, not a command, and she pushed it closed gently.

She dropped her bag, her eyes holding a hint of anger. “Is it true?” She asked.

So she had heard.

He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back onto his desk, the answer in his eyes.

“So you’re leaving? Just like that?” Her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed, but the anger that they held faded quickly into hurt. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I don’t know what came over me. It was stupid and ridiculous and oh my god, so humiliating and I’m sorry.”

“Y/N…”

She crossed the room to him, just out of his reach, and he balled his hands into fists at his side, aching to touch her. “Please,” she begged. “Can we please just forget it ever happened.”

He slammed his eyes shut. He reminded himself of all the reasons he couldn’t have her, and shared the least of which. “Y/N, you’re my student.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince himself or her.

“I know, and I take full responsibility. Please stay. Just forget it...”

“I can’t forget it!” He blurted, his ocean eyes crashing in waves as he finally met her gaze.

She froze, swallowing nervously, unsure of what it meant.

He sighed, taking a step closer. “I have to go,” he offered half heartedly, his gaze darkening.

She took a step towards him, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. “Please stay.”

He shook his head, but advanced another step towards her.

She thought for a moment, as if realizing her next movement would change everything. A step away from him and she’d likely never see him again - but towards him…

She moved into him and he crashed his lips into hers, desperate to taste her. She reacted immediately, pushing up onto her tiptoes as he dipped down, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. His hands found her waist, squeezing there in a chivalrous attempt to keep them from roaming.

His tongue traced across her soft lips, begging for entrance and when she opened up to him he couldn’t help the groan that escaped.

She moaned in response, pressing her body into him. She ran her hands through his hair, as his own trailed up her sides until they rested along her face.

He pulled back as they gasped for air, and she relaxed into her stance, her heels finding the ground beneath her once more. “We shouldn’t,” he began.

But she had been done with thinking, so she kissed him to silence him, and he quickly got lost once more.

He turned them around, pushing her up onto the desk and gently nudging her legs apart so he could stand between them, pressing against her center.

Her hands rested along his chest and she ground her hips against him, shooting pleasure straight up his spine. He nipped, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth before tracing his tongue across it.

She pulled him into her, impossibly close, and he tugged at her waist, hating the barriers between them. His thumb traced just under her shirt. His rough, calloused fingers against the smooth skin of her sides sent shivers up her spine.

It wasn’t enough, and so she reached under his shirt, letting her soft hands dance along the muscle beneath them. She wrapped her legs around him, caging him in as she leaned back. Her Y/H/C hair fanned out along the papers that scattered his desk. He followed her movements, leaning down over her, knocking his desk lamp to the floor in the process.

He stilled his movements, the crash of the lamp pulling him back to reality and reminding him of exactly why he shouldn’t be doing this. He stood, distancing himself from her, an apology already on his lips as she sat up.

Her hair was a mess, her lips kiss swollen as she tugged her shirt back down. Her cheeks were tinged pink, and he wondered what he was doing.

But god was she was beautiful.

He averted his gaze and looked at their surroundings. He slammed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. She deserved better than being taken on a desk in a dusty, old office.

“Was it something I said?” She asked, an attempt to lighten the mood.

He smiled softly, dropping his hands and meeting her gaze. “Y/N, you’re my student,” he reminded her.

She nodded, hopping off the desk and sauntering towards him. “For the rest of the day.”

His jaw clenched, because she was right. He wasn’t staying, and even if he had, she would be graduating in the summer - but it didn’t matter.

She stepped into him, crowding his space and running her hands along his chest. His hands shot up to grip her wrists and still her movements, and he pressed his forehead against hers.

“I want you,” he confessed with a whisper. The words he had been holding in for weeks left and took the weight of them with it. He let out a shaky breath.

She smiled, pecking a kiss on the tip of his nose. “I want you, too, Professor Rogers,” she whispered.

He groaned. “Steve,” he corrected, leaning back to look her in the eyes. If they were going to do this he couldn’t handle any extra guilt, and he didn’t need to be reminded she was a student.

She beamed. “Steve,” she said, trying it out.

He liked the way his name rolled off her tongue - loved it. “God, I want you,” he said again.

She leaned up, eager to continue where they left off, but he stopped her.

“Not here,” he glanced around the room. “Not like this.”

Her lips formed an O and he wondered if she knew just how serious he was, what the weight of what they were doing meant.

He was all in, he had been from the moment he saw her, but that meant he had to tell her the truth.

“Have dinner with me,” he said before he could stop himself. “Tonight, at my place.”

She smiled shyly, the blush he was so eager to trace with his fingers returning, and she tucked her face into his chest.

He brushed her hair back from her face with his hands, tilting her chin up so she looked at him.

“Okay,” she said with a grin.

[the-walking-memelords]

A2 - A Sequel to Allegiances: Chapter 1 : VvvvV

Hello, my lovelies! It is I, your third favourite writer here with the long and highly-demanded sequel to "Allegiances" that I am releasing today, December first, the 1 year anniversary of my posting of the original fic on Ao3! 

Haven't read Allegiances? Read it here!

Tumblr | Ao3 | Wattpad Word Count: 1894 Pairings: Clementine/Louis | Ruby/Aasim | Brody/Mitch

Rating: M for Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, Past mentions of Abuse/Trauma

Summary:  Five years have passed since Clementine won her freedom against the plot of the Delta, but trouble always seems to find a way to catch her. 

Because after all, 

the war didn't end with the Delta.

Read it on Ao3!

Read it on Wattpad!

Sunlight filtered through the multicoloured trees as autumn once again. The bright orange and yellow leaves swirled in the chilled breeze and danced along the walking paths. This was the fifth autumn since AJ had come to Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youths. The time before was not something the boy liked to think of, but occasionally his subconscious would remind him of his days that were numbered. But AJ couldn’t think of any of that right now.

The forest was no place for idle thoughts.

Alvin Junior, now nearly eleven years of age, walked along the trail alone with an aged bow and arrow in hand and Clementine’s hat upon his head.

AJ crept past the trees being careful not to step on any leaves or twigs that may give away his presence. The safezone was far behind him, not that anyone abided by that old border anymore. Louis and Aasim were off in some other direction hunting for some extra trading material. The late afternoon sun began to drift lower in the horizon, signalling the end of their hunt if they wanted to be home before dark. AJ knew he should be heading back to the meeting point, but the fresh tracks he followed promised a find worth a scolding from Clementine.

Where are you, deer?

The tracks he stalked moved off the path to a sparse area of the forest. The boy halted still as stone, listening. He didn’t dare blink when movement caught his eye. Not the stumbling gate of a monster, but a smooth, deliberate turn of an animal traipsing along its way. Hiking up the sleeves of his oversized blue hoodie, AJ bit his lip and rubbed his thumb along the rough wire of his bow before slowly nocking an arrow. 

He moved downwind from the deer, moving silently across the terrain as she slowly got closer and closer. The animal had a pristine coat. Unstained by blood or scars from encounters with the undead.

He must be a fast one.

 AJ knew if he missed it was unlikely that he would get the chance for a second shot. 

The sun stung his eyes as he quickly adjusted the brim of his cap and took aim. The stiff wire was difficult to pull back. Part of him wished he could just use his gun, but bullets were getting harder to come by as the years went on.

“Just for emergencies.” Clementine had reminded the boy as he tucked his revolver into his back pocket before setting off with Louis and Aasim.

The deer let out a half-startled grunt as it seemed to sense AJ’s presence, turning swiftly to face him a second before taking off. The deer was fast, but so was AJ. The boy released his arrow which missed its mark of the animal’s neck but lodged in its side, staining its light brown hide with fresh blood as it shrieked and fled.

AJ swore internally as the animal quickly lost him, leaving a trail of crimson drops behind. Now he just had to find it before the monsters did.

His frustration grew thicker with did the foliage as the boy followed the red smears, branches scratching at his face as he raced along. The bushes suddenly broke into a small clearing where AJ finally found his prey. 

The deer lay dying in a patch of grass scattered with wildflowers as if it sought out something peaceful before it’s inevitable end. It’s breathing was rugged and forced, clinging to every bit of life it had. The sight made AJ a little sad, guilty even, knowing he had done this. Killing animals always tugged at his heart a little, but he knew he had to do it so his family could eat.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered as he pulled out his knife, slowly moving towards it to end its misery.

A muffled snarl came from AJ’s left. A walker with a bandanna tied around its mouth wandered into the clearing, paying the boy no mind as it stumbled towards the bigger meal.

“That’s mine.” AJ scowled as he kicked the walker’s knee hard, sending it sprawling to the ground. Without a moment’s hesitation, he jammed his knife into the walker’s skull.

The boy smirked, glad he hadn’t fallen out of practice in the month or so since their last walker sighting. Perhaps it had to do with the explosion, or travellers passing through more frequently, but the monsters have mostly gone away around Ericson’s. Clementine said when they got to the school, things were going to get better. And she was right. Both the human monsters and the monster monsters had gone away.

AJ looked down at the bloodied knife in his grip, and back over at the wounded deer, electing to use his bow instead incase it got feisty. Stepping through the soft grass he aimed another arrow at the deer’s eye before another growl caught his attention. Shifting his aim he sent an arrow flying into the eyesocket of the second walker to approach his catch. By the time he looked back down the deer had died on its own. It’s deep brown eyes now glassy and still.

“At least you don’t come back.” AJ said as he retrieved his arrow.

He gave the second walker a second glance, noticing something familiar. The boy squinted as he ran his hand over the red fabric tied over its jaw. The fabric was cold and wet. Black ink smeared under his touch as he traced the odd symbol painted on.

One long spike on each side with three shorter ones in the middle. Spikes pointed down like teeth. The formation reminded him of this one sassy expression Rosie would make when she wasn’t getting as much attention as she’d like. The teeth were painted on the cloth over the walker’s actual mouth. 

Is this supposed to stop it from biting people?

Doesn’t seem like it would work.

Why not just kill it?

The setting sun reminded AJ that he didn’t have time for this, but once the boy’s curiosity was piqued it was hard to ignore. Running back to the first walker, he checked the bandanna again and just as he suspected, there were the teeth, though older and more faded than the second.

Just like the other one.

Where they part of the same group? 

But they look so old and the other pain was new...

