#to say I have been burnt out on star wars is an understatement

[its-kinda-snowy]

It's so easy to laugh, it's so easy to hate It takes strength to be gentle and kind

[littlefreya]

Prince Of Darkness

Summary: There'll be no escape tonight, the devil always gets what he desires.

Pairing: Devil!August Walker x Unnamed OFC (3rd person pov)

Word count: 6k

Warnings: 18+, DARK! NonCon, kidnapping, stalking, breeding, exhibitionism, loss of virginity, supernatural stuff, sex in a cathedral, mention of heaven and hell. Please proceed with caution. 

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

A/N: I have put a lot of effort into this story, and I’m really anxious af. We all like to see August as a demon, but I decided to go all the way... And I’m nervous at your response and going to die after hitting submit. So bye.

Many thanks to the love of my life @agniavateira​, for support, brainstorm and beta. And to @crimsonrae​ and @wondersofdreaming​ who held my hand. 

Please give feedback and reblog if you enjoyed my work. 🖤

Title: Prince of Darkness

Blood painted the streets, courtesy of the blinding scarlet lights that danced upon gravel and tar before dwindling into darkness. The soft, beaming glow pulsed with the muffled beats of a monotonous song that played inside the luxurious nightclub. Like thundering war drums, it rumbled in the ears of the elegant man who stood along the shadows. 

Leaning against the cement, he took a sip from a glass of spiced Bordeaux and brushed an index finger over his thick moustache to wipe away misguided droplets of wine. 

‘How could anyone enjoy this abomination?’ He wondered with a guttural groan, never quite grasping this electronic noise thing; but then again August was older than this music, and his tastes far exceeded cheap and trivial antics. He was a man driven by the appetite for destruction and forbidden delights, and tonight, he was finally about to obtain both. After decades of anticipation, the succulent fruit was ready to be plucked. 

Oh, what an intoxicating and delicious mist his unsuspecting beloved emanated, setting his heart aflame with her sheer ripeness.  

‘It’s been so long, so painfully long.’ 

Time had lost its meaning as he waited, curving and swerving into a stream of an infinite river flowing with decay and death. 

But as the old saying went: all haste comes from the devil. 

So the man lingered against the wall, a sparkle enkindled and crackled in his eyes, morphing into black wells whilst the waves of her honey-liqueured ambrosia grew pungent, seeping through his airways and sinking in his throat. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, revelling in the sound of harsh tapping heels that echoed louder with every step until she came summoned into the naked wilderness of the city street. 

‘Beautiful and innocent as the garden of Eden. Of course, of course...’

The stranger scrutinised the young woman with another sip from his wine and a bite of great intrigue - but stoicism and silence, for now, were his most valuable allies. 

Clad in a lithe black dress and a stylish leather jacket to keep herself warm from the chill autumn breeze, she fished for the mobile device in her purse while distress washed her wrinkling brow. Illuminated by the bright screen, her face sulked as for the seventh time in the last 30 minutes, her attempt to find an Uber bore no success whatsoever. 

Was there something about tonight that all drivers were kept occupied, or had her luck simply run dry? 

Showing her face to the moonlit sky, she sighed in great frustration. This must have been fate’s retribution to a mindless bad decision; she should have left with her friends, but staying alone to fruitlessly catch the eye of the uncaring bartender seemed more significant as the buzz of alcohol dimmed any ray of logic. Now deep into the night, walking home alone didn’t appear to be the most sympathetic solution, yet it occurred to her that there wasn’t much of choice.  

“You seem distressed.” 

Equal to a dark chant sputtering words of witchcraft, the low yet incredibly soft baritone of his voice slithered from the corner and crept down her spine with icy scales. A lurching hollow flared within her gut, her neck seized by the tight grip of a serpentine phantom. 

His vibrato sounded like a voice that called her through a dream she never had before; despite the unsettling arctic spasm gyrating through her shaky limbs, it lured her to return a stare and meet the cryptic face behind the seducing chant. 

Two sharp glaciers glimmered at her as the stranger sauntered into the penumbra, momentarily lit by another flash of neon red that broke onto his face and highlighted his ethereal features. Her lips drew open, her nipples hardening against the fabric of her dress as a shiver ran through her. To say that the stranger was handsome would be an understatement, as it almost seemed as if he was ‘designed’ by a sculptor - carved cheeks led a path to slightly pouted lips, and a stark, dimpled chin was shadowed by dark stubble. His chocolate-brown hair was elegantly combed to the side, with a couple of large lustrous locks gently nestling over his brow.

Though it wasn’t his good looks that left her riddled with prickly goosebumps, but the unprecedented magnetic haul that made her feel as if she was physically drawn toward this mysterious man. 

Frightened by the unbidden reaction of her own body, she quickly retreated to gawk at the phone and provided no answer to his inquiry. A strange yearning to submit grew between her clenching thighs, a primal response to his striking looks and charms. 

But she killed the seed before it set roots in her flesh. 

‘They said Ted Bundy was charming as well��’ she mused. Frivolous as she wanted to be, getting murdered was undoubtedly not among her plans tonight. 

Revelling in her silent reply with an arched brow, he tilted his head when a blinding flicker abruptly caught his keen eye. Kissed by the pale moonlight’s beam, a small silver cross rested upon her collarbone. His sharp fangs begged to peek with sardonic amusement, but he kept his lips clamped, not wishing to scare her too soon. 

There was to be plenty of that later...

“May I offer you my help, sweetling?”

Threading his long fingers between the smooth stem and clasping them around the bowl, he lowered the glass to the side of his hip, dragging the girl’s unwilling eye to the healthy bulge in his groin. 

Her lips drew open as a surge of staggering heat flushed at her apex. 

It seemed enormous... 

“Name’s August, like the emperor, but you can call me whatever your heart desires...”

Embers burnt at her cheeks; in her belly, the odd mystical calling continued weaving at her core in an urge to accept whatever it was he had to offer. Her eyes warred to tear her gaze away from his nether region as her lashes fluttered to meet the abysmal glance that bestowed both frost and fire through her tendons. 

There was something archaically familiar about this man as if she knew him before the days had names. Yet she swore, it was the first time she ever saw his striking face. 

“I can take you wherever you need to go.” 

Breath laced with wine titillated her nostrils as the words spilt from his lips, whilst another crimson ray broke upon the marble of his face. Never had he urged, but instead suggested with a tongue soaked with honey. Still, a blazing aura of danger encircled him. And even though the very natural fear of walking home alone grappled her, it still seemed like a much better plan than entrusting her life to a stranger who was twice her size. 

Deciding to keep her tongue knotted, she turned and began striding away. ‘Best not to engage him,’ she thought, but once she moved past his bulky figure, her heart suddenly picked up its pace and her legs refused to function as if they no longer belonged to her. 

Seconds stretched into eternity. The thought that this civilised savage will assail her and drag her into the night scratched at the back of her head. But the worst of it was the simmering throb. Unforgiving, like gathering storm clouds, it thundered the closer she walked by him and then gradually died out as she finally managed to move away and free herself from this invisible bond. 

Savouring the final drop of wine, August watched amused as the frightened little lamb quickly oscillated on her feet, scampering into the horrors offered by the dark. It was funny how fear made animals act so heedlessly and rush straight into the burning heart of peril. 

A toothy grin peaked his chiselled cheeks. Always the gentleman, he shifted from the concrete, discarding the glass carelessly to shatter on the sidewalk. His sinew stretched in a relaxed ripple of an apex predator before he straightened both vest and jacket and stroked his thick moustache. 

Though her heavenly fragrance still soaked the air, the girl was already gone from normal eyesight. It was a pity to see her leave, yet there was no need for him to rush.

There was never really a choice for her. 

Strangely, the night kept growing unnaturally darker. A great ocean of blackness and crystalised stars spread from above, casting looming shadows across the tall buildings that resembled a maw filled with rotten teeth. The tepid wind that blew between the vast concrete monoliths was nothing but the breath of a mythical beast intoning her name through the shadows.

Clawing at her forearms, she meandered through the inert street with a wary eye. Desolate neon signs flickered hauntingly, bequeathing a vibrant beacon of dread over the shimmering, onyx road. Not a living soul was in sight as if the world descended into stillness, dominated by an eerie, dead silence save for the harsh echo of her hasty heels. And yet, the long path felt anything but lifeless. With every step landed on the ground, she could sense the movement beneath the surface: swarming vile things, slippery and scaled. Unseen by the human eye, they hissed dirty little secrets and slithered with sinister hunger, drizzling down their fangs. 

‘You can already feel me inside you, can’t you sweetling…’ Remaining hidden, he had to admit that watching the little lamb leap shivering into the slaughter has been somewhat of foreplay.

A veil of fumes emitted from her parted lips. The air became colder, summoning a terrifying truth that made her lungs clench around the black void that abruptly filled them with the notion that maybe... maybe… that chill, liquid-like thing that threatened to touch her ankle wasn’t just in her crazy imagination.

There was something out there, something undeniably familiar. This unusual gust of wind brushing at her nape has accompanied her since she could remember herself, an unsettling breeze bidding that evil lurked between the creases, holding its sinewy fingers clasped together while waiting for her to answer his hushed calling.

‘And once you finally answer, there is no turning back…’ 

Fear gnawed its frosty fangs at her bones, puncturing tiny painful cavities that were needles in her flesh. Tonight, of all nights, the same hazy feeling became stronger than ever before. Deep inside, she knew she would meet her end. Pressing the oily pads of her fingers at the sharp corners of her pendant, she inhaled and chanted a prayer, refusing to succumb to the noxious malice when a frozen pin pierced her heart.

Like the lark calling on the dawn, an unbidden chant carried her name.

Drenched with frigid sweat, she exhumed a shuddering breath, praying to God that it was only her imagination playing tricks on her ears. 

‘The greatest trick he ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.’

Indeed in the darkness, leered the beast. All teeth and malicious glee, August moved from one shadow to another, feasting on the aphrodisiac that was the mixture of her harrowing terror and unveiled desire. If only she knew the trail her scent left for him to follow - he could smell her from miles away. 

The little flower between her legs began blooming the moment their entities finally encountered one another, and it was his ancient name her dew had dripped for.  

‘My sweet little thing, tonight I will finally grant you a purpose...’ 

Like a hound awakened from a deep slumber, he flexed his bulging muscles and tailed her in utter silence. The same spell that burnt in her core seethed the blood gathering in his ardent loins. Since the dawn of humankind, he had more women than any other man on this earth, yet none has evoked such hunger in him. 

He would have eaten her alive and torn her to shreds if only he didn't have bigger plans for her.

Still hidden by the unnatural night, August stalked from behind, the blaze of his enkindling burn licking her path as he crept further to ensnare his prey. He wished she could see herself through his own flaring glance, how beautiful she was with tears of despair rolling down the tender slope of her cheeks. 

His beloved girl; his, by ancient law. Spirited as a rageful tempest, she insisted on escaping her prophesied fate. Muscles and bones strove against the panic that turned her boiling blood frigid. But no power, physical nor divine could revoke this otherworldly attraction that bound her to him. His bidding could never be undone and as much as his blood relished from the thrill of the chase, it was time to put an end to this dance and seal their union. 

Appearing from a stygian haze of a spectral nightmare, the beast drew his claw to grasp the fleeting girl’s shoulder.

The world froze along with the scream that died in her throat. Cold, slippery wet, the phantom serpents slinked around her ankles and held on to the ground as the thing behind her bit his nails into her collarbone. His touch was no ghost, but as real as the quiet moon that voyeured her fate from above and did nothing. A wretched gasp of anguish shuddered through her airways as his fingers stalked forth to cinch at her neck. 

His grip was tighter than the icy finger of death, yet its caress was the sensual lick of a gossamer tongue. 

