#rest in peace devil hulk

[vertigoartgore]

The best comic book kisses ever : The Hulk (Bruce Banner) and The Red Harpy (Betty Ross) kiss (after a brutal fight with the Avengers) at the end of Immortal Hulk Vol.1 #47 (2021). Script by Al Ewing, art by Joe Bennett, inks by Rui José & Belardino Brabo, colors by Paul Mounts and lettering by Cory Petit.

[endlesstwanted]

A Devil You Forgot

My entry for the @flashfictionfridayofficial #202 prompt The Devil You Forgot and the @domaystic day 24 prompt Secret language!

Fandom: MCU

Rating: General Audiences

Characters: Blue (OC), Rick “Ricky” Jones, Riley (platonic relationship)

Tags: Domestic Fluff, Cuddling, Sharing a Bed / Room, Friendship, Teasing, The Snap (MCU), Open Ending

Summary: Riley, Blue and Rick are having a quiet afternoon when they hear the news. Somehow the Snap was reverted. Somehow, someone got everyone back; and for better or worse, that means everyone, both loved and hated ones.

Wordcount: 958

Author's note: Like last week’s FFF ficlet, this is set to be a part of one of my MCU-verses. This post also includes Hulk comics’ character Rick Jones, but with the version I created to add him to the MCU where he’s not shown. Also featuring Riley from Captain America movies, again, a version I created for this verse! This takes place in 2023 and is true to canon in that sense. Not beta read or edited. This piece won’t be posted on Ao3 either.

Thanks for reading, ficlet under the cut!

Rick curls closer to Blue, making a happy hum when they hug tightly in response.

It has been his idea to watch a film, and even if Blue knew he was going to fall asleep in the middle of it, they had to take advantage of the fact that they still get a signal down there.

When fingers bury in his dark black hair, Rick instinctively pulls closer and presses a kiss on Blue’s neck. They hug tightly, shifting to get their legs intertwined with his friend’s.

“So when’s the wedding?” Riley asks from the end of the bed, where he has made himself comfortable resting against the wall to watch the film with them, turning to them with a teasing eyebrow rose.

“Shut up, he’s resting,” Blue blurts out. Rick is not even half asleep, but he’s not going to make the effort to talk back either.

“You should get a room,” Riley pusses.

“We have one. I’m sorry to tell you we have to share,” he’s reminded, making him chuckle.

Riley’s expression changes, turning more serious but still with a soft smile. “You know I don’t mean it, right?”

“We know,” Blue returns the smile.

“You gotta make the most out of every second together. I know that, that’s what we had to do.”

Blue knows who Riley is talking about, so they don’t ask more and just nod. They have been through enough, the three of them, to be teasing each other without an apology afterwards to reassure each other that, at the end of the day, and no matter what they’ve been put through, their best friends still have their backs.

The cuddles and the caressing, along with spending lonely hours of a Sunday until they are required to show up for a meeting or mission, are the only love language they can share there, when it’s the three of them and no one else threatens to disturb their peace. Their home, which they’ve created over years of bonding over the bad stuff they’ve seen in the world, trying to find the bright side of it, and just getting together to fight against what was there to come.

Riley understands that and does his part too. He sneaks out of the security’s room during shifts to pay them a visit in the laboratory, and sometimes late at night in the room, when he's working double, as quiet as he can not to wake them up. They’re too comfortable there to let his teasing be a problem after all.

Rick waits until they are back to normal, with the chatter on TV as a soundtrack and a feeling that reminds them of happiness back in their hearts, to speak up. “If you’re jealous you can join us.”

Blue and Riley burst out in a laugh, because they know that’s not teasing. And they know that Ricky doesn’t care that three of them don’t fit in the bed, even if the little scar on his forehead should be a warning, and he will keep trying to get Riley in their bed until he gets him to kiss him. He can’t do much to hide it, and at this point he doesn’t want to.

What happens next takes them by surprise: the film stops playing as the breaking news flashing banners get over the screen. A spark of bittersweet memories flashes on Blue’s mind, recalling that the last time it happened was when the Snap occurred.

Snapped back up too, the three of them now sit on the bed with their eyes glued to the running headlines and the commotion on the street they are livestreaming from.

“Sources have been informing of people appearing out of nowhere around the town,” the reporter says, as the traffic is stopped behind them. “Most believe it’s a new alien invasion, but the first theories from our experts point towards the possibility of another natural disaster like the one suffered five years ago with the Snap.” They stop to catch their breath, move a bit with the camera following them, and show a smile to the watchers. “We’re yet to confirm if this is happening at some other places at the moment, but I’m hopeful to say that everyone, the people we lost after the Battle of Wakanda, they are coming back!!”

The transmission quickly changes to the news studio and somewhere else starts talking.

Blue, Rick and Riley exchange a look. If what the reporter believes is true, they know exactly what that means: their lives are going to turn upside down yet once again. And the hope they held, for the first disaster to be undone somehow, now have to face the fear they never let go off about how to deal with overpopulation then that they had got used to losing half of the world.

But Rick is thinking of his younger sister, picturing her like the last time he was home. He hadn’t seen in years before the Snap, but neither did he lose track of as she entered Midtown like he had done.

Riley is thinking of Sam, and that's an understatement. The timeless dream of seeing him once more, finally reuniting with him, finds a way to run through his mind again.

And then Blue is thinking, even though they really don't want to, about Ross. Their friends look at them with a hopeful smile, figuring out that they are thinking about Betty and Leonard, the parents they lost with everyone else. But no, they’re thinking of General Ross coming back to Earth, the man who had been in charge of their lives since they turned eighteen. The returning of the devil himself isn’t something they had thought of, and now it’s about to happen.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

The Cage

Somewhere just outside the Mexico Border

It is a rusty metal warehouse in the desert in front of which is a vast gravel parking lot filled with trucks left running with the high beams on. Kingpins as well as landowners wearing button down shirts and jeans file past burly looking men in muscle shirts, flashing their credentials. A short man had his arm around the waist of a model as he flashed his. “She’s with me.” He said of the model who kissed him on his balding head.

There is no visible security. This area is an agreed neutral zone, a privileged spot where the turf wars and smuggling routes could be forgotten in favor of sport and fun, and yet was not a haven where these criminal masterminds would ever admit existed to their families. It was protected by both a silent agreement of non-violence, and the fact that it was every low level drug dealer’s dream to be here.

The Warehouse is a fighting arena that only opens once a year and sends out invitations to its exclusive clientele. Even these Kingpins saved up money to come and bet on the fighters here and there was no limit to their wagers. It was not unheard of for millions and even a billion to be lost in a single match. Land was negotiated here. Trade routes were negotiated here. The existence of entire gangs were negotiated here. War and peace between violent factions were negotiated here.

People in the small border towns had a feeling that the government and the police weren’t really what changed the situation on their street. But they could never guess that what did change things was the winner of a match in an arena in the middle of nowhere.

As for the fighters themselves, no one knew where they came from. They had names like Cobra, Diablo, Demonio, and La Muerte. Their identities were a mystery. But their appearances seemed to suggest that they came from all over the world. Those who had the privilege of coming here, would whisper about these fights, saying that the fighters seemed like animals, something beyond human, or like monsters. They would compare them to famous action heroes like ‘The Hulk’ or ‘Superman.’ While it was true that regular MMA fighters could do amazing things, they were limited by their humanity.

These fighters… they didn’t stop fighting, even if they were gasping out their last breath.

Francisco Pererra had somehow stumbled on one of those fighters. He was just appointed as head of a cartel in Aguascalientes and had come upon a small fortune in the form of a free and open water route up through Corpus Christi. It wasn’t just the route, but also his method, using a combination of decoy boats and submarines to constantly distract the meager Coast Guard and keep them away from the actual cargo -- fentanyl and cocaine. He’d gotten rich very quickly, but before he spent on anything else, he wanted to spend on this gambling ring. This was his debut on the world stage.

When he was approached by a young man in his private residence, introducing himself as a fighter, he thought it was too good to be true. The owners of those who fought were the upper of the upper class. He was doing well as a startup Surely, this man wanted something.

“I just need entry into the Arena. The rest does not concern you and it's best you not get involved any further.” The young man opened three large briefcases. “This should be more than enough to cover the entry fee, plus compensation for your cooperation.” The young man was stiff but polite and spoke fluent Spanish with an American accent.

“Is this a bust? I won’t be responsible for it…” He shook his head. “I won’t live very long if I am responsible for something like that.”

“I have nothing to do with any government or law enforcement.”

Francisco Pererra did not believe him. He smiled and said, “Oh of course and of course.”

As the young man was leaving, Francisco pointed a pistol at the back of his head. Before he could pull the trigger however, the gun glowed red hot and exploded in his hand, taking off two of his fingers. When the young man looked back at him, his eyes were glowing gold. 

He calmly helped Francisco collect his severed fingers and put them in ice and drove him to the nearest hospital for reattachment surgery. When the nurses asked what happened, Franciso just said he had an accident with a firework.

That young man was no law enforcer. He was a true Demon Fighter.

Now Francisco Perrera came in, not from the front, but from the back. Wheeled horse trailers backed into a garage door and ramps were brought to them as they opened. Wheeled cages meant to house zoo animals rolled down the ramps and attached to a four-wheeler. Each cage was covered with a double layer of black fabric. Francisco’s champion was in one of those cages, but once they were in the arena, there could be no further contact between the sponsor and the fighter.

Francisco presented his entry fee in the suitcases on a cheap white plastic fold out table. Large men with assault rifles stepped forward and took the suitcases while Francisco waited. They were counting the money. He cleared his throat of dust and stood there, watching as one especially huge cage was rolled off the trailer. It was so heavy that it bent the ramp.

“Perrera!” 

Francisco turned around, his heart rate jumping. 

“Your entry fee is sufficient.”

Feeling validated, Francisco straightened his tie and tipped his cowboy hat and made his way to the VIP stands through a white door in the sheathing wall. The whole area smelled of alcohol and smoke. A group of big shots looked up from their game of cards. He gave them a proud greeting. “Good evening, I’m…”

They all turned their backs on him and continued their game. He let out a breath. Of course, they wouldn’t humor his attention. He was a newcomer after all. But maybe, with this fighter, he might actually get on their radar. Securing a treaty with a larger cartel had its risks and benefits, much like gambling but if you hit the jackpot you were set for life.

He sat down in a cracking folding chair. The arena was huge. Built for rodeos, it was temporarily reconfigured to house what could only be described as a gladiatorial contest. Bullet proof glass protected him from the rest of the lower level seats. And a double layer fence that stretched all the way to the roof protected the rest of the guests from the contestants themselves.

“Welcome Mr. Perrera.” A sweet young female voice greeted him and lowered a shot glass with a bottle of black label tequila in front of him. She was dressed in a tight red shiny vinyl dress. Her black hair spilled over her shoulders, looking quietly seductive. “Good luck on your first entrant.”

“Because you are a newcomer, you should be lower on the ranks, however, many in the crowd have thrown welcome money in the pot in your support.”

“Oh really?” Francisco had good instincts and didn’t rush to sip on the tequila.  “Sit and drink with me. Tell me more about this.”

She obliged and he took his glass and poured a cup for her and handed it to her. She gave a knowing chuckle. “You really are new. All the death and violence is restricted to the Cage. But if you’re still nervous…” She tossed back the tequila and then slid the cup back to him.

“One can never be too careful. If I disappear it's not a big thing, no matter where I am.”

“It’s rare to get a new fighter and a newcomer. People are betting on you because they’re excited and want to encourage more fresh blood. No one wants to see the same fighters every year from the same people they’ve known for years. What’s more… the name of your fighter… they like it.” Her lips turned up. “Caimán!”

“I had heard these fighters had the look of a devil, but I found out this was… something more grounded than I realized. The first thing I thought when I looked at him was ‘Caimán!’ He looks at me like an alligator! He’s not some boogeyman. He looked like he could actually eat me.” 

She didn’t leave his side as the PA system announced that the matches were going to begin. She slid a paper roster to him. “This is the line up.”

Caimán was going to be up against ‘Gigante’ in the first match! For the first time, Francisco felt upset to be here. How could they put a newbie up in the first match in an elimination contest and give him a chance to win? Even in the case of a champion, such fights were exhausting. He would have to defeat everyone of the beasts in the ring to have a shot at winning.

He stilled his expression and looked over the arena. Well, of course he wouldn’t have a chance at winning. The truth is, he shouldn’t be here at all. He was here on a stroke of luck. Winning was not in the cards for him. He should just enjoy his time and make the most of his good fortune. It was a shame this young man had to sacrifice his life. Despite his crocodile look, he had kindly expressed regret about the gun blowing up in his hand. He’d personally and quickly driven him to the hospital and then paid the bill. He even left him a wound care spreadsheet after the nurses forgot. It wasn’t the behavior of a tough as nails fighter or an alligator. More like a neglectful son come home to bother his father again. Much like he was once, years ago. Perhaps why he had taken a liking to him so quickly?

A roar interrupted his reverie. A roll up metal garage door clattered open and a giant of a man nearly eight feet tall of pure muscle, painted near black with tattoos, ran out, howling like a vicious animal. The crowd screamed and banged on the lids of garbage cans. The noise was deafening. The man clapped his hands over his ears and rushed the chains. Bright sparks like the sun snapped and popped.

The Cage was electrified!

Francisco reflexively crossed himself as the man didn’t react at all to the electrical current. When he let go of the fence, his hands were smoking. He rushed to the other side to menace the other spectators. Francisco saw it. The golden eyes!

Gigante suddenly stopped and turned. Another metal cage door was opening. Francisco could scarcely contain his grin! He pulled a napkin from his shirt and wiped his sweaty face. 

Caimán was acting true to his name. He was slight in figure, hilariously shorter than Gigante. Despite the heat and humidity in the air and the dusty dirty surroundings, he wore a black Burburry trench coat that reached near the floor. In his hand was a long sword that shined with a blue tinged light even though it wasn’t dark inside the arena. Weapons were allowed in the arena so long as they weren’t heavy firearms. Especially given the size difference of these contestants, having a bit of an equalizer was viewed as permissible. He took two steps into the arena with the air of a mother who had caught her children doing something naughty.

Gigante and Caimán faced each other. Gigante was panting, his mouth running with drool, his eyes bloodshot. He looked rabid, but didn’t rush towards his much smaller opponent and rip him in two. The crowd murmured with the suspense of the wait. Francisco felt the hairs rise on his back. He didn’t know why he got this feeling, but the thought came into his head that Gigante was being suppressed, that the whole crowd was being suppressed! It was like a pall had been cast over the entire crowd. Everyone was afraid to move, afraid to breathe, weighted down by a strange fear they didn’t understand.

Caimán walked around the edge of the Cage taking the longest route to his opponent, strolling with a slow, measured gait. He took his time, looking Gigante up and down.

“What is going on?” The woman next to him was shocked. “Gigante never acts like this.”

Her kind welcoming demeanor had vanished, she now glared at Francisco fiercely. 

Francisco sipped his tequila. “Ah… so Gigante is yours. No wonder you wanted to talk to me!”

She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. Had this been any other place, she would have drawn a pistol and shot him in his smugly smiling face. Her nervousness grew as Caimán approached a still and silent Gigante. “Where did you find him?”

Francisco was silent. His intent was to use this opportunity to gain advantage for his business. The fighter had his own agenda beyond him and he shouldn’t be involved any further. This young man had walked into a room full of the highest ranking cartel members and had taken ownership of the entire space.

Gigante chuckled. “So… you’re finally here to put us out of our misery?”

Caimán didn’t answer for a long time. The crowd was getting restless in the silence, but that terrifying aura prevented anyone from speaking. “It’s my intent to free you.”

“Free? No one ever… gets free.”

When Gigante raised himself to his full height, Caimán raised his blade and that aura became more intense. He pointed it at him, like a knight facing off against an ogre. “Don’t.”

Gigante leaned back a bit as though struck by a strong wind.

“How are they controlling you? Answer.”

Gigante looked at Caimán, his eyes suddenly stopped glowing. “Get out… Get out while you c-”

A tattoo that hadn’t appeared before suddenly flashed red in the shape of an eye, right on his forehead, and the glow of his eyes lit up again. All humanity in those eyes froze, his pupils dilated wide until they became black save an eclipse ring of gold. Caimán for the first time in the match showed a touch of emotion, his eyes widening slightly as his Aura suddenly collapsed.

Gigante took a strong leap and closed the distance between them. Caimán reacted with a powerful thrust that slid the metal blade between the bones of the giant’s large knee. That leg was rendered useless in an instant but Gigante did not so much as flinch or cry out in pain. His arm whipped around and seized Caiman around the throat. That blade flashed again, neatly severing the hand. He didn’t have a choice. If he had waited more than that instant his windpipe would have been crushed. He rolled and staggered away from Gigante’s remaining fist. It slammed into the ground with skull-crushing force.

The crowd regained its former noise, cheering “Gigante! Gigante!”

At his tiny size and miniature build, one would think that they would have cheered Caimán as the underdog, but Caimán had walked in like a tyrant, barking orders like he owned the place. He’d humiliated not only Gigante but also all the spectators who were all predators in their own right and had been forced into silence by this newcomer. The sight of him fleeing Gigante was galvanizing. They wanted Gigante to smash this newcomer into a pulp!

Gigante was faster than a man his size should have been, it was like an ancient giant wolf, running his opponent down and forcing him to retreat or die. Even though he was running with blood, lame in one leg an missing a hand, he grinned and licked his lips in an intense desire to kill. Caimán however danced around every attack, not returning a blow if he didn’t have to.

Francisco was confused. Why didn’t Caimán go in for the kill? He had more fights after this. Why waste so much energy running his opponent around the ring? His female companion was only annoyed with Gigante. “Hit him! Hit him you bastard!” 

He then noticed her ring. It was red and glowing. 

The eye appeared on Gigante’s head again and the man suddenly screeched in a high voice. Caimán closed the distance and split the skin of the man’s forehead right through the middle.

The man’s eyes suddenly rolled back and he sank to his one knee. He went from a massive intimidating fighter to a hunk of empty flesh in an instant. Caimán who was still anticipating another motion suddenly lowered his sword and rushed forward, putting his fingers on the man’s neck. But there was no need to check his pulse. Gigante was dead.

The woman banged her fist on the table and stood up. “Spy! He’s a spy!”