A skeletal hand brutally digging into his shoulder jolted him out of his thought. AJ whipped around just as the walked pinned him to the ground. The boy pushed his arm against the monster’s throat as its jaws snapped just inches from his face. Unlike the others, this one had nothing holding back it’s lethality.

AJ reached for his knife as he felt himself coming closer to being overpowered, just for his fingers to merely graze the handle as it laid out of reach. 

This is an emergency.

AJ snaked his hand under his back and found the cool metal of his revolver, wedging it out from under him and bringing the barrel to the monster’s temple and pulling the trigger. Blood and brain matter sprayed across the boy’s face and she sounds of the forest were immediately drowned out by an intense ringing in his ears as he threw the walker off of him, taking a moment to lay in the grass and catch his breath. He sat up as the ringing faded, replaced with the scattered chirping of birds and faint moans of what that gunshot just summoned.

Multiple shadows moved among the trees, far too many for one kid to fight. AJ cast a final apologetic glance to the deer he knew he couldn't drag back with him in a timely enough manner to escape the dead, and fled back in the direction he came from.

Anxiety turning to fear as the evening chill settles on his skin and the sunlight spread thin across the land, shadows taking over and hiding all that lurked among the forest. AJ’s heartbeat picked up as he ran. Eventually, the trees turned to all tall dark pillars, indistinguishable in detail. Dodging past one after the other until one dark mass failed to dodge him. 

The impact was solid but softer than a tree, both parties well backwards as AJ quickly brandished his knife.

“Easy there, little dude.” A familiar voice said worriedly.

“L-Louis?” AJ’s iron grip loosened enough for Louis to take the blade from him as the boy heaved, trying to catch his breath.

“I’m here. I gotcha.” Louis put his arm gently on the boy’s should as he pulled him into a hug. 

“Let’s get you home.”

AJ gripped the sleeve of Louis’ worn down coat as he stood. AJ couldn’t believe he still wore that thing, as stained and torn as it had become over the years. Though he supposed Louis hadn’t changed much over the years like some of the others had. His dreads were a bit longer which he mostly tied back in a ponytail, but leaving those same two dreads to hang in his face. He was still easily a head taller than, a fact he periodically reminded her about by resting his elbow on the top of her head.

“Where’s Aasim?” AJ asked as his breathing slowed.

“He’s waiting at the meetup spot, let’s go find him.” He said with a smile.

Leaves crunched under their boots as they found the dirt path once again. With the sky darkening by the minute, they began to head back.

“What the hell were you still doing out here?” Louis asked.

“We’ve been looking for you forever, and then I heard the shot. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t starting to freak out”

“I’m sorry.” the boy said, looking down guiltily.

“I was following a deer. I thought if we could kill it then we’d have food for a few days, or maybe  Layla would trade us something cool for it.”

“A deer, huh?” Louis chuckled.

“Now tell me, AJ, how you were planning to drag a whole-ass deer from the middle of nowhere to the meetup point?”

“I thought if I could get it to the path you’d find me and help me carry it.” AJ sighed sadly at the lost catch.

“It’s walker food now though.”

A figure stepped out onto the path a ways in front of them that caused them both to freeze for a moment before letting out a breath at the wave of their friend Aasim.

“Thank god you found him.” Aasim said in a serious yet relieved tone.

“We gotta head back while we still have a little daylight.”

The three of them began to hurry back hoping the walk back would be as uneventful as the walk there.

“You’re not gonna tell Clem I went off on my own, right?” 

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Louis knew he’d be in the same amount of trouble as AJ if Clem found out he allowed it.

“Details or not we’re all in deep shit when we get back.” Aasim sighed.

AJ smiled, knowing the lecture he was going to get from ruby when they returned, but that smile quickly faded, knowing he had is own lecture waiting for him from Clementine.

Maybe the deer wasn’t worth it after all. 

[lovingsiriusoswald]

“Fragile, But Not Weak”

Part 5 - Her POV (Other parts here)

Characters: Kyle Ash and Delinquent!Alice

Word Count: 2051 words

Warnings: Mentions injuries, blood and catastrophic fires.

Tagging: @christmaswarlock, I hope you come back safe from your trip! Also @plumpblueberry, @midnightcradle and @bumbleberry-jamboree again because your comments really motivate me a lot aaaaa thank you guys so much!! 

⊱ ──── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ──── ⊰

The sun’s rays skim over my cheek, waking me from my slumber. Pain washes all over my body and my left thigh felt numb, barely able to move it. One lazy eye flutters open and I’m blinded by the bright light of the morning. A groan leaves my lips as I let my eyes adjust and a hand weakly brushes over the injury, feeling the sticky liquid stain the dress. Gotta change the bandages, before heading out to Kyle. I try to open my other eye, but a pounding headache stops me from moving any further.

The door bursts open, followed by a peeved voice yelling at me. “Dammit, Alice! You’re just as stubborn as King Lancelot!” Kyle walks over to me with a frown and scans my limp body, his mouth agape as he sets down his medical bag.

“Jesus, what the hell did they do to you.” He fixes the pillows and helps me sit up. “Word got out as soon as you crashed those disciples in the pub, I doubt that they plan on hurting you again anytime soon.” His explanation goes over my head, That happened? He loosens my clothing, before lifting the ends of the dress up. “Fenrir told me everything.” He removes the used bandages and pulls out the ointments and cleaning equipment, then started dressing the wound.

“He..called you?” My eyes followed his hands as I muttered in disbelief, trying to remember what happened last night.

“Yeah, wouldn’t have known that you were injured if it weren’t for him. Knowing how stubborn and crazy you are, I thought you’d manage to get out of the incident unharmed. I guessed wrong.” His eyebrows furrowed as the redhead starts stitching the wound, pain prickling over and over again.

“If it weren’t for him, I would’ve been dead..” Stunned, my voice hushes to a whisper as I start to remember what happened and realizing that Godspeed saved my life. I’m grateful, really, but..

“And that’s fantastic. You’re gonna live longer now.” His topaz eyes glare at me. “I’m assuming he’s gonna report what happened to his leaders and offer you to be under their care.” He pulls out a magic crystal that had been molded to the shape of a rod, then gently tracing the stitches to close the wound a little further.

“I don’t need more people worried about me.” Frozen and staring mindlessly as he finishes dressing the cut, then tugs the dress sleeves to show the few bruises that bloomed on my skin. He puts small dots of ointments on them, before placing an ice pack on whatever contusions it could cover. “I’m dying, Kyle. People shouldn’t have to—”

"Oh shut up with the whole ‘I’m gonna die’ antic, will you?” He grumbles and yanks my arm towards him, pulling me close enough to make me look at him directly in the eye. “You will live. I’ve been studying on the cure and I’ve been making progress.”

“My sickness has no cure.” I remind him.

“Not until I’m finished with my research.” He leans in a little closer and I gulp at the sight of his topaz eyes darkening. “Alice, I swear to God you’ll be catching these hands if you go against your doctor’s medication. All I’d ask you to do is not strain yourself because your lungs can’t take too much exertion; yet lo and behold! I hear you jumping over roofs, dodging bullets and kicking the Magic Tower disciples’ asses.”

“At least I’ll die in a cool way.” I joked and the doctor rolled his eyes.

“Now you’re just being annoying. If Cradle had a Best of Patients Awards, you’d be a close second to King Lancelot.”

“What category?”

“Most stubborn patient.”

“I’m honored.” I dramatically place my free hand over my chest and smile. He rolls his eyes and loosens his grip and started dabbing the ice pack gently on the bruises, the dark purple discoloration slowly diminishing with the help of magic. It never ceases to amaze me how medicine works well with their unique resource, it would’ve been very helpful if we had something like it back home.

But then again, it shouldn’t.

“I talked with Fenrir and gave him a doctor’s clearance for you to stay at the Black Army Headquarters. I’m recommending you to rest there.” He declares and I open my mouth to protest, but he immediately cuts me off. “As much as I want you to stay in here so you won’t get stuck between the dispute of the two armies, you need to be with other people who will keep an eye on you. I don’t trust you to look over yourself because the last time I did, you nearly got yourself killed.”

“I really, really appreciate you being all worried for me and wanting to save this pitiful life, Kyle. But I’m a lost cause.” I say softly with a heart wrenching in sorrow.

“All the more reason to try and find a cure.” He says simply and attends to the bruises and cuts on my knuckles. “Alice, its been three months since you stayed here and all you’ve done is work at the confectionery and run around being chased by soldiers. You live alone and good God, people don’t even know you exist. Try changing that life, would you?”

“You sound like a mom scolding her child for not going out and play like they normally would.” I scoffed. It was ironic how this drunkard lectures me about changing lifestyles.

“Then I’d have to mother you 'til you get sick of me and just do what I tell ya.” He smiles and helps me stand. “A carriage would arrive soon and send you to the Black Army Headquarters. I’ll help you get ready.”

“Now you sound like you’re sending me off to a ball or something.” I chuckled, in hopes of making the situation lighter.

I hated all of this. This feeling of pulling everyone down just for how uncontrollably weak I am. It was exactly the reason why I moved out to London, then ultimately deciding to follow that Rabbit down a magic hole in the ground and stayed in Wonderland.

Cradle is an oasis, literally magical and far better than home. People didn’t know who I was, but they treated me fairly and kindly. There were still less than five people who knew and they were more than enough to worry me, what if I hurt them by accident if they got too close? The Great Fire of Newcastle and Gateshead was already too much for me to bear and my sickness was a curse bestowed upon me the second the first drop of blood was spilled. If I hurt the people here as well — I know I will be forever damned.

The fire.

Dear God, the fire.

I swallowed a breath as I desperately pushed the thought away. My fists curl tightly to stop them from shaking and sank further down the tub. My eyes glanced over the small crack by the door to see if Kyle would be able to see me. Confident that he wouldn’t, I let out a shallow huff, the first hot tear rolling down from my left eye and I shiver in the warm water.

For a moment, the vicious blaze flickers to life again right in front of me and my body freezes. My ears started ringing as the disembodied blood-curdling cries of help erupts in the flames. The air around me was too hot but the sweat forming on my head was as cold as ice. “You witch! What have you done?!” My friend screamed at me. His pupils hauntingly shrank in fear as he rapidly burns to ashes, another explosion follows and shakes the building.