It was almost as if he worshipped her. 

Shadows befell her as the assailant leaned close, wafting a mist of intoxicating fumes scented of poisonous elixirs and an ancient forest that laid deep between the veils of the underworld, hiding forbidden mysteries that none dared speak of. Seeping through her orifices, it stung her eyes and raked remorseful tears. 

“Please…” she broke into sobs, shaking her head at the dawning of her fate.

The man inhaled deeply. Though she could not see him, the joyful malice that danced on his pleased breath roared in her ears.

“Do not fear me.” The sonorous rumble caressing her ear was hardly a surprise in its familiarity.  It was him, the handsome bewhiskered gentleman from earlier. But of course, it was always him: the whisper in the dark, the slithering things moving beneath the tepid ground, and the smell of burning pyres. 

But who the hell was he?!

As if he read her mind, his hand twisted around her nape and with a careful sway, turned her to face him. The voice inside her head warned her over and over again not to look at him; yet the temptation was too great, peeling her eyes open to stare at the thing that made her heart drop to her gut.

Vast, raven wings spread from each side of an Adonis figure, their intimidating length denying her widened eyes to look at anything but the dark god that soared tall in front her. No, not a god, a devil. A pair of small golden horns peeked from the mane of long curls, and the heavenly icy gaze she remembered from earlier had melted into an abysmal lake of fire.

He was beautiful.

He was monstrous.

And just like that, she descended from the earth, swept into a thick swamp of darkness that swallowed her whole. Never letting so much as her feet kiss the ground, August scooped her into his strong arms. Peering down upon her, he broke into a delightful grin, already enamoured with his delicate new bride. The pang of lust tingled in his groin, though despite the raging need to claim her now, it was her screams he desired more than all as he would consummate their eternal marriage. 

Wicked tongues of fire licked up the shallow air, casting a faint amber glow into the abominable sombre of a vanishing nightmare. Shy as feral nymphs, the bursting sparks ascended melancholily, whispering tales of perishing days that fell to harmony with a strange mumbling chant. Still locked in a void of unconsciousness, the fallen girl shifted with disquiet, her hands restlessly clutching at a virginal silk gown that covered her body. 

Vaguely remembering a horrifying dream of a demonic entity, she woke with a sudden electric jitter. A peal of breathless pants pushed through her heaving chest before she slumped into the intense relief one experiences from a brush with either death or a ghastly fantasy. 

“Thank God…” she whispered with a fist pressed to her breast.

Yet, something was amiss. The low vocal melody continued despite her state of clarity, tangled with the eerie presence of a hundred cutting glares that stabbed her crawling spine. Slowly and carefully, she lifted her head and scanned her surroundings. 

The blood drained from her face.

Swaying like shadowy wraiths stood men cloaked in black velvet hoods. Tears of milky boiling wax trickled from the candles held by their stringy fingers, yet they didn’t seem to flinch as the burning rivulets seared their flesh. Their hollow eyes were fixated upon her while words of a dark sacrament sputtered from their lips and reverberated through the endless archways and ribbed vaults that towered above them. 

Her trembling muscles were briskly stifled under the unsettling realisation of her whereabouts - a cathedral, a thousand years old if not more. Burning torches lit crumbling pillars and statues of monstrous winged creatures that encircled them from every niche, their malicious shadows dancing upon dusty obsidian bricks. Unglazed windows were barred by black iron, the beautiful floral shapes preventing any means of escape. 

Only the fractured ceiling held a cheap shred of hope, as a vast rupture of broken stone exposed her to the scarred carmine wolf-moon.

If only she had wings…

Bones rattling beneath her crawling flesh, she sat upon the hard surface with wells of despair. Her hands clutched around the edge of the bed, only to be kissed by the sharp corners that pierced the delicate flesh. Hissing with pain, she lifted her arms and stared below at what appeared to be a midnight-black marble creased with golden veins and saplings-like patterns. 

It was beautiful, just like the creamy gown that covered her body.  

“Do you like it, bride?” 

Rising from the crowd like a flame among charred coals, appeared her handsome abductor. Suitable to a true evil prince, a long red cloak enrobed his broad, sturdy form, the velvet hem trailing behind him like a thick river of blood while he marched forward with no haste in his dauntless mien. Human once again, August offered the most endearing grin; two profound dimples embellished his scruffy cheeks, and his eyes shone brighter than a frozen sea. 

Yet in her sullen gaze, he was nothing but a monster.

Abruptly enraged and driven by pure instinct, she jumped off the marble and paced backwards. Tears of anger and fright rimmed her swollen lids and her bare feet nearly collided as she shook her head at August who was neither impressed nor concerned by this foolish protest. 

“You stay the fuck away from me!!!” She warned with a scream and hastily turned away. 

Lost in some trance, the praying mob never stirred, granting the girl a fair chance to escape the bewhiskered man who was still several strides away. Her feeble legs made three to four steps when her muscles swiftly turned to stone, and her stomach lurched. 

‘No! It couldn’t be! How?!’

Curls shining like precious coils of onyx, August emerged in front of her, continuing his relaxed gait as if this was a natural occurrence. His bright icicles melted into malicious dark pools of twisted desire, and his tongue briefly laved his plump lips at the sight of pure disbelief that cascaded over her face. He could feel right under her skin, hear the thrumming heart that both chilled and fumed for him. Further beyond her thoughts, his betrothed yearned to be defiled and torn open by him. 

It was her destiny, whether she liked it or not. 

Still she fought, so ferocious and defiant, flinching away from his attempts to seize her. It was almost comical to watch her deny him, knowing that her fate would be no different; she will spread her legs and submit to his conquest. And yet, her battle was immensely appealing; what better bride to the dark lord than a woman who breathed fire.

“Who are you?!” She cried, her trembling voice rising with panic and her cheeks soaking with tears, “What do you want from me?!”

August's face was devoid of mercy, her whimpering hisses did nothing to deter him and only further increased the appetite of the deprived wolf that circled in his gut. With a wring of his wrist, his fingers snapped at her elbow, hauling her against his rock-hard chest with such might her heels hovered above the ground. 

Writhing in his grip she flung her hands at his face, clawing streams of crimson to trickle down his cheeks. The notion of hurting this vicious man brought somewhat of a sick joy; but her onslaught died at once, and her mouth fell agape as his skin healed with not even a trace of injury. 

“Oh God, what are you?!” She shuddered. 

Still holding her elbow hostage, his free hand travelled to the hem of the white gown, the long, perverted fingers twisting around the fabric before yanking it off at once. A resounding rip echoed through the tall arches, causing the chanting choir to halt their susurrations at once. 

All eyes were afloat as the cold air kissed her skin. In vain, she attempted to cover herself only to be felled by the restraints of August’s grasp. 

“God?...” The man finally spoke, his melodic voice ending with a sonorous hum that sprouted through her arteries like a deadly toxin. Not less poisonous, his gaze trailed down her form, worshipping the very sights of his delightful prize. 

“Not God, but once I was an angel,” he suggested and leaned down to inhale her skin with a gratified growl before he flicked his wide tongue at her chest.

A groan of approval emitted from his lips, the sheer coat of sweat that layered her bosom was soaked of freshly brewed fear, his most favourite savour. His wet, velvety snake swept the sweet-briny wetness and licked further down her breasts, twirling around the erect nipple.

Unintended, she moaned. A river of delights rushed between her grinding thighs.

“No!”

Wrongful, unwanted bliss awoke in her. She felt desecrated and allured at once. Her fickle body deceived, mistaking this vile conquest as consensual. And the more August took, the more she desired; her dutiful womb demanded to consummate this bond, almost as if the beast had bewitched her a long while ago, embedding his essence in the marrow of her bones. 

August grinned against her skin, the scent of her arousal fresh in his nose while his lips travelled to kiss down her sternum and the slope of her torso. His thick whiskers left a trail of fluttering butterflies.

“Have sympathy, my love. I had built my own realm and waited in the forlorn abyss. Empires fell and worlds disintegrated into ashes while I waited for thou,” he explained and clutched the cheek of her behind in his claw, squeezing it possessively. “I have longed for your touch since the day your ancestor promised you to me, little lamb. A hundred years’ worth of waiting for the bargain to reach its end, and for you to finally be ripe.” 

The beast pressed one last languid kiss below her navel, a guttural hum exuded in between his lips, huffing hot against her belly. Slowly he rose to his full height, towering above his helpless victim who hugged her arms to cover her naked body and watched her nightmare unfold once more. Cold wind chilled her damp cheeks as August flung the blood-red cloak and exposed his naked figure before her.  

He was massive, a masculine build fit for a warrior angel, covered with thick bulging muscles and dark hair. Lips parted, she forgot herself, gawking in awe and allowing her gaze to trail down to his unapologetically monstrous cock. Firm and throbbing, it dripped with hunger, urging to find release inside her clenching cavern.

She didn’t even know a man could be this vast, but alas, he was no man at all.

It was at that moment when blackest wings spread before her that realisation finally struck through like a blunt hammer to the back of her head. Covering her mouth she cowered away, her exposed back hitting the raised altar behind her. 

August was no man nor god, but Lucifer himself. 

Seeing the hope die in her eyes, the devil sneered. 

“No, no, no! This can’t be real! This isn’t real!!!” She yelled, pathetic little hiccups sputtering from her lips.

August tilted his head, giving a scornful pout and scoffed with amusement. “Am I not?” He asked as he lifted an arm to flick his fingers, summoning two of the hooded servants to approach the dais. Their eyes were soulless gems embedded to a grey face that was cracked like a broken eggshell. 

“I am real, beloved, as real as the child you will conceive me tonight.” 

Shrills of terror flew through the great hole in the ceiling. Kicking and screaming, she fought as the men seized her arms and dragged her to the altar, forcing her flat down and holding her arms to prevent her from escaping. They never blinked at the ferocious war she waged against them, though an impish smile slowly possessed their faces as their master strode forward. 

“Sweet little lamb,” August chanted, enamoured with his fiery bride while he sauntered by the edge of the altar. His Adonis body golden in the candlelight, his fingers squeezed and pumped the ravenous demon that hung heavy between his legs. The twinge in her womb rose in response, a low roar thrumming as it yearned to succumb to its unbridled purpose. Sheen, the arousal trickled between her kicking legs and onto the smooth stone, making her cheek flame.

Much to August’s pleasure. 

“Our son will burn this world to cinders,” he promised and snaked his fingers at her ankles. Calmly deflecting her attempts to kick against him, he dragged her toward him until her knees folded over the edge and spread between his thighs. The platform was in the perfect height, positioning her delicious Eden at the height of his blessed demon. 

“You will make an excellent mother.”

Her entire body shook, her cunt clenching along her sobs in both defence and beguiling need as August leaned in and grazed the silky pink crown between her wet petals. She begged he wouldn’t be able to invade her, but her prayers fell to deaf ears.    

“Please don’t do this to me! I will do anything… please!” She wailed a bargain, still trying to escape the servants’ grip and looking at him pleadingly, “I… I...haven’t been with a man!”

“Oh I know…” August beamed and stroked himself back and forth between her engorged lips. Vamping flames tingled at her flesh, her core foolishly squeezing around nothing in demand for this wretched monster to defile her.  

“You’ve kept yourself for me, didn't you? I have waited for you too, for centuries even, but now our waiting has ended, and I can finally love you.”

With one brutal thrust, he breached through the gates of her sacred haven, corrupting her purity and ripping her open with the elegance of a savage. 

Exasperated bats fluttered their wings over the red moon at the sound of her pained howl. Eyes flared to the bleak sky above; the girl watched them in a daze, disbelieving the blazing demon that scorched her from inside as he nestled himself between her resisting gates with no intention to cease. 