Guns were suddenly pointed at Francisco. “Why are you saying this? You’re just angry that you lost! Put those guns away, this place is a place of non-violence!”

Her eyes turned cold. “You have no idea. You don't know anything.”

“He’s right.” Another voice came from the table to his right. An old man in a suit sat one leg crossed over the other, his white hair long down his back, his dark eyes like empty holes in his face. “Put the guns away. No need.”

The guns were put away and hackles lowered. 

Caimán stepped away as a worker arrived with a forklift to carry Gigante’s body away.

“Perrera. I will buy this fighter from you. Name your price.” The old man said.

Francisco didn’t know what to say. The truth is the fighter didn’t belong to him, it was the other way around. The fighter had bought him with the intent to enter the fight for his own agenda.

“My price? You know I have a route, sir. I would like your protection on that route. Your protection of my assets. I am a small operation. Even with a lot of money, I can’t buy what you already have.”

“You are a very smart man! That humility has brought you here. Then… Welcome to the club, Pererra.” The old man raised his hand and again, he was wearing one of those rings, just like the woman. He waved his hand twice and Caimán’s reaction was instant. He clutched his head and fell on his knees.

“Oh… he is a strong one.” The old man continued to wave and stood up, walking up to the bullet proof glass. “He will make excellent food for my Tigre.”

Caimán turned his head, his golden eyes blazing, he started to speak, snarling like an animal. That voice generated dark waves of black heat that ignited the sawdust. The heat was enough to melt the chain links on the Cage. The heat was so intense that the spectators started screaming and fleeing. Even at this distance, all the people in the VIP area started backing away.

The saw dust arena had turned into a pit of flames but Caiman was kneeling in all of it. Clutching his head.

Francisco had no choice. He turned and ran from the arena, leaving him behind.

[countessmorgasson]

The New World

Julian x MC! It’s been a long journey, but MC’s convinced Julian to come home.

Gender Neutral MC

(Disclaimer: Based on Julian’s reversed ending, major spoilers. This scene is meant to pick up a little after where the ending left off)

You’ve been waiting for those five words for years, it seemed. Before you can respond to what you just heard, you play them over and over in your head, savoring the relief Julian’s voice brings.

Let’s get out of here.

At first, you thought you didn’t hear right.

Every day, for... who knows how long, you suggested leaving this place. Wherever this was. It wasn’t the world either of you truly belonged to.  But nowhere you could go would take you back. 

The Devil succeeded in his quest to destroy the barriers between realms.  Whatever this place was now, it wasn’t your world.  It was just a twisted shadow, a dying phantom of the places you once loved.

And none of it mattered when you reencountered your love.  The creatures you’ve faced, the red skies and the ghostly lakes that beckoned you to swim for eternity... none of those things frightened you once you found Julian.

For years and years, the two of you settled within these broken walls, reveling in each other’s presence. It was all you needed. Not food, drink, or even sleep. Your physical needs withered away, bit by bit, each day- making it that much easier to stay.

But every so often, you asked Julian if he’d ever venture outside with you and the answer was always the same.

There’s nothing out there for us. Why would you want to leave? We’ve got everything we could need, right here. 

But he must have snapped, because today you asked him once more, partially out of habit- and he agreed.

You’re gazing up at your lover- your partner. The light of your life.  Your soulmate.

Jet black feathers coat his entire body, glistening in purple moonlight. Or is that the sun..? you’ve never known for sure.

He stands a little taller these days. His appearance haunts him no more.

“Why now?” You tear yourself away from your thoughts, reaching your hand out to clasp his clawed fingers. The physical touch is cold, but there’s a warmth in the interior- an energy driven by love, passion... by Julian.

“As each day passes by, the Devil’s hold on me seems to wither away.” He reaches up to you with his free hand, tracing along your cheek. “These chains aren’t what they used to be.”

Right as he’s said it, you glance at him in a new light. You see them sometimes- the chains wrapped around Julian’s feathered body in a perfect bind. He never let you touch them directly- and you didn’t push, because the same fear was instilled in your minds: if he broke the Devil’s deal, you’d be the first to suffer the consequences.

So, for now, you must bear to let Julian stay shackled.  Not for the Devil, of course. For Julian.  He didn’t need the additional torture of a broken deal. Not after what he did for you. 

It’s really easy to lose yourself in thought these days... 

“M/c.”

You look up, still hand-in-hand. 

“Yes, my love?”

He repeats the words you were once dying to hear.

“Let’s get out of here.”

-

The first step into the daylight is enough to make your heart hammer against your chest.

There’s something familiar about this street. The earth below you is tinged so red it almost makes you nauseous. That shade of red... so close to blood. The skies above part orange clouds, no indication of whether it’s actually day or night. Maybe neither exist anymore.

The worst is the path ahead.  Twisted, and broken- all roads leading to a thick, foggy mystery. 

There’s no way to know what lies ahead.

Years had gone by back with Julian inside... but your sense of time seems to have warped. If you were to run into any of your friends, how long would they say it’s been? 

You stagger backwards at first, but Julian seems to be in even worse condition.  He’s shell shocked at the sights before him.

“Has it been like this... all this time?”

“I think so.” Your hand finds his again. He’s nearly trembling, and for a moment you fear he may ask to turn back.

“Remember my dear, I’m here with you. I’m never leaving your side,” you assure. 

It seems to be enough. Julian puffs up his chest with a renewed sense of purpose- the feathers on his back even begin to stand upright.

“In that case, I’m always up for a good adventure.”

You turn to him, nearly slack-jawed at his widespread grin. You haven’t heard him speak like that since... 

Let’s just say it’s been a long time.

The two of you march forward, unafraid of what the journey holds for you.

-

You’re not quite sure, but you think you’re in the forest. A place you’ve only been to a few times- with Asra. Your dear friend.. The sight around you breaks your heart.  The life that was once in here... has wilted down to something dark.  Truly bringing a new meaning to the Dark Forest.  Julian seems to note your disdain. 

“It’s a shame.” It’s all he can bring himself to say. You know that tone of voice, but you look at him to make sure. He’s glancing down, with almost a defeated look in his eyes. “Would this have happened if I didn’t...?”

“Stop that. I’ll have none of it.” You squeeze his hand, pulling him out of his thoughts before he begins to drown in them. 

The life you two have been living... has changed him.  He’s still Julian, of course. Your Julian. And yet... there’s a piece of him missing. A piece you loved very dearly.  A piece you’re determined to put back in place.

You continue to wander straightforward. If the paths haven’t changed, this should take you to Vesuvia.  Possibly. You were just at the Rowdy Raven- or a version of it. It should have led you to South End, but you weren’t so lucky. You’ve yet to see the city.

“M/c, you’ve been thinking about doing this for a long time. How are you feeling about... everything?”

You take a moment to ponder.  How do you feel? You feel... exhausted. You’d love nothing more than to find a little scrap of home in this mess, somewhere you and Julian can lay your heads in peace. You feel exhausted, heartbroken, hopeless...

But all of those things are better than feeling nothing.

You reach a small hut hidden behind the scraggly trees, feeling your heart leap into your chest. 

“I feel... driven.”

You know this place. You’re sure you’ve been here before- right? There’s some familiarity to it, even among unknown territory. It has to lead to something good. Anywhere but here, you think, as the thunder above leads to rain. The droplets are cold against your skin, but not wet. Why can’t you feel the rain?  You ignore the disturbing feeling and head towards the wooden door...

And into darkness.

-

This is a feeling you know all too well.  Your senses begin to fail you as you fall, deeper and deeper through pitch black. 

“Ahh!!” You shut your eyes, hoping- begging- that this won’t lead you back where you started. 

“M/c?! I’ve got you!” You suddenly feel sharp talons close around your arms. Julian’s clinging onto you as the two of you seem to spiral downward. His voice is enough to keep you rooted in sanity. He sounds strong, protective... determined. 

Was he experiencing the same fall? Something about him sounds so... new.  New, and somehow familiar. 

Your eyes flutter open, but you’re still in darkness.  You’re not falling. 

Julian’s wrapped his arms around you, and above both of you, his large wings have expanded, protectively wrapping the two of you in a dark fold.  Small shimmers of light begin to peek out through his wings. 

You know this place.

-

The shop!

It’s not quite the same, it’s twisted into something darker and hollow, but it’s the closest to Vesuvia you’ve felt in years. The closest thing to home... Now tears begin to well in your eyes when you adjust. You even start to smell herbal tea waft throughout the room.

“Oh my...” Julian’s eyes dart all around as he stands up, his wings tucking into his back. “I never thought I’d see this damned place again...”

He walks sheepishly, anxious to knock things over with the hulking black wings on his back. You’re still sitting, as if Julian still had his hold on you. “M/c, I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now. This is all you’ve wanted...”

“That’s not completely true. I love this place, I do. Even like this. But all I want...” you stand and stride forward to embrace Julian, who now looks as exhausted as you feel. “All I’ve ever wanted... all I’ll ever want, or even need... is you. You, my love.”

Are those tears in his eyes? You bury your face in his chest before finishing the thought. Even in this sudden wave of emotion, it’s more than you’ve felt back in that hell. You can sense the same for Julian, who holds back so tightly you almost hear your bones crack. You don’t care. It feels too good to be in his arms- height difference, feathers, and claws aside. 

“I can feel it, my dear.” Julian’s voice sends a chill down your body. There’s something to his voice you’re noticing, something familiar. Listening to him felt like welcoming home an old friend. “We’re close to... something. Something good.”

Taking his hand, you explore the rest of the shop.  The first thing you do, of course, is open the front door.  You don’t see the city. 

Before you is a village- maybe it is Vesuvia... but it’s not the one you once knew. It’s twisted and dark just like everything else you’ve encountered, but somehow, your heart feels light. Your gut tells you there’s something out there waiting for you. 

Waiting for both of you to come home...

But you close the door and let your magic seal it shut.  Just for a little while.

Your eyes begin to grow heavy, and your bones and limbs follow suit.

Julian takes notice and scoops you into his arms. 

“I could go for a rest, too.”

You settle upstairs, in your old bedroom.  It’s chillier than you remember, even with the window shut and locked.  But it’s the real shop. You know it in your bones, your gut, in every part of your being. It’s a bit broken and warped these days, but it’s home.

You bring Julian tightly, fingers gently strumming against long, silky feathers. You truly admire them. They’re strong, resilient- brave. Those traits sure look good on Julian.

“We can stay here for a while...” You drift in and out of consciousness, finding warmth in Julian’s presence. He’s cradling you tightly, lips pressed to your forehead. His kiss makes you absolutely melt, deeper into his arms and into the bed below you.  Everything seems so distant again- but it doesn’t scare you.  It feels like... a journey ahead, one that you and your love have been waiting for all these years.

“They’re out there,” Julian whispers to you before you finally doze off. “Our friends. Family. I’m... finally ready to reunite.”

Your heart skips a beat, and in a quick moment of restlessness, you gaze up. The moonlight’s gone white.  Like it used to be. It shines in a brilliant halo over Julian’s head. If you stare hard enough, you can almost see locks of auburn hair protrude through his feathers.  He’s come so far.

“We’ll find them,” you agree. “Soon enough. I can feel it.”

“Until then, my dear m/c... we can have another night to ourselves.”

[radabom]

Arctober Day 20- Sleeping

Last day of the Arctober and Kinktober prompts, which means I most definitely won’t be able to finish even the ones I wanted to, but at least I got some done.

No warnings, no pairings, nothing but some abstract descriptions of the main six and their sleeping habits/patterns.

Curled up in a plush bed, deep within the desert plains he disappears within, exists an individual who lives in dreams even when awake. Fluffy white curls shift and spread over the pillows he lays upon, his mind escaped to a reality within himself. His limbless purple friend takes her spot in a swinging hammock, keeping an eye on his tosses and turns. Eyelids twitch from intense imaginings, his loosely-fitted shirt tugging and pulling at his form when he moves his position. With his heart searching for the love of it's other half, a love he doesn't know will ever be returned, he knew he couldn't be around them as they were now, so he disappears on travels. His existence is almost a dream in itself.

But what of his hulking friend? Forcing his existence within a hut, never moving, and never leaving. Isolation is his comfort and his worst nightmare, but he cannot allow his yearnings to grow. His mind's illusion tells him he will never be worthy of such comforts. So, on the few blankets he allowed himself to have for the sake of survival, less of desire, his form rests unmoving. A black wolf stays near, ears pricking up to focus on his quiet breathing, waiting for the inevitability of his insomnia. The past that haunts him steals away his dreams, steals away his rest and his peace, so the wolf knows she can at least help make his waking moments less hurtful with her company.

It's hard to not be hurt by a man so powerful and vain, even with his form reduced to a ghost. He may not sleep, not truly and physically, but between his ragings against the portraits that mock him and his wanderings in the forest with the hut, this ghost takes his moments of quiet he needs. He may not dream, he may lack a body, but with his two white dogs to remind him of his importance, he takes his time to unwind upon the bed that cannot be touched by him anymore. Even without the dreams he may miss, the resting helps him focus on his wants, on the tasks he must complete. No one would wish to keep the Devil waiting, but the ghost didn't mind the risks.

His widowed wife, forced into a never-ending dream that she thought she'd never leave, finds herself haunted by the night in the form of her mind. Every night brings a message, a premonition of harm and terror, the few slivers of hope still yet to be revealed within the waking world. But she is strong-willed, refusing to allow such imaginings to destroy her stride. So she allows herself the sleep she needs, despite the horrors it brings, confiding her worries to the friend of flight as her only trustworthy confidant. She knew, someday, as she scanned crowds during her duties and focused on the faces she saw, that the hopes in her mind must come some time. But for now, she keeps her curtains drawn and battles with these headaches and terrors as her mind slips into it's unwelcome rest.

Her maid, perky and driven, is not so haunted by terrors and headaches. Rather, in the cottage filled with life and brightness and the cat that lay curled upon the maid, she slips into her own world of dreams. Hair pulled back and wrapped in a cloth, her many long locks easily tangled without it, the soothing garden air surrounding her and her house brings her faint memories intertwined in the fiction of her dreams. Memories of a ship, a pirate, of an old home, and of a brother. The dreams sink into worry, the maid fearing she will not find him after all she had already tried. No dream can direct her to him, so she can only hold onto his faint memories as her dreams continued their recollections.

The brother, alive and well in the same city his sister searches for him in, continued his struggle for a restful night. As if his cawing friend, a megaphone of anxieties, was any help in the regard, but the brother still found a way to lull himself to slumber. Lanky limbs too large for the bed used and a half-buttoned shirt half-way off his shoulder, the brother could only hope this time he could find who he needed in the depths of sleep. He knew who he must speak to, and he had a plan on how to get there, but every night he held onto the vain hope that he could find his answers in the unwelcoming swamp of a creature of magic. Even with his experiences and apprehensions, he knew it would be the only way to find his answers.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Prompt Time: The Projectionist free-roaming Malice Angel's domain. Level 14 barely has any stimulating things, so wouldn't it be nice if he got to visit Heavenly Toys and got to feel all the nice soft plushies?

Summary: "The worst nightmare is the nightmare that continues even when you wake up." --Mehmet Murat ildan

Warning for character death, blood and mild!

[[MORE]]

---

No matter how much the hulking beast that was the Projectionist walked (or how far its warped mind perceived that it went), the one thing that it could be truly certain of was the neverending pain that permeated its skin and old bones, that followed every step with a diligent sort of precision.

A truly terrible and wretched notion indeed, as walking was all it knew to do anymore…

With a gaze lost to the expanse of the soundless halls ahead, and its thoughts long since seized from a lack of…Something...

A stimulus? A purpose perhaps? It had to be one of those, but it couldn't really recall which was correct.

It didn't know if it had ever known the answer to its plight at all.

But walking? Walking came easily!

Not that it wasn't a harduos task, mind you, just not so easy for the semi-mechanical abomination to forget.

One limb after the other, the creak of old joints and the sting of stiff muscles.

The dull ache at the base of its hips that sharpened as it climbed all the way to the base of its strained neck.

The painful throb of something squishy-but-not-quite encased in metal, and driven by the soundless clicking and blinking of things it could fix but not put a name to.

Walking was both easy and hard, but necessary.

If it could walk, it would be safe. If it could walk, it could keep an eye on its many projectors. If it could walk, it could defend itself and its many, many, responsibilities…

So walk it did, no matter how much the burden of it all hurt its patchwork body.

To anyone with a somewhat intact sanity, traversing the halls was a tedious and mind numbing act. Not that there was much that the Projectionist thought about anyway. It's mind was… Buzzing, but not with any musings of a past life. It was numb in a way its body could never replicate.

Fragmented after going so long missing a vital piece of itself. A soul stagnated from the splintering of its essence, as well as the nonsensically repetitive motions of a lethargic routine.

Long ago this creature was once told that madness was the act of repeating an action hoping to achieve different results. If that was so, then this wretched being was the maddest of them all.

Lost to a looping cycle of its own, doing things that it should no longer care for.

Because why tend to the projectors? Why hunt for intruders? Why search for a part that was floors above, well beyond its reach?

Yes, the Projectionist must be mad. So mad that it no longer could do much more than act out the same motions over and over again.

Couldn't do more than walk the halls and redo its tasks… A looping reel.

Following tired feet with a blazing light and aching muscles that never rested.

How tragically ironic.

An infinite paradox within another.

Until one day it got a breath of fresh air.

The lift was a tool of the horned angel. A contraption that it had once used, as the man it no longer recalled having been. To the Projectionist however, it was merely a source of annoyance.

A means for intruders to trespass in its corner of the studio. An heinous apparatus of mayhem and frustration.

It caused it to feel things that swelled in its empty chest cavity, until they became nothing more than a senseless rage.

The kind that made its hackles raise with territorial trepidation, which quickly became the distinct urge to fight over flight.

The Projectionist could not recall being a man, but it could instinctively recall being an animal.

A one of a kind apex predator that stalked the halls with reckless abandon. And anything that stepped foot in its pooling maze was fair game.

The things, miserable creatures that they were, tended to come from that hellish metal box.

It made the ink in its pool vibrate with such force that it flooded its senses in a most confusing way.

Overwhelming and unpleasant all on its own, but with the added dilemma of some half-baked critter crawling right in to seek out its most coveted treasure: Its many hearts.

The Projectionist loathed all who thought they could steal its heart twice.