It was an accident. I told him as he disintegrated into nothing but bones. I didn’t know what—I didn’t want it to happen.

I felt a knot tightening around my throat as my fingertips lightly brush over my wound. 400 people injured and 53 killed, the newspapers said. The horrendous explosions of sulfur at the Gateshead warehouse was a spectacular historic catastrophe in the 19th century. No pieces of evidence indicated the origin of the fire and the cause of the explosion, the two inquest juries declared. Though theories of gunpowder presence and gas pressure were considered possible, there were no points that made it true.

No one knew. The ones who did died at the very moment the fire broke out.

How did you survive the great fire? The journalists threw countless questions when I stepped out of the hospital, still bandaged and too traumatized to speak. Do you know what happened in the fire? But I can’t tell them what I knew, despite the blinding rewards the town government offered.

They didn’t know, they will never know.

A knock on the door pulls me out of my daze, “Alice, you good?” I sat up as the door slightly opened more to let the redhead peek. I nodded at him and he closes it again, leaving the air cold once more.

No one will ever know.

Once I got out and dressed, Kyle helps me pack my bags. He reminds me of my prescription and medications, and my head bobs mindlessly all the while as my body moves on its own to pack my things.

The fire. Dear God, the fire.

Closing the bag, my body halts his hand lands on my shoulder. “The Black Army.. they’re kind of a ruckus. If you ever feel uncomfortable around them, don’t hesitate to send a letter and I’ll help you find a place to stay in somewhere near my clinic.”

“If you’re worried about that, why did you send me there anyway?”

“Fenrir.. I think he likes you.” His lips twitched slyly to a smirk and my face involuntarily scrunches in disgust. “But seriously, the poor lad’s worried sick about you.”

“Just great.” I murmur and attempt to pick up the bag, but my arms give out and I dropped it back to the ground.

“Let him help you, Alice. The Ace of Spades may be an idiot but I’m sure he means well.” He somehow effortlessly picks it up, before shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I don’t need more people worried about me. The fact that you and Blanc always did, it’s already enough to make me cry myself to sleep.” I chuckle dryly as I turn away from him. My eyes move towards the reflection over the full-length mirror and meet his worried gaze there.

“Just wait a little longer, I can help you. I promised you that since you first came here.” He stares at my hand, then sighed softly. Please, please stop worrying about me.

“I’ll wait. But if I’m at the edge, don’t try to save me."My hands clenched against my skirt.

"You’re such an idiot.” Kyle leans down to put his head on my shoulder. At this distance, I could hear his quiet, uneven breathing. “I’ve already lost someone important and I don’t plan on letting that happen ever again — whether they be someone from the other side of the moon or someone from the Black Army — I don’t care. I’ll make sure that anyone under my care is safe and alive and well. Especially you.”

My body stays still, letting him spill all of his emotions and thoughts one by one. Taking note of what words made his voice crack and of what hurt him most. I realize how greedy I’ve been and that gave me more reasons to stay away. I’m hurting Kyle and it’s hurting me just as much. I’m not someone important, yet he’s putting his heart and soul and tears for a cure. “You owe me a bottle for making me sad.” He laughs dryly and a smile grows on my lips.

“That, I can promise. Drinks are on me.” He finally lifts his head off my shoulder and I turn back to him with the brightest smile I could give, in high hopes of reassuring his worries.

“Great, next week?” A soft smile paints on his face as he blinks away the tears that had formed on his eyes.

“Pick me up after before sunset at the confectionery.”

[zweiherzen]

i'll cut your throat, nið. that'll shut you up.

—  @slature​  //  murder à la princess mononoke :^)

they meet, bloodhound and cardiac,  united in the Apex Games by common purpose ... the draw of battle, the fervent hunt for blood, the grand allure of championship. Alike in many ways — apt killers, so perfectly at home in the shedding of blood and in the crudeness of ruthless sport. And yet, for all their commonality, hunter and medic remain perpetually and diametrically opposed. That is the nature of their bond, Cardiac supposes. It is immovable, a rivalry strung like chain across impassioned and bloody links heavy with repulsion, quarrel, detest. And yet, even as they tear each other to shreds, even as they ravage and shove at one another in a rampage between beasts …  how inevitable it is that, for all they push, they will be drawn together once more.

There is little variation in these embittered encounters. It is a display Cardiac has seen many times in nature and in man  ( who, though they consider themselves intellectuals above animalistic whims, mimic the savagery of nature’s beasts ) :  of hunter triumphant putting down its prey to rest. No matter how the chase is drawn out, no matter how valiantly the hunted trudges on in search of escape, the eventuality remains the very same — life torn from one to settle in the belly of the other. Apex’s predators do not hunt for the sake of life, regardless of what Bloodhound would believe, no …  only to satisfy a starvation feral and beastlike at its core. Peace and passivity, after all, are humanity’s greatest curse; man cannot live without the promise of progress. Cardiac understands what Bloodhound does not: that, in order to create, one must be willing to destroy.

It is a simple dynamic that he and the hunter share, a morbid game of Katz und Maus that they play. There is little surprise, except in the pursuit and in finding just who will surface, victorious, as pursuer.  ( Who today will be die Kätzle , and who der Mäusle ? )  It is an entertaining game, one that offers him a more personal sort of challenge than the Apex Games can; but it’s hardly one that offers fulfilment in terms of results. 

And yet Cardiac does not bore. He is a fool, perhaps, to pursue something to which he has long applied predictability. Their rivalry is little more than a gamble of victor and loser, titles oft exchanged between them. But it has long been clear to him that this vested interest in Bloodhound is hardly for the sake of his work.

They’ve bested him this time, he thinks as he doubles over and sinks down on a knee, pressing a gloved hand to the side of his stomach. Healing is quick work for his body, but hardly quick enough to outlast the hunter when they’ve long set All-seeing eyes on him. Even as he staunches the blood seeping from the bullet wounds, feels the stress of shredded flesh and muscle straining to rebuild beneath his palm, Cardiac’s well aware: He will likely meet the end that they’ve prepared for him today. He grits his teeth, chancing an upwards glance; surely enough, they approach with steady gait, knife clutched in hand. To finish him, Cardiac supposes, huffing a soundless laugh that tastes of wet and warm iron on his tongue. Barely three metres behind him is the edge of a cliff. Beneath that, the waters of King’s Canyon wash over jagged rock into which his Flatline was sent scattering by a well-aimed arc star.  ( ‘ Today is certainly not my day, ’  he’s tempted to remark were he not certain that Bloodhound would spear him through before the plummet down below could. )  

He remembers little after that except the burn of his wound, the red soaked through the left side of his coat, and that he barks a laugh, wild and crazed — before he lunges up towards Bloodhound with saw in hand. It’s a last resort, a dying man’s final lash in Death’s iron grip. Cardiac’s snatch at their collar startles the knife out of Bloodhound’s hand, but the victory is short-lived. Their composure is regained as soon as they back away, dodging what would have been a brutal jab to their gut. Cardiac may be well-trained in the art of close combat, but they have lived it; it is a battle he’d lost the moment he entered it. There is no denying his loss when they ram a knee into his side, drawing out from him a wounded yowl. The moment's distraction is lethal: the doctor’s saw, his final defence, is fiercely torn from his hands.

Cardiac dares to reach out even as their hands grasp at his saw and hold it poised to the tender flesh of his neck — pits himself forward to tear away Bloodhound’s mask. It’s dragged off, hits the ground, and goes rolling off towards the edge of the cliffside to join the Flatline discarded far below. He catches a glimpse of bright hair ever so briefly before Bloodhound charges forward  ( catch his cheek with the practised edge of their blade ),  barrelling headfirst into him. They both go tumbling, and Cardiac’s head hits rock with potent force. Through the agonising haze, he feels pebbles digging like blades through fabric and into the skin of his back as they scramble atop him, scowl sharp as the knife of his saw against his neck. There is no ground beneath the upper half of his skull. The proximity to such fatal plummet is tantalisingly thrilling.

‘ That’ll shut you up, ’  they snarl. He peers up into eyes alight with fury and disgust and hatred — bares his teeth, crimson-stained, and laughs.  “ You’re beautiful. ”  Words slip through clever lips cracked, bitten, and bloody, but nonetheless contorted in devilish grin. The humour subsides swiftly, however, overtaken by grim sobriety, as the threat of death returns by the tip of a blade prodding against Adam’s apple. He responds with an upwards tilt of the head: a welcome invitation to press fresh steel more firmly against exposed throat. The doctor’s smile returns, broader. Blood seeps from the tears in his lips, tugged wide to expose teeth perfect and unsettling. His eyes glint, something wicked sparking in steely blues.

“ But you must do something about that unfortunate mess on your head, Fräulein. Your knife would go to better use cutting out those knots than cutting out my larynx. ”  A jerk of the head presses the skin of his neck up against his knife. The sharpened edge nicks just enough to leave a reddened line across the front of his throat, superficial — though enough to draw beads of red welling to the surface of the cut. He half-huffs, half-chokes out a delirious chuckle.  “ Mein Gott. It looks as if you haven’t run a brush through it in fifteen years. ”

[liesonthefloordramatically]

mirrored lines in linear time is fake

here’s the second half of my inexplicable meta for my own frickin’ fic today; don’t worry about it (although you can thank JoJo for asking about repeated lines like one hundred years ago, kicking off the avalanche in my brain)

a selection of some of my favorite mirrored lines, since, as we all know, linear time is fake and what happened before will happen again:

It feels safe wedged into his chair in the corner.  Or, not safe.  Nothing feels safe right now, not this chair or this hospital room or his fists that won't unclench.  It feels...less dangerous. (ch. 1) 

He knows it’s not effective armor--a layer of wool won’t do anything against knives or bullets or acid.  But, still, it makes him feel safe.  Or, not safe--better prepared to face down whatever is coming. (ch. 2) 

Its vigilance does not make him feel safe, but he can’t remember when he last felt safe.  It feels dependable, familiar. (ch. 5)

I love narrators who can't always figure out how to express things on the first try, and Jotaro does this a lot, but also the slow shift from "it makes him feel safe--or, not safe, something else" to at the end just straight up "it doesn't make him feel safe" is a favorite.