In his villainy, August pushed further. Stunned thunders of ecstasy erupted from his lips, all to humiliate her along with the dark minions who circled the altar to pervertedly witness this sacrilegious ritual in which their master ravaged the unwilling maiden. Ignoring her body’s vehement protest, he forced himself unfathomably deep, only stopping until the head of his cock kissed the gateway of her cervix.

Crystalised tears rolled down her temples and stained the cold marble beneath her body. Slit impossibly sore, she twitched and sobbed at the overwhelming feeling of being invaded by another entity. Her once protected realm was now under the domain of a ruthless prince, and he took no prisoners and granted no mercy nor care at her vain endeavours to push him out. 

He would never stop. He would have her again and again until her sacred little womb would be plentiful with his seed. 

“Tight,” he blurted out in a blissful huff and reached his talons to bite into her quaking thighs. Spreading her wider, he hooked his hands below her knees, moulding her into a vessel to be fulfilled. Arctic orbs glazed down her naked figure, his plump lips cooing at her aching whimpers. The taut and hairy muscles of his gut flexed as he carefully withdrew his vicious cock, coated in the crimson sorrow of her maidenhood.

Hollow pain throbbed in her empty cunt as he suddenly abandoned her. Distressed and overwhelmed, she hoped he would stay out, yet her traitorous body coveted his return in a false faith that it would ease the fervid twinge that soared to her belly and even burnt in her breasts.

It was far from true.

No less vigorous than before, August plunged back inside her, stretching her again, shaping her as his own as she yipped and struggled to escape. His head threw back with a roar of divine pleasure, feasting at the thrill of her dauntless veils wrapping around him like a succulent flower. For a moment there, he wondered who preyed on who. Her concupiscent little cove sucked him so wantonly it threatened to swallow his raging cock. 

‘But of course, every virgin is destined to become my whore.’

Hot and heavy, his shaft seized the void that had always been inside her, their heaving organs collided in euphoric bliss like two broken shards that were lost for decades and finally pieced back together. And even though she seared with every jerk or shift he made, the impassioned flames licked at the seams of her twitching cunt in waves of ache and foreign desperation. 

“No…” she whispered, shame singeing her throat as the little pesky sparks enkindled where the devil had violated her. Vision blurry, she gazed at him utterly mystified. Part of her warred to stoke the fire that screamed heresy, while the other begged to yield to her demise.   

As August pulled away again and thrust harder, a breathless moan tore from her lips.    

A cutting grin radiated onto his face. “It feels so good inside you,” he sang and slid one hand to stroke all the way down from her sweat-ridden thighs to her belly, feeling the movement of his cock with every push and shove. 

He was taunting her, yet she couldn’t care less. Over the cinders of pain and virtue, a garden began to bloom. With every abysmal stroke of his swelling shaft, she could feel green saplings and coy vines growing within her uterus—soft, beautiful tendrils stalked through her arteries, sprouted through her cove, and engulfed his swelling demon as well.

She was no longer burning but becoming alive. Pained cries suddenly evolved into asphyxiation of bliss. Beyond her realisation, she undulated her hips in the desire to endure each of his wet claiming thrusts. Her spine coiled against the surface, further allowing him easier passage to nourish the wilderness that continued spreading through her blood. 

Noticing the change in her, approving groans rumbled in his throat; his little bride was growing tighter around his demon, her quivering lips and fluttering lashes the image of true Elysium. It was not long before he would plant his seed in her fertile lush. Her cunt milked and suckled around him, demanding to be bred by the devil. 

“Yes, my love! Give in to me! Give in to your primal sin!” August urged, enhancing the rhythm until he was thrusting into her like a battering ram, the sinful elixir of their union smearing on his groin and dripping down her rump. “Descend with me!” 

In her delirium she witnessed magical nightshades and sinewy stalks growing amidst the gritty bricks, encompassing the ominous cathedral with bright colours. 

It was paradise on earth, given to her by the unearthly rapturous joy of having this demon violate her, slamming harder with growing frustration until his thick girth ripped through the last threads of her self-preservation and that which she tried so hard to deny erupted through her clenching core.

Euphoria. 

For a lingering moment, she had wings of her own, pale as precious pearls and lustrous stars. Tingling waves of ethereal white heat burst at her seams, purifying her as she flew above the cathedral, and watched their ungodly union from above. But her wings suddenly caught aflame and before she knew it, she crashed onto the earth with a secondary, more violent climax. 

The beast’s roars erupted into a brutal thunder, causing the sturdy pillars of the cathedral to quake and crack like thin glass. With all his might, he clutched her thighs and hauled her against him, slamming his swollen cock deep into her belly and releasing his smouldering, milky essence until it seeped from her sleek. August’s wings flew open as he found his own rapture, blazes following through and consuming the ancient hall. 

This was no longer a hallucination. 

This was Inferno.

Still radiating with orgasmic glow, she screamed horrified as everything around them vehemently burnt to coals. Even the soulless servants crumbled into dust, accepting their fate without so much of a yip. The fire raged and died within seconds, leaving nothing but broken pillars and ashen smoke.  

Shortly, the tepid air of night caressed her naked skin as they remained alone in the ruins of what was once an ominous cathedral. Still buried in her viscera, August broke into a low, stretching groan of relief which made her immediately return her eyes to him. Shame rose bitter in her throat and new fresh rivulets trickled on her cheeks.  

After all that he had done to her, she could see nothing in him but a beautiful monster.

“My beloved queen,” August keened to comfort her and moved his hand to tenderly stroke her lower belly. 

A toothy smile broke upon his face, his eyes gleaming with surprise as he felt the life that had already begun growing in her angelic fortress. A son, strong and glorious as his father. For the first time in his long existence, the devil was truly elated and he vowed in that moment that he would give her much, and much more. But first, she needed to be cared for. 

Her assaulted hole convulsed with pain as he pulled himself out, leaving a trail of creamy fluids to dribble at his departure. Sniffling and shaking, she watched him bemused, as he climbed onto the altar and moved to lie beside her. Though she no longer flinched as he touched her, what was the point of it anyway? He had already destroyed her and stolen her innocent soul.  

“You make me so happy, my beloved queen,” August had murmured as he gripped her jaw and pressed his lips to hers. His kiss claimed her breath, pillaging whatever left of her chastity and wit until she absentmindedly kissed back, forgetting herself as his tongue bested her will. 

When he broke away, the taste of spiced ruby wine and blood lingered in her mouth. 

“An eternity awaits us,” the devil explained as he pecked her nose and her forehead lovingly, to which she shivered - out of fright or out of want, she couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

“You had made me the happiest, now give me the chance to grant the same favour, ask for anything you want in the world and it shall be yours,” he begged and wrapped her in the shelter of his strong arms to lie down with him on the smooth stone surface.

Absentmindedly, she welcomed the protection offered from his embrace and stared silently as flakes of cement broke from the remnants of the wall floated in the air around her before she opened her mouth. 

“I wish for…” 

Her whisper faded into the dark.

*Disclaimer: I do not own Mission Impossible or August Walker

Beautiful dividers by @firefly-graphics​

[staticscreenwriting]

Love like the movies // Bucky Barnes

One - When Harry met Sally 

Synopsis: This is a story of boy meets girl. The boy, Bucky Barnes, finds himself thrown into a world that seems so different from everything he’s ever known. Growing  up, Bucky had not a doubt in his mind that his undeniable charm and his gorgeous smile would one day help him find the one. Now he realizes there’s so much more to romancing women, especially those from the 21st century. The girl, (Y/N) knows entirely too much about rom-coms and is quite particular about the way she eats her popcorn. Bucky meets (Y/N) a few months after returning to NYC. He knows almost immediately that becoming her friend is inevitable. This is a story of boy meets girl. This is not a love story. This is a story about love. (Bucky Barnes x female!Reader // a few spoilers for EP1 of TFATWS)

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

“ Now in the movies they make it look so perfect And in the background they're always playing the right song And in the ending there's always a resolution But real life is more than just two hours long “

Some Avett Brothers song sounds from the little radio that sits on the corner of the counter. Thick drops of rain pearl against the window, racing each other down the glass before meeting up eventually and becoming one with each other. 

(Y/N) refills the last of the mustard bottles, setting it on the counter next to the others. It’s a quiet night at the diner. The kitchen’s been closed for an hour now and usually, that’s when people stop coming in. While the Little Blue Diner is known for their hot dogs and burgers, neither their coffee nor their cold sandwiches are gonna win any prizes any time soon. 

And yet …

Sure enough, as her eyes lift towards the figure slouched down in the corner booth, his gloved hand is already outstretched, signaling his desire for yet another refill.

A mixture between a chuckle and a scoff tumbles from her lips at the thought of him wanting more of the slightly burned liquid. If there’s one thing (Y/N) can admit to being bad at, it’s brewing coffee. Where there should be a rich brown color, hers usually ends up with an inky black hue and instead of leaving a hint of warm caramelization on your tongue hers just tastes bitter. It doesn’t seem to face the man in the corner though. Not even a little bit. To say this worries her is a bit of an understatement. No one in their right mind would take 7 refills of her witch's brew.

“ You okay, my dude ? “ (Y/N) inquires as she steps up to his table, coffee pot in hand. 

The man doesn’t look up at her. He doesn’t have to. She’s acutely aware of the character currently occupying the corner booth. It’s a face she knows like the back of her hand. One that’s been staring at her from books and documentaries, one she’s been greeted by every time her dad took her with him to the Smithsonian. Though they do not dare look up at her, she’s so awfully familiar with the bright blue shade of his eyes, he might as well be a long-time friend. 

“ I’m fine. “ 

Of all the lies in the world, “I’m fine” must be the most unbelievable one and yet the one told most often. No one who’s actually fine ever says those words. Those two words are reserved for the lonely and broken only. It’s like getting “I’m not fine at all” tattooed across your goddamn forehead. 

“ Sure you are, that’s why you’re having the 7th refill of my god awful coffee. “ 

“ ‘s not that bad. “ 

“ Sure, if you’re into licking charcoal it’s probably not that bad. “

It’s just a split of a second, a fraction of a moment, but (Y/N) is sure she can see the corner of his lips lifting slightly. It falls back into the stoic scowl immediately but it was there. For a teeny tiny moment, there was the shadow of a smirk on his face and that’s a success in her book. 

“ Either way, here’s how we’re gonna do this. I’ll give you one last refill, after that, I’m cutting you off, my friend. I know I’m a waitress and it’s my job to bring you what you want but I do not fancy watching you suffer a caffeine-induced heart attack in this very diner. I am not equipped to handle a situation like that and quite honestly they don’t pay me enough to deal with that either. “ 

His eyes are still trained on the scratched-up white linoleum table but ever so faintly he nods his head in silent agreement. 

As promised, she pours him one last cup of coffee. A brew so dark it could rival the bubbling goo of a tar pit. 

“ Enjoy your last cup of the night, Mr. Barnes. “ 

It’s then, as she’s just about to walk back behind the counter, as those words leave her lips, that he looks up for the first time since he’s walked in. 

His eyes are the exact shade of blue she’s so familiar with but there’s something else about them. An infinite sadness haunts every spec of blue. Where she thought there would be a sparkle of adventure, a hint of mischief, there is just loneliness. This is not the man she’s read about in museums, heard about in stories. This man right here is completely and utterly lost.

“ I - I uh — “ 

He clears his throat, once, twice, then nervously brushes his hand across his face. 

“ I can go if you don’t want me here. “ 

“ Huh? “ 

“ I asked if you want me to leave. “ 

As those words escape him, his eyes seem to grow even more devastated. They glimmer with memories of a time long gone and a future uncertain. Shine with hurt and fear. 