Added theirs to the expanding collection dotted all around its many inky roosts.

Thus the lift was deemed an enemy spawning ground, one that the hulking semi-mechanical beast did not trust in the slightest, but one that it kept an eye on nonetheless… If just to have some peace of mind. As shattered as it may be.

Imagine then, how jarring it was, for a creature that did little else than roam, maim, and maintain, to find such a vile blight baring it's gaping maw at it in broad studio light.

For the first time in years, its routine was completely broken, with the Projectionist standing there just staring at the open lift with a stalling empty mind.

It did not know what to do. What to expect.

In a situation like this, what was there really to do? The distrust it felt of the lift coupled with its sudden and unexpected behavior was certainly quite troubling for a creature of the Projectionist's caliber.

So terribly dulled from its stagnant pattern that it needed time to even realize such an event was abnormal to begin with.

Once it clicked that, yes, the lift should not be in its domain and showcasing its hungry maw so pridefully, it did the only thing it knew to do to anything that offended it.

It shrieked aggressively and rushed it.

Now, once upon a time, a man by the name Norman Polk would have stared at this scene and bellowed with disbelieving laughter.

To see such a frightfully powerful beast struggle with something so mundane as an empty elevator… It would have tickled him positively funny.

Perhaps reminding him of this big old bully of a gator that used to sun itself near the drinking hole his old pops used to plant some of the best sugarcane in all of Louisiana (or so he boasted). Big and strong, enough so that it could snap a man's arm clean in half with just one bite, yet dumber than half a box of marbles.

That lump of gigantic muscle had gotten it's jaws stuck in so many crawdad traps that it was a miracle it had grown so big and strong at all. Lucky bastard that brute… the same could be said for the Projectionist.

If good old Norman could have witnessed this hulking horror struggle in the lift like it was fighting some battle of titanic proportions, he would have wondered how it hadn't gotten itself killed yet.

Sadly Norman could never question such things, as he himself was the abominable creature he would have likely found so humorous.

The mind was a fragile thing indeed.

One so incomplete as his, made the Projectionist truly seem like a dumb animal at best…

As the object-headed bruiser calmed down after its initial fruitless assault (in which it had toppled over and only further distressed itself), it began to attempt to right itself. Looking so pathetic like a turtle stuck on its back, until flailing limbs caught the bars of its source of frustration, and pulled with all it's might.

The thudding of heavy feet against the lift flooring sent vibrations that jolted its wires uncomfortably, making it screech at nothing as it turned to look for whatever was setting it off now.

Upon finding nothing it simply stood there, winded from the exertion of having to pull itself back onto its clumsy feet.

Not an easy task when one's head weighted so much.

Now that the few senses the Projectionist still had were not under any stress, the rage began to dissipate. The soothing silence pulled at its frayed sanity, both comforting and familiar in a world that had become so alien to its past self.

Boredom was sinking in quickly, beckoning it to move on back into its usual flow.

It lifted one leg, ready to begin the endless trek of the maze all over again, only to freeze when the lift door closed with it still inside.

The seconds trickled as it slowly processed the newest development to this earth-shattering event.

It was stuck. Trapped. Caged.

Another unholy screech left its ruined speaker as it began to thrash violently, trying to get out of this tight little coffin that tormented it so cruelly.

Calling out for freedom it thought it had.

A loud hum made the cage vibrate, and its shrieks only increased in intensity as it tried to protect its sensitive body from the droning it couldn't even hear.

Then the mobile prison began to ascend.

The Projectionist was no stranger to the levels above and below of its own. Sometimes it wandered up and down the stairs to check up on the myriad of hearts it had stored in multiple other places it had rested in, after chasing particularly persistent prey that didn't get the hint. Often it tracked ink that facilitated its navigation across these alien floors, as the vibrations of this substance helped it track down it's assailants (the footprints they left behind also helped).

It had frequent encounters with the doggish wolves it had seen strapped to tables. Most gutted before it could claim their precious insides itself, although some he found fresh and ready to put a meaty fist through.

There were also times where it had encounters with the thief that wore the grinning devil mask, often finding it near peculiar objects the fiend seemed to covet.

Tall necky things with sharp strings that hurt its fingers, round flat things that made a strange hum when it hit them with a closed fist, and big square things that had loose teeth that also made alluring vibrations.

The thief liked these strange objects, so the Projectionist made sure to track it through locating them whenever it could remember… If it could remember.

Thinking was much too hard when it had so much time just to roam and live inside its own empty head.

How strange was that?

As the tiny cage continued its ascension the burly beast fell to its knees and hugged them tightly to its chest.

It whined uneasily as it watched familiarity fade with each level that it passed, trying to ignore the hum that occasionally assaulted its sensitive cables and chords.

It whimpered louder when it felt like it should know what these distinct pauses against its inky flesh should mean.

Then, finally, the lift came to a pause and the doors opened up wide, showcasing its captive passenger for the world to see. Not that the Projectionist gave the world much time anyway…

As soon as it sensed an opportunity to be free, it lunged itself forward. The uneven weight of its patchwork form, causing it to trip up and tumble down onto the wooden floors.

It rolled a few feet, hurting its knees and cutting up it's right arm against a few steps of what appeared to be… A very wide space.

It had no clue what this place was, and the beady eyes staring down at it made the Projectionist right itself immediately and shriek in monstrous defiance of whatever harm the creature possessing them may wish it… only to stop and stare as nothing moved.

The strange thing that was staring at him was just a doll. A very large doll in the shape of the not-gutted-wolves it had previously encountered.

It cocked its head to the side ever so slightly, so as to not tip over, and grunted in acknowledgement that this was no threat to its existence.

Sure enough, gazing around, all the eyes that it could see were more of the drawings like the ones that its projectors played. A few of the flat devils that were strewn around, and a big devil doll to keep the wolf some company.

Letting out another grunt and a huff as it shook its head, the Projectionist turned to glance at the churning fountain of ink separating the two dolls, and promptly growled at it. Warning any of the vermin that enjoyed such things to keep well aways from it, if they did not wish a painful death to befall them.

The gross ink slugs were squishy, and hard to get out from beneath its nails. They stuck to its feet and made it feel icky and gross.

When nothing reared its ugly head out from within the fountain, the Projectionist marched on through this new strange place… Momentarily wondering if it would find more hearts for its collection.

The stimulation was doing wonders it seemed, if it could ponder such things.

Environmental awareness wasn't really a thing that it often considered while aimlessly wandering the halls. Its feet just took it wherever they pleased, gaze focused on nothing in particular, the patchwork bruiser just ticking by like a broken clock.

This newly discovered location was different, and brought with it new rules. The Projectionist was suddenly hyper aware and hyper focused on everything surrounding it.

The spacious expanse of this floor was interesting all around, truly a place where it could wander and get lost and just experience new things it couldn't in its maze.

Speaking of clocks, it whirred curiously as it noted all of the paraphernalia that was just everywhere. From limb swinging devil-clocks, to devil and wolf dolls of various sizes. At some point it found a bowl containing a squishy blob that jumped and changed shapes when it poked it out of curiosity.

The sudden movement had made the large brute shriek and crush the bowl with a powerful strike from its hand, but the blob had prevailed despite being surrounded by shards of ceramic that had cut into the large ink beast's hand.

Once established that it wasn't attacking him (and that the stinging pain was its own doing) the Projectionist let the bouncy mass be, and continued to just wander and take in all the three dimensional creatures that it was accustomed to see flat on the walls.

The room full of clocks and dolls was especially alluring.

There was a very big wolf plush like the one before in the spacy room with the fountain. The Projectionist fixated on it and approached, reaching out to pat the inanimate pooch's ears, and then reach up to pat its own round prongs in curious comparison. The toy was not taller than it, but certainly felt squishy where it was more solid.

It reached out to touch again, fingers sinking into pillowy fabric while it's palm ran over the new texture.

A strange little word crept up into its splintered mind: Comfy.

So soft it was to the touch… Would it feel good to lay on top of it?

Surely doing something of the sort would be against every survival instinct it still had keeping it going, right?

Walking was important!

Walking was surviving!

But resting… How its aching body craved to finally rest!

And look at just how inviting the plush's soft body was… it couldn't hurt to stop for a few minutes, right?

Against all odds, the Projectionist braced itself to a position where it would be less likely to hit its clunky head, then lunged forward. Practically purring as it felt itself sink into the comforting embrace of the false wolf.

Slumber, it would finally meet with it at last!

Without second thought, the Projectionist's light shut off as consciousness slipped away into the welcoming darkness.

-

Norman startled awake in bed, fumbling blindly as he tried to make sense of where he was at the moment, while kicking up his legs which were trapped under a mass of weighted blankets.

It was so dark! Why couldn't he see? He could always see in the dark halls, the light of the projector lens illuminating even the shadiest corners of the studio… He…

No. No he couldn't see in the dark?

And this place… He knew this place!

This was his and his wife's room back at their apartment.

A rush of confused thoughts flooded his frazzled brain, as Norman glanced around. His hand subconsciously reaching out to click on the bedside lamp, and it soothed him slightly when the darkness melted away under the soft yellow light that cast over the familiar scene.

He was home. But… how?

His bad eye darted about, refusing to focus as usual, while his good eye carefully surveilled his surroundings.

It landed on his bedside table, above the silly novel he'd recently picked up from the bookstore. There was a note there, waiting to be read by his curious eyes.

With a shaky hand, one much smaller than the brutish claw of the Projectionist, he took hold of the unassuming piece of paper.

"Went to the store to get a few things before dinner. Told the kids to behave so you could rest. Please don't overwork yourself ever again, you had a 102° fever dear. Love Maggie <3"

He read the words once, twice and then trice, heart hammering away in his chest as it all slowly sunk in.

Had it… Had it all been a terrible nightmare? Had he, in his feverish state, dreamt up all the horrors that he thought had really occurred at Joey Drew Studios?

Had he really conjured up all of the madness and pain in those hostile halls? Pictured his own gruesome transition into a mindless abomination that couldn't even remember it was a person? A monster that was too afraid to let others attack it first?

A dry and slightly choked up laugh forced its way out of his constricted chest as relief washed over him.

He was home…

He was home and he could think, and it didn't hurt to move his neck or limbs, and he was himself.

What a terrible nightmare his fever had gifted him, one that felt so real that he expected to find a monster when he slowly kicked the blankets off and rose up from the bed.

His bedroom mirror told a different story to what he'd thought he'd find reflected back. There he was, strong features, big round nose and lips, tired eyes (one moving about, never to meet the other's focus point since birth) and dark curly hair that was starting to gray.

He felt the stubble on his face and hummed softly to himself. He needed a shave, lest he end up looking like the photos of his Poppop Polk…

But first he desperately needed a glass of water. He usually had one resting beside his book, but Maggie had likely taken it back to the kitchen once he'd drained it throughout the night.

Not an issue. A leisurely walk around their home was a welcomed thing after he'd been so sure he'd be stuck staring at inky sepia toned (and slightly rotted), wooden panels for the rest of his miserable and dreadfully quiet life.

So that's what he did.

He put on some slippers and shrugged on his robe, and strolled out of the room at a very calm and deliberately slow pace.

It was honestly a little ridiculous how long it took him to reach the kitchen. He'd really had a grand old time of just listening to the background noises of the city, and admiring the house decor.

That really ugly vase his mama sent them as a wedding gift, where they kept a half dried up fern (he was terrible with plants and so was Maggie). The equally ugly rug his pops had found in a flea market and sent to them in the mail (ugly enough that his wife had begged him to burn it, so how could he not set it down so he could watch her purposefully scratch it up with her high heels, due to her pure and unadulterated hatred of the garish horror of checkers and polkadots?), the collection of child's drawings he and Maggie had taken to taping to the wall in proud display, as well as Aaron's many pictures (the kid really took the whole photography thing seriously since he'd bought him his own camera for his birthday).

Pictures… Oh how he'd admired the family photos so lovingly… Every portrait, every baby photo, every holiday he'd managed to document with his old battered camera that he hoped to fix one day.

That terrible nightmare had shook him up so bad that Norman genuinely thought he was never going to see those smiling faces ever again.

He passed by his children's rooms but thought better than to disturb them. They had classes tomorrow, and the clock told him that at this hour they'd be doing their homework, like he and their mother had stipulated early on.

They could do whatever with their time, but 18pm was schoolwork time.

Instead Norman carried on into the kitchen and breathed in the smells. A hint of freshly baked bread coming from the breadbasket they kept near the oven, as well as veggie soup that was cooling in the pot that was currently resting on the stove.

Fuck, he'd missed vegetable soup, and he hated eating his greens! How could a series of vivid images feel like such a lifetime when they were merely hours?

The mind sure was a mysterious thing, one much harder to understand than the projectors he maintained at the studio.

Shrugging to himself while taking a glass from one of the cupboards, the tired projectionist moved over to the sink and opened the tap without a second thought… It took a second for him to realize it wasn't water coming out.

The glass shattered upon being dropped by a retreating Norman, who stumbled back and away from the distressing sight as if he'd been burnt.

From the tap was coming out thick oily ink that smelled just as toxic as the deathly scent of the warped studio in his dreams.

No, this… this couldn't be.

It had been a dream! Hadn't it?

He was home! He was safe!

Except the ink pouring out of the sink contradicted this. So thick it was, like sticky tar, clotting in the drain and filling up the sink. It took far little time to begin overflowing and overtaking all it touched.

The color draining from everything the black substance came into contact with. Stretching out over the floor, crawling towards him, with liquid reaching fingers. Wanting to claim him.

Fearfully, Norman fled from the kitchen and down the hall. Not wanting to be pulled back by that demonic stuff.

The chemical smell was driving him nuts, burning his eyes and nose so terribly they were beginning to run.

He fled until his legs ached. But his tired stinging eyes found something quite concerning.

Norman hadn't moved an inch since getting to the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

It was as if he'd been slipping in oil the entire time. No traction to propel him forward, just a useless struggle against an unseen force.

And then a new smell hit him.

One that made his heart turn to ice in his chest. A coppery smell that hit the back of his throat, and made his mouth taste like loose pennies.

His hands felt warm and sticky and hurt to move.

Sheer terror of the familiarity of this whole scene made him feel absolutely nauseous. He knew he shouldn't look, knew what expected him once he did so, but he couldn't help himself.

Curiosity (morbid as it may be) was his mistress after all.

Norman looked to his left, where the doors to his four children's rooms greeted him, wide open. Inviting.

God...There was so much blood...

The mortified projectionist fell to his knees as he stared down in pure horror at what remained of his and his wife's beautiful children. His babies… all dead, torn apart by some heartless butcher.

The terrified look immortalized in their young and lifeless features making him sob openly. He shakily reached out to hold them close to himself, screaming in fright when his eldest son's hand shot out to grasp his blood covered hands.

Empty eyes that were once warm with love and childlike wonder, bore holes into Norman's own mismatched gaze.

"Why did you kill us daddy? Why did you take our hearts?"

The projectionist shook his head, tears and snot running down his face as he tried to deny it. Deny the atrocity the ghost of his son accused him of committing against his own kin. But no matter how much he tried, Norman couldn't speak over the lump in his throat.

Everything hurt, and everything was warm and sticky, his little ones' hearts still beat in his monstrous hands that had slain them without thought.

And then the click of the house key made his blood run cold all over again.

"Honey? Are you up?"

No… no no no no! Maggie! It wasn't safe! He wasn't safe! She'd die! He'd kill her too!

He tried calling out, to beg for her to run, but all that came out was the primal and blood-curdling screech of the Projectionist, as it turned and trampled over the corpses of its previous victims, rushing to claim another heart for it's collection.

Norman's very soul screamed upon seeing his wife's confused and then terrified face under the beast's burning gaze.

-

The Projectionist screamed. It screamed in terror and anguish as it kicked away from the comfy wolf it had decided to rest upon on a whim.

It screamed as it tried to force itself away from a person that was not physically there, thus safe from its violence.

It screamed, as Norman Polk was still very presently in charge of his mental faculties, after having had his "brain" so stimulated and overworked for the first time in years.

He screamed until the speaker lodged in his torso gave out, spluttering weakly as it temporarily short-circuited. The internal mess of organic and non-organic materials needing time to mend themselves once more into a semi-functional state.

Once finding himself incapable of producing sound, the Projectionist sat there, shaking and completely disoriented. Trying to make sense of reality and dreams that were cruelly senseless.

And then the weight of it all crashed down… He could remember.

He was a person, not a something, a someone.

A father… He was a father who could forget these things all over again, and hurt his loved ones. A father who couldn't protect his beloved and his children as long as he was this… Heinous monstrosity.

A monster who'd sooner dismember anything it came across than think twice about their identity. A menace to society.

With that knowledge Norman did the only thing he could think to do while he still had awareness.

He lashed out, letting the anguish and hatred of his situation demolish all that met with his brutish body.

Shelves broke, dolls were torn to shreds, the wolf plush was gutted, and the Bendy clocks shattered. All the while he screamed silently as he let the floodgates wide open to pour out all the torment.

Then, when there was nothing left to destroy, he cried.

Sobbing without a mouth or eyes to clear, hiding a lens into hands that could do cruel and devastating things.

Trembling inconsolably on his knees, in the darkness of a cold and dreary studio full of monsters just as odious as he.

Mourning what he'd become, until the memories faded back into obscurity. Letting himself fade back into nothing but an afterthought.

Above and well beyond out of sight, Susie Campbell wept as Alice whispered comfortingly to her in their shared mind.

The poor dear had only wanted her old friend to have a chance to be comfortable and rest. That, it seemed, had been a horrible mistake on her part.

There just wasn't anything in this cold and brutal world of theirs that could alleviate such misery as the one that burdened the Projectionist.

[xxx-cat-xxx]

All my Marvel fanfiction

Happy end-of-the-year season! I thought this is a good occasion to compile all the stuff I’ve written to date and spam your dash with my MCU hurt/comfort fics. This is probably the last time I’m gonna put all the fics on one list, because there’s just so freaking many of them now.

I´d be incredibly happy about a reblog to make this blog reach a few more potential readers. Thank you all for sticking around with me so far!

P.S. If you don´t know where to start, the ones I like most are bolded.

——————————————–

Whumping both Tony and Peter

What We Lose in the Fire We Gain in the Flood - The universe is saved, Thanos is defeated, the Vanished are returned, and Tony has survived (though with severe radiation burns and one less arm). Everything should be good now - except that it isn’t. (My big 2019 Irondad project - 13.5k words, holy shit!)