Now the weight of Star Platinum’s gaze feels familiar--not welcome, but something he has grown used to, like his grandfather’s theatrics or his mother’s smothering affection.  He itches beneath it, instinctually tries to dodge it, but knows he would miss it if it were to disappear. (ch. 1) 

He still itches under the weight of its stare, instinctually wants to dodge and flinch away.  They’ve become familiar with each other in the past decade, but familiar doesn’t mean comfortable. (ch. 3)

I love...familiar but uncomfy relationships.  That’s just how it is.

He understands that Stands are theorized to be a manifestation of a person’s will. (ch. 1)

He understands that his Stand is an extension of himself, his own will made concrete, but Star Platinum has its own agency. (ch. 1)

“Well, I’m not a professional,” Kakyoin said, quickly dropping into his lecturing voice, “but I’ve been speaking to Mr. Joestar and Mr. Avdol about the research that’s been done on Stands, and it seems that they’re understood to be a manifestation of the user’s will.  So maybe it’s best to think of them as a reflection of the user’s inner self, made concrete.” (ch. 3)

Jotaro picking up Kakyoin’s words (slightly wrong) and running with them?  In my fic?  It’s exactly as likely as you think.

Her hands had been rougher, stronger than he’d expected.  She’d never asked any questions, but, then again, neither had he. (ch. 1) 

Jolyne is running laps with her soccer team, pushing her recently dyed bangs out of her eyes.  He hadn’t commented on the change, but, then again, neither had she. (ch. 5)

Jotaro, maybe you shouldn’t use your great-grandmother as an example of how to maintain a healthy relationship with a child!!

He’s the only thing moving in these woods, and he can’t breathe. (ch. 1)  

“Okay,” Jotaro says to an empty room.  “Okay,” he says to himself. (ch. 3) 

“I can't get rid of you, huh,” he says to an empty room. (ch. 5)

This isn’t even a proper mirrored line--I just wanted to make sure that everyone notices the sheer number of times that Jotaro accidentally doesn’t count Star Platinum as existing/a separate entity from himself.

An enemy Stand, he thinks, and Star Platinum turns with its fists raised, searching for threats, but, no.  There are no enemies here.  It’s just Jotaro and his Stand in the middle of the silent woods.  Just Jotaro and his Stand and the churning feeling in his stomach. (ch. 1) 

An enemy Stand, he thinks nonsensically, and he can feel Star Platinum ready its fists behind him, but, no.  There are no enemies here.  It’s just Jotaro and his mother in his childhood home.  Just Jotaro and his mother and the churning feeling in his stomach. (ch. 5)

I love the parallel of Jotaro's relationship with his Stand being messed up because of trauma he refuses to address and then his relationship with his mother also being messed up because of trauma he refuses to address.

Once he’d beat the living shit out of a few guys, people stopped caring whether he was eloquent.  Actions speak louder than words, and Jotaro is very good at acting. (ch. 2)

Ironic, something taking possession of him when he habitually has so few words and it has even fewer.  Then again, actions speak louder than words, and Jotaro has always been good at acting. (ch. 5)

One of my first images for this fic when I figured out that I wanted to lean hard into the spirit possession motif was the idea of Star Platinum acting through Jotaro as much as Jotaro uses Star Platinum to act. There's something haunting and lovely about a spirit, which usually seizes someone to speak through them, choosing someone who isn't good at talking and doesn't need to be to accomplish its purposes.

Now Jotaro can’t understand what would compel his mother to remain so loyal to generations and generations of people she’s only related to by marriage.  He feels no obligation to a family he’s never met, people who never even heard of his existence. (ch. 2) 

Jotaro nearly crosses “ghost” off the list.  Then he thinks better of it.  He tells himself that it’s because they don’t have enough evidence either way.  He tells himself it has nothing to do with sentiment for someone he's never met, who never even knew of his existence. (ch. 3)

A large portion of this fic is Jotaro having an uncomfortable feeling about his family (and his legacy), and this bit, even better, is Jotaro lying to himself about having an uncomfortable feeling about his family.  (If you haven’t already caught on, Jotaro lies to himself.......constantly.)

Or, not panicked.  Panic was anxiety, and he was not anxious.  This was an emotion closer to hope--hope but sharp, like a knife between his ribs. (ch. 4) 

Jotaro knows he should be afraid, but in that first moment, all he feels is relief, sharp like a knife between his ribs. (ch. 4) 

Jotaro inhales sharply.  It feels nothing like relief, but stabs him all the same. (ch. 5)

KNIFE MOTIF

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Attack on Pranks: Chapter 4 (Showdown)

Mikasa waited impatiently for Christa and Ymir to finally leave and for Levi to return. Now, she could finally get her revenge for that day in court. She clenched her fists as the famous Titan-killer closed his door, before confidently stalking up to it and pounding a fist against it.

 Unlike the others, she refused to cower in the face of a death more gruesome than anything the Titans could come up with. The black-haired girl tensed in anticipation, but there was no movement behind the door. Frowning, she tried again, with the same result. You’re kidding me! He can’t have gotten tired already!

 Or if he’s purposefully ignoring me……she growled aggressively, a sound not lost on Levi.

 The Captain knew who was last and was tempted to ignore her completely. I don’t have time for her petty bullshit.

 Levi had seen the way she had looked at him during the court session and had no doubts that it would have gotten ugly if the small blond boy hadn’t stopped her. But from the way the door was creaking on its hinges, Mikasa would probably break the door into a thousand pieces if he didn’t open it.

 “Ugh!” He groaned as he got up and grasped the door handle, preparing for the worst. The knocking had finally stopped, and it was all quiet. Slowly, he turned the doorknob, his other hand gripping his sword handle tightly. You never know what those crazy cadets would do, especially after all those interesting stunts they pulled in the last few hours. He had barely opened it a centimeter before it was blown wide open, smashing into the wall. The screws popped off and clattered to the floor. Unfortunately, at least to Mikasa, Levi had managed to dodge it and was about to throw one of his blades at her but she was gone, flying down the hall.

 What the Hell?

 The Captain frowned in confusion as she sprinted gracefully away; he had honestly thought she was going to come into the room and attack him. He shook his head and chased after her, weaving through the hallways until he followed her through the door to the entrance of the castle, where she stood waiting on the other side in the middle of the courtyard. 

 Hearing the commotion, Erwin and Hange followed the noise to the window, where they could see Levi and Mikasa trying to glare the other down.

 “Hey look!” Connie called out to Bertholdt, being the first to notice. “Go get the others! They won’t want to miss this!” Bertholdt nodded and ran off to gather the others, where they watched through a window on the second floor, not too far from where Erwin and Hange were. They stuck their heads out and climbed over each other to try to get a better look from the one window, forming a massive pile of bodies. Reiner, thankfully for everyone else, was stacked on the bottom, next to Bertholdt who had begun to sweat like a faucet. Then Jean and Eren were squished next to each other, nearly standing on top of the two on the bottom, trying to shove the other out of the way for a better view. On top, Connie and Armin were struggling to not fall as the boys on the bottom staggered because of Jean and Eren’s bickering.

 “Hey move over horse face ” Eren growled, shoving him into the wooden frame.

 “No! Why don’t you asshole?” He accidentally squished Reiner’s face into the window sill, while Armin squeaked as Eren began to wriggle around.

 “Can we not do this right now?” Connie yelped as he nearly fell off, clinging onto the curtain, which began to rip.

 “Ugh you’re such a bitch!”

 “Big talk coming from you Jeanie boy!”

 “Come on guys!” Bertholdt whimpered as Jean’s foot struck him in the head.

 All the ruckus drew the attention of the girls, who were trying to sleep in their own rooms.

 “Are you kidding me?” Ymir grumbled angrily as their shouts echoed down the hall. “What the Hell are they even doing at this time of the night?”

 “Maybe we should go investigate,” Christa suggested.

 “Fine by me if it’ll make them shut up.” Ymir sighed.

 “Where’s Mikasa?” Sasha asked, emerging from her own bed.

 “Who knows? Probably going at Corporal Shorty or something.”

 They followed the boys’ voices down the hall, where they found a scene of complete chaos. Eren was hanging out the window by his fingertips, kicking against the castle and screaming bloody murder while Reiner and Armin tried to fish him back in. Bertholdt was laying on the ground with a large bruise on his face, spread-out like a giant rug while Connie and Jean, the latter whose shirt was half ripped, were arguing in the corner. Most of them were only half dressed or in their underwear. The girls gawked at the spectacle in front of them, but the males didn’t even seem to notice.

 “Armin pull!” Reiner urged, half his body hanging out the window giving the girls a full view of his ass. Well that’s something I never want to see again, Ymir mentally groaned.

 “I’m trying!” Armin squealed back, nearly joining his friend dangling from the window. The poor boy was trying his hardest, leaning on the tips of his toes and sweating so much that he rivaled Bertholdt, who was still clutching his face on the ground. But there was only so much you could do when your arms were as thick of strands of spaghetti.

 “Don’t step on me!” Connie’s foot landed right where the gentle giant’s head was, but luckily, Bertholdt was able to dodge in time. “Watch out!”

 “Sorry big guy but some horse-faced asshole is trying to kill me!” Connie glared out Jean.

 “Big talk coming from you cue ball!” He retorted, taking another wild swing.

 “Don’t you dare drop me!” They heard the Titan-shifter’s scream coming from by the window.

 “You know what let’s just go back to sleep,” Ymir whispered. “They’re all insane.”

 “Agreed.”

 They tiptoed back into their rooms, oblivious to the storm that was about to blow.

 “What do you want?” Levi asked, his eyes narrowed as they circled each other like sharks. He already knew the answer.

 “Revenge for that day in court,” Mikasa snarled. “You should remember.”

 He scoffed, only angering Mikasa further. “You’re too attached to that idiot for your own good, it’s really a shame.”

 Hange and Erwin watched in trepidation as two of the strongest members of the Scouting Regiment were about to pounce on each other.

 “This is gonna be amazing!” Hange squealed, while Erwin watched silently, though he too was anxious to see what would happen.

 Mikasa lunged with a fist at Levi, who twisted out of the way to grab her arm. They had no doubts in their minds that the force behind Mikasa’s punch would have been enough to knock out a wild raging tiger. Levi let go and she retaliated by swiping at his head, missing by an inch. He ducked and threw her over his shoulder by the arm, flinging her a good twenty feet away from him but Mikasa twirled midair and landed on her feet.