“ Why would I ask you to leave? “ 

Bucky shrugs his shoulders in a way to make it look nonchalantly. It’s hard to seem casual though when you seem to carry the weight of the entire world on your shoulders. 

“ People who recognize me usually aren’t so keen on having me around. I don’t know if you’ve heard but I’m uh — I’m not people’s favorite person. “ 

It’s a sad thought, (Y/N) realizes, to be constantly bound to a past that is yours but never really belongs to you. To be forever linked with the horrible actions of a version of yourself you had no control over. And no matter how hard you try to set it all right and to repent for your wrongdoings, to some people it will never be enough.

“ No, you don’t have to leave, “ (Y/N) reassures before sliding into the booth opposite him. “ I don’t know you because of — because of what happened. I know you first and foremost as Sergeant Barnes, former officer of the 107th Infantry Regiment, part of the Howling Commandos, and best friend and brother to Steve Rogers. Everything else that’s — none of my business really. “ 

Bucky lifts his eyes off of the table again and while the sadness is still there, something else lingers for a moment. Curiosity, intrigue maybe, or just relief. 

“ Wow. Didn’t think I’d run into someone reciting my life to me. Huh. “ 

“ My dad used to be a curator at the Smithsonian. He was in charge of the Captain America exhibition. I’ve seen your face a million times, visiting him at work. I gotta say though, you look way more approachable and friendly on the picture they put up. “ 

This time, it’s more than a fleeting moment, this time she’s sure about it, this time he lets out an actual chuckle. 

“ I was a lot younger then, okay? Cut an old man some slack. “ 

“ Oh, you pulling the old man card now? “ 

“ Is it working? “ he asks, eyebrows raised in question. 

“ Not really. “ 

“ Ah, what a shame.” 

Silence settles upon them again like a thick duvet filled with feathers, it’s not uncomfortable but it’s smothering anyway.

“ Do you wanna talk about it? Your sour mood, I mean.” 

Bucky shrugs again “I have a therapist.” 

“ Does she make you draw your feelings? “ 

He smiles again at that question. His smile, (Y/N) thinks, ain’t the worst thing she’s ever seen. She wouldn’t mind seeing it more often.

“ No. Why? “ 

“ Mine did. She stopped pretty quickly though, I guess my drawings were too detailed and gory for her.” 

“ Huh. “ 

“ Mmmh.” 

After another sip of coffee, one he takes without grimacing, without showing any sign of disgust for the burnt brew, Bucky speaks up again.

“ Mine thinks I’m lying to her. “ 

“ Are you ?” 

“ Well yeah, but she doesn’t need to know that.” 

“ Maybe telling her the truth would help you. “ (Y/N) suggests only to be met with a determined head shake No from Bucky. 

The notification sound of a phone pulls them from their conversation and at the sight of the name on the display, Bucky lets an “oh shit” slip from his lips.

“ Don’t you sound excited about getting texts from your friends, “ (Y/N) jokes

“ I had a date last night. That’s her. “ 

“ Since she’s texting you I assume it went well. “ 

Bucky grimaces at her words, slightly shaking his head in disagreement.

“ No? “ 

“ I mean, I had fun and it went well — at first. She’s really sweet. But then we started talking and I may have run. “ 

“ Ran where? “ 

“ Away. “ 

“ Away as in you left. “ 

“ Mm-mmh” 

“ Just like that? “ 

“ Yup. “ 

“ Why? “ 

He throws up his arms in frustration and shakes his head again as if to gather all his thoughts and rattle them neatly back into place. 

“ I don’t know, okay? I haven’t been on a date since the 1940s. Everything I know about women and dating and romance seems antiquated. I’m overwhelmed and confused and I just don’t wanna do anything wrong.” 

“ Dude, you ran from your date without any explanation. How much worse could you have handled it? “ 

“ Yeah well, hindsight is 20/20. “ 

While his words try to sound light and nonchalant, his shoulders tense and his whole demeanor seems to shift back into the gloomy state he’s been in since he entered the diner. Like a big cloud that’s following him around, casting shadows at all times and hardly allowing any light to shine through.

“ Look, I don’t think any of us know what the heck we’re doing half the time. Like, trust me I know what I’m talking about. Online dating means I have to choose between men who think posing with a dead fish will make me want to sleep with them, men who think knowing obscure Star Wars facts can replace having an actual personality, and men who send me pictures of their … privates without me ever giving any indication of wanting to see those. So yeah — dating can really s - be frustrating. “ 

Bucky regards her for a second, the right corner of his lips pulled into a lazy lopsided smirk.

“ Did you just censor yourself because you don’t wanna swear around me ?” 

“ Maybe, but that’s beside the point. The point is, we’re all just human and in the end, we’re all just looking for someone to like us the way we are, all quirks and issues and baggage included. I know women might seem intimidating but really all we want is to be loved and appreciated. And not the over-the-top build-you-a-house, the notebook kind of love. More like the Harry and Sally kind.“ 

(Y/N) can almost see the gears working inside Bucky’s brain, the desperate attempt to make any sense of all the words and phrases she’s just thrown at him. A jumbled mess of pop culture references swirls through his head like a swarm of bees, chaotic and messy. 

“ I have no idea what you just said. “ 

“ When Harry met Sally? “

Bucky just shrugs and shakes his head.

“ You’ve never seen it? “ 

“ I’ve been a bit preoccupied with being blipped away into oblivion for the last 5 years. So I haven’t really had the time to get into movies yet. “ 

This time it’s the gears in her own head that start turning. 

“ What are you doing Friday night ? “ she asks, biting her lip in nervous anticipation.

“ I — I don’t know. “ 

That’s a bit of a lie, really. He does know. It’s the same thing he does pretty much every other day. He gets some takeout, brings it home, sits down in front of the tv, tries to get lost in whatever show they put on, fails at doing so, reads a few pages of a book, lays down to sleep, and then wakes up a little while later to yet another nightmare, tangled up in sweaty sheets, heart racing. 

(Y/N) doesn’t need to know any of that though. He doesn’t tell his therapist so why would he tell a random stranger.

“ Well, don’t make any plans. We’re gonna kill 2 birds with 1 stone. “ 

“ We are? “ 

“ Yeah. Trust me on this one. “ 

“ I don’t even know you. “ 

“ Sure you do. “ (Y/N) says and taps the tag pinned to her baby blue polo shirt with the diner’s logo on the back.  “ I’m the one who serves you just enough coffee to keep you happy but not have you die a painful and honestly mildly embarrassing death. “ 

Every part of him screams at him to say no. To stay away from her the way he does from most other people, even Sam. To get up and get out and not cause any more damage than he already has in other people’s life. But then he remembers his therapist's words, he remembers Leah’s face full of confusion and disappointment, he remembers the empty feeling in his chest. That feeling of pure and utter loneliness. 

“ Alright, Friday works for me, (Y/N). “ 

“ Perfect, Bucky. “ 

“ Bring a jacket. “ 

The address and “Bring a jacket” that’s all she’s texted him. No explanation, no plan, nothing. 

Bucks leans against the streetlamp, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. Anxiety is washing through his system like tidal waves on a stormy ocean. This whole being spontaneous thing was much easier back in the 40s. When his shoulders weren’t so heavy with guilt. When he didn’t have to constantly face the consequences of his actions. Consequences of a past he can never quite outrun no matter how far he goes and how hard he tries. 

Maybe this is good, he has to remind himself. Getting out of his comfort zone, if that even exists for him. Opening himself up to new opportunities. Maybe even make a friend. (Y/N) seem nice enough, if a bit peculiar. 

His shrink would be proud of him. Getting out there, talking to people, being approachable. This must for sure earn him some kind of gold star equivalent in her notebook. 

“ Hey there, Mr. Grumpyface. “ 

(Y/N)'s voice cuts through the chilly New York night like headlights through thick fog. She strolls towards him, lips pulled into a big bright smile. Leading up to tonight he’s spent quite a lot of time wondering if this is some kind of project for her, if maybe she sees him as a sort of charity case. Something to earn her karma points. It wouldn’t be the first time. But the genuine joy radiating from her face lets those worries melt away instantly. 

Maybe, Bucky thinks, she really just thinks he’ll make a good friend. And maybe he can. 

“ Hi, (Y/N). “

“ You brought a jacket” she points out, pinching the black leather between her fingers. Her nails are painted in various shades of red, each finger a different hue. 

“ I did. You told me to. “

“ And you listened! “ 

“ Why wouldn’t I ? “ Bucky inquires, a look of confusion settling on his face.

“ You wouldn’t believe how many men think wearing a jacket when it’s cold out somehow clashes with their need to demonstrate their masculinity. “ 

“ Wow. “ he exclaims.

“ Yeah. So anyway, you ready to go up? “ 

She nods her head towards the house across the street. It’s a slim multiple-story brick building with rusty fire escapes. It looks like a residential lot, not much else that could give away (Y/N)’s plan for the rest of the night.

“ Up? “ 

“ Mm-mh. “ (Y/N) nods and motions towards the top of the building. “ to the roof. “ 

“ The roof? You’re not planning to push me off or anything, right? I don’t usually spend time with strangers on rooftops. “ he tells her, a smirk lifting the sides of his lips.

She grants him a smile in return. One of those that you try so hard to suppress but despite your best efforts they find their way onto your face anyway. Because some smiles demand to be smiled. And her smile is pretty cute, he thinks, it deserves to be seen. 

“ Foiled again, damn Bucky. I’m a waitress with a useless degree in literature and creative writing but assassinating you was exactly what I had planned for tonight. Couldn’t let me have that one, huh? “ 

“ Sorry to spoil all the fun. “ 

She softly bumps her shoulder against his right side as she passes him and crosses the street. Her red skirt flutters around her knees like a ribbon of fire, bright and warm and —

“ You coming, grumpy ?” 

“ Yeah uh — yeah sure. “ 

The walk upstairs is filled with chatter from her and nodding from Bucky. It’s been like this most of the time since — well since he’s really back. Other people usually do the talking and Bucky listens. It works most of the time. Works with Yori. Sometimes though, sometimes it doesn’t. He can see people getting frustrated with him. Hell his own therapist does and she knows the baggage he has to carry around. 

This is different though, (Y/N) doesn’t seem to mind much. She’s a waterfall of words and topics and doesn’t seem to get bored or annoyed with him. It’s nice. 

A heavy iron door swings open as they reach the top of the building and as soon as they step out onto the rooftop balcony they get engulfed in an ocean of lights. They’re strung from one end of the roof to the other and back again. Next to the door, a little makeshift bar is set up, and a guy in a Star Wars shirt hands out beers to people. 

Multicolored deck chairs and beanbags are haphazardly placed across the entire roof, all pointing towards the corner furthest away from the door where a big white sheet hangs spanned between two poles. 

“ Sooo you gonna tell me what we’re doing here? “ Bucky asks again as (Y/N) steers him towards a cluster of chairs in the back. 

“ Some peeps I went to university with, set up movie screenings here every once in a while. I could pull some strings and got to choose the movie. “ 

“ We’re gonna watch a movie? “ 

“ Not just any movie, “ she exclaims and drops down onto one of the plastic deck chairs that looks like it used to be bright pink once but is now but a bleached blush colour from being exposed to the sun too much. “ We’re watching when Harry met Sally. “ 

Bucky slumps down on the chair next to her, a blue one with white daisy patterns. 

“ Me not knowing this movie really does bother you, huh? “ 

“ It’s a classic, might as well start with this one. And anyway, maybe this can help you get back into the dating game. Ya know, help you understand modern romance. “

“ You think so? “ 

She shrugs and starts fumbling around in her bag, “ I dunno. It might. And if it doesn’t at least you’ll spend your time watching a good movie and get to experience the blessing of my company. Ah-ha! There you go “ 

Her hand reaches out holding a bag of M&Ms.