One of These Days - Tony gets injured, and a guilt-stricken Peter runs away. Luckily, there´s people looking after both of them.

Away from the Sun - Peter gets injured, and Tony gets injured, and neither of them are quite over Titan yet.

Shadow of the Day - Tony and Peter are stranded in the desert after a plane crash.

——————————————–

Whumping Tony Stark

Thougher Than The Rest - A Pepperony h/c fic that takes place just after the final battle in Iron Man 3.

Just a Bend in the Road - A post-Endgame sickfic with the whole Iron Fam (in the AU where Tony is alive, of course).

Peter Parker and Bruce Banner’s Guide on How To Make Iron Man Sleep - When Tony and Bruce both get a cold, Peter is there to look after his favourite superhero couple. Fluff.

When All is Said and Done - My 4.5th Tony vs. Migraine fic, this time featuring Bruce as caretaker. Science Boyfriends.

Stairway to Heaven (almost) - When the Hulk breaks the elevators in Stark Tower, Peter and Tony have to climb to the top in order to repair them. 93 floors shouldn’t be an issue, Tony tells himself, and completely ignores his heart condition. Turns out that was a bad idea.

When the Walls Come Down - After rescuing Iron Man from his latest kidnapping experience, Clint and Tony are stuck in a crappy motel room. Tony insists he is fine. Clint knows he’s not.

Going Out in Style - Here’s what happened the night after Tony’s disastrous birthday party in IM2.

Say When - Some angsty Endgame and Infinity War canon, including lots of Tony Whump and Irondad feels.

Told You So  - Three times Tony and Bruce take care of each other. Sweet hurt/comfort and Science Boyfriends.

New Beginning - While recovering from the injuries sustained during Civil War, Tony becomes addicted to morphine. In typical Stark fashion, he decides to quit cold turkey and deal with the withdrawal symptoms on his own. Fortunately, Bruce won’t let that happen.

The first time Tony tells Pepper he loves her - I promise, the content is a hundred times less cheesy than the title suggests. TWs for alcohol and drug abuse.

settle our bones (like wood) over time, over time - Tony is down with the flu, so Rhodey helps out by looking after Morgan (and her dad).

let our hearts (like doors) open wide, open wide - Pepper is pregnant, Tony freaks out, Bruce Banner is a good bro and Peter Parker the best Spider-son.

Endgame Drabble inspired by that Tony/Pepper hug

Leave out all the Rest - Irondad, Spiderson, and the rest of the family. This is long and a bit sad, but I´m proud of it. TWs for illness and death.

Not Us - Endgame trailer inspired Steve & Tony something where Tony has pneumonia and everyone is sad.

Sleeping at last - 5 times Tony couldn´t sleep (and the one time he could). Featuring a severely sleep-deprived Tony and various people (and AIs) looking after him.

Safe - Tony, Bruce and Clint are stuck in a “shithole of a safehouse”. Then Tony gets sick, and Clint gets two memorable photographs.

Lose another one - Tony´s arc reactor acts up, Peter worries and receives a sad hug.

Game Face - Tony & Migraine & Steve. This one is whump for whump´s sake, with detailed descriptions of vomiting.

Science Brothers Birthday Drabble - Tony gets carbon monoxide poisoning while preparing a surprise for Bruce.

Behind closed doors - After Ultron, Tony feels like the other Avengers are distancing from him. When he gets appendicitis, he tries to hide it from his teammates.

Just because I´m losing doesn´t mean I´m lost - Tony´s fever is so high that he becomes delirious, but that doesn´t stop him from trying to lead Peter and Clint on a mission - until they find out about it.

Tenderness - Tony with a bad migraine and Pepper looking after him.

Always Gold - Tony is injured while protecting Peter in a battle, but he has to pull through to get everyone to safety.

Devils and Dust - Steve witnesses Tony falling apart on Peter´s birthday party.

Lights and Sounds - Tony has a migraine while spending the day with Peter.

I don´t need to be the hero tonight - Tony attempts a picnic with Peter and May while being in a bad shape both physically and mentally due to a battle lost the day before.

And when it hits, it hits you hard. - Tony returns to earth after Infinity War.

Cracks in the surface - Tony is badly injured on a mission with only Peter there to take care of him.

Where my demons hide - Tony gets beaten down by fever and anxiety, and Peter is trying to be there for him despite Tony´s best attempts at keeping him away.

——————————————–

Whumping Peter Parker

spacesick - Peter and Bruce get motionsick while trying out Tony’s new spaceship. This is very crack and kind of gross.

Headlights on Dark Roads - When Peter is stranded in the middle of a forest at night with serious injuries after one hell of a week, he doesn’t call anyone for help. But Tony comes to his rescue nevertheless. 

Surprises - All Tony wanted was a peaceful night to work on Peter’s birthday gift. But his kids make sure that this doesn’t happen.

Too Close to Home - When Peter gets drunk at an Avengers party, he is not the only one to feel the consequences.

At least I didn’t puke on you - Peter accidently takes Steve’s emergency pills that are designed to make him sick in case he gets poisoned. Cue Tony and Steve spending a night on the bathroom floor with a very pukey Peter Parker.

When you fall like a statue - A worried and exasperated Irondad taking care of Peter and Cap, who both faint after forgetting to eat for 36 hours.

Spiderpox - Peter gets Chickenpox while staying with the Barton Fam. Tony and Clint test their parenting skills.

If you´re still bleeding - Peter is sick and emotionally affected by a movie he saw. Tony tries to figure out how to talk to him about being okay with his feelings despite not being okay with his own.

Blue skies fade to grey - Peter is sick at school with Ned, MJ and eventually Tony taking care of him (well, trying to…in their own particular ways).

Saltwater - Peter gets seasick on a cruise with the Avengers, who try their best to take care of him.

Seen the rain - After a mission, Peter battles sickness caused by motion and guilt. Tony, pretty worn out himself, tries his best to help him through it.

A hand upon my forehead - When Peter gets mildly sick after a mission, Tony discovers that human company isn´t necessarily a bad thing.

Thunder Road - Peter gets carsick around the Avengers and receives help from an unexpected caretaker.

——————————————–

Other stuff with lots of feelings

Fixed It - In which Pepper faints for the first time in her life.

Asleep - A post-Iron Man 2 ficlet for the Pepperony Week prompt ‘Sharing a Bed’.

Hero - My one and probably only Stucky fic.

Lightning Crashes - Peter and Morgan meet after Tony’s funeral.

Human Touch - Tony and Peter take care of Bruce after a mission.

Spectacular - Peter has a special mission: buying reading glasses for Tony, who, of course, doesn´t need them at all.

Precious - Pregnant Tony/Pepper Christmas drabble.

When September ends - Tony, Peter and the old piano.

——————————————–

Red in my Ledger (Natasha series)

Perfect Cuts - When a mission goes badly, Nat and Tony cope in not exactly healthy ways. TWs for self-harm, alcohol abuse.

Holding Water in your Hands - During the missing five years, Natasha is holding position at the empty Avengers compound and trying to hold herself together. Rhodey finds her on a bad day.

——————————————–

OC Whump

Concussion Fic

[multiverseforger]

Ka-Zar is Kevin Reginald, Lord Plunder, born in Castle Plunder, Kentish Town, London, England. He is the eldest son of Lord Robert Plunder, the English nobleman who discovered the Savage Land. After his mother had died and his father was killed by the barbaric Man-Ape natives of the Savage Land, Plunder was found and raised by the sabertooth tiger Zabu, who possesses near-human intelligence thanks to a mutation caused by radioactive mists.[4] "Ka-Zar" means "Son of the Tiger" in the language of the Man-Apes. Ka-Zar and Zabu are constant partners. Ka-Zar became an expert hunter, trapper, and fisherman, living off the wild land.

In the Savage Land, some territories are populated by several human or humanoid tribes, and while most of them are on friendly terms with Ka-Zar, some of them consider him an outlander and an enemy. He acts more like an unofficial general protector, preventing outside commercial exploitation, such as poaching and mining, as well as enforcing peace between tribes and serving as goodwill ambassador to friendly visitors.

The original X-Men discovered the Savage Land, and Ka-Zar encountered them, battling Maa-Gor for the first time.[5] He then encountered Daredevil for the first time, and battled his brother Parnival, who had become the supervillain called the Plunderer.[6] He first battled Magneto's Savage Land Mutates alongside the X-Men.[7] He then encountered the Hulk for the first time, and battled Umbu the Unliving.[8] He was once 'tricked' into confronting Spider-Man after J. Jonah Jameson convinced him that Spider-Man was a menace when the wall-crawler's memory was erased and he was tricked into working with Doctor Octopus. Spider-Man's memory was restored during the fight, with Ka-Zar subsequently apologizing for the mistake and proclaiming Spider-Man as the most valiant opponent he had ever fought.[9] Ka-Zar then battled Kraven the Hunter for the first time.[10] Shortly after this encounter, Ka-Zar encounters Zaladane and Garokk for the first time.[11]

After the Savage Land became known to outsiders after the visit by the X-Men, many people began traveling to the territory. Ka-Zar has also become romantically involved with female visitors, the first being S.H.I.E.L.D. agent Barbara Morse (who later became the Avenger named Mockingbird).[12] He first battled A.I.M., and met the Man-Thing.[13] He then met Spider-Man once again, and battled the extraterrestrial Gog.[14] He next met the adventurer Shanna O'Hara,.[15] He battled Klaw, and visited other dimensions.[16] He and his allies faded mysteriously from that other dimension,[17] then teamed with the X-Men to battle Zaladane and a reborn Garokk.[18]

Ka-Zar, during a search for the lost Zabu, later discovered Pangaea, an ancient refuge created by the Atlanteans.[19] Ka-Zar and Shanna began to gradually fall in love.[20] He then battles Belasco for the first time.[21] After a meeting with A.I.M. spies disguised as scientists, Ka-Zar is shot in the head, but survives. He is flown to New York City, but escapes the plane at Kennedy Airport.[22] With no memory and no ability to speak, he wanders New York, saving lives and fighting crime. His memory returns and he encounters Kraven The Hunter again, who has been released from prison by an A.I.M. agent to capture him.[23] Saved by Shanna and Spider-Man, he is brought to the hospital where A.I.M. fakes his death in order to use him in a scheme.[24] Escaping with Spider-Man's aid, he and Shanna return to the Savage Land.[25] He later marries Shanna, who has taken the name Shanna the She-Devil.[26] During the ceremony, a war (incited by the machinations of Belasco) breaks out in Pangea, which ends when Ka-Zar and Shanna are banished.[27] His brother Parnival arrived in the Savage Land, searching for anti-metal Vibranium, and was apparently killed during his scheme (though much later turned up alive).[28] During this scheme, a Nuwali transport device is uncovered, and Ka-Zar, Shanna, and Zabu are transported to the Nuwali planet. The Nuwali use human adrenalin to poison their rivals, and also reveal to Shanna that she is pregnant.[29]

Ka-Zar has teamed up with several of Marvel's heroes. The X-Men are recurrent visitors to the Savage Land and Ka-Zar has been a frequent ally, helping the mutant team defeat both inside and outside menaces such as Sauron and Magneto. He has met Spider-Man on several occasions, one of which involved stopping Stegron the Dinosaur Man from invading New York City with Savage Land dinosaurs. Ka-Zar has also assisted the Avengers in their attempt to repel the space conqueror Terminus, but while they rescued many natives, they were unable to prevent the destruction of the Savage Land. Ka-Zar was rescued by the Avengers, but left the Savage Land for the civilized world.[30] Together, he and Shanna had a son named Matthew. The territory was later reconstructed by the High Evolutionary using Garokk, and Ka-Zar and Shanna returned with their newborn and resumed their previous roles.[31]

Ka-Zar and Shanna separated for a time,[32] but got back together before long. Ka-Zar fought and defeated Thanos in one of his many attempts to end life, and later sought the help of investigator Jessica Jones for assistance locating Zabu.[33]

Shanna and Ka-Zar find Skrulls mining the rare metal vibranium in the Savage Land. Soon afterward as part of the Secret Invasion storyline, a Skrull ship crashes in the Savage Land releasing earlier versions of modern superheroes (who claim to be the originals replaced by Skrulls for some time), and who have escaped. Shanna and Ka-Zar soon learn, however, that these are simply more Skrulls in disguise. Spider-Man soon encounters Ka-Zar, Shanna, Zabu, and some of the natives accusing them of being Skrulls. Just then, the Captain America from the ship attacked thinking the same for Spider-Man. Ka-Zar, Shanna, and Zabu help Spider-Man fight the Captain America from the ship until he is hit by a dart that causes him to regress to a Skrull named Pitt'o Nili, who is killed by Shanna while still believing himself to be Captain America due to the extensive mind conditioning carried out on him.[34] He then later goes with the rest of the Avengers to New York City to help them fight off the Skrull invasion while Shanna stays behind with Zabu to fight off anymore Skrulls left in the Savage Land.[35]

Ka-Zar later meets Reptil when he and Tigra have rescued Moon-Boy. After reuniting Moon-Boy with Devil Dinosaur, Ka-Zar tells Reptil that he will help him find his parents.[36]

Ka-Zar and Shanna later encounter the return of the Ethereals and end up fighting them when it comes to the Ethereals wanting the tribes of the Savage Land to be united with them.[37]

He later teams with Skaar to protect the Savage Land from outside forces.[38]

Ka-Zar later appears as a member of the Agents of Wakanda.[39]

During "The War of the Realms" storyline, Ka-Zar picks up Gorilla-Man from the Wundagore Zoo in Transia, who was discussing with Ursa Major about an undercover operation he is running for Black Panther, and takes him to Avengers Mountain. Ka-Zar and Gorilla Man are then seen inside Roxxon's secret base in Antarctica, fighting the company's Berserkers alongside Blade.[40]

During the "Empyre" storyline, Ka-Zar is unable to reach Shanna the She-Devil. Black Panther instructs Brother Voodoo to take Ka-Zar, Zabu, Black Knight, and Scarlet Witch with him to investigate. They arrive to find a slain Tyrannosaurus as Scarlet Witch senses they are surrounded. The group is attacked by the Cotati and they fight them until the Cotati Ventri unleash Man-Thing who they have under their control. As Ventri states that the Savage Land and the world will be theirs, Ka-Zar is shocked to find that the Cotati have gained control of Shanna.[41] Due to her connection with the Savage Land's lifeforce which the Cotati took advantage of, Shanna tries to get Ka-Zar to join them as Matthew states to Black Knight that they have to do something. Doctor Voodoo used a trick to do a mental trick. Scarlet Witch does the same as she tries to free Shanna from the Cotati's control. To assist her, Scarlet Witch brings Ka-Zar into Shanna's mind where he learns that some creatures in the Savage Land are dying and trees are falling. As Matthew and Black Knight fight the Cotati, a Doctor Voodoo-controlled Man-Thing fights the Cotati's control and defeats Ventri. When Ka-Zar frees Shanna from the Cotati's control, he is stabbed by a Cotati using Black Knight's Ebony Blade.[42] As Scarlet Witch and Doctor Voodoo work to extract Ka-Zar's soul, Shanna the She-Devil uses the same waters that revived him in order to heal Ka-Zar. It works as Ka-Zar turns the tide on the Cotati invaders where dinosaurs show up to help.

[bogariel-frogariel]

The Bad Kids Visit Middle Earth Part 2

Part 2 of my fics. You can find it on ao3 as well, just look it up.

Aragorn tensed as Legolas' head spun around. The elf's heightened senses ensured that he was almost always the first of the Fellowship to become aware of anyone approaching.

 "Legolas! What do you sense?" he asked.

 Legolas frowned. "The trees are too thick to see them properly. But they do not look or sound like orcs, and the trees are telling me that they do not bring harm."

 "How many?"

 "Five… no six. I think it is the party that Mithrandir told us about."

 Aragorn nodded, and then looked around at the party. The hobbits had not noticed their exchange, but both Boromir and Gimli's hands had drifted to their weapons, though Gimli was scowling thunderously at them as they spoke in elvish.

 Gandalf was sitting on a moss covered rock, leaning back against a tree trunk as he smoked his pipe grumpily. The wizard had been even more grumpy than usual in the last day but Aragorn did not have time to be watching over him. Honestly, he should have been just about the only member of the Fellowship that Aragorn didn't have to worry about.

 Everyone else was so young.

 He knew, in standard human years, he was not much older than Boromir, possibly younger, but he still had the vaster experience between the two of them. He had seen much more battle than the son of the Steward probably ever would, and he knew he must accommodate Boromir's complicated feelings towards himself, for they were more than justified.

 Gimli was the other of a similar age to him if dwarvish years were translated into human ones. At just over a decade shy of one hundred and fifty years old, Gimli was in his prime. However, he had also spent much of his life protected within Erebor, ever since the dwarves returned there nearly eighty years ago. And, of course, Aragorn would need to manage the animosity that he held towards other species, particularly elves, an attitude of suspiciousness that had been deeply ingrained in him since birth. Only the hobbits seemed to get exemption from his prickly moods.

 Speaking of the hobbits, they were who Aragorn was most worried about. Though halflings lived almost as short a lives as Men, their youths stretched long, with almost half their lives taken up by youthful inexperience. It came from living in such a sheltered and peaceful place as the Shire, an environment that had done nothing to prepare any of them for the horrors to come.

 And then there was Aragorn's dearest friend, Legolas. He perhaps had closer friends in his foster brothers at Imladris, but Legolas was one of the few beings that Aragorn could trust completely. Every time they met, it was as if they had never left each other, and he truly enjoyed the other's company. However, if Aragorn and Gimli were of an age approaching thirty when their respective species were compared to Men, then Legolas was barely over nineteen. The elf was centuries old, having reached his physical maturity at the same rate as humans, and his majority within elven society at the end of his first one hundred years of life, but he was still some three centuries under a thousand years old, and he knew that all elves were not truly viewed as adults until they had seen their first millennia.

 It took much time for elves to overcome their inexperience within the world, their slowed ageing also slowing the latter of their youth years, so from the age of seventeen to one thousand, they would largely remain unchanged, and then mature slightly more rapidly for another hundred years before they remained in the unearthly beauty of their immortality for the rest of their unending lives.