 “That’s it!” She roared, going berserk and charging at him. Levi met her halfway, where they clenched hands and began pushing each other, trying to make the other one back down first.

 “I’m not losing to you!” She snarled, veins popping out her forehead. Any normal person’s bones would have been instantly crushed by the force between their hands, but neither of them was normal by any standards.

 “Oh, is that so?’ Levi mocked coolly. Faster than a blink of the eye, he swept her legs out from under her and forced her down onto the ground. “You become reckless when you’re angry. And besides,” he narrowed his calm gray eyes. “You might be strong, but I’m still Humanity’s Strongest.”

 No matter how she thrashed, Mikasa couldn’t break free of his iron grip.

 Levi raised a fist high above her head, and she struggled harder than ever, her heels gouging deep scars into the ground.

 “Go. To. Hell!” Mikasa groundout. The Commander and Hange held their unconsciously held their breaths in anticipation, and the air seemed to still as they waited for the finishing blow.  

 “HELP!!” A screech suddenly pierced the air like a bullet, distracting them from their fight. Both Ackermans snapped their heads around to find Eren’s hand gradually slipping out of Reiner’s as the blond boy tried desperately to hold the weight of both Eren and Armin, who had also tipped out the window. Bertholdt was desperately reaching out for his other hand, but both Levi and Mikasa could tell that he wouldn’t make it in time.

 They separated, and both began sprinting towards the window, blades of grass flying through the air underneath their boots.

 “Hold on Eren!” Mikasa shouted.

 “Damn shitheads!” Levi cursed, only a couple meters away.

 Eren’s hand slipped, and then everyone was screaming. Hange from a couple rooms over, leaning so far out the window that Erwin had to pull her back so that she didn’t join them, and Bertholdt, Reiner, Armin, Eren, Jean, and Connie creating a harmony of horrible teenage shrieking. Least to say, no one in the castle was asleep anymore.

 Mikasa tumbled to the ground with Eren in her arms, though it took a couple seconds longer for him to stop yelling like had seen a titan taking a shit on his house.

 Levi caught Armin a little more gracefully, immediately dropping him like a sack of potatoes and leaving the terrified boy to crawl away uttering a small thanks.

 “Ugh!” Levi huffed, shoving a finger in his ear. “They should really push up the recruitment age up a couple years, so I don’t have to deal with your horrible pubescent voices.”

 After the three were reunited in a huddle on the ground, Levi turned on them, a dangerous glint smoldering in his eyes. Eren swore he saw the tortured ghosts of the other countless recruits that the Captain had probably forced to scrub the floors until they died, burning in a Hell full of fiery brooms and boiling laundry detergent.

 “Now,” Levi said slowly, and Armin could feel his soul withering up and dying inside of him. On the second floor, all the boys shrunk back out of sight. “What shall your punishment be?”

 For the next couple of days, all the girls excluding Mikasa could hear was the sound of furious scrubbing throughout the halls, day in day out. And the occasional sob and cuss word that they whispered when they thought no one was looking.

 Not too surprisingly, Levi figured out who was responsible for unleashing a bunch of slobbering teenagers upon him at 4:00 in the morning, and least to say, he got his revenge. Erwin now had no eyebrows and all of Hange’s equipment had mysteriously disappeared, sending both of them into hysterics.

 “Uh are those draw on eyebrows?” Sasha whispered to her friends in the dining hall two days after the incident.

 “Yes,” Levi replied coyly as he waltzed by, a small smirk on his face.

 Life was always interesting in the Survey Corps.

[septic-dr-schneep]

JSE Fanfiction - In Time of Need (Part 18: Unreality)

Summary: While the others attempt to find their balance in the real world, what exactly is going on inside Jackieboy’s head?

A/N: Warning for violence, blood and emotional/psychological trauma.

Despair…

Poison…

Shadows…

Misery…

Broken…

Death, death, death, death—

“Help me! Somebody help me!”

Bitterly cold sweat clung to Jackieboy like a full facemask as he sprinted toward the source of the sound. He was more afraid now than he had ever been because he knew who he would find when he came to the end of this road. The screams were growing in volume, in fear—He could hear each cry in varying pitches, but they were all the very same voice. He would know that voice in any time and any place, no matter the age or the pitch, and no matter what it took, he had to save him.

The moment he turned the corner past the last building in a dark, powerless metropolis, he spotted him and a fresh surge of fear and adrenaline spurred him on. His strides lengthened, his feet pounding like thunder against the cracked, uneven ground.

He had to reach him, save him, he had to protect him. He had protected his people more times than he could count and they were the farthest thing from his mind. For an eternity now he had tried to find someone, anyone in the wasteland of Elvery Heights and now, on the farthest reaches of it all, he could hear him. No one else had ever mattered more. He meant the world and everything in it. Jackieboy had to make him safe and keep him that way; it was all he was created for—

When he hit the transparent barrier, it was with the force of a lightning strike and yet it didn’t break, sending him flying onto his back. Scrambling upright just as quickly as he fell, the hero flew at it again, slamming his fists against it and staring desperately at the little boy on the other side. He surrounded by shadowy figures on all sides—sticky, deformed masses that created an inky web around him, cornering him, hemming him in.

“I’m here!” Jackie called urgently. “I’m here! Let me save you!”

Pressing his hands against his face, little Jack only sobbed harder; if he didn’t look up, he wouldn’t see him! Punching the unseen barrier again with enough force to make his hands bleed, Jackieboy cursed and screamed at him, unheard.

“It’s all around me!” This cry came from an older Jack, a teen crawling out of one of the oozing black creatures, coughing and choking as its essence dripped down his face into his mouth, strangling him. The child Jack flinched away from him, another stuttered scream escaping him as he threw out his hands to protect himself.

“I can hear it calling!” A third Jack burst from the darkness on his left, tearing at himself, trying to peel the ooze away as it slid over the green crown of his head and streaked down his skin and clothing and hair.

Immediately in front of the child, there appeared a fourth—the present Jack, hair and beard darker and thicker, hospital gown flapping wildly in an unseen wind around his thin frame as he stumbled, hunched over, clutching at his throat and bleeding from the eyes and mouth.

While he never locked eyes with the Ego he’d created, he did lift his head, staring into the distance as his bloody lips formed words that never fully surfaced. Even without the sound, Jackie knew what he was saying.

“Goodbye.”

“No!” he howled, scrabbling frantically at the barrier as every part of his creator slowly melted before his eyes, pain and anguish the last thing to see on his inky, liquid face. At long last, the barrier cracked and with three more blows it shattered, but he couldn’t dive forward fast enough. As soon as he did, the scene changed and he had thrown himself into the middle of a battle. Narrowly he dodged a volatile blast of magic and gasped, hurriedly whirling around to pinpoint its maker.

Bruised and bloody, Marvin stumbled backward, his whole body heaving as he struggled to drag in air. As soon as the shadowy creatures started to remanifest, however, he snarled, his eyes igniting with green light so powerful that his pupils and irises disappeared entirely. The spell he hollered was unintelligible but Jackie could feel the rage and the heat behind it as it soared past him and burned the creatures away. When he glanced back, Marvin had crumpled limply to the floor, smoke trailing from his exposed skin. Jackieboy’s heart lurched in his chest.

“Mar—!”

He never reached the second syllable. By some unseen force Marvin was dragged up onto his knees, thicker smoke trailing from his eyes and mouth. As pieces of his mask fell away and scattered before him, his skin turned ashen, shivering convulsively as bits and pieces of his body dissolved away into dust.

Jackieboy had no time to process the shock or even to shout. Gunshots echoed from a few hundred yards away, ricochets ringing dangerously past his ears.

Not Chase. Not Chase!

Shrill, panicked curses shattered the air as Chase charged across the battlefield, sending bullets in every direction in some reckless attempt to defend himself as a half-melted, shadowed war machine tore after him, engines roaring as if the machine itself were alive. Dripping black limbs burst from sockets along its body, swinging and grasping and shattering the ground in Chase’s wake.

Before Jackieboy could move to intercept, a sepia blur passed him from the other side, sprinting toward the danger instead of away from it. No, not toward the danger—toward Chase.

“No, no, get back!” Chase screeched, flinging an arm out desperately to stop him. He was thrown off balance by the motion; the next swipe from the machine snagged him, pushing and pulling simultaneously to bring the vlogger down on the razor edge of its second limb with a sickly crunch. It speared through his chest, drawing a strangled, dying wheeze from him before the limb reeled back and flicked him off like an insect. As soon as he landed, Jameson skidded to a stop, quailing in horror as he saw the blood pooling under Chase’s still form.

As soon as his mouth opened, a hideous noise exploded from him, sending a shock of agony to Jackieboy’s core. JJ’s aura was screaming for him—harsh, distorted tones of old-timey tunes screeching brokenly up and down until they were little more than garbled reverberations, the sepia colors blurring with static and billowing like a storm away from him as he dropped to the ground and pawed at Chase’s body, sobbing into him. While he was distracted, the dripping black limb of the machine swung again, smashing into him at ninety miles an hour. It shattered him on impact.

Schneep was there to catch him, cradling his broken body as he sank onto the ground, curling around him and weeping bitterly into his hair. “Kleine…Kleine…”

As the machine crawled closer, casting a long shadow over him, the doctor lifted his head, weakly blinking away the tears brimming in his eyes as he stared death in the face.

“I know you kill me next,” he whispered.

“Run! Henrik, run!” Jackieboy bellowed. For the first time Schneep reacted to his voice, startling and turning wild eyes to him.

“Jackie?!”

“RUN!” he howled again and Schneep obeyed, scrambling frenziedly to his feet and bolting as the machine chittered and roared.

No matter how either of them ran, no matter the distance they crossed in less than a second, it wasn’t enough. Before they could close the distance, the floor distended, cracked and gave way beneath them. Stars streamed past in a frightening blur as Jackieboy tumbled into the blinding abyss below. After mere seconds of falling, he froze, his hood falling quite gently away from his face.

He hung suspended in midair, scarcely able to breathe. One by one, the stars around him flickered and died out until he was enveloped in complete blackness. The only thing he could hear was the thundering of his own heart in his ears.