“ I brought snacks. “ 

More and more people start occupying the chairs and bean bags and a few minutes later a guy steps up in front of the sheet. He’s wearing a shirt with a black and white bird pattern, huge glasses with a brown frame, and jeans that don’t cover his ankles. He’s tall and lanky and his hair is so messy, Bucky wonders if it’s intentional or if he just hasn’t brushed it in a while. 

“ Hi guys, I’m Andrew. For those of you who don’t know me, I live in apartment 2B and I just wanna say thank you for showing up and welcome you to our movie night under the stars. A few days ago we received a special request from one of our good friends and because she let me stay on her couch for several months back during our college days and I still owe her for that I couldn’t reject her request. So thanks to Miss (Y/N) over there in the pink chair you now get to spend the next 90 minutes watching Meg Ryan fall in love with Mike Wazowski. Enjoy. “ 

As he steps away from the sheet, the lights are turned off and the MGM logo pops up on the screen. 

“ Trust me, Bucky. This one’s so good.” (Y/N) assures before throwing some M&Ms into her mouth, now entirely focused on the movie.

It takes a while for Bucky to relax. Being around so many people and not having any fear of what’s lurking around the corner is still very new. Letting go is never as easy as it sounds. Eventually though, his nerves settle down a little and as the movie progresses, he finds himself relaxing more and more. Something he hasn’t done in a long time. Not since Wakanda.

Exactly 46 minutes into the movie, (Y/N) lets her eyes wander to her left where Bucky, until now, sat slumped into his seat. Still perpetually grumpy but more chilled out and relaxed than she’s seen him before. Until now. A moaning Meg Ryan visible making him uncomfortable.

“ You okay, grumpy? “ 

He doesn’t grant her a real answer, just scoffs and rolls his eyes. There’s a smile though, she’s sure. Somewhere hidden there is another smile. 

“ So, what did we learn today? “ 

Bucky looks at (Y/N) who has her arms wrapped tightly around her middle shielding herself from the chilly night air. The movie night has ended a while ago and the two of them are slowly strolling along the New York City streets on the way back to (Y/N)’s apartment. 

“ To take your own advice and dress warmer for a movie night? “ 

(Y/N) chuckles. “ No, grumpy. I meant the movie. “ 

He shrugs at her question. Quite honestly he hasn’t learned anything new. Nothing about the movie seemed in any way revolutionary to him nor does he see any benefit for himself and his dating life going forward. But the way she looks at him right now, expecting something grand not from him really but some beautiful consequences to her ideas, that makes him reconsider. Sure he could tell her that it was just a silly little movie about people falling in love but that would no doubt hurt her, even a tiny little bit. And if there’s anything Bucky has enough of, it’s hurting others. 

“ I guess that men and women really can not be friends. “ 

“ Noooo! No. Is that really what you took from this movie? “ 

“ That’s literally what happened. “ 

“ Okay first of all it works, look at us! We’re friends! Second of all, that’s not what the movie is really about. It’s about love and vulnerability. It’s about overcoming all the tiny things that can work against you and your relationship. Like distance and timing and egotism. It’s about hiding who you are because really opening up to someone, being your authentic true self with all your faults and imperfections, that makes you vulnerable. And being vulnerable is fucking scary. But love is worth it anyway. That’s what the movie is about. “

As Bucky noticed before, some smiles demand to be smiled. They need to be smiled because they’re important and they mean something. The one gracing his face now, that’s one of those. One of those you remember because you feel them all the way in your heart.

“ You think we’re friends? “ 

“ Oh, are we — are we not? “ 

“ No. I — no, we are! I’d like to be friends. “ 

(Y/N) abruptly stops in her tracks, turns towards him, and holds out her hand. “ To friendship.” 

“ We’re shaking hands on it? What is this, a business deal? “ 

“ You know what, yeah now that you mention it that’s pretty lame. “ (Y/N) agrees, balling her hand into a fist “ how about a fist bump, bro? “ 

Bucky reluctantly knocks his right hand against hers before continuing his walk down the street. “You call me bro again I’m canceling the friendship. “ 

“ Alright. Noted. “ 

“ So have you talked to the girl again? “ 

“ Hmm? “ 

“ The one you went on a date with? “ 

“ Oh, Leah. Uh — no.” 

“ Why not? “ 

Bucky throws her a look. One that says “are you kidding me?”. One that says “ you know why.” 

“ Cause I ran out. That’s embarrassing. She’s gonna think I’m insane. She’s never gonna wanna see me again. “ 

“ I sincerely doubt that. You just gotta say sorry. I know in Love Story — that’s a novel and also a movie from the 70s — they say that ‘Love means never having to say you’re sorry but that’s a load of bull. Just say sorry and ask her for a do-over. “ 

“ And then what? We play a rematch of battleships and talk about my trauma? “ 

“ Well, what did you do on dates in the 40s? “ 

That time, his youth, that seems like a different life altogether now. So much happened between then and now and the man he is now, has no relation to the boy he was then. Sometimes looking back hurts, makes it painfully obvious what he’s lost. But sometimes, like tonight, he can feel a hint of fondness coursing through him at the thought of times long gone.

“ Dancing, mostly.” 

“ Like, ballroom dancing? “ 

“ Swing. “ 

“ You swing dance? “ 

“ I did. “ 

(Y/N) regards him through squinted eyes “ really? “ 

“ You don’t believe me? “

“ I don’t know. You don’t strike me as a dancer. “ 

Not a second later, Bucky’s gloved hand grabs onto her’s and twirls her towards him then away from him and back in. 

“ You twirled me! “ 

“ Mm-mh.”

“ I’ve never been twirled. That’s so fun. “ 

It’s like autopilot taking over as Bucky holds onto her, twirling her again then pulling her in and swaying them in a circle. It’s not swing dancing, not even close but there’s no music either, and anyway, his dancing days are over. But sometimes you gotta make a point and if that means slow dancing in the middle of an empty street then that’s that. 

The night wraps them in a blanket of comfort and intimacy as the stars and the New York skyline try to outshine each other. It’s a moment so peaceful, Bucky can’t remember the last time his heart felt so light, his mind felt so at ease, his entire being got to let go and just be alive and in the moment.

And then the shine of headlights rips them from their moment and makes them jump back onto the sidewalk. 

“ Get off the road you fucking morons! “ 

“ Gotta love the big city folk. “ 

“ Yup. “ 

“ Hey, Bucky.” 

“ What? “ 

“ You really can dance.” 

“ Told you. “ 

“ Can I tell you a secret? “ 

“ Sure. “ 

“ I can’t dance for shit. “ 

“ That so? “

“ Yup. Which means you gotta teach me. “ 

“ Absolutely not.” 

“ Oh, 100%! “ 

“ We’ll see about that.” 

There are nights you try to forget. Nights that you wish to never ever remember. Ones that break you. That beat you down and leave you bruised and battered.

Then there are nights like this one that you want to hold onto for just a little bit longer. Those that fill you with joy and an immeasurable thirst for life. The ones that make you feel grateful to be alive right here and now. 

The inevitable end of the night creeps closer as they arrive at (Y/N)’s front door. Neither of them really want to say goodnight but both know there’s no use in delaying it.

“ I hope you didn’t hate the movie too much, “ (Y/N) speaks up, leaning against the front door of her apartment complex.

“ No. It was fun! Although I still don’t know who Mike Wazulsky is. “ 

“ Mike Wazowski, he’s — you know what? That’s a conversation for another time. “ 

“ Alright, if you say so. “ 

“ Thanks for walking me home. “ 

“ Oh, yeah no need to thank me. It’s the right thing to do. “ 

For a moment they just stand and smile, trying to cherish the last few moments of this night. 

“ We should do this more often. “ Bucky suggests, surprising even himself.

“ For sure. I still have so many movies to show you. “ 

“ Can’t wait. “ 

A slight sense of awkwardness falls over them as neither of them knows what to do. Go for a hug? Shakes hands? Wave goodbye? 

“ I uh — I should go. “ 

“ Yeah, of course. Have a good night, Bucky.” 

“ You too, (Y/N).” 

“ Oh and Bucky? “ 

“ Yes? “ 

“ Give Leah a call. “ 

Bucky nods his head before turning around and walking back into the night.

As he takes the way back to his own home, there are only two things on Bucky’s mind: the vulnerability of falling in love and the question of who the hell Mike Wazowski was. 

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Art Of Remembrance (Part 30)

Azula drinks in the warmth of the fire. Her mind is still abuzz from their venture to the Vine Research Facility.  She lays herself on the ground, feeling worn out and pessimistic. Truth be told, they hadn’t expected to find anything on the first go around. No fool would remain in one place after losing such a high profile captive. Even still, it had been decently embarrassing to have to relay to the rest of her party that her team had come up nearly as empty handed as everyone else. Embarassing to let everyone know that they’d wasted their time. At least she had been able to present the maps and notes. Though she can’t help but think that they were too convenient to be anything less than a decoy or a trap. A trap, she can work with. A decoy is completely useless.

Azula presses her fingers into her temples and groans in frustration. The maps all pointed to the Foggy Swamp. This is where they had been planning to go next anyhow. It might be that she is overthinking things again. Really what is the harm in following those maps if they had already been planning on going in that direction anyhow? At least now she can account for possible mishaps.

She runs through various scenarios and possibilities and formulates a reaction plan for each. For this she is thankful for the notes. It keeps her mind from conjuring up images of Sokka’s lightly burnt chest and an imagined scent of charred flesh. It also keeps her from dwelling too much on how Katara, Mai, and TyLee seem to be avoiding her again. Toph and Aang have come to check on her. Aang had offered her a little insight on the Foggy Swamp and they’d had a fairly enthralling discussion about the place. Apparently, she is going to have to brace herself for hallucinations and startling phantasma.

She is alone again, with the pair having retreated off to bed. Azula knows that she ought to be sleeping too. She sits up and draws her knees to her chest as she stares into the flames. She decides that she is in need of another distraction.

Sokka too is slumbering but she wanders up to him anyhow and gently shakes him awake. She imagines that he is probably growing tired of this routine of her rousing him from sleep because it refuses to come to her.

He mumbles something sleepy that she can’t make out. “Sokka?” She calls with volume and abruptness enough to make him jolt. He practically tosses the blanket off of himself.

“Geez, Azula!” He exclaims. “Having trouble sleeping again?”

She nods, “not for the reason you think though.”

He sits up and strokes the stubble on his chin. “Zuko says that you never liked failure, does it have something to do with that?”

Azula nods, “that’s part of it.”

“What’s the other part?”

“Come show me the lights and I’ll tell you?” She offers.

His blue eyes light up with glee. “You want to see the lights!?”

“Yes.” She replies. “Now that I’m not sick and frostbitten, I might be able to appreciate them more.” She doesn’t particularly have to say any more, he is already tugging on a heavier pair of pants and his parka. She hasn’t even taken her own off.

“Do you want me to heat up some tea and we can drink it while we watch the lights?”

“That sounds nice, Sokka.” She certainly isn’t one to pass on a little extra warmth.

.oOo.

Sokka ignores any and all protests as he bundles Azula up more adequately. She already has her parka on but her mittens are still uselessly wet from their journey home. He steals them away from her and comes back with a dryer pair. Along with a few pairs of socks and hats, they had been hanging above the fireplace and heated generously. She grumbles various protests at him being so fussy and overly-nurturing with her but such complaints begin to fall short when the pleasantries of toasty mittens start to settle in. He can’t get her to admit her satisfaction out loud but when he turns around to fetch the tea, he catches her pressing the mittens to her cheeks.

He is not yet satisfied with the temperature of the tea so she certainly won’t be. He leaves it to continue to a boiling point. As he does so he fetches a hat. He is thankful for her top knot, it saves him the trouble of having to sweep her long locks out of the way while he fixes the hat over her ears.