 It had been one of the reasons that Aragorn had ultimately decided to branch out from his elven family; he knew they would be unable to truly treat him as an adult until he had gone off on his own and collected some experience outside their watchful gazes. He did not blame them for their stifling protectiveness, it was in their nature.

 So, in a way, despite physically being the second oldest in the Fellowship, he was also the youngest. Not that his foolish friend would ever let anyone other than Mithrandir and Aragorn ever discover that.

 At least, they would be getting help now.

 Mithrandir had explained to them that the gods themselves had sent them a gift, reached out and borrowed warriors from another world to aid them in their quest.

 He had warned them of what to expect: that the gods had been unable to send anyone of too significant a power, lest the secrecy of their quest be jeopardised, which was why the newcomers would be unable to physically interact with the ring, or any other weapon of Sauron other than his minions. (That, at least, was a positive in Aragorn's eyes, for he would not have to worry about them falling prey to the Ring's power.)

 They had one directive only: to help them defeat Sauron's forces within Middle Earth, and then they would be returning to their own home.

 Eventually, the group emerged from the tree line, and Aragorn couldn't stop the slight frown that pulled at his lips.

 Mithrandir had told them that they were from another realm, one beyond the reaches of even the gods, and that in their realm, different races lived together freely as there were no inherently evil races. He had warned them that three of their new companions would be of races that they would find rather distressing, but that they weren't like the orcs and goblins that the Fellowship knew of. They were… good somehow.

 Only the Fellowship and those who could practice magic would see their true forms, to all others the goblin would look like a hobbit, the half-orc (the thought of one of those made Aragorn shudder) would appear as an exceptionally tall human, and the… devil would look like a normal elf. Not that Aragorn had any idea what a devil was, but Mithrandir had seemed far too annoyed to bare trivial questions that would interrupt the rather clipped warnings he was giving them about their new allies.

 However, Mithrandir had been right, the goblin and half-orc (which he immediately knew were the shortest and tallest of the group respectively, the colour of their skin and unique body shapes) looked nothing like any orc or goblin that Aragorn had seen. There was a complete lack of the cloying darkness that seemed to surround them. Aragorn could not sense the energy as well as elves, but after so many years surrounded by elven magic, and the residual power in his blood gave him some ability to feel them. And none of the people in front of him were setting off any of his senses.

 So, Aragorn smiled and stepped forward.

 "Greetings, friends," he said, with as much warmth and confidence as he could muster.

 The blond elven girl and the girl that would have also appeared elven if it weren't for her light pink skin and the black horns protruding from her hair (Aragorn the slightly shorter girl must have been the… devil that Mithrandir spoke of) stepped forward.

 "Hello," the elf replied with a smile.

 "We’re happy to join you on your quest," the devil said, grinning openly.

 "We are grateful to have you," Aragorn returned, dipping his head respectfully. "I am Aragorn…"

 He went on to introduce the rest of the Fellowship, each of them giving a small gesture to call attention to themselves as Aragorn said their names.

 "… and the… esteemed wizard to my right is mostly commonly known as Gandalf the Grey," Aragorn finished.

 "Well met," the elven girl said before also giving a more formal greeting in elvish.

 "I'm Adaine Abernant," she introduced.

 "And I'm Fig Faeth," the devil chimed in.

 The dark skinned boy nodded as he introduced himself. "My name is Fabian Seacaster."

 The goblin also nodded. "I'm Riz Gukgak."

 The tall one gave an awkward wave. "Uhh… Gorgug Thisltespring."

 Finally, the human girl lifted one of the hands off her huge staff that was curled at the top and gave a more confident wave. "My name is Kristen Applebees."

 Aragorn was about to ask more questions about their skills but Legolas suddenly shifted behind him and when Aragorn looked at him, he had his bow in hand.

 "There is something very large approaching," he explained, reaching back to grab an arrow.

 Master Seacaster clapped his hands together. "Ahh, that is just my animal companion… the Hangman."

 "Please don't shoot him," Miss Faeth requested. "He won't hurt anyone here."

 "Well, unless they attack Fabian," Miss Applebees said only to be elbowed in the leg by Master Gukgak.

 "He won't hurt anyone unless Fabian orders him to," Adaine assured them. "And Fabian won't order them to hurt anyone. Right Fabian?"

 Master Seacaster, who was looking off into the forest, in the same direction that Legolas was glaring in, shook himself and glanced back at the female elf.

 "What?" he asked, blinking. "Oh yes. Of course, I won't ask him to attack anyone here. He's only roaming around the forest to scout for danger."

 Before anyone could say anything else, a black mass burst from the tree line, zipping straight to Master Seacaster's side and coming to an abrupt stop.

 Now that it was no longer a blur of movement, Aragorn could see that the figure was a great, hulking hound, as big as any warg that Aragorn had ever encountered. The hound as leaning up against Master Seacaster, its tail wagging as the boy patted it's head.

 "Yes, hello, Hangman," the boy said, grinning more brightly than he had been previously. "What did you find?"

 The new group nodded along at the hound's huff, as if they could understand it.

 "Well," Miss Applebees said. "That's good news. There's nothing in the forest that's going to try and kill us."

 "What would you like to do?" Adaine asked. "We have been instructed to follow your directives whenever possible."

 Aragorn contemplated this for a few moments before he answered, "We're less than three hours from the forest borders and then we'll be on open plains until we hit the next ridge of mountains. We will walk for an hour before we make camp again. Tomorrow will be a long day."

 From tomorrow, there would be no more hiding in forests along the mountains, they would need to find rock formations to camp under. Soon they would need to choose what path we would take.

 Everyone acknowledged Aragorn with a nod.

 "We can help you make you break camp, if you would like?" Adaine asked.

 Aragorn shook his head. "We should be ready to travel in five minutes. Take the time to rest."

 Miss Faeth smiled at him. "Thank you! Adaine made us get up really early."

 Adaine glared at her. "You agreed to get up at that time. It's not my fault it was my job to get you all up."

 Miss Faeth rolled her eyes and all of the newcomers drifted towards each other, forming a circle around the Hound as they quietly talked amongst each other. When Aragorn glanced at them half way though his sweep of the camp to make sure they didn't leave anything behind, he saw various bits of food in all their hands.

 The newcomers easily dispersed themselves as the party walked. As usual, Legolas scouted far ahead in front of them for their next campsite, though Master Gukgak walked off to the side of them, almost disappearing into the trees. Master Damian and the Hangman flanked the hobbits, who walked at the centre of their party and Master Thistlespring and Miss Faeth reinforced the rear, where Boromir and Gimli were walking, whilst Adaine and Miss Applebees walked along only a few metres behind Aragorn and Mithrandir, murmuring quietly between each other.

 True to form, after an hour, Legolas returned to them, informing them of a suitable clearing not far off, with a few birds in his hands that they could cook up for dinner.

 Sam perked up at the sight, bustling forward and taking it from the elf with a hesitant 'thank you' before he started preparing them and Miss Applebees wandered off with him whilst Master Thistlespring and Master Seacaster went into the forest with Bormoir and Merry and Pippin to start collecting firewood.

 As usual, everyone else went about their own business, setting out their bed rolls and tending to their personal gear as they whiled away the hour or so until dinner would be ready. Aragorn asked Legolas to stand watch, for he knew that the elf preferred that activity, as he was uncomfortable speaking with large groups of unknown people.

 The young elf would need to learn to become friendly with the group, but Aragorn didn't want to push his friend. Hopefully, with another elf here, everyone would open up. The Hangman paced a circle around the camp, apparently joining the elf in his watch.

 Adaine walked over to Aragorn just as he was trying to decide what job to assign himself.

 "How would you like to assign overnight watches?" she asked.

 "Am I correct in assuming that you only need half as much rest as the others in this group?" Aragorn questioned and the elleth nodded.

 "You are. I was thinking that Legolas and I could take alternating shifts each night, with someone else also up to cover blind spots," she suggested. "If that is what you want to, of course."

 Aragorn smiled and nodded. "That sounds reasonable. And good for the whole company. It should ensure that everyone gets as much rest as possible. We usually don't have the hobbits stand watch, as they are all rather young and they need to conserve their strength. Besides, none of them have seen proper combat before, and would not know what to look for whilst on watch."

 Adaine frowned at that but did not argue. Instead, she was distracted by Miss Applebees coming up to her and grabbing her arm.

 "We need you down by the fire, Adaine," she said. "Sam's wants a few ingredients for the soup he's making us. And I want to braid your hair before it gets too dark. We probably won't have time tomorrow and it might get in the way on open plains."

 Aragorn's eyes widened at that statement. For elves, hair braiding required an incredible amount of trust. It was not a duty given out lightly. Aragorn himself, had only ever been given the privilege a few times, and that was with elves that he had spent his whole life with. However, Adaine just smiled, nodding goodbye to Aragorn and allowing herself to be led over to a rock that had been dragged over to a fire that was already blazing healthily.

 As he watched the human started braiding a complicated design into the elf's hair, as the blonde pulled items out of a pouch at her waste, producing potatoes and herbs seemingly from mid-air, much to the delight of Samwise.

 Aragorn couldn't help but marvel at the scene.

 These new folk were strange indeed. However, they had a strong bond of trust that would not be broken easily, and they would truly help the Fellowship in their endeavours.

[himbowelsh]

anonymous asked:   Babe be so cute in that legendary darts scene no wonder Easy took him in right away. Look at him. You take one look at that kid and you want to protect him at all costs. He looks like he could bring you luck. Imagine Easy dragging Babe everywhere because Bill's team won some game once right after Babe started playing and everyone got it into their heads that Babe is their personal rabbit's foot. His friends running up to him to like rub his shoulder or touch his head because they gotta win!

ok so i just had to fic this, and it spiralled from there

Somewhere around Babe’s fourth Easter — and he only knows that because his brother Johnny was just a baby, and his sister wasn’t around at all — the family had an Unfortunate Rabbit Incident.

To be specific: Uncle Eddie tried to surprise the kids by bringing home a tiny bunny in a basket, surrounded by fake tissue paper grass. It was a real nice gesture... but got less Alice-In-Wonderland when the family’s dog, massive, shaggy Bumble, caught sight of the thing. 

Uncle Eddie set the basket down, and Bumble went straight for the kill.

The children were screaming. Bumble was missing for hours. The bunny fled the scene, vanishing somewhere into Babe’s rough South Philly neighborhood, never to be seen again. Ma ended up burning the ham. It was a traumatic Easter.

That’s just part of the reason rabbits have always made Babe shudder a little. The root of the problem — not that he’s the introspective sort, but some things just stay with you — was the old rabbit’s foot Nanny Heffron used to wear on a chain ‘round her neck. Now, Nanny Heffron was a real character. The rabbit’s foot wasn’t close to the weirdest thing about her — that’d be the glass eye — but it sure ranked up there. It was an old, ratty thing, hanging on a rust-rotten chain. In absent moments, Nanny’s hand would drift to it, and she’d rub the little devil like she was trying to press some life back into it. “This,” she declared once, holding the nasty ornament very close to little Babe’s face, “brings me all my luck.”

That next week, Nanny Heffron was run over by a taxi cab.

She survived, to be fair, so maybe there was something to be said for the rabbit’s foot. Still, that ain’t the point.

The worst ever Easter, or Nanny Heffron’s mummified rabbit foot… take your pick. Fact of the matter is, Babe’s never loved bunnies, Easter’s no favorite holiday, and he sure doesn’t believe little superstitious things bring any sort of luck.

He’s not sure he believes in luck at all, really. When he mentioned the word in front of Bill, his friend just scoffed. “Ain’t no luck in war,” Bill declared around a mouthful of ham-and-cheese sandwich. “You can be the luckiest bastard in the world, ‘til one day you’re not. What’s it matter then? If I’m standing in one spot and a fella’s standing right next to me, and he gets blown to bits, am I lucky it wasn’t me? Or was I just standing in the right place?”

“Think they’re the same thing,” Babe pointed out, sipping his juice doubtfully. “You’re thinking of destiny. Divine what’s-it-called.”

“That too,” Bill declared, holding up a finger. “Ain’t no such thing. Maybe seems like it back home, but not here… and if it ain’t here, it’s nowhere.”

“That don’t make sense either.”

“Don’t irrigate me, Babe,” Bill scoffed, and shoved the rest of his sandwich into his mouth.

But, like most of the half-sensical thing Bill says, Babe took it as gospel. For better or worse… ear is war. There’s no luck to it — only what happens to you, and what happens to the guy standing next to you.

Maybe if he paid more attention to things like superstition and general company gossip, he’d have caught on a bit sooner.

“It’s just strange, is all,” Hashey declares. “We get invited places too.” 

After all, it wasn’t like their generation were green replacements anymore; they’d jumped into Holland, and suffered the rains of Market Garden like everybody else. Now, the Toccoa boys reached outside their circle for extra hands in games of craps and darts, and never looked sideways when older replacements joined their drinking games. They didn’t mind having Hashey or Garcia in their party… but, for some reason, the offer was always extended to Babe, and they always insisted he accept.

Which would be fine, if it were just one of two nights — but they’re going on their second week in Mourmelon now, and Babe’s been dragged out every single night.

He’s got to sleep… ideally, sleep off this constant hangover, from night after night of drinking. Just a few hours of downtime, that’s all he’s asking here. Is it really so much?

For the fellas, yes, apparently. “I tried to tell ‘em no,” he protests, looking helplessly between his two fellow former replacements. “But they wouldn’t take that for an answer. You ever gone up against Luz and Toye when they’re set on something? It ain’t pretty.”

“Why don’t they make such a big deal about us going out?”

The opportunity is there. It's too easy for Babe to summon a grin. “Maybe they don’t like yous as much as me, huh? I’m a popular guy.”

“Sure.” Garcia huffs a laugh. “That’s what it is.”

Babe pauses just to blink at him, thoroughly offended.

“Jeez, Tony, tell me how you really feel.”

“We only mean,” Hashey interjects, drowning out Garcia’s very vocal eye roll, “it’s obvious why they want you there. Think about it, Babe. Any time someone’s going up for a round of darts —“

“Lieutenant Compton started it,” Garcia declares. “Back in Aldbourne. He set the example.”

Buck Compton is a hulking quarterback with a booming voice, bigger than most guys in personality alone; he’s good at setting examples. Maybe Babe modeled his dart throwing technique after Buck, but he really didn’t pick up on anything else. As his eyes narrow, he plants his hands on his hips — an eerie imitation of his Ma — and peers at his friends. “So what are you boys implying?”

Hashey and Garcia exchange glances, almost guilty, before they look back up at him again. “They don’t want you as a drinking buddy, Babe,” Hashey finally says. “You’re their rabbit’s foot.”

And that’s the point Babe Heffron’s social life takes a turn for the bizarre and slightly unsettling.

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

The thing is, once he’s noticed it, there’s no unnoticing it. Everything that seemed so innocuous before has taken on a darker meaning. Now, when Luz claps him on the shoulder before starting a game of craps, or when Hoobler ruffles his hair just before going in on a bet, it doesn’t feel so friendly. Whenever he’s dragged into a game of darts or pool — inevitably to get trounced himself, but see the fella who convinced him to join come out winning — he catches the looks they shoot him, like he’s just handed them some sorta prize. 

He doesn’t like it. It leaves him feeling used, dammit.

When Perconte solicits his opinion on some bet, Babe shoots out the first answer he thinks of. A part of him probably tries to get it wrong, just to spite them all.

Perconte wins three-hundred bucks.

The worst part is, it’s clearly been knowledge to everyone but him this entire time. When Julian — Julian, outta everybody! — pats his back before stepping up to the dartboard, Babe glares daggers at him.

“You kidding me? You’re in this too?”

“It’s science, Heffron,” the kid just shrugs. “Maybe you don’t mean to do it, but whatever you’re doing, it’s working. People keep winning.”

“I’m not doing a—“ Babe’s exclamation cuts off when Julian throws the dart. A goddamn bullseye, on his first try.

Babe’s so agitated that when it’s his turn to throw, the dart buries itself into the wall. He doesn’t even hit the target.

Somewhere beyond the grave, Nanny Heffron’s gotta be just cackling.

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

Babe’s newfound revelation lets him beg a few excuses for nights he just doesn’t want to go out. Nine times out of ten, though, he gets dragged into something anyways, be it a craps game in the barracks or a lottery in the mess hall. Even Babe’s solitude isn’t really that, because fellas still come up to him whenever they apparently feel like it — clapping his shoulder with a “Hey, Heffron,” or “How’s it going, Babe?” before bee lining straight to their game. There’s no peace. There’s no sanity. The non-coms are in on it, the Toccoa men, the replacements… he’s just about ready to decide that nothing can surprise him when Harry Welsh comes up behind him in the pub and ruffles his hair out of nowhere.

Babe yelps, doubling over his mug of beer. When he reels around, he couldn’t be more affronted if he tried. “You too, Lieutenant?”

Harry just shrugs, flashing a gap-toothed grin. “Don’t take it personal, Heffron. Daddy needs a shinier pair of boots.”

“It’s all malarkey, you know. Like — actual malarkey,” he can’t help shouting after Harry as he heads across the room towards a game of poker. “Ain’t no such thing as luck!”

Without looking back, Harry laughs. “If you really think that, you don’t deserve to call yourself Irish.”

“Y’know, the luck of the Irish has historically been fuckin’ terrible!”

At this point, Babe’s really just shouting across the pub, and no one cares. Absolutely no-freakin’-one.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry makes his way back across the room, struggling to tuck a massive wad of cash into his pants pocket. “The luck of the Heffron has historically been absolutely incredible,” he declares, and ruffles Babe’s hair once more for good luck. “Thanks, Private.”

Babe drains his beer and orders another.

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

Bill comes back in the second week of December, when Easy has already made themselves very comfortable in their rest period. Babe greets his friend with enthusiasm, smacking Bill on the back hard enough to rattle him. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!” he crows, and means it — because Bill Guarnere don’t take any guff. If anyone’s gonna put an end to this whole “Lucky Babe” nonsense, it’s him.

The last thing Babe expects is for Bill to become the worst of them all.

“Come on, kid! Just one smooch, that’s all it’ll take.”

As Bill rattles the dice insistently in his face, Babe twists away. Biting him is too tempting, but if anyone would bite back, it’d be Wild Bill. Babe’s not taking any chances with that jaw of his. “Get the hell outta here,” he snaps instead, shoving at his best friend’s chest. “What do I look like to you, a goddamn horseshoe?”