The longer he dangled there, unable to move, unable to do anything but let his racing mind still, the further reality set in.

This couldn’t be real…

He couldn’t have…

They couldn’t be gone.

Ever so gradually, the shock and horror of everything he had seen up above gave way to helpless rage so deep in his core that he felt like a bomb frozen mid-detonation. Anguish consumed him, coursing through him like wildfire. Helpless tears scalded his cheeks and his harsh panting gave way to broken moans.

“Please…please, n-no…Take me instead…Just take me…”

It was then that he felt something course and thin tickling his skin as it tangled around his neck. A second slithered after the first, tightening, and a third came after that, each wrapping itself around his throat with more force than the last. He stiffened and gasped, straining to move, but his body wouldn’t respond, not even when the cords were starting to set bruises into his skin.

Each mouthful of air receded further and further as one cord after another pulled taut around him, methodically, deliberately bearing down on his windpipe. His lungs felt elastic, falling slack where they should be constricting and searching for air. The more he struggled and flailed internally, the less air he found until all rational thought became a cloudy, oxygen-deprived blur of dizziness and his eyes fluttered, rolling back in his head.

He let the tightening threads take him, and keep him.

When he woke, the first thing he was aware of was the piercing, needle-like pressure drilling into his skull, just behind his ears. He cried out against it, mostly out of shock and confusion, and then a second time as the pain belatedly registered.

He was still hanging in midair, but now he was mostly upright—in fact, he was tilted slightly forward. Across his chest, arms and legs he could feel thick straps holding him in place against a cold, unrelenting iron rack. The lights around him were dim but as soon as his senses adjusted, he could smell the stench of old blood and chemicals that had never managed to wash it out. He could hear the dripping of unseen fluids far away in the hall and…

Now he could see the man on the other side of the room. His recently regained breath burned as it stuck in his tender throat.

“Hello again,” the Doll Maker purred in his thick, eerily familiar accent, scraping his scalpel in a leisurely circle across the tray in front of him.

“Not you,” Jackieboy croaked, his voice breaking as he flinched back against the rack he was tied to. “Not—not you—” Despite the words coming out of his mouth, deep down he couldn’t help but feel the smallest twinge of relief at seeing someone who was flesh and blood, alive and apparently well.

“Who else would you expect, hmm? One of your friends, yes? Oh, forgive me—I forgot they died up above.” Chuckling ruefully, the former surgeon shook his head, wiping a thumb over the edge of the scalpel and apparently uncaring when he sliced the skin open. He barely reacted; did he feel any pain?

“How…do you know…?”

“We are in your mind, ragdoll. You teach me everything I know whether you like it or not!” Behind his glasses, his old nemesis’ eyes scrunched up like merry crescent moons as he smiled behind his mask, wiping his bleeding thumb off on his apron and approaching. “Is time to have my fun with you before you’re taken back up there to watch them all die again! So messy, isn’t it? I will try not to make such mess.”

Shivering violently with unspent adrenaline, Jackieboy pressed as far back against the rack as he could, hissing in pain as the needles dug further into his skull. Unaffected by it, the Doll Maker lightly traced his cheekbones and jaw with the scalpel, drawing thin cuts.

“I never bothered sizing you up whenever we met, did I?” he questioned rhetorically. “Now I’ve just noticed: you have little smile lines around your eyes, ragdoll! But you don’t have much reason to smile now, do you?”

If he was in the mood to chat, Jackieboy would chat. Maybe the Doll Maker could reveal something he didn’t know, something he needed, he decided in a heartbeat. “Do you…” Biting his lower lip, he leaned his head forward half a millimeter, trying to ease up some of the pressure. “Do you know what happened to Henrik? He was still alive, he was with me…We fell.”

“Oh, I imagine the good doctor is with the Glitch. That’s where he always is when he’s not with you, isn’t it? Because the Glitch always takes him right out from under your nose.”

“S-Shut up.”

“Ahh, don’t shoot the messenger, hero. You know it’s true.”

“He’s—”

“Even here in your zany little brain,” the Doll Maker interrupted emphatically, “that’s where he is when he isn’t with you. Whenever you can’t find him, you know it means he’s in danger. You’d be joined to the hip with him if you could be, wouldn’t you? You’d be joined at the hip with all of them if you had enough hips!” He laughed then, appreciating his own joke, and then patted Jackieboy’s side reassuringly. “Once my little numbing agent works, you won’t have to worry about your hips anymore.”

“Numbing agent?”

“What did you think those needles behind you were, screws in the rack?” At Jackieboy’s increasingly nervous silence, the Doll Maker lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, waving the scalpel dismissively. “Not my usual style, I know. I would like to cause you much more pain, but in your mind I do not—ah, what is it you say? I do not ‘call the shots.’ The Glitch does.”

The stricken hero’s breath promptly fell harder and faster at that. “Anti. Anti’s in my head,” he murmured hoarsely. “He’s controlling my dreams—”

“And he controls me too!” the Doll Maker reminded him, small patches of his body glitching faintly at the words. “I’m just a little avatar.”

“Then all of the others…they weren’t real? They didn’t actually—?”

“Oh, no, no, no. The others are still alive and well out in the real world!”

As he gradually became aware of the nauseating pins-and-needles sensation tingling through him, Jackieboy tilted his head, squinting at him. He would have expected relief at those words but instead the only things he could feel were bewilderment and unease. “Why…why would you tell me that?”

“Because the Glitch wąn̛ts you to know. All of those d͠eath͝s you saw for them may not have happened, but he’s soon going to fix̨ th̕a̸t. That’s what he has p͟l̶an͡n̢e͝d͝ for them in the real world—and you? You’ll still be here, knowing what’s to come without being able to do a thing about it!” the Doll Maker exclaimed.

Jackieboy’s eyes tried to widen at that, but it was too much of a struggle. The pins and needles were dragging weightily over him, encompassing his whole body, making his eyes ache, making their lids heavy.

“Oh, silly me forget to mention one more thing,” his nemesis called as he started to drowse. “The numbing agent only works for as long as you’re unconscious. I’ll work fast to doll you up nicely while you’re sleeping, but I make no promises! When the drugs wear off and you come to…you’ll probably learn a whole new definition of pain.”

[galwednesday]

So back in the summer 2016, I wrote 18k of an immediately post-CA:TWS Shrinkyclinks AU with the working title The Lion and the Mouse, then got distracted and mostly abandoned it. When I was writing Bait and Switch, I stole the concept of how Steve and Bucky met from this WIP, not thinking much about it because I wrote Bait and Switch quickly and didn’t expect to go anywhere with it. Except then people asked for more, and specifically the story of how they met, with Steve saving Bucky from an attempted mugging. Which I, uh, stole. From myself.

I’m doing some writing file clean-out today and when I looked at The Lion and the Mouse I discovered the first 4,000 words are almost entirely complete, up to and including the part where Steve and Bucky meet, so I’m posting it here. This isn’t in the same universe as Bait and Switch, but it’s what I was thinking of when I was writing their character dynamics, and I thought it might interest people who had asked for Bait and Switch’s thwarted-mugging scene.

“Have we met?” Iron Man asked. “Because I gotta say, there’s something familiar about you. But that awesome cyborg arm, which, by the way, you should stop trying to punch me with, I would definitely have remembered, so--” Iron Man failed to dodge the Asset’s grab and was thrown upside-down into the wall of the helicarrier. He stuck there for a moment before falling face-first onto the floor. “Maybe not.”

The Asset scaled the closest ladder in under three seconds. Iron Man was a distraction, not the primary target.

The Asset climbed onto the catwalk and ran towards the Widow. She was ignoring the fight behind her, too busy tampering with something on the control panel.

Targeting system, a dispassionate voice in the Asset’s head supplied. The Asset disregarded the thought as irrelevant. It couldn’t help deducing information based on passive observation, but it had never been encouraged to know more than it was told.

It threw a knife at the Widow’s back. She moved impossibly quickly, turning so the knife passed harmlessly to one side, but that brought her nearly within the Asset’s reach. The Asset lunged forward--

Iron Man lurched over the edge of the catwalk and slammed into the Asset’s side, knocking them both down to the lowest level of the helicarrier, the glass underbelly. The ground drifted past deceptively slowly beneath them. The helicarrier was riding low enough that the Asset could see river water quaking from the repulsor engines’ vibrations.

(continues beyond the cut)

“We’re not done, terminator.” Iron Man tried to pin the Asset’s left wrist, but the Asset had already torn off one of his gauntlets and his one-handed grip wasn’t strong enough. The Asset locked its thighs around Iron Man’s waist and threw its body into a twist. Iron Man rolled with the spin and fired his remaining hand repulsor to gain extra momentum, trying to break free of the Asset’s grip.

The repulsor blast must have hit an already damaged support pillar. One moment the Asset was rolling Iron Man onto the floor like a beetle onto its back, and the next the Asset was stunned and gasping, lying face-up and pinned by a metal beam across its abdomen and chest. The beam was too heavy to lift. The Asset was trapped.

“And the Soldier’s finally down. Jesus.” Iron Man pulled his booted foot free of the fallen beam and staggered upright. “Romanoff, you good?”

“Swap made.” The Widow’s voice was light. “We have seven minutes until the fireworks start.”

“Great.” Iron Man shook his foot, the boot repulsor flickering on and off like a dying lightbulb. “I’m down to one and a half repulsors, so if I’m piggybacking you out of here it’s going to get pretty bumpy.”

Their earpieces crackled, a woman’s voice talking about a helicopter en route. The Asset didn’t bother to listen.

Mission failure. Fear washed through the Asset, cryo-cold. Mission failures were unacceptable. It must not fail the mission.

The Asset braced its elbows against the floor. It set its boots flat against the glass below and pushed up with its hips, ignoring the screaming agony spiraling through its abdomen.

“Easy there, tough guy, you’re going to rupture something. Correction, JARVIS tells me you have ruptured several somethings, and now you’re making it worse. Hill, better send paramedics with the chopper if you want the Soldier to live long enough for interrogation.”

Interrogation sent another pulse of terror down the Asset’s spine. It could remain silent despite almost anything, had been given plenty of practice, but interrogation was never easy to endure.