“Sokka, I already have a hood, I don’t need…”

“Frostbitten ears and fingers.” He fills in. “I know that you like matching things but I don’t recommend losing an ear or another pinky.”

Azula shoots him a vaguely humored pout and clutches her left hand. Without giving himself a chance to second guess, he takes that hand a gives it a small kiss. He quickly retracts to check on the tea. “Alright, I think that it’s done.” He pours a cup for her and gives her one final once over. “And I think that you’re all set…” He pauses. “Maybe we should get you another coat?”

“Another coat?” Her brows crinkle and her nose scrunches. “I don’t think that I’ll be able to move if you add any more layers.”

Alright, so he might have overdone it a little.

“If anything, I should take one off.”

He chuckles. “Okay, I think that we’re ready to go.”  He takes her hand and leads her out and into the snow. It isn’t all too late in the night and, with luck, the luminous display will settle her mind enough for her to sleep. He hopes that her nights will be less insomnia riddled. He would be lying to himself if he said that it wasn’t at least slightly annoying to be woken every night. He just hopes that he doesn’t express as much.

Sokka finds that standing with her is more than enough to make up for that.

She is particularly quiet as she gazes up at the dancing sky. He can’t tell if she is actually looking at the delicately churning curtains or if she is staring at the stars and moon. They are particularly bright tonight. He has trouble finding a place in the sky that isn’t strewn with cosmic glitter. The moon itself hangs in the sky like a silvery saucer. Its surface throws glimmering light over the fallen snow. For once there isn’t a flake in the air.

It is just as well because he doesn’t have to squint against falling snow to enjoy the lights. All things considered, it is a rather warm night for the poles. He almost feels bad for bundling Azula up so heavily until he notices the ever so slight shiver over her body. “You getting cold?” He asks.

She shakes her head, “I’m not cold.” The teeny tremor in her voice betrays that fib.

“Come here.” He offers with a soft laugh and an eye roll.

The princess wanders back to him, her gait made awkward by snow and a layer too many of clothing. He pulls her close, her back pressing into his chest. He holds her around the middle and rests his chin on her head. He feels her arms curl up to grip the ones he has around her.

He had come out here to look at the lights but instead he is looking at her. At that rare moment where innocent delight is plain on her face. Even beneath the scarf, he can tell that she is smiling.

.oOo.

Azula can’t say that she has seen anything like it; turquoise folds over pink and pink cascades over teal. And then it seems to explode in shades of blue and magenta and hints of green and purple. They dance like silks on a clothesline caught in a summer breeze.

Now that she is truly observing the display she can understand why Sokka enjoys it so. It is just awe striking enough to pull her mind away from the freezing air. Just majestic enough to quiet the unrest in her mind.

“I like them.” She finally says. It is something of an understatement.

“I told you that you would.” Sokka replies, giving her a little squeeze.

She pulls her gaze away from the lights and turns around to look up at him. She can see the curtains of light reflecting in his eyes. Kind eyes. Warm eyes. Frosty in color but warm no less. His smile is rather charming too, especially when it reaches those eyes. It has been a while since she has seen him so happy. Maybe she hasn’t seen him this happy before now.

“I’m really happy that you like them, I was worried that you didn’t and I was just bothering you.” He says. “The first time I tried to show you them.”

She shrugs. “I was just sick and…” she looks back at the vast expanse of the tundra. “Sick and waiting for something to shamble its way out of there.”  She admits.

“Fair enough.” He replies. “What’s bothering you tonight.”

She presses her lips together and hovers her hand above his chest.

“Still?” He asks. “I told you that it was alright.”

“It isn’t alright with your sister. Or Mai and TyLee. I know what they think of me…”

Sokka sights. “Kat just gets protective, ever since mom died…”

“Your mother is dead?” She probably should have known as much. Thinking back on it, she’d only ever seen his father around. Perhaps she’d thought that the woman had simply been away, off somewhere else in the world. Or maybe it is simply that she hadn’t had much time to connect those dots.

“Yeah. It was the war, when I was just a kid.”

“How young were you?”

“Maybe seven or eight. Something like that…” He trails off.

“My therapist says that I have mother troubles too, I don’t remember them though.” At her slight laugh he gives one of his own.

“Anyways, ever since that happened, Katara’s been all protective and motherly. She doesn’t want to lose anyone else. She just needs some time to cool off.” He shrugs. “She’ll see the whole picture once she does.”

“What about Mai and TyLee?” She asks. “They’ve been looking at me as though I’m going to set them on fire at any minute.”

“That’s probably because they haven’t seen you like this yet.”

“Like what?”

“Sniffling and buried in a ridiculous amount of parkas.”

“That is your fault?” She crosses her arms.

“The parkas are, yeah.” He agrees with what she believes is self satisfaction.

“Maybe I should have asked them to join us…” She thinks aloud.

“I think that there will be other times for us to talk as a group.” Sokka shrugs. “They just need to get used to the new you.” He cups a hand over her cheek.

“I suppose.” She replies. She watches her words trail away on the mist that slips from between her lips. It reminds her that it is absolutely frosty out.This time she doesn’t think that the distraction of the lights will be able to take the bite away.

“You’re cold.”

This time it isn’t posed as a question and she doesn’t plan on lying about it anyways.

“Let's get back inside then.”

“How long do you usually watch them for?” She looks back up as they begin to walk back.

“An hour or so.”

“In this weather?”

He shrugs again, “I’m used to it.”

Perhaps she should make a goal of building up her cold tolerance.

“I bet that I wouldn’t last as long as you on a beach.” He points out. “True.” She cuts him a smug smile; as smug as she can make it anyhow with the icy air practically freezing her face into stiffness.

She stuffs her hands into her pockets and her mind begins to ruminate on Katara, Mai, and TyLee again. She finds it hard to believe that they will get used to her, especially if Sokka’s tales of her are to be believed. And she thinks that they most certainly are. “What if they don’t get used to me?”

“You’re going to have a whole boat ride to the Earth Kingdom to show them that you’re a fun person to talk to.”

Her belly flops just thinking about being trapped on a boat and in another awkward dinner conversation. She might just have to get used to them too. She is coming to realize that socializing doesn’t exactly come easily to her. That she likely comes on too strong. That she is too blunt. And that she sometimes isn’t sure what to say at all. It is this that finally compels her to ask the other thing that has been occupying her for quite some time. “Do you love me?” She asks it quickly enough and abruptly enough for him to ask her to repeat herself. It is harder the second time, now that it isn’t an impulse question. But she manages to inquire again.

.oOo.

Sokka’s strides slow to a halt. The question has thrown him. He supposes that the question was just waiting to be asked. Though he didn’t expect her to ask so soon. As so, he hasn’t yet figured out how to answer it.

The part of him that still has hopes for Suki is reeling. And the thought that Azula recovering her memories will nullify everything else that they’ve been through still nags him persistently. And yet when he looks upon her, he only feels a pleasant flutter. Especially when She stares up at him like that.

He swallows. At his hesitation, her face seems to fall. He swallows harder still.

He has delayed too long. He isn’t sure if it is hurt or anger that he sees on her face. Whichever it is, it carries her the rest of the way back to his home. He watches her disappear inside. At her departure he is sure that he does love her. It wouldn’t hurt him so much if he didn’t.

[a-spoopy-bird]

Glowing Eyes

Sorry ubt immean take this langst as tribute for my absence!

We all are stranger creatures than when we all started out as kids. Culture forbid.

The paladins were going to stay on Earth for a while, learning about this new Altean. This gave time for them to chill. Sure, they’d train, and they would strengthen diplomatic connections, but it seems like the Galran threat was gone.

They mourned the lost, and honor ceremonies were given to them, awards and medals for their bravery. Lance let his little relatives put on the badges, laughing as they went around, pretending to use a blaster. He remembered being that young, only five or six, and he would also play games like that, his dad looking on and laughing. His grin widened. These guys were the best.

“Lance, what’s this?” Joseph asked, picking up Lance’s bayard. He hadn’t explained it yet, because, after all, there had been a lot going on with ceremonies and recovering.

“This, is my bayard.” Lance said with a flair of drama. “It’s my weapon. It’s different for everybody.”

“Cool! How does it work?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Something about Altean alchemy. You’d have to ask Coran. It might take a few minutes to get an answer though.” Lance grinned.

“What does it do?” He asked, looking at it.

“It’s different for everyone. Some people, like me,” He grinned, “have several bayard forms. It doesn’t matter which bayard you use, it’ll take the same shape.”

“How do you know?”

“I originally piloted the Blue Lion. She’s pretty great, but Keith left Red to Black, so I got a promotion. Allura took Blue, so I passed on the bayard.” He explained.

“What are your bayards?” Marco asked.

Lance grinned. “I have a blaster, sniper rifle, and I got a sword.”

The was a chorus of woahs and wows. “Show us!”

“Maybe later. I don’t think the nurses would like it very much if I just started activating my bayard.”

They pouted, but then moved on. “Tell us space stories!”

Lance smiled. It was good to be home, however different it was.

We have romantic fantasies about what dying truly is. Fall off the grid.

“You died?” Veronica gasped. Lance was in the middle of telling her a story.

“Yeah, it’s nothing compared to what Shiro went through. He died, was cloned, then his soul was forced into his clone.” Lance said hotly.

“Now you’re just lying.”

“I am not! Anyway, Allura saved me with her crazy Altean magic.”

“A lot seems to happen with you and Allura.” Veronica said. Lance felt the nudge to open up.

“You’re getting sloppy, I felt that one a mile away.” He snorted.

Veronica shrugged. “Worth a shot. Are you two dating or…?”

Lance blushed instantly. “Wh- what, no, we’re just friends. Besides, she just got over Lotor.”

“Space prince?”

Lance’s shoulders tensed ever so slightly. “Yeah. He had us all. He was bad, being Zarkon’s son, then he was on our side, then he went insane from quintessence, like Haggar and Zarkon did. It was hard on Allura. She was in love with him, the version he told us.” Lance’s shoulders fell. “Honestly, I didn’t trust him, but I thought it was just my jealousy. He got so close to Allura so quickly, and I had been with her for several months and made less progress. But, my gut was right. He lied to us all, and that put the universe in jeopardy.” He shrugged. “We left him in the quintessence field.”

“That must’ve been rough.”

Lance laughed. “Understatement of the year.”

Veronica studied Lance, noticing how he didn’t laugh as long, he didn’t make as many jokes. He looked like the same Lance, but the Galra had hardened him into someone almost completely different.

We live for the night’s décor, it reveals what we dream of.

Lance missed looking up at a night sky. After so many nights and days of being in one, it looked so much better being on the ground. The stars, familiar constellations blinked down at him, a comfort from his childhood.

“Lance? Are you down there?” Keith’s voice floated over the little ledge that was washed out by the sea.

Slightly confused, Lance called back, “Yeah, there’s a slight lip.” He watched as Keith got down and sat beside him. “What’s up?”

“I needed to get away from the Garrison and Griffin. He’s such an asshole.”

Lance smirked. “Didn’t you guys fight all the time?”

“Still do.” Keith grunted, looking at the moonlight that bounced off the waves.

Lance looked up at the stars. “I wonder how many of these are planets we visited.” He wondered aloud.

Keith looked at Lance, then the sky. “I don’t know.”

Lance fell silent. He stared at the stars, expression content and a bit sad too. He thought of the countless battles, and of how often he wanted to come home, just too look at his stars again. Slowly, he relaxed, leaning into the embankment, letting out a soft sigh. This was his reward for making it through the war.

He didn’t notice Keith looking at him, wondering why Lance wasn’t trying to pick a fight.

I know there’s someone at the door. They come for help of this I’m sure.