“I’ve seen horseshoes prettier than you. Now, c’mon.” Ever persistent, Bill rounds to Babe’s other side, still shaking the dice. “Make like they’re Darlin’ Doris’s dumplings and pucker up!”

“I’m a gentleman on the first date,” Babe insists, glaring.

Bill makes a noise somewhere between a snarl and choking on his own spit. He rolls his eyes skyward… and, just because Babe’s the best damn friend any fool’s ever had, he gives the dice a reluctant blow. “There. Now get lost, will ya?”

Hooting, Bill races off to join the game. He leaves it a hundred dollars richer.

“Knew we keep you around for a reason, kid!” he crows afterwards, waving his money around the bar like he’s showing off his own child. It's around this time Babe goes from considerably annoyed to genuinely offended.

It’s not quite the idea that his friends don’t actually like him — because of course they like him, he’s a goddamn delight — but that they’re willing to use that liking to their advantage. Babe’s a buddy, and buddies shouldn’t be props; he’s not some lucky trinket you tuck into your pocket before a night out, he’s a human being. A sensitive soul! If they’re gonna use him as a prop, they may as well just tell him.

“So we know Heffron ain’t gonna win anything tonight, but he’s out to make all of us a lot richer,” Liebgott declares, clapping Babe on the back as they sit in a circle for a game of craps.

“I hope you shit bricks for a week,” Babe, the sensitive soul, declares.

It’s not like he’s their only option. Malarkey’s ginger, he’s Irish, and he loves to gamble! What’s more, he survived D-Day on top of Market Garden, and hasn’t been injured yet, so his luck is clearly going just fine for him.

When he points this out, Malarkey spits out his own drink, and Muck nearly falls off his chair laughing. “Someone’s never been gambling with Malarkey!”

“He loses money faster than they can print it,” Penkala chimes, swatting away Don’s retaliatory grab for his sandwich. “Complete opposite effect. Games break up when they see him coming.”

“People take their money and run!” Muck snickers.

Malarkey, flared up like an indignant pigeon, has to chime in. “Yeah, cause they know I’m gonna take it from them!”

It’s scary how quickly Muck sobers, turning on a dime; the smile melts from his face as he sits straight up, laughter dying off into eerie stillness. “Malark,” he says, staring his friend dead in the eyes. “You owe me over three hundred dollars.”

Penkala’s eyes bulge. Babe takes a large step back, suddenly terrified for the safety of his own wallet.

“That’s not — hey, come on! If Babe would just blow on my cards a little, or something — Babe! Hey, Babe, are you playing cards tonight? Where are you going?”

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

The last person he expects to be pouring his heart out to, somewhere around midnight, after an evening of questionable French beer and avoiding his friends’ efforts to leech off his karma, is Doc Roe.

The Doc makes a habit of not fraternizing with any of the men, which Babe can almost understand… but even saints have gotta drink sometimes, and tonight happens to be Roe’s night. He’s probably have gladly passed the evening alone, sitting in the back of the bar with a book open in front of him, if Babe hadn’t retreated to the shadows to hide from Bill’s dice.

“It just ain’t fair!” he declares, swirling the amber liquid in his half-empty glass. Fifth? Sixth? Who knows anymore? “‘Parently I’m a lightning rod of luck for everybody else. Everybody else… and I don’t even get any of it myself? Not a lick.” His mug clatters back down on the table, as Babe tilts his head back to glare at the pub’s wooden ceiling. “Somebody’s playing games up there, and I don’t appreciate it.”

Roe would be completely justified not engaging with this conversation at all. For some reason, he humors Babe. “Look at it this way, Heffron,” he says slowly, dragging each word out in that honey-sweet drawl ‘til Babe wishes he could drink that up too. “You ever been hit?”

Babe snorts. “No, Doc. I think I’d remember.”

“So would I.” Roe arches an eyebrow. He almost looks amused. “You ever been blown up?”

Babe double-checks to see if his arms and legs are intact. “Hmm. Not that I know of.”

“A lot of guys can’t say the same. Seems like your luck is working just fine.”

“But —“ He fumbles for words, startled. Now Roe is smirking, a quiet, half-shadowed thing. For some reason, it leaves Babe feeling dumb. Which could be all the drink, sure, but he’s no lightweight, and liquor’s never made him feel like this. Nothing about Roe’s smile is mocking, yet Babe somehow feels like the butt of the joke anyways. Dissatisfied, he finally slumps forward, leaning over the tabletop with a sigh. “It ain’t the same.”

Roe considers this for a long moment. His white fingers play over the pages of his book, contemplating turning it, but he ultimately just ends up leaving creases in the white canvas. When Roe leans forward too — until his chest is pressed against the tabletop, leaving them nearly nose-to-nose — it takes Babe aback.

“Remember when you fell through that stair rail in Neunen and nearly split your head open like a melon?” Roe asks, eyes black and serene.

“But I didn’t!” Babe exclaims, eager to defend his honor. It’d hurt a lot, sure, but he’s made it through worse accidents unscathed. Broken a lot of things, sure, but never himself.

Roe’s lips twitch up in a smirk. He drums his fingers on the tabletop, so close that Babe can hear them, can see every individual impact register in the Doc’s shoulder. When Gene Roe smiles, he looks younger, lighter.

“Your luck’s working just the way it should be, Heffron.”

Babe’s family has another popular saying — “knock on wood”, when someone says something a bit too good to be true. It’s no rabbit’s foot, maybe… but as a kid, Babe took the saying literally, and got bloody knuckles for his trouble.

For the first time, though… he feels like he’s actually won something. Doc Roe’s little smile is all for him, and Babe doesn’t have to share it with anyone at all.

“Hey, Doc,” he says after a moment, voice deceptively light. “You up for a game of darts?”

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: A Friend in Need

AU-gust Day Fifteen: Role Reversal AU Fandom: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power Pairing: Scorfuma

Rated: G

Summary: In another lifetime, Hordak crashed down in Plumeria rather than the Fright Zone. Years later, Scorpia is the one to welcome Perfuma to the rebellion when she defects from the Horde.

A Friend in Need

There had been several moments in Perfuma’s life when she had wondered what would have happened if the Horde had crashed down somewhere other than Plumeria.

There would still have been a Horde invasion across Etheria, obviously, but maybe Perfuma could have avoided it, and gone through her life being the princess of Plumeria as she had been destined to be before a hulking great spaceship had crash-landed in the middle of her home.

Plumerians were pacifists by nature, and they had not fought the Horde when they had first arrived. They had given up the land and the runestone willingly, and in return, Perfuma and her family and all of Plumeria’s citizens had lived. Sure, they’d had to join the Horde, but at least they were all alive.

Perfuma stared at the ceiling of her room, wishing that she could see trees and open skies like she remembered from being just a toddler. She was still Plumerian at heart, still a pacifist, and she had never been able to understand the Horde’s aggressive expansion and assimilation.

She’d never needed to understand it. She’d just needed to go along with it. Perfuma had always been good at going with the flow; she was a follower, not a leader, but it was getting harder and harder. Especially with Adora gone, and now Entrapta gone, and Hordak caught up in his own mind and Catra getting more unstable by the minute.

Perfuma had never liked to fight, but she knew that if she had been ruling when the Horde had crashed in Plumeria, she would have fought to protect her home. The other princesses were fighting to protect theirs, after all. Why shouldn’t she do the same?

Of course, it was slightly harder for her since the Horde was currently comfortably occupying her home, but she could get out, couldn’t she?

Adora had got out, and look at her now, Horde Enemy Number One.

Perfuma sat up. It was time to leave. Time to be a princess and stand up for her home. Well, provided that the other princesses accepted her, of course. She sighed, but she would not let herself be swayed from her decision. Plumeria had suffered for long enough, and it was time for Perfuma to do something about it.

X

After the initial shock of a Horde soldier casually wandering into rebellion headquarters had died down, Perfuma was surprised at how well the other princesses were treating her. Scorpia was chattering on nineteen to the dozen as she led her through the halls to the hastily prepared ‘cell’ in which she’d be staying whilst they worked out what to do with her.

“Sorry about the mess, we still haven’t moved all the stuff in properly.” Scorpia rounded a corner and only just managed to pull Perfuma out of the way of two guards carrying a large map board between them. “After everything that happened with Angela and then losing Salineas, we decided to move out of Bright Moon here to the Fright Zone, so here we are. Well, I mean, you already knew that because you managed to find us here. Obviously. Anyway, here we are, make yourself at home.”

Scorpia unlocked what was evidently an unused bedroom, the furniture covered in sheets. It was still infinitely nicer than the Horde’s holding cells.

“Yeah, we haven’t really used the castle’s full capacity for years.” Scorpia seemed embarrassed by the shabby surroundings.

“It’s better than my room back in the Horde,” Perfuma said. “It has a window, for a start.”

“I don’t know that I could live without windows.” Scorpia came over to the window beside her and opened it, a warm breeze blowing in off the desert outside, the horizon stretching out over the Fright Zone and into the Crimson Waste beyond. “Although to be honest, I’m not sure if I could live in Plumeria at all. My exoskeleton does not like humidity.”

“It was better when there were more trees.” Perfuma smiled at the distant memory. “It was more humid, of course, but it was so beautiful that you didn’t care.”

“Yeah.” Scorpia sighed. “A lot of people had reservations about moving here – it’s so hot, it��s so dry, it’s so close to the Waste. But it’s home, and I think it’s wonderful.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit strange that the rebellion has its headquarters in a place called the Fright Zone? That’s definitely more of a Horde designation.”

“I know, right? It’s the perfect disguise! Although I have been thinking about renaming it. My grandfather was all for keeping up the old traditions, scorpions remaining aloof and all that, but I like making friends. Maybe that’s what I’ll call it when all this is over. The Friend Zone.”

Perfuma laughed. No matter what else happened in the wake of her defection, she was certain that she was going to make a firm friend in Scorpia.

X

Scorpia would admit to not being completely up on all the rules of being part of a rebellion, but she was pretty sure that having a slumber party with a prisoner was generally frowned upon. Still, it was her castle and her spare room that Perfuma was being held in, and Scorpia was more than capable of defending herself should the need arise.

She highly doubted that the need would arise. The entire reason that Perfuma had come to the Fright Zone in the first place was because she wanted to stop fighting against them. Adora always said that Scorpia was too trusting, but Scorpia didn’t want to imagine a life in which she was suspicious of everyone all the time.

Besides, Perfuma was a princess like the rest of them, one who had been ostracised for a long time for events beyond her control. If she was going to help them against the Horde, then they’d do well to treat her nicely, or else she’d just go back to the better devil that she already knew.

To that end, Scorpia had taken Perfuma on a short tour of the Hall of Horrors to meet the family, and now they were eating marshmallows in the spare room. Perfuma had never tasted marshmallows before, and Scorpia wished she’d had a camera to capture her reaction to eating them for the first time for posterity. The sheer wonder on her face was a sight to behold.

That said, she might have to take the marshmallows away from Perfuma soon. If she had any more, she’d be bouncing off the walls.

“So, the Black Garnet gives you your powers?” Perfuma was asking. The Garnet chamber had been included on the whistle-stop tour.

Scorpia nodded. “All of the elemental princesses are linked to the runestones which give us our power. Well, except you, of course. It looks like you’ve never been linked to your runestone back in Plumeria.”

“No. I know where it is and I know what it does, in a way. Entrapta and Hordak were using it to superpower the First Ones’ tech. It’s pretty much the only tree left standing in Plumeria.” Perfuma grabbed another marshmallow. “What do you think my powers would be?”

“Well, you’re an elemental like me, Frosta, Mermista and Glimmer. So, presumably, it would be something elemental. Frosta and Mermista are water, Glimmer is air, I’m fire. You’re probably something earth related. It seems likely, what with Plumeria being full of plants. And your runestone being in a tree. And if you’re a naturally peace-loving people, then making flowers grow seems like the perfect power.”

“Not exactly useful in a fight though.”

“I don’t know. Strangling roots and vines, giant plant monsters. You’d probably be a lot more powerful than you think.”

They fell into silence for a while, the box of marshmallows getting ever emptier.

“Scorpia?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because I don’t want you to regret leaving the Horde and thinking that you were better off with them. And I know that if our positions were reversed, and if the Horde had come down in the Fright Zone instead of Plumeria, and I’d left them to seek the rebellion’s help, I’d want to have a friend here.”

Perfuma smiled. “Thanks for being my friend.”

“Any time.” Scorpia put her arms around Perfuma, who squeaked in surprise but relaxed into the hug readily. “Yeah, I’m a hugger, and I think you could use one.”

Perfuma gave a weak laugh against Scorpia’s chest.

“Everything’s going to be different now, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, probably. But hopefully for the better, right?”

“Yeah.” Perfuma sighed. “You know, scorpions give great hugs.”

“Thank you.”

They stayed like that for a while longer, breaking apart by unspoken mutual agreement.

“I guess you should probably go,” Perfuma said, although she didn’t sound all that happy at the prospect. “Glimmer’s probably thinking that I’ve eaten you or something.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I can stay. If anyone questions it, then I’m making sure you don’t escape. Besides, you don’t want to eat me. The pincers would break your teeth.”

Perfuma giggled, and Scorpia laughed too. She got the feeling that Perfuma would be a welcome addition to the rebellion, in more ways than one.

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of Marvel: Week of October 2nd, 2019

Best of this Week: The Immortal Hulk #24 (Legacy #741) - Al Ewing, Joe Bennet, Ruy Jose, Belardino Brabo, Marc Deering, Roberto Poggi, Paul Mounts and Cory Petit

There are two people in every mirror.

The central theme of The Immortal Hulk has been the reconciliation between the two sides of oneself. For Bruce Banner, it’s himself and the many other personalities that reside inside his mind and body, most notably that of the Devil Hulk. Banner, knowing that because of The Hulk and his connection to the Green Door to Hell he’ll never be able to die or find true peace, has given himself all in to The Devil Hulk’s plan of ending the world as they know it. The Devil Hulk himself is a dark and menacing entity that has some kind of good intention, but a myriad of evil hidden under it.

With an unkillable Hulk and a massive ego, some people are trying to do whatever they can to bring Hulk down and save humanity. One such man is General Reg Fortean. Over the course of this series, Fortean has observed Hulk, taken measures to contain or defeat him time after time. His most recent effort of using Rick Jones’s body to resurrect that of Abomination seemed to work until Banner ripped Jones out of the Abomination shell, saving his old friend. Fortean, however, get s it back and transplants himself into the body of the villain.

This was his biggest mistake. There's something about peering into The Green Door that corrupts the soul and Fortean cast himself into that rabbit hole with reckless abandon. 

This book begins with an amazing shot of the end of all things, potentially the first. We see Galan of Taa, the future Galactus, bathed in the green glow of the Cosmos, the first sign that The Green Door has always been there and that at one point it was wide open. Soon after we cut to the accident that gave Bruce Banner his Hulk powers with the caption of there being two faces in the mirror, “the one you think you know...and the other one.”

Paul Mounts colors each of these of these pages with varying levels of green. The first of Galan with bright shots of green offset by other colors, most notably Galan’s signature purple, echoing back to his origin by Jack Kirby and Stan Lee. Banner’s accident, in the form of a double page spread, is drawn and coated in an overwhelming Green tint while the rest of the book keeps the sinister Green relegated to Hulk and several backgrounds. It gives off a dark feeling that the Hulk and the presence of the Green Door in general is always lurking about, Mounts does his best to sow that feeling of uncomfortability throughout the book with darkly vibrant colors.

Joe Bennett doesn’t let those colors go to waste as his pencils are as amazing as they have been for the entire run of this story. His art has been instrumental for the success of the story with its focus on body horror, general gore and the extreme sense of scale that makes you feel like intense weights are bearing down on you in every instance. Every shot of the Hulk talking with half of his face ripped off is terrifying as Cory Petit letter it perfectly, emphasizing that at the moment, Hulk has no lips to speak of. It’s fleshy and gross and made even worse as Hulk throws his removed face at another soldier and it sizzles, burning him. 

Fortean also goes about using his Abomination bodies abilities to try and spit acid at Hulk. It splashes forth in all of its frothy, bright green goodness. Hulk dodges, it hits reinforcement soldiers and turns them into gross masses of boils, blood and bones as they scream, unable to stop what’s happening to them. Bennet makes you feel the pain and terror by drawing their mouths agape, teeth bared and eyes wide open in pain. Their blood is overpowered by the green of the acid spit and they just melt away.

By this point, Shadow Base’s second-in-command, Doctor Charlene Gowan reconciles with who she is and what she’s done in all of her efforts to contain The Hulk. she realizes that she’s enabled Fortean to become this monster and that she had many opportunities to stop him. She felt the need to serve under Fortean when her obligation to him was the fact that he got her out of prison, gave her a second chance, but that’s changed. His obsession had taken him over and he’s killed his own men and allowed himself to become the monster that he hates. She tells the other personnel to stand down, leaving only Fortean and Hulk to fight it out.

Fortean sort of manges to get the upper hand with a mean right cross and acid directly in the face, but Hulk plunges a finger into Fortean’s eye and ultimately his brain, killing him. They end up in the Below-Place, the realm of The One Below All and Fortean sees the error of his obsession. He sees the hellscape that his soul would be damned to every time he died and he panics. He is terrified, but there’s no time for him to correct what he’s done as Joe Fixit snaps his neck, killing his soul and any chance of him coming back to life.

It’s nihilistic. It’s dark. It’s a sign that once you cross that threshold, there’s nothing left for you but a hellish wasteland. Even at the end of all things, once everything has died and the new world is supposed to begin...there’s a flicker of green and a post credit sequence that spells doom for the future of the Marvel Universe, hell - every Marvel Universe, if The Green Door isn’t closed.

Al Ewing, Joe Bennett and the rest of this creative team have forged something evil. Something dark and twisted that Marvel hasn’t quite seen in years. I gleefully anticipate every issue of the Hulk to see just how dark things will get. There’s this cold certainty to every word that The Devil Hulk says and Banner’s father being the main demon of the Below-Place has this awful feeling of depraved destiny, that maybe the world was right to fear Hulk. Bruce Banner and his alter egos will end the world and it can’t be pretty. It will be violent, bloody and ultimately hopeless.

The other person in the mirror is the one you don’t want to see.