“You know, you really do look familiar.” Iron Man’s head tilted and his faceplate popped up. He narrowed his eyes at the Asset’s face. “JARVIS, run facial recognition on our party crasher.”

The Asset automatically noted that Iron Man was now vulnerable to a throwing knife to the eye, but both its hands were occupied and killing Iron Man wouldn’t salvage the mission. Mission failure mission failure mission failure.

The Widow appeared over the edge of the gangplank. She took in the situation at a glance and gave Iron Man an exasperated look. “For God’s sake, Stark. Keep your faceplate down until the Soldier is disarmed.” For a moment the Asset saw that same face, with the same annoyed line between her eyebrows, but smaller and rounder. A little girl’s pout laid over eyes that were decades too old.

Malfunction, the Asset thought.

Iron Man didn’t seem to hear her. His head snapped back to face the Asset, his eyes widening. “What? JARVIS, repeat that.”

The whine of its arm’s servos increased in pitch as the Asset strained harder. Fire radiated out from its sternum as additional ribs fractured under the pressure. The beam didn’t move.

The panel of glass beneath the Asset did.

The panel separated from one side of its metal housing with a sharp crack. The Asset watched the gap grow wider by inches, slow but inexorable. The seam was going to fail, and the Asset was going to fall.

The Asset stopped pushing against the beam, letting its body go lax against the slowly shifting glass. There was no way to prevent it. And it was fitting, somehow, that the Asset should die by falling.

The Asset didn’t know why. The Asset knew a lot of things without knowing how it knew them.

Iron Man didn’t notice the panel sagging. His eyes, brown and heavy-browed and incomprehensibly familiar, stared at the Asset’s face.

“Sergeant Barnes?”

The glass gave way.

The Asset fell.

Before it hit the water, words formed somewhere in the whirling chaos behind the Asset’s eyes, shaping themselves in accordance with a long-forgotten accent.

Fuckin’ finally.

[[PROBABLY A CHAPTER BREAK]]

The Asset hadn’t expected to survive the fall. The shock of water closing over its head prompted its body to struggle automatically, kicking towards the light in search of oxygen. Once it was breathing and treading water, extraction training kicked in.

The Asset dragged itself to shore and wove a muddy trail through the parks and back alleys of the city, concealing its passage on autopilot. It tore a strip off its undershirt to tie over the bullet wound in its thigh. Pursuers might have sniffer dogs. The Asset must avoid leaving a blood trail.

Iron Man’s parting words played on repeat. Sergeant Barnes? There was something right-but-not-right about Iron Man’s face, about the Widow’s face, something known-but-not-known. Stark, she had called him. His face, his voice, that name, Sergeant Barnes? The Asset’s head buzzed with dissonance.

The Asset didn’t expect to survive the confrontation with its handlers. The Asset had already known it was scheduled for decommissioning. The technicians routinely forgot how acute its hearing was and discussed forbidden topics where the Asset couldn’t help but overhear; it never drew attention to this in case it was punished for listening. The Asset had known before it even reached the helicarrier that this was to be its final mission. Its failure just proved the handlers right. It had grown unstable, erratic, ineffective. The Asset was a tool that had outlived its usefulness.

The Asset reported in because that was how all the its missions ended, and it didn’t know to do anything different in case of mission failure, but it wouldn’t have surprised the Asset to be greeted with a bullet to the brain as soon as it walked into the bank.

Instead, the five technicians in the vault nearly pissed themselves when the Asset appeared, silent as ever even though it couldn’t stand fully upright. Most of the broken ribs were on its right side where the beam had struck. Its abdomen felt worse than the the ribs, or the gunshot wound in its left thigh, but the Asset could feel its body already working to repair the damage. Soft tissue damage healed quickly. It would survive these injuries, if it was allowed to.

“M-mission report,” one of the technicians stammered. That wasn’t proper procedure, handlers were the ones who debriefed the Asset, but there were no handlers present to report to.

The Asset gave its report anyway. Anticipation of punishment was worse than pain, and it didn’t want to wait. It was going to be decommissioned anyway. What was a protocol violation compared to the mission failure it was about to recount?

The Asset’s summary of events made the technicians draw together in a frightened huddle. Two of them kept glancing at the door, either hopeful or worried about who might come through next. Another, the quietest and calmest, snuck two quick looks at the bulletin board the Asset knew concealed a wall safe containing cash and emergency supplies. The other two appeared to be in a state of shock.

“Fuck,” one whispered when the Asset finished. “The news was right. Shit, oh shit.”

“Does that mean Pierce is really dead?”

“The STRIKE teams haven’t checked in. If they were on the helicarriers--”

“They must be dead, too. Or arrested.”

“Christ, look at all these files.” One technician was at a computer, her face frantic as she typed. “They released everything. Everything.”

“What about this address? Is this base burned?”

“Fuck, forget about the base, what about our addresses? Our names?”

“Stop trying to grab the keyboard, look on your own fucking computer!”

The technicians bickered while the Asset stood against the wall. Nobody had told it to do anything else.

The wait gave its ribs time to knit back together. The searing pain in its abdomen lessened, slowly fading into the deep ache of bruising instead of the acute fire of rupture. The Asset was extremely thirsty, but nobody had given it water. The gunshot wound in its thigh reopened as its body worked to expel the embedded bullet. Eventually the bullet dropped down its pant leg, resting on the top of its boot.

Its mind rattled. It hurt, conflicting thoughts grinding against each other, forbidden memories and whistling gaps. The chair would scrape the confusion away, but the chair--

The Asset didn’t like the chair.

The quietest technician wasn’t searching for information like the others. He was sitting at his desk, thinking, watching the other technicians. Watching the Asset. Sweat gathered at his temples and darkened his hair.

The Asset tracked his movements when the quiet technician pulled a pistol from a desk drawer.

The other technicians were facing away, arguing among themselves and distracted by their computers. Easy targets.

The armed technician killed the others. He was fast and fairly professional about it, needing no more than three bullets per target before they stayed down, but it was loud and messy all the same. The shots echoed in the enclosed space despite the vault’s sound-proofing, bleeding into one staccato cacophony.

The Asset watched silently as the technician swallowed hard and readjusted his grip on the pistol. He lowered it to his side.

“Asset,” the technician said. He pulled the bulletin board off the wall. “Open this safe.”

The Asset didn’t know the combination of the safe, but it was an older model and had never been built to stand up to a weapon like the Asset’s arm. One heave on the door handle pulled the entire safe from its wall housing. The movement reopened the Asset’s wounds, sending more acid through its abdomen and a rush of hot blood down its thigh, but the pain wasn’t mission relevant. It could be ignored.

The Asset threw the safe across the room. It smashed corner-first into the reinforced vault door and burst open, spilling its contents onto the floor.

“Jesus Christ! You crazy fucker.” The technician glared at the Asset. “There are grenades in there, fuck.”

The Asset felt a little indignant. The technician should have included this information in the mission briefing if he felt it was relevant. The watching part of the Asset, the part that eavesdropped on handlers and kept its conclusions to itself, thought that the technician was a poor substitute for a handler. He didn’t observe the proper protocols. Probably didn’t know the proper protocols.

Running scared, the watching part Asset thought. Pierce was dead. The STRIKE teams were dead or captured. Hydra’s files had been released to the world. Low-level Hydra agents would be running scared.

If there was one emotion the Asset could reliably recognize, one pattern of behavior it could predict, it was fear.

Who was authorized to command the Asset, with Pierce and Rumlow out of commission? Who was authorized to punish the Asset for mission failure? Who would issue corrections for disobedience?

The watching part of the Asset unfurled and stretched.

The technician glanced up from where he was kneeling by the safe, scooping bundled papers and bricks of cash into a paper bag. He jerked his chin at the Asset’s thigh, which was still oozing blood. “Can you fight with that?”

It was a stupid question. The Asset’s internal ruptures were far more limiting to mission performance than a mostly-healed flesh wound. But the technician had never ordered the Asset to report its full status, so he was unaware of the extent of the damage. Not a handler, the Asset reminded itself. Its pulse picked up with an emotion it couldn’t identify, something like the feeling of checking weapons before a firefight.

“Functional for moderate combat,” the Asset reported. It added, because the technician was clearly not going to think of it on his own, “Rehydration necessary.”

The technician took a coffee cup from one of the desks, filled it from the water cooler in the corner, and pressed it into the Asset’s hands. The Asset drained it quickly before it could be taken away. The water was cool and pleasantly tasteless, much better than the noxious river water it had swallowed earlier or the nutrient IVs it was usually given. Evidently there were advantages to not having a real handler.

The technician looked at the chair and frowned. The Asset’s grip on the coffee mug tightened, but the technician was a cryo specialist. He didn’t know how to use the chair, and he had just killed the technicians that did.

“Fuck it,” the technician muttered. He grabbed the bags of cash and weapons and jerked his head at the door. “Asset, move out.”

***

The technician waved the Asset into the passenger’s seat of one of the field vans, not the black one that rode heavy with armor plating, but the white one with “RUSTY’S PLUMBING - RESULTS GUARANTEED!” painted on its side in big, looping letters. He put the bags of cash and weapons into the back and tucked his pistol into a holster hidden under his blue windbreaker. He put on a headset and connected it to his phone before he started driving, pulling onto I-95 and heading north.

“Buckle your seat belt,” the technician ordered. The Asset complied. It was good to ride in the front of a vehicle, with a full range of vision for upcoming obstacles or threats. The trees lining the highway were pleasant to look at. The Asset occupied itself by memorizing the license plate of every car they passed.

The technician received a call after 22 minutes of driving.

“What?” the technician demanded. “No, I told you. Get the STRIKE teams out of lockup and meet me at the rendezvous in Trenton. Blow up the building if you have to, just stop them from getting transferred to somewhere more secure.” A pause, then the technician slammed his palm onto the top of the steering wheel. “Fuck your cover! Are you even listening to me? I cleaned out the base in D.C. I have the Asset. Shit, that’s enough to start a new cell right there. Your cover’s blown already. All our covers are blown, once they decode those files.” Another, longer pause. “Do whatever you have to do. Report in three hours.” The technician yanked off his headset and slumped back in his seat. “Fucking moron.”

The technician listened to the radio the entire drive, sometimes swearing or punching the dashboard as news anchors revealed a new piece of information. The Asset sat silently without giving any sign that it registered what was being said.