“You wanna talk about it?” Lance heard Keith ask. He had fallen asleep at the embankment and had just jolted awake. He knew instinctively he was pale and clammy. It happened every time he had a nightmare.

The image of Galran sentries bearing down on him flashed through his mind. He suppressed a shudder. “No, it’s fine. I should get home. Don’t want them to think I disappeared again,” Lance joked, grin obviously forced.

Keith watched as Lance got up and left him alone under the stars on Veradero beach.

But do I want to say goodbye to all the glowing eyes?

Lance walked to his hiding spot. He wasn’t even sure if it was there anymore, but it remained intact. Just a tree with a platform in its branches. It was about fifteen feet up, but he had made a small ladder up.

Curling around his knees, he let out a quiet, dry sob. Was he ever going to be free from the Galra? He let the tension slowly leave his body. It’d be fine, he was finally home. He could chill sometimes, not fearing an attack any second.

I’m holding onto what I know, and what I know I must let go.

Having Keith back after a month of him being gone was weird. Lance didn’t really know what to do. Half of him wanted to fight with him, but the other half wanted to drop it. This resulted in some very mixed signals.

“Your hair needs cut,” Mrs. Holt said one day as they chilled in the Garrison lounge.

“I’ve been saying that for months.” Lance snorted.

Keith fingered his hair. “I don’t know, I kinda like it long.”

It doesn’t look half bad. Lance thought, but he didn’t know how to say that. “It’s more of a mullet this way. It’s better.”

Keith glared.

“But it’s so long, just a trim,” Mrs. Holt continued. “It’d be so much easier to manage.”

“Thanks for the offer, Mrs. Holt, but I think I’ll keep it for now.” Keith said politely but continued to glare at Lance.

But I would rather sing a song, for the eyes to sing along.

Lance was getting used to waking up in his own sweat, visions of towering sentries and cruisers and fighters burnt onto his eyelids. He would silently sneak out of his house, or the Garrison, or where ever he had fell asleep at, and go to his hideout, his guitar in a waterproof case. He’d pull it out and sing softly, relaxing into the music.

For now, he would be safe.

We all know somebody who knows somebody’s who’s doing great.

Lance sat politely as Hunk and Pidge talked about how good it was to be on Earth again, even if they didn’t have as advanced of technology. They compared notes as he sat in the background, half listening. They didn’t seem to be haunted by the war.

We all know people who know people who are flying straight.

“Paladins, we have to continue training with out lions.” Allura said. “We can’t let our bonds grow stale.”

Lance climbed into Red, feeling his impatient and violent nature, but also feeling his protectiveness and fierce love for the other paladins. Especially his paladin, Lance.

Lance missed Blue, for sure, but Red was also great. Red wasn’t as chill as Blue. Red wanted Lance to be the best he could be, and so did Blue, but Blue was more maternal about it. Red let Lance make mistakes. When it got out of hand he stepped in. Or fell onto.

They did drills for hours. Red responded well, even occasionally giving Lance tips about his flying form. Red was speedy, so Lance had to take it down a notch. But Red was also temperamental, so when the team got slightly heated at him, Red bristled. Lance soothed him. It was fine. He was fine.

He felt Red questioning how firm his belief was. He knew Red knew he was lying. Red had a direct link with his mind, of course he knew. He knew about the nightmares and the panic attacks and the absolutely, mind numbing, body freezing fear that took him over.

But I’ll kindly enter into rooms of depression, while ceiling fans and idle hands will take my life again.

By this time, Lance knew he should confide in someone besides his giant mechanical cat. It wasn’t getting better on its own, as Lance had hoped. He thought about Hunk or Pidge or Shiro, but none of them seemed right. He wanted to go to his family, but he’s been gone for so long and he didn’t know if they’d be awake right now. It was… three in the morning.

He huffed. This isn’t what he had planned for when they finally came home. Then again, he hadn’t planned on being in some sort of stasis for three years. He sighed, just staring at the ceiling. Shark stickers that glow in the dark dotted his ceiling. He remembered naming them when he got them, but by now he forgot the names. All he knew is that one was Hunk, for his best friend.

He heard a soft knock on his door. Who the hell was awake? He considered grabbing his bayard and snatched it from his dresser. He slowly opened the door, bayard up, but not activated.

“Jesus, Lance, I’m not here to kill you.” Veronica whispered, entering his room. “Why are you up?”

“I could ask the same thing,” he whispered back, putting down the weapon.

“I asked you first.” She said, falling into the familiar pattern of their talks.

“What is this, middle school?” Lance scoffed quietly. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Bullshit.” She answered. Lance looked up, ready to defend his claim. “You didn’t sleep at all last night either. When I came in to check, you weren’t even here.” She accused. It was true. He had snuck out to his hideout again.

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” He muttered, looking down. “You should get some rest.”

“I’m not going to bed until you tell me what’s up.”

Lance sat there tired and exasperated. Veronica knew he valued his family’s needs over his own personal ones. He also knew she had his best interest at heart. But he really, really didn’t want to talk about it.

“You know, you don’t have to be Red Paladin, you can just be Lance.” She said, her voice concerned and honest.

He felt his shoulders slump. Those words crashed down on him. He suspected Veronica saw through him, and maybe Keith. “Fine. It just seems silly to me. It just a few bad dreams.”

“Every night?”

“Most nights. So, I leave with my guitar and just softly play. It’s not really a big deal.”

Veronica wasn’t really convinced. “Okay. Try to get some sleep, okay?” Lance nodded, and she left.

Lance bit his lip. He wanted to tell Veronica everything, like they were kids again. Instead, he found himself texting Keith to meet him at the embankment. He snuck out his window, knowing Veronica wasn’t asleep yet, and crept off.

The tide was in, and the water was a few feet below Lance’s feet. He figured it would be a few hours until Keith showed up. After all, it was four in the morning.

We live for the night’s décor, it reveals what we dream of.

“Lance?” Keith called. Lance blinked and sat up. Keith jumped off the embankment and sat down. “It’s four in the morning, why are you up?” Lance felt Keith studying his reaction.

Lance chose his words very carefully. “I just- uh, I haven’t been sleeping well, and you’re the team leader, plus, Pidge and Hunk are busy with Garrison tech things, so I-” He broke off, knowing he had started to ramble.

��Nightmares?” Keith asked quietly.

Lance bit his lip and nodded. “How’d you know?”

“I had the same problem. When the Blade showed up and showed their symbol, I realized I might be part Galra, and I was terrified. I had nightmares about it. It made me moodier and more irritable.” Keith said.

Lance hung his head. “I don’t really hate your mullet.” He muttered.

Keith raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I don’t actually hate your mullet.” He said a little louder, head almost between his knees. He felt his face heat up. “I hated how you were better. I was kind of jealous. Griffin was your rival, not me.”

“I was always confused about why you’d make fun of my hair and purposely press my buttons.”

Lance looked up at the now waning moon. It was funny how the night air and sky seemed to strip you away until you were left naked, nothing left but your true self. “Yeah I was just extremely jealous. You could fly great, you never had to study, you picked fights when I probably would have cried.”

Keith looked at Lance, obviously confused as to why Lance was opening up to him.  “I didn’t like getting into fights. People just said the wrong stuff.” He paused. “Those people were assholes.” Keith didn’t like how sad it was getting. Lance was the happy-go-lucky guy on the team, being sad didn’t look right on him.

Lance laughed half-heartedly, then looked at Keith. “I want to show you something.” He decided, getting up. He went down the beach until he found his gnarled tree.

I know there’s someone at the door they come for help of this I’m sure.

But do I want to say goodbye to all the glowing eyes?

Lance heaved up onto the platform, waiting for Keith.

“What is this?”

“This,” Lance said with a flair of pride and drama, “is my Quiet Place. When I come here, I just chill. It’s not exactly a panic room, but it’s close.”

“Why are you showing me this?” Keith asked, looking at the carvings on the trunks and the floor.

“Well, you’re our leader, and there’s really no one else right now…” Lance bit his tongue. He wasn’t thinking when he brought Keith here.

I’m holding onto what I know and what I know I must let go.

But I would rather sing a song for the eyes to sing along.

“Lance?” Keith asked softly. “Do you- do you want to talk about it?”

Lance shrugged, rubbing his arm. He sat down, motioning for Keith to do the same. It was kind of cramped, but Lance got out his guitar. “So, when I come up here, I just sort of play until lyrics come to me.” He tuned it. “And since we’ve been home, I’ve written all of these.” Lance brought out a stack of sheet music. “This is seven songs, and it takes a few days, generally, to write one. They aren’t very good.” He added, watching Keith as he read them.

Lance started to play one of his favorites.

This room is far too dark for us to stay around.

Redemption’s not that far and darkness is going down.

Keith listened to the minor key cords and the lyrics that seemed to come effortlessly. The more he listened, the better he understood what Lance was going through. Almost impeccably, it molds into a different song. It was slightly more depressing, Lance strumming harder and more passionately. Keith listened, Lance’s singing just as soft as before, barely escalating over the guitar.

This room is far too dark for us to stay around.

Redemption’s not that far and darkness is going down.

Keith wanted to interrupt but wanted to hear the rest of the song.  Lance didn’t seem to remember Keith was there as he kept playing, getting louder and more passionate, until he stopped, with a slow, sad strum.

Lance didn’t look up.

“Lance, do you- you want to talk?” He asked softly.

Lance shook his head no. He slowly put the guitar away then hugged himself, refusing to look up. He took a shuddering breath. “I- I don’t understand,” He started, voice congested and full of sorrow. “I don’t understand why after- after everything we’ve done, I breakdown when we’re safe.”

“Lance-”

“And it’s not like I’m scared!” Lance said, voice stronger, fueled by anger at his own weakness. “I don’t understand it! I don’t feel scared, I know I’m safe, but there’s still this lingering paranoia and I’m just so, tired, of being afraid.” He ended it with a contained sob.

“After how long in space, it’s okay to feel like this.” Keith said without knowing what he was saying. “How many times were we woken up by the alarms blaring, or a rattling explosion when Coran forgot the proximity alarms? We’ve been through so much. You more. I spent two years on the back of a space whale bonding with my mom.” Keith knew Lance knew the stab at humor was weak. Lance hardly laughed. He just sort of jerked, a weak chuckle that sounded more like a sigh. “You aren’t going to be alright right away. Just give it time.”

“But- what if we don’t have time?” Lance chocked out. “There could be an attack from any of the Galra who are fighting for power.”

“If you keep focusing on the bad, you lose sight of the good.”

Lance’s head bobbed, but his lips quivered, holding back tears.

I’m holding onto what I know and what I know I must let go.

But I would rather sing a song for the eyes to sing along.

They sat in silence. Lance wished Keith would say something to get rid of the despair still welling up inside of him, but he knew that wouldn’t happen. He had to take action. But he was scared. What would happen? Would he start to sob? Get thrown into another panic attack? Even at the thought he felt his chest constricting. He didn’t want to vanish inside a panicked shell in front of Keith.

In front of anyone.

La di da da, la di da di da,

La di da da, la di da di da,

La di da da, la di da da, la di da da, la di da.

Time passes. It’s natural. But other things don’t. Lance didn’t recover. He just got better at hiding it. He got worse. Nothing was alright anymore. He just wanted to leave and never come back, or to be in Blue’s cockpit one last time. He missed her but respected her decision to block him out. She was, after all, a wise Lion of Voltron, and he was just a silly human trying to keep it together.

For the eyes to sing along.

“Lance!” They were calling out his name. He had vanished from the Garrison overnight, leaving a note.

Make them stop.

Lance quivered and shook in his tree house, too tired and panicked to play. He bit his lip so hard it bled. His hands were gripped in his hair, tugging at his scalp. They were too loud, they called so, so loud, he couldn’t ignore the truths.

Make them stop.

“Lance!” Hunk was near tears. Pidge was on his shoulders, hoping to see any sign of him. Keith had gone off on his own. Hunk had lost track of where Allura, Coran, and Veronica had gone. When had this happened? Hours ago? Hunk was going to breakdown.

Pidge realized that. She hopped down from his back. “Hunk look at me.” She said. He didn’t. “Hunk.” She said again, quieter. “We’re going to find him, okay?”

Hunk nodded. Still too close to tears for Pidge to feel safe on his shoulders.

Keith had stalked off on his own. He had a suspicion of where Lance was but didn’t want to tell the others. That was Lance’s call.

Still. Sneaking out at night, while he did it regularly, wasn’t good. He had left a note, which really wasn’t good. The shaky writing and the panicked message was hard to read, but they went out anyways.

Lance quivered. They had passed right in front of his tree. He felt like he was being chocked. He couldn’t breathe. He was sliding out of control. He couldn’t control his body, oh God, he was drowning. His hands were fists, but he couldn’t feel his fingers. He strangled out a gasp, desperate for air.

Make them stop.

Keith stood a bit away from the tree. He could hear Lance strangled breathing. He swallowed. He went forward cautiously.

“Lance?” Lance heard his name from far, far away. He couldn’t look up, he could feel his hand or feet, he was going to throw up, God, this isn’t good God, please-

Suddenly there was a hand on his back. He flinched. He felt someone wipe the tears off his face. The touch was so unexpected, Lance tried to scoot back, his brain yelling to stop but his body continuing.

His hand slid off the edge of the platform. He strangled a gasp, new, fresh fear washing through him. Arms were around him, keeping him on the platform. He struggled to leave. The arms held fast.

The arms of the enemy. He thought, lungs being crushed. He wasn’t getting enough air. He was going to die. He was going to vomit. He was going to die here in the arms of what he’s been running from with its smells of man shampoo and leather in his nose.

Men’s shampoo and leather? Lance took a shuddering sniff. And sweat? Who smelt like th-

Keith.

Lance froze. He couldn’t breathe for a different reason now.

Make them stop.

Keith locked his arms around Lance. If he wasn’t careful, Lance would end up taking both of them out of the tree. He made small shushing noises, no knowing what to do, or what was wrong. Lance kept pushing away, trying to escape, struggling for breath. He pulled him as close as possible, forming a cage with his arms.

Lance froze. Keith hesitantly released some of the tension in his arms. “Lance?”

Lance said something against his chest that Keith couldn’t hear. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” His voice was thick. Keith saw how pale he was. This wasn’t the Lance that he went up to space with. This was a scared teenager needing comfort.

“Why are you sorry?” Keith asked, shifted so that Lance could be in less danger of falling off.

“Because I’m weak, and pathetic, and I’m just-”

“You’re just brave, and funny, and a good friend.” Keith cut in.

“How can you say that? You hardly hang around me.” His voice was thick and muffled by his shirt, but Keith clearly heard the pain in it.

“Just because I don’t hang out with you doesn’t mean that stuff isn’t true.” Keith said, confused about where all this was coming from.  “Just look at you and Hunk. You guys are always there for each other.”

“Yeah, but he has Pidge now. They have technical junk to work on.” Lance sniffed. “I’d just be a third wheel.”

“Lance, they enjoy your company. Both of them are out trying to find you.”

“Oh, man, I just made them worry more, we should go.” Lance pulled back, wiping tears off his face.

“Slow down, don’t worry about it. It’ll be fine.” Keith said. He didn’t want Lance to get worked up. Keith could tell he was tired from the panic attack, and no doubt running from the Garrison base to the tree.

“Keith, just- please. I don’t want to talk about it.” Lance looked away. He could barely think straight. His gay panic and an actual panic attack hadn’t been good on his energy, which was already low form countless nights not sleeping. He just wanted to sleep until he didn’t like Keith.

Lance could feel Keith trying to sort out what to do. He almost heard the click of the last piece, the decision, falling into place.

“When I was with Krolia on the space whale, we had a big blow up.” Keith started. “We were getting a little stir crazy, and there was a really small thing that had escalated far too quickly. We both said some hurtful things. It ended with me yelling that I wished I hadn’t found her and storming off with Kosmo.” Lance looked at Keith. He was looking into his lap. “I could tell Kosmo didn’t like it. I didn’t even like it. But I was too stubborn to walk back to my mom and tell her I was sorry. I didn’t see the moment was right for me to apologize and did it far too late.” Keith looked up. The starts of tears were in his eyes. “I feel like you might be the same way. You apologize way too often, for stuff that isn’t even your fault.”

Lance shook his head. “Keith, I’m just- so, tired, please,” He looked up. It felt like his bones weighed too much for him to support. “I just want to sleep.”

Keith paused forever. Lance was terrified he was going to refuse. Then he nodded. “Where?”

The question caught him off guard. “What?”

“Where do you want to sleep? Here, the Garrison, your house?”

Lance was caught off guard by how considerate Keith was being. “I don’t want to move.” Lance said. “Is it okay if I just, sorta…” He trailed off, too tired to form the sentence. He leaned forward and practically collapsed onto Keith.

Keith rubbed Lance’s back, not knowing what to do. Lance sighed, relaxing until he was in the familiar space between awake and asleep. He was half aware of Keith humming, then singing.

“Make them stop.”

[variantia]

💓for Skinny, 💞for any of the matrons, 💕for Rose, and ❣ for Citrine?

Peer into my muse’s memories  //  accepting !

BELLUM.  under the cut bc these got LONG !  I usually don’t do asks for more than like three characters but listen THESE ARE GREAT

💓- A memory about their friends

   To say this Jasper isn’t crazy about the idea of fighting even from the moment she emerges would be an understatement.

   When she walks out into the blinding, scorching sun, she squints and looks around.  She has an idea of what she’s supposed to do, especially with all these other soldiers rushing in one direction.  That’s … probably where she SHOULD be going.

   But her feet won’t take her there.  She pauses to consider their build compared to hers ; they’re all big and stocky and muscular.  A quick look at her reveals that although she’s tall, her arms are skinny, her chest is narrow, her waist and legs are thin.  The other side’s warriors must be just like the ones she saw coming out of their holes.

   Her, on the other hand … there’s not a lot of muscle on her.  She’s so petite, she’s pretty sure that if she joins the battle, she’s going to be snapped in half.

   So she lingers here by her hole, kicking at the dirt on the ground, trying to stay out of everyone else’s way.  Or, rather, trying to stay out of sight so nobody grabs her and FORCES her into fighting.

   When it looks like everyone else is gone, she cautiously steps forward–

   – And is promptly knocked down by something falling on top of her.

   As it turns out, that something is actually a someone, evidenced by the red skin and dark mess of hair that the Jasper sees when she regains her bearings.          ❝  What the … uhhhh …  ❞

          ❝  Heya, Skinny !  ❞   And just like that, she’s got a nickname.  The other Gem is smaller than the others, just the same as Skinny is thinner than she should be.  She doesn’t look too upset about falling, though she does grin apologetically.          ❝  Sorry about that !  I had to come sideways outta my hole.  Look,                  it’s all curvy !  I just kindaaaa … fell.  ❞

   Skinny shakes her head, briefly glancing up toward said hole.          ❝  Oof.  That’s okay.  You’re a – Carnelian, right ?  ❞

          ❝  Yep, that’s me !  Hey, where’s everyone else ?  Shouldn’t we be                  fighting ?  ❞

          ❝  Uhhhh …  ❞   Skinny looks over toward where the other Quartzes went.  No.  No, she’s definitely not fighting.          ❝  Everyone else has it covered.  Besides, I think if I tried to fight,                  I wouldn’t do that great.  How about you keep me company ?  ❞

   Carnelian’s grin gets wider.          ❝  Yeah, okay !  We can toughen you up !  PLAY FIGHT !  ❞

   With that, she pounces on Skinny, the two of them start to wrestle, and what will become a wonderful friendship is born.

-

💞- A memory about their children

   When Imperial Topaz walks into the area where her daughters practice their techniques, it’s obvious that the two Topazes currently in here didn’t expect any company.

   It’s long past the time when all the others have retired on their training for the day, returning to their cubbies to rest or off on nighttime missions.  To be perfectly honest, Imperial herself is a little surprised that any of her children are still in here this late.  The door opens quietly, so they don’t know she’s arrived.

   The two of them are holding hands, so focused on each other that the rest of the universe doesn’t even exist to them.  Both of them are smiling with tears in their eyes.  There’s a little shuffling of their feet in a makeshift dance, then a white glow.

   And suddenly, there is their fusion, a massive Topaz, with arms wrapped around herself, eyes shut as she cries, looking happier than Imperial ever thought anyone could look.

          ❝  This is so amazing !  ❞   Her voice is an elated whisper, shaky but overjoyed.  Imperial has seen this fusion before ; only for battle.  And if she were only practicing, she would have unfused by now instead of basking in it.          ❝  You both love each other so much.  And – and I love you !                  How can everyone say this is wrong … how can it BE wrong                  when it feels so …  ❞

   Her eyes snap open when her Matron’s heel clicks on the floor.          ❝  … Topaz … you … you fused … ?  Outside of a mission ?  Out-                  side of just practice ?  Oh, Topaz …  ❞

   She must sound disappointed, because Topaz’s eyes widen and she looks absolutely horrified.  The expression that takes over her face is as if she’s scared of being shattered.          ❝  M-Mom !  I – we – I can explain !  This isn’t – I’m not – I’m sorry,                  I’m – !  ❞

   In an instant, before she can even try to finish her sentence, Imperial wraps her up in an embrace.  She’s hugging her daughter so tightly it’s like she’s trying to keep Topaz’s components together at all costs.

          ❝  Stars, you’re BEAUTIFUL.  ❞

-

💕- A memory about their significant other

   Rose tries, she really tries, to lie beside Greg and sleep.  That’s what human couples do, right ?

   It’s so hard, because she doesn’t need to sleep.  So most nights she just lies here next to him, either staring up at the ceiling, or watching him sleep, or holding him.  Sometimes she plays with his hair and kisses his cheek, and he smiles in his sleep.

   Tonight she’s more awake than ever.  A warm, persistent feeling that won’t be ignored and won’t fade has been boiling over inside her for a long time now.  As she’s lying here beside him, it suddenly blooms into something with a name.  Something she recognizes.

          ❝  Greg !  Greg, wake up !  ❞   she whispers urgently, a smile creeping across her face as she shakes him as violently as she dares.  (  She’s come to know her own strength, so she’s careful while still being vigorous.  )          ❝  GREG ! !  ❞

          ❝  Oooh, Rose .. mmmff …  ❞   Greg blinks groggily a few times, his eyes unfocused and mouth opening up wide in a yawn.  He squints at her, obviously trying to muster up a smile even though it’s the dead of night and he’s tired.          ❝  What is it ?  ❞

   She looks straight into his eyes, taking him by the shoulders.          ❝  Greg.  I love you.  ❞

   His eyes look like they’re trying to close.  Part of her wonders if he even heard what she said or if it sunk in.          ❝  Mmmh … and … you woke me up to tell me that ?  ❞

          ❝  Of course !  ❞   Maybe it’s that she’s still not used to sleep, but she would have stopped anything they were doing to tell him this.  It’s genuine and real and something she thinks he should know as soon as she does.  Something she thinks she should tell him over and over.          ❝  I love you, Greg.  ❞

          ❝  That’s … that’s nice, Rose … I lo …  ❞   At that instant, it clicks, and Greg is awake – eyes wide, staring up at her in borderline disbelief.  He shoots up and smiles at her, then starts laughing before he leans in against her.          ❝