[princess-of-luxure]

Half Hearted

A mysterious stranger rescues you from an untimely demise at the hand of some Qliphoth roots. Over the course of the ensuing month, a whirlwind romance quickly develops—only to be snatched away just as quickly.

Some things aren't meant to last.

Fandom: Devil May Cry Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationships: V (Devil May Cry)/Reader Characters: V (Devil May Cry), Griffon (Devil May Cry) Content Warnings: Blood, Background Character Death, Near-Death Experiences

Written for day two of whumptober as the tags say, prompt was 'Explosion.' I, uh... I'll admit the prompt only looses relates to what actually ended up being the whump in this fic, but uh, technically it was inspired by the prompt, so good enough. 

Fic under read more.

When the infernal tree had first invaded Redgrave City, many of your family members and friends had fled. That was probably the wise thing to do, you mused as you picked your way through rubble and debris, the best way to keep safe. You had seen what the demonic roots did to their victims, and it was far from a pretty sight; a nightmarish vision that you were sure would be burned into your memory for the rest of your life.

Still, you found you couldn’t leave with the others, a soul far too kind and compassionate for its own good tying you to the ruined city. You may have had a chance to run, but others were not so fortunate. Your heart bled to think of those who were alive but trapped, who, without outside assistance, had no hope of escape. True, death by the tree’s roots was an unpleasant way to go, but at least it was over quickly. Death by starvation, dehydration, infection and who knows what else… such a fate was not so kind.

Today saw you combing through the ruins of what you believed might have once been a church. You had never spared much of a thought to religion, but you wondered how many people were praying desperately even now to a God that seemed deaf to their pleads. You couldn’t imagine putting so much faith into a belief that was anything but concrete, but whatever gave people their hope; it was scarce these days.

You were violently snapped out of your thoughts when you saw a small pool of blood trickling from out behind a pillar. It looked fresh, and with a gasp, you ran to check the source. Sure enough, a middle-aged woman was collapsed against it, her life draining from her through an uncountable amount of gouges in her skin, chunks of flesh completely torn away.

Hands trembling, you fell to your knees besides the woman, blood soaking your pants as you reached into your bag for your first-aid kit. You knew it was a futile attempt right from the start, that she was practically already dead, but you’d be damned if you didn’t try. “What happened to you?” you whispered as you worked at bandaging up her stomach, which seemed to be where most of the blood was coming from.

“Demons…” the woman rasped, the action causing even more red from dribble from the corner of her mouth. “You… should…” You didn’t hear the end of her sentence as her head lolled forth onto her chest. Cursing under your breath, you placed two fingers against the pulse point in her neck—nothing, as expected.

You drew back from the body, shaking your head. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” you whispered. “Rest in peace.”

You stood in silence for a moment as you debated what to do now. It didn’t take long for you to decide that you couldn’t just leave the corpse lying around to become a demon’s next meal, so with great effort, you dragged it up and slung one of its arms around your shoulders, beginning to drag it towards the exit to the church. You were well aware that this literal dead weight made you a sitting duck if any devils decided you looked like a tasty snack, but what else could you do?

As it turned out, demons should’ve been the least of your worries. Before you could make it more than a few steps, the ground heaved underfoot, and the architecture around you, which was barely standing in the first place, shuddered and collapsed, the dust and debris settling with a note of finality. You were trapped.

The nightmare hardly ended there. From underneath the rubble, a writhing mass of the infernal roots emerged, their razor sharp tips glinting as they sought out new prey, fresh blood. Sought out you.

You couldn’t stop the scream that was torn from your throat as you dropped the body you were carrying, backing up frantically only to slip on a slick patch of blood. You slammed your eyes shut as you crashed to the ground, throwing your arms up to shield your head and curling into fetal position as if that could save you from your imminent death.

A primal growl filled your ears, followed by a wet squelch. You didn’t know what was happening and you didn’t dare to look, but after a few seconds, it finally registered with you that you were alive. There was no burning pain, at least, so—so you had to be alive, unless the screaming of the tree’s other victims had misled you. Somehow, you didn’t think that was it.

“Ey Shakespeare, this one’s alive!” a strange voice cawed from above. Cawed? You cracked your eyes open to see the weirdest bird you’d ever seen in your life fluttering in front of you. You were not sure how it made human sounds with its three be—oh shit, this was a demon.

“Do not fear.” You turned your head to see a man perhaps equally as strange as the demonic bird approach you, hair as black as the ink that swirled across his body, green eyes bright as he took you in. Behind him, you could see the roots turning to ash and crumbling. “We mean you no harm.”

We? He must’ve have been referring to himself and the bird. And… the cat, apparently, noticing what appeared to be a panther stalking into your peripheral view. You got the idea that, just like the bird, it was far from an ordinary animal.

The mysterious stranger followed your gaze and chuckled. “Cat got your tongue, it seems,” he remarked, before extending a tattooed hand to you. Still partially in shock, you took it, allowing him to help you to your feet. “Are you quite alright?”

A million questions swirled around in your mind instead of any sort of coherent answer. A human that kept company in the form of demons… Without permission, you found yourself blurting out, “Who are you?”

Your savior blinked in surprise, then a slow smile spread across his features, containing trace hints of a smirk. It made him look devastatingly handsome, and despite your situation, you felt your breath catch and your heart skip a beat. Surely no man on Earth could look this pretty, and yet here this stranger stood before you, looking like some kind of fallen angel. You almost didn’t catch his response. “You can call me V.”

V. Just one singular letter, and it only served to add to his entrancing mystery. Now that the shock of your near-death experience was starting to wear off, you could—

“Hey, get it together, lovebirds!” the devil bird interjected, cackling as it received an irritated glare from V. “I dunno if you’ve noticed, but this is no place for chitchat!”

V sighed, extending an arm for his… pet? Companion? Friend? to perch on. “Griffon is unfortunately correct—”

“Hey, what do you mean, unfortunately?!”

V continued as though he hadn’t heard the outburst. “We must leave this place, post-haste.”

“How?” You glanced around once more to confirm what you already knew. The exits were all blocked, clogged by the initial destruction caused by the roots emerging. “There’s no way out.”

V gave you a cryptic smile. Like every other expression he made, it caused the wings of a thousand butterflies to beat frantically in your stomach. “If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite.” Before you could question what the hell that meant, V snapped his fingers. You could only watch in fascination as the color seemed to drain from his hair, leaving mystical white locks in its wake.

You nearly leapt out of your skin as there was a booming crash behind you. Turning, you found a hulking monstrosity of the slime variety had just broken through one of the clogged exits, clearing a path.

Looking back to V, you found he was smirking again. Goddammit, that smirk was going to be the death of you, the curve of those pretty lips… Once again, you almost missed his next words. “Shall we?” His hand was extended to you again, this time not a necessary help but an invitation. A choice.

An invitation you would be a fool not to accept, a choice that was easily made. You carefully slipped your fingers through his. “We shall.”

The look he gave you, full of wonder and intrigue, would have been reward enough. If V had departed after rescuing you here, it would have been disappointing, but it would have been enough.

He didn’t. He didn’t leave, vanishing into the night as with so many romantic stories of handsome saviors. V stayed.

And that was more than enough.

Until it wasn’t.

~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~

“There is a smile of love, And there is a smile of deceit, And there is a smile of smiles In which these two smiles meet.”

A month had passed since V had rescued you from the Qliphoth’s bloodthirsty roots. After introducing you to his friends, the devil hunter Nero and the mechanic Nico, you had quickly fallen into a routine, and these days when you scoured the city for survivors, you had a rude bird, silent cat and a beloved emo poet to watch your back. Not that you’d ever called V an emo poet to his face, of course—it was an inside joke between you and Griffon.

With each day that passed, the bond between you and V only grew deeper and stronger. It started off innocently enough, furtive glances and secretive smiles that were laden with meaning. As time flew by, it became open, longing looks, touches that lingered a second too long, earnest conversation throughout the night, and Griffon shrieking for the two of you to leave room for Jesus, until it culminated in falling onto the couch together with a trembling, hesitant meeting of lips.

It was bliss. In the weeks that followed you were both subjected to endless snark from your companions, but it hardly bothered you. Why should it, when you were lucky enough to be able to call the embodiment of perfection yours?

Today found you laying with your head in V’s lap, his slender fingers carding through your hair as he read aloud to you from his book of poetry. His dulcet tones filled your mind like a pleasant fuzz, leaving you dazed and floating in the realm between dreams and wakefulness.

You didn’t notice he had stopped reading until he spoke, gently brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Are you awake, my love?” There was a hint of teasing in his voice.

“Mm.” You fluttered your eyes open, greeted by the ever wonderful sight of your partner’s breathtaking smile, laced with hints of a smirk as it had been on the day you met. You had grown to love that smile, that almost-smirk. “Depends on if you’re going to go back to reading.”

V chuckled, a low sound that was more melodious than any bird song to you. His hand slipped to cradle the back of your head as he drew you in for a sweet kiss, a heavenly thing that left your lips tingling and bliss permeating your every sense of being. Kissing V was and would always be your favorite pleasure, always leaving you chasing more of that heady feeling. His kisses were more intoxicating than any alcohol, and if the last thing you ever felt was V’s warm lips upon yours, well, that would be just fine.

“Though nothing would bring me greater pleasure…” He was speaking again. Damn, you really needed to stop with the zoning out over him. “...I’m afraid I have a mission to see through.”

That caught your attention. Blinking, you sat up, studying his expression. “I’ll come with you,” you began to say, but V was already shaking his head.

“As much as I enjoy your company, this mission would be too dangerous for you, I’m afraid. I must go after Urizen.” Urizen. The demon responsible for ruining Redgrave City. The demon responsible for you meeting V. “He has been left unattended for far too long, and time is a luxury we can no longer afford.”

V stood and you did the same, chewing on your inner lip as your partner retrieved his cane. “Be safe, V,” you murmured, an almost pleading quality to your tone. “You’ll come home, won’t you?”

There’s a melancholy look in emerald eyes, and only you would notice the way his grip subtly tightened on his cane. “Of course, my love,” he replies softly, and as he steps out into the daylight and out of your sight, leaving you alone with nothing but the anxiety that gnaws at your gut, you think he might be lying.

(He does return, months later, but his features and expressions are unfamiliar to you and the name he calls himself—Vergil—is a stranger’s.)

[resistingfateymir]

Captain Annie: The First Avenger

AOT Manga Spoilers.

Amino Conscripto 2019 challenge: Disney x AOT

On my Ao3 and Fanfiction accounts.

This was always going to happen. It was decided. It’s probably happened, once before. Maybe in a different way, but this is how she wakes today. Any inconsistency explained with one word: PATHS.

__________________________________________

An Island of Devils. Annie is cursed, cursed with the Power of the Female Titan. She’s completed many operations, always for a supposed greater good. Yet this is where she falls.

Mikasa slices Annie’s giant, skinless fingers. Landing delicately ontop her head. “Now fall.”

Crash.

She can’t escape. Eren’s giant form. Not a Titan, but a devil. Raging in flames, ready to bite down on her nape with incisor teeth. This can’t be the end?

Annie has to do it. The Titan researchers said it would be her last resort, now’s a better time than ever.

Woosh.

Blue crystals form over her body, encasing her. Pushing back Eren, Mikasa, and everyone. Away, to leave Annie isolated. Her eyelids flutter before sealing shut in the ice.

“Reiner, Berthold. Come save me.”

She waits. Seconds, unable to hear the outside world. Tired, she rests.

Rumble.

__________________________________________

Annie juts awake, but her eyes don’t open. Only hearing the stampede of massive footsteps, but it doesn’t affect her. Allowing her to tire again. Alone, isolated from the world. Yet, she’s frozen. Not even able to cry.

When are they coming to save her?

Annie gasps for breath. Oxygen filling her lungs, she thrashes her arms over white sheets. Opening her eyes, to the faint light in the room that gradually increases in luminosity.

She’s out. Out of her crystal. No one’s in the room. The simple Marlian hospital. They did it, she is safe.

Her eyes drift to the bedside counter. A metal object reminiscent of a Plato clock. It flickers in red light. 12:00. Noon. This scene looked very familiar. A PATH opens in her mind, telling her she’s out of time.

The door opens. A man walks inside, tall. “I see you’re finally awake, frozen girl.”

“Who are you? You’re not the General?”

“Call me Fury, director of S.H.E.I.L.D.”

Wait, he’s the agent for Marley’s secret defence force?

“But I met the director of S.H.E.I.L.D before. You’re not him.”

“That was Fury senior. .” He was a real piece of work, let me tell you.

“Just to be clear, we’re still talking about Magath, right?”

The man nods, but he’s not Fury. He’s Samuel L. Jackson. And that makes it all the worse.

“Things have changed since you were last awake. The world has got a whole lot smaller.”

So they failed their mission. Eren activated the Rumbling and became the tyrant of the world. Which begged the question: why was she alive?

Annie springs off the bed, then stalls. Fury gestures for her to stop.

“Calm down, you’re home now.”

The man drags a stool, painfully scrapping on the ground before dropping his weight on the cranking seat. Past his acting days, he looks at her with a grumpy expression. He’s going to monologue.

“The preceding mission, before Paradis, you were piloting the Hydra bomber locked on autopilot to Liberio. As you weren’t a fool, you jumped out of the plane in the last moment, using your Titan form to crush the landing.”

“And?”

“Soldier, I want you to understand something. Give me your mission report?”

Fury locks a deadly glare, eyes filled with a dark past. Annie falters. Squirming, she bites her lip. But she collects herself, returning a lazy stare to Fury. Like there is no problem at all.

“The bomber was on autopilot. I tried to move the steering column, only jutting it a little. That was enough for some manual control over the plane. This came with a caveat. Every time I left the steering yoke, the plane reverted back to its original heading. I couldn’t trust a damaged plane, so jamming the controls was a no go. That’s why I stayed behind, I was the only one who could crash that plane. A sacrifice wouldn’t have been stupid. But why are we talking about that? We know all of this already. Tell me, what happened on Paradis?”

He ignores her question, reshuffling himself on his stool like the question is awkward. He’s hiding a terrifying truth.

“The Hydra clean up went smoothly and was a great assistance to our war efforts. So I want to know something?”

He leans in.

“How come, a very capable Warrior like yourself failed at the last moment. On Paradis, you infiltrated the Walls and went face to face with the Coordinate. Everything was laid out for you, then you flunked it. Reverting to your crystal form.”

“I was outmatched.”

“No, you were scared. Thought you could hide away, that the crystal would protect you, keep you conscious. That’d you wake up from a fake slumber, and surprise the enemy. You were wrong, you couldn’t breathe in that crystal. It froze you in cryostasis. We didn’t even think that was possible.”

Annie would rather not waste her words on interrupting Fury. She huffs to the side, watching the window. Bright light glares on her skin. Almost like its a beautiful sunny day outside, but Annie’s a Titan shifter. She can tell straight away this is fake. She’s inside an industrial complex, not a general hospital.

Annie is a bird, trapped in a cage. And if Fury didn’t answer her questions soon, she would rattle the bars.

“I’m asking one last time, what happened Fury?”

Fury bolts up, striding forward.

“What didn’t happen, Annie? Marley got their butt kicked, while you were stuck in your crystal for who knows how long. And we want to know why?”

What’s Annie to say, she was probably in a coma. Sure, she could have fought harder against the Survey Corps, but she was on their home turf. The safest option was to run.

A voice in PATHS gives her doubt. Telling her, she is weak. Pathetic. Missed out on everything.

Annie considers it. That Fury is right. She gave up too soon. Glancing up, Fury is furious. He wants her to own up, try to atone for her failure. Be their slave for the remainder of her short life. It must be so short now.

“So I’m your prisoner?”

“On the contrary, you’re free. Free as a butterfly in skates riding a roller coaster. You can do anything you want. But first, you should listen.”

A stream of Erens spouting Freedom invade her mind: telling her to save Armin and Mikasa. Whose memories are these? Eren’s obviously, but that’s beside the point.

“All I want is to see my father. So whatever game you’re trying to pull, skip it.”

Fury sighs, making his way to the door.

“It’s been 70 years.”

Annie gasps, for such a stupid lie.

“Nope.”

“Yep.”

“Someone would have rescued me.”

“Nope.”

“They wouldn’t leave the fate of a beloved character to an off-screen death.”

“Did it with Ymir.”

He’s serious, Isayama forgot about her.

Annie crumples on her bed, covering her eyes with her forearm.

“What happened?”

“The Yeagers happened. Eren and Zeke together were able to activate the coordinate and change the world. Flattening all their enemies. If it wasn’t for one woman, none of us would be standing here today?”

Annie will bite the bullet. “Who?”

“Stark. Pieck Stark. A brilliant mind, always exactly right. The last words of Zeke Yeager, before she finished him off, and stopped the Rumbling. In her remaining years, she even privatised world peace. Leaving everything to her adopted daughter.”

Ah, Pieck. A fellow Warrior, always a nice girl.

But Annie wants to see her father. She promised she would return. Return back home, even if the whole world turned against her. She can’t have missed him? She needs to be sure.

“How long, how long has it been?”

“I don’t know?”

“But you said 70 years before.”

“Thinking it over, that doesn’t work with our timeline. Hey.”

Useless.

Annie knocks Fury over and pushes past him. Bursting outside the paper room, sprinting to the doors. The hallway changes. More shiny, clinical. She’s out the entrance reception. Crashing through the glass doors, into the bright and busy metropolis. Cars, plentiful, zoom past her. On an intersection of roads. The buildings flash large images, spinning. Spinning Annie’s head. Her whole body. As she collapses on the ground.

Laughing hysterically. This was not her home.

Five figures drop beside her, one by one. A girl clad in iron armour, a boy, dressed as a Viking, a green hulk shrinking into an old lady, a pile of stone, dragged along by a little girl hurling a bucket of water.

Fury stands in front. “There was once an initiative. To form a group of remarkable and unique individuals: to fight the fight that no one else could.”

This is Eren’s fault. He did this, used the power of the coordinate to change the world into a Super Hero parody.

“Pieck always wanted you to join this team. Be the glue that held it together.”

Annie eyes the heroes.

The iron helmet opens, revealing a face similar to Eren. Just as hostile. The tin soldier is held back by a herculean man, with the face of a 12-year-old. Fury laughs.

“This is Gabi Stark. She, accidentally, shot a border patrol officer. They captured her and forced her to make missiles. Luckily, Pieck taught her well, and she made the first Iron man suit. Now she can retaliate with deadly force whenever she causes a problem.”

The hair on Annie’s skin prickles. She can feel the temptation. Just looking at Gabi makes her want to start a Civil War.

But Fury points to Gabi’s restrainer.

“Falco Odinson, a God from Asgard. Always wanted to fly, and now he can. In exchange, he has to help Gabi solve racism.”

Annie doesn’t care. The old lady gives a piercing glare. She knows her.

“And this is Mikasa, the incredible hulk.”

Mikasa rolls bandages around her fists.

“So you decided to wake up Annie.”

“You’re the monster, how fitting.”

“I was having a nice picnic with Eren, Armin and Gabi when a gamma bomb exploded. It unleased my Ackerman rage, turning me into this monster.”

Samuel L. Jackson is quick to correct. “Actually, Eren Said this:”

Eren echos through PATHS.

“Ever since I was a kid, Mikasa. I’ve always hated you.”

Mikasa transforms, collapsing the entire neighbourhood.

Really, of all the old friends Annie could have a reunion with after 70 years, why did it have to be Mikasa?

Annie kicks the stone, annoying the monster. “Who’s this then?”

“That’s Hawkeye, a very effective member of the team.”

“Yeah, but who’s Hawkeye here?”

“Sasha.”

“That’s a tombstone.”

“Exactly.”

The last one, the Black Widow. A deadly poison. Too cool to actually show up. Instead, they get Ymir. Not the 104th cadet. Actual ancient Ymir. She splashes her bucket over Annie.

“You know, this technically makes us Disney Princesses now.”

“So I’m Sleeping Beauty?”

Annie doubts either of them is of royal blood. She sighs – no, grieves.

This is too much. If there is one moral to take away from all this: Don’t wait too long in your crystal.

With all the silliness aside, they’re just trying to distract her from the truth. Her father is dead.

PATHS echos the last voice. “I love you 3000.”

Annie’s not the only one suffering a loss. Fury lost Stark, and he’s trying to rebuild the past. But it’s over now.

Samuel L. Jackson raises his hands. “This is the Avenger initiative.”

Annie’s fist trembles, but she breathes deeply. Turning back.

There is only one thing to do.

“I’m done.”

__________________________________________

Credits

Annie Leonheart as Steve Rogers

Nick Fury as Samuel L. Jackson, don’t question it.

Pieck as Howard Stark

Gabi Braun as Tony Stark

Falco Grice as Thor Odinson

Mikasa Ackerman as Bruce Banner

Sasha Blouse as Clint Barton

Ymir Fritz as Natasha Romanoff

Reiner Braun as Bucky Barnes

Eren Yeager as PATHS

__________________________________________

Annie walks with flowers through the massive graveyard. It isn’t cloudy or foggy. The sky is beautiful today.

Annie doesn’t even care that she screwed up the Paradis operation. No matter how long Fury will pester her, thinking she has to own up to a problem long past. Her heart’s not in it: fighting for the rest of her short life. Saying ‘No’ was the best decision she ever made. Even if she does miss out on a multi-billion-dollar franchise.

She reaches it. The Mound. The grave.

“Father, I’m home.”

A routine for her, Annie places the flowers next to the grave. She looks at her wrinkled hands. The curse of Ymir has aged her considerably, but she doesn’t regret how she’s spent the remaining years of her life.

Reiner strolls towards her, a 100 year old husk. Death, never quite able to take him.

“Seems you’re still kicking it.”

They’ve forgiven each other for the past. Reiner lays down next to her.

“It keeps bothering me, PATHS. Why does it keep me alive just so I can suffer, have you figured it out yet?”

Annie nods her head. It was so satisfying.

“You have, great! Going to tell me what you found?”

“No. No, I don’t think I will.”

[gizoogletranslateshomestuck]

[A6A6I5] ====>

MEENAH to increase tha peace: listen up buoys n gulls MIZZLE yeah yeah baby: i aint M-to-tha-izzuch fo` inspirational sbeachizzles MEENAH: but here goes one anemoneway so whateva n listen tha fuck up MEENAH: yo' friendly sandle ho-slappin' pizzle just flipped tha keys ta dis bizzay crazy ass nigga ta me MEENAH: so as all yalls forma heiress n current empress i herebizzle officially decrizzle MEENAH paper'd up: im tha boss now MIZZLE: you gotta do what i say MEENAH paper'd up: follow mah motherfucka ta tha baller nizzy just cauze all our G-H-to-tha-izzosts be at stizzake n existence itself depends on it MEENAH: but coz im tha bomb MEENIZZLE: and all tha shizzle i sizzle be coo' n rizzle MEENAH cuz this is how we do it: miznosta you gots some good fightin skill or some powa or sizzay S-H-to-tha-izzit MEENAH: gizzay pusha ghiznosts im lookin at yizzle MEENAH: Wussup to all my niggaz in the house. i dizzay what yizzle cizzay all do 'n them peejays but bitch it be yiznou killa fuckizzle br'n it MEENAH: tha rest of you witout powa or even like MIZZLE: modizzle combat ability? MEENAH: jiznust MEENAH and cant no hood fuck with death rizzow: iunno MEENAH: Subscribe nigga, get yo issue. throw yo' damn torso at tha homey MEENAH: fa real every individual flail'n n blunt-rollin' body be gonna cizzy for somefizzle 'n dis god dizzy mizzess MEENAH: sea we gots a weapon MEENAH: Its just anotha homocide. a nasty one some legizzle sez MEENAH: D-to-tha-izzont ask me ta qizzuote tha legend cauze i dont rizzead up on no damn legends thugz J-to-tha-izzust tell me dis sizzy alright? MEENIZZLE: but tha idea is y-aw set him up MEENAH: then we kniznock hizzim D-to-tha-izzown MIZZLE with the S-N-double-O-P: i trust that i dont gotta say who we up against hizzle MEENIZZLE: you know tha gizzle MEENAH: tha hulk ass pizzle devil whos been shredd'n all our blizzack spiznace MEENAH: pizzle up our bubblizzles MEENAH: murderizzle innocent spizzay octizzle MIZZLE, niggaz, better recognize: dizzle cappin' our ghizzle which ta be fair there were wizzle too many of 'n tha fizzy plizzay but lizzle nizzay D-W-to-tha-izzell mizzy on thizzat dumb F-to-tha-izzact MEENIZZLE from tha streets of tha L-B-C: its L-to-tha-izzord muscle homey MEENAH: a huge like MIZZLE: Ill slap tha taste out yo mouf. professional wrestler wit suspenda n tha heezee of a skelizzle MEENAH in tha mutha fuckin club: the fuckin time boss who wipizzle out troll kind one way or anottizzle MEENAH now motherfuckers lemme here ya say hoe: i think hiznes afta his sis bizzle shizzes on record as not gang bangin' so who cares MEENAH, chill yo: he wizzle shot calla stiznop til he finds ha MEENAH: so we have ta stop hizzay MEENAH: ta sizzave space n reality n an infinity trizzle cosmic frogs or some absurd stuff lizzay thoze lines MEENAH: but we have ta stop him most importantly coz MIZZLE: its just a badizzles spendin' ta do MEENAH: n i PROMIZZLE you MEENAH: as yo' supreme rula fo` afterlife MEENAH: that thizzle wiznill be a balla uze of our tiznime MEENAH: n bizzy tha shit out of bein bored n do'n nuttin foreva MEENAH ridin' in mah double R: so i ask of you MEENAH: as humbly as i can while tak'n into considizzle im tha best one hizzay by proximately 20K leagues or so MEENAH: whizzay wit me? Freak y'all, into the beat y'all. MEENAH: thizze answa be MEENAH: all of you MEENAH: y-aw be MEENAH: coz i command it MEENAH: bizzy it schoo' i kizzy you can do it MEENAH: coz i believe 'n every last one a you MEENIZZLE: n also MEENIZZLE: yizzle have ta MEENAH: Drop it like its hot. coz if you dont MEENAH, niggaz, better recognize: ill fizzle yizzy ta lizzle kizzle myshizzle

> [A6A6I5] ====>

[macbetha]

Preview of SouRin Supernatural AU: IKIGAI “Chapter 3″ feat. NatsuNao

Given that Rin’s monarchy of a family resides underground in the sewers, there aren’t many places in the subterranean castle in which natural light thrives. Nao found this part of the sewers like he was drawn to it, and when Natsuya realized that Nao could feel warmth, it devastated him. Nao is old; he tastes and feels more than other vampires do because even immortality has a timestamp, and the more his body recalls human sensation, the less time he has on this earth as a walking corpse. Rin’s gaze sweeps the conservatory, which has the splendor of romantic catacombs rather than bleak sewers. The ground is patterned in diamond-shaped cobblestone; the walls are towering and lead up to a street gait above. He listens to heels clacking across the sidewalks overhead, smells asphalt and the reek of pollution that grows fouler as the years tick by. Listening to pedestrians converse is like going to the library, though their stories are rarely interesting; most commonly, Rin hears work complains or dull gossip. Sunlight streams down in roaming pillars like spotlights and Rin tenses each time the light creeps a bit too close – he is superstitious to a fault. Though he is paranoid about being in daylight, Rin can admit that the conservatory is enchanting with its palette of greys and greenery – there’s stone benches with a curtain of vines framing them and a fountain that holds no water but is still charming as it is guarded by a circle of statuses toads. There’s some fruit trees and tropical plants which are saturated with magic; Rin’s favorites are a fat gourd slumped with fatigue, but if you dare to pry it open, the plant will swallow you to cage you in its belly until suffocation takes you. He also has a particular admiration for a Venus Fly Trap that stands taller than Rin with fangs just as sharp. He enjoys the smell of this air – this sundew doesn’t conjure up any specific memories, but perhaps that’s why he’s so charmed with the place. After walking this planet for five-hundred years, there aren’t many new or different things to smell, and the conservatory holds its own atmosphere of eerie tranquility, much like Nao himself. Nao sorts through a table of voodoo lilies and basil, the herbalism of spells. His robes are white like a biblical rose, his eyes moonlit with blindness. Nao smirks, “You’re bobbing your ankle something fierce.” Rin looks down at his ankle and stops. Nao chuckles and gestures to the side, calling, “Gloom, come help me with this, would you?” A dark mass comes from beneath the table and stirs into the light; the fox is bigger than her natural counterpart and far more ethereal with her fog-grey pelt and beady, red eyes. She slinks up to Nao and grabs a basket with her teeth, holding it up for her master to drop few plant trimmings inside. Gloom takes them over to the monstrous fridge in the corner, which is built like an industrial safe, and Nao walks over to Rin. He easily remembers the path to the bench in the familiar space, and he sits down while settling his robes. His motions are ginger – weak. Rin used to stare at him whenever they were in close proximity or standing across the room. Nao’s bangs cover the scar gouging across his forehead, clawing through his eyes and down to hook under his jaw – Rin always feels a dull spike of sympathetic pain at the sight of him. He often wonders just how powerful the werewolf must have been to leave a vampire blind and doomed to wear such scars. Nao doesn’t talk about it and Natsuya won’t let anyone ask. But since Natsuya isn’t here – “How long has it been since you saw a werewolf?” Rin asks. The elder vampire lifts his brows in humored surprise. “I haven’t seen much of anything in millennia, child.” “Forgive me,” he rushes, face burning with mortification, but Nao waves him off with amusement. Nao crosses his legs with a faint wince, the halter chains of his cape glittering like black stones underwater. “What’s brought forth such a question in your mind?” Nao sounds curious rather than offended, though a knowing look creeps over his features. “Have you gone and enamored yourself with some trouble or do you intended to seek it out?” “It’s just a question.” “It’s never just a question, Rin.” He relaxes with leisure posture as he drinks in the sunshine. Nao props his head on a hand, absently coming through his silken hair. “If you gain no knowledge from my time residing amongst you royals, trust that no question ever comes without a motive.”

Rin works his hands between his knees, flustering. “You’ve taught me more than just that,” he grumbles. Nao’s smile is endeared in a backhanded sort of way. “You learn what you want to.” He tucks his hands together so that his long sleeves close over them. “Werewolves and vampires are two sides of the same coin; lycanthropic metamorphosis is a disease at the base of it all, much like vampirism.” Defensiveness works through him. “Pray tell.” Nao considers. “Well, we both started out as humans – vampirism began as a reanimating disease that possessed corpses; the sickness originated in the bloodstream of the deceased. Back in my day, if you’ll humor me –” Rin cuts a brief smirk. “— The phenomenon of the lycans spread like rabies because it’s simply a mutated strain of the sickness. Lycanthropic metamorphosis is a disease much like vampirism, though their contagion originated from wolves and mutates their genomes with that of wolves.” Rin says, “Shouldn’t werewolves be easy to fight, then? If they are nothing more than animals.” “Werewolves are unpredictable fighters; the only form of knowledge you can bring to such a fight is that if a werewolf gets ahold of you, it’s all over.” Sympathy runs through Rin’s chest. “I’m – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to resurface grim memories.” Nao surprises him by chuckling, though it is a tired sound. “Bitterness if no way to live, I made my peace with my circumstances many moons ago.” His voice grows quiet with thoughtfulness. “I never once felt anger toward that wolf despite that I was supposed to, perhaps. Both vampires and werewolves are lost to the ideal that we are mortal enemies – how interesting it would be if we both as a species realized that concept was glamorized by the authors that depicted us as fantasy.” He turns one of his rings, a band of fool’s gold that won’t char him. “Kind of poetic that silver harms both vampires and werewolves, don’t you think?”

“We’re nothing alike,” Rin scowls. Nao’s smile is slow and pitying at the blind lash of resentment. “Werewolves might heavily rely on their instincts, yes, but they are not mindless – more importantly, they are not heartless. If you harm a single one, their pack will not rest until your insides flow.” He lifts his brows. “They love one another and it shows in the way they fight.” “I want to kill one,” Rin says, squaring his shoulders. Nao rolls his eyes in grand exasperation. “Trophy hunting is not exactly the appropriate way to blend into modern society.” “I don’t care. I’m going to do it.” “Then I’m assuming by your enthusiasm that you’ve never killed one before?” Rin curls into himself and Nao smirks like he knows. “No,” Rin mumbles, looking away. “I’ve fought them in brief squabbles but father always orders me to flee before it can get fun.” “You mean dangerous.” Rin pouts. “Father’s killed pack alphas before; it’s not fair that I don’t have a wolf’s head mounted above my bed when Gou’s got dozens of them all over the castle.” “Gou is more talented as a warrior than you are.” Nao’s expression doesn’t change even though Rin’s agitation is tangible. Gloom hops onto the elder vampire’s lap and he pets her tail in dragging strokes. “Gou takes orders well; you, on the other hand, storm into battle just like Natsuya.” He shakes his head with a playful tut. “You bored fools.” Rin laughs before his ears prick at the sound of the doors groaning apart. Natsuya strides in, his curls disheveled and his gait sluggish since it’s daytime and most vampires in the castle are sleeping at this hour. Evening is nearing; Natsuya must have just awoken, since his night tunic is stuffed into his trousers and he’s still adjusting his leather suspenders. Natsuya clambers down the stairs with a metallic echo and his posture straightens when he notices Nao. Natsuya rushes to kneel before his mate, hands fretting over him. “What the devil are you doing up here alone?” “Rin’s right here,” Nao smiles, letting himself be petted. “Or have you gone as blind as I am?” Natsuya gives him a flat look. “Your cynical humor is hardly appropriate.” He adjusts Nao’s robes tighter around his middle, knotting the sash again and brushing out the wrinkles. “Imagine my horror when I woke up only to realize that you had vanished.” He rises and goes over to the hulking fridge; the door hisses open and Natsuya takes out an ornate pitcher before fetching a gauntlet from under the table. He bows the pitcher and blood oozes into the cup – Rin thinks it smells like O positive. Natsuya calls, “Would you like any, Rin?” “No thanks.” He’s a glutton for Type A through and through. Natsuya hands the gauntlet to Nao before pointing a finger at Gloom to address the fox. “You and I discussed this, I told you to wake me up the instant Nao is discomforted.” She tries to nip his fingers and Natsuya yanks his hand back with an offended pout. “I apologize for worrying you,” Nao says before taking a deep swallow from his gauntlet. His dainty fingers rearrange his husband’s mess of curls. “I’ve been asleep for a week; you knew that I was bound to wake up eventually.” Natsuya is hardly quelled. He stands behind Nao to rub his shoulders in gentle circles, pulling his hair into his fist to massage his neck. His throat is blotched in little plums from where Natsuya’s drank from him. “I wish you would not have exerted yourself with the climb up here.” “You’re more than welcome to carry me back to bed when I’m ready,” Nao smiles. That won’t be long, Rin thinks – nowadays, Nao can barely stay awake for a few hours before falling into a disturbingly long slumber. To reassure him, Nao traces the mating scar on Natsuya’s wrist – it’s a crescent bite in the shape of Nao’s teeth. His sleeve rolls down to reveal his mating scar from Natsuya, and that bite is deeper. Natsuya’s fangs probably drove in with a fit of passion, earnest in the pain he gave because it would bind them for eternity. The mark Nao left on Natsuya’s wrist is clean and precise, perfectly aligned on the inside of Natsuya’s forearm. Natsuya regards Rin, canting his hip as he crosses his arms. His motions are far more spry than Nao’s; from the whispers of gossip that travel through the vampire court, Rin’s heard that Natsuya is ancient but he’s a few centuries younger than Nao. He’s got a while before he loses his vigor – the wicked glint in his eye says as much. “Rumor ‘round the castle is that you’re going on a little hunt tonight.” He lifts his chin. “I want in.”

Rin bristles. “Who –” He groans when he realizes. “Goddamn you, Haru.”

“It was wise of Haru to inform me of your plan,” Natsuya says, eyes half-lidded with a lazy sort of confidence. “You’ve never took on a werewolf by yourself.”

“A werewolf has never faced me alone,” Rin counters with excitement brewing in his chest.

Natsuya rolls the heel of his boot back and forth in a subtle taunt. “So, your darling plan was to charge into this supposed uprising, throw yourself on the back of the nearest rabid thing and slice its throat in one fell swoop?”

“Sounds like something you would do,” Nao drones into his gauntlet as he gives his husband a pointed look of amusement.