The radio gave names for Iron Man and the Black Widow: Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff. The names were right-but-wrong just like the faces.

Sergeant Barnes. The news didn’t mention that name. The news didn’t mention the Asset at all, although it had a lot to say about Alexander Pierce and Nick Fury and SHIELD and Hydra and Natasha Romanov and Tony Stark. The Asset rolled the names through its mind, lost in thought. Tony Stark. Sergeant Barnes. Natasha Romanoff. Natasha, Natashenka, Nat…

The Asset couldn’t arrive at the correct name, but Nat recalled a child with red hair and a killer’s eyes. The Black Widow’s face in miniature.

Malfunction, the Asset thought automatically. It hadn’t been wiped in more than nine days, far longer than standard protocol. One of the technicians had complained to a handler about it and had been overruled. The Asset’s initial assassination of Fury, Nicholas J. had spawned unexpected, urgent follow-up missions as Hydra’s maneuvers were countered by SHIELD loyalists, and Rumlow had wanted the Asset to be field-ready at a moment’s notice.

Wipes kept mission-irrelevant memories at bay. The Asset was to report unauthorized memories to its handler at once, so the distractions could be properly removed.

The Asset had no handlers left to report to. The Asset said nothing. The watching part of the Asset approved. It wanted to wait and see what would happen.

The Asset was very good at waiting.

They stopped in Pennsylvania, just shy of the border with New Jersey. The technician left the Asset in the car while he pumped gas. Once the tank was full, the technician hovered by the car for a few moments, then opened the passenger-side door.

“Out,” the technician ordered. “We’re going inside. Stay behind me. Don’t say anything. Got it?”

“Confirm.” Standing up was a mix of pleasurable stretching of cramped muscles and painful pulling on wounds that hadn’t quite healed. The Asset’s abdomen felt hot and tender but essentially sound. Its thigh wound had closed and was forming scar tissue that would fade away within a week. The Asset could fight if it had to; it had pushed through injuries that were much worse.

The gas station was empty apart from a clerk at the desk who glanced up at the technician and the Asset, then went back to reading her magazine. The Asset shadowed the technician’s footsteps, taking a perverse pleasure in hiding in the technician’s blind spot, so the technician was constantly turning his head to catch sight of it. Malfunction, the Asset thought, just a little more smug than wary. The technician wasn’t a handler. The technician could hurt the Asset in the course of regular maintenance, when the Asset’s pain was incidental, but he didn’t have the authority to discipline it.

Whoever the technician was taking the Asset to might have that authority. Sobered by the thought, the Asset dropped back a few more paces. The radio had claimed that Alexander Pierce was dead, but there were others. There were always others.

[[TV playing in the corner shows driver’s license photos of suspected Hydra personnel that includes the technician; he sees the store clerk recognize him]]

“Shit,” the technician hissed, face twisting. He pulled his gun from the small of his back.

The clerk froze in place, her mouth opening in shock.

The Asset moved without knowing it was going to. Its flesh hand snatched the gun from the technician’s grip. The technician’s head snapped back as the Asset’s metal fist collided with its chin. The Asset heard the crack of bone.

The cashier screamed.

The technician was dead before he hit the floor.

The Asset separated the clip from the gun, set both of them on the floor, and left the gas station at a sprint.

[[disables tracker and whatever drug ampoules he can reach, manages to backtrack to Philly before collapsing to ride out the withdrawal]]

The Asset hadn’t expected to survive coming down from whatever drugs Hydra had used to keep it docile and compliant. At the worst stage of the withdrawal, when it was shaking, puking, and hallucinating in the basement of a condemned building, it had wished it was back in cryo, numb and frozen and not hurting. It would even have gone to the chair.

Two days later, it had crawled out of the basement, filthy and exhausted but more clear-headed than it could ever remember being.

The Asset was starting to feel a certain kinship with cockroaches.

The Asset spent more than a month just keeping low, moving only through shadows and sleeping once every three days, curling up on rooftops and in flophouses. Hydra didn’t find it. SHIELD didn’t find it. The Asset wasn’t sure there was any difference between the two, no matter what the radio had said, but either way, it wanted to avoid the interrogation Stark’s words had promised.

The Asset ruminated on Romanoff and Stark. It thought maybe Romanoff had been a fellow asset, and Stark had been a technician. Or maybe Stark was a stranger and Romanov an enemy. The Asset couldn’t decide, couldn’t seem to settle on a conclusion.

Neither of them had been a handler. The Asset was sure of that. Hydra had burned the memories of past missions out of its head, but they had made sure the Asset’s ability to recognize its betters was crystal fucking clear.

The Asset’s head ached constantly. Sometimes the pain was just a mild inconvenience, and sometimes it was incapacitating. It wasn’t clear whether to the Asset whether its brain was healing, or just turning to mush. The Asset had been eating mostly from trash cans. Its memories were incomplete at best, but it was certain people didn’t used to throw away so much food. Bruised fruit, stale bread, half-eaten hamburgers. Finding enough to sustain itself hadn’t been difficult.

The hand’s fingers did not open or close. The Asset had opened the forearm access panel and ripped out whatever it could reach, knowing that one of the components was a tracker and unable to distinguish which one. It had felt like fire burning up through the arm and into the shoulder, radiating agony down its back and up its neck into its skull, before the nervous system feedback had, mercifully, shorted out. The Asset could still raise the arm and rotate it at the elbow and shoulder, but the wrist and hand joints were locked in place.

It took weeks for the Asset to form anything approaching a plan. Taking care of basic needs like thirst and hunger were instinctual enough that the Asset could do them on autopilot, but it was out of the habit of thinking for itself.

[[Heads to Brooklyn like a homing pigeon; has vague memories of safety and belonging there. When he arrives, wanders disconsolately looking for where he used to live (without knowing that’s what he’s looking for), but can’t find it. The closest he can find is an alley, where he tries to sleep.]]

The Asset had been asleep with its head on the backpack. Tactical error. One of the boys must have pulled the backpack out by its straps. Now the backpack was four feet away, at the largest boy’s feet.

The three boys had frozen when the Asset swung upright, but as seconds passed while the Asset did nothing but stand rigidly still, they relaxed.

“Woah, easy there,” one of them said. He took a few steps away and looked at the mouth of the alley, either checking for pursuers or scouting an escape route.

“Relax, he’s just a fucking junkie,” the largest boy said quietly. Then, louder, “What’s in the backpack, man? You gonna share?”

The boy crouched beside the backpack, reaching for the zipper.

The Asset could kill him so easily, even with one malfunctioning hand. The steps were as clear as a roadmap: immobilize shoulder, grasp head, twist, drop. It would take less than a second.

The thought made its stomach churn. The Asset held itself rigid, every muscle locked in place, afraid that moving would lead to another body at its feet.

“Hey!” A new boy, his hair startlingly bright in the gloom of the alley, charged forward from the alley’s other end. He stepped in between the Asset and the threat and puffed up like an angry goose. His baggy coat and overstuffed backpack made him appear larger than his thin legs suggested he was. “Leave him alone!”

“Alex,” the third boy muttered, tugging on the largest boy’s sleeve. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Alex shrugged the hand off. He was half a foot taller than the boy standing challengingly in front of him. “We were just talking. What’s it to you?”

“You need to leave,” the blond boy said, voice hard. “You can’t just take people’s stuff.”

“Fuck you, I’ll go when I want to,” Alex retorted. “And I want to see what’s in the backpack first.”

Alex reached for the backpack’s zipper, but the blond boy slapped his hand away before he could touch it.

Enraged, Alex drew back his fist.

The Asset moved.

Alex’s punch landed full force on the Asset’s metal arm, sending a ringing vibration through its shoulder. Alex howled and pulled his hand back to his chest.

“You fucking--”

“Come on, Alex!” the second boy shouted. The third was already running. Alex let himself be pulled out of the alley, and within seconds the Asset was alone with the blond boy.

On closer inspection, the boy wasn’t a boy at all. He was short, no more than five and a half feet, but his voice was deep and his face had no trace of baby fat. The Asset estimated the man was in his mid-twenties.

“Sorry you had to deal with those guys,” the man said. He took a few steps back, leaving the Asset standing over its backpack. “I know one of them, he’s not so bad, but his cousin is a total dick. Are you all right? That sounded like a pretty hard punch." The man reached out and ran both hands up the Asset's left arm. The Asset didn't allow itself to flinch away.

The man’s hands squeezed gently, paused, squeezed more firmly. "Wow, that's--" His eyes went wide and his hands dropped away from the arm. He held them spread at chest height for a moment, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have grabbed your arm without asking. That was not okay, geez."

The Asset had no idea what was going on, but the man seemed upset, which made it nervous. Things didn’t go well when people around the Asset were upset.

It slowly picked up the backpack. When the man didn't do anything but watch, the Asset settled the backpack straps over its shoulders, feeling more secure.

The man reached his pocket and the Asset tensed. It calculated the hang of the jacket and the size of the pocket bulge automatically; not heavy enough for a gun, but a knife could be small and light, or a taser--

He pulled out a rectangle wrapped in blue foil. "Are you hungry? I have an energy bar. It's, uh." He flipped the bar over and squinted in the dim light. "Blueberry lemon flavored. You want any?"

The man half-unwrapped the bar and handed it to the Asset. The Asset took it and bit, tentatively. It was chalky and sweet. Blueberry lemon, it thought, memorizing the taste.

“Not bad, right?" the man said. "That was my last one, sorry. Are you still hungry?"

The Asset knew better than to admit to a weakness, but the man seemed to know anyway. He just kept talking.

"I know a church near here that has food, usually, and a place to sleep if you don't mind waking up with the bells. We could go there now, if you want."

The Asset thought about this. It had to sleep somewhere, and evidently the alley wasn’t safe. The blond man wasn't a threat. If the church was a trap, the Asset could run.

The Asset nodded, and the man smiled.

"Great! It's a little over a mile, are you okay to walk that? Oh!" He smacked his forehead, making the Asset startle. "I forgot to introduce myself, sorry. My name's Steve."

SO THAT’S WHAT I GOT. I have about 14,000 more words of this story written, so either I’ll finish it and post it as a complete fic or I’ll officially give up and post it somewhere as a morgue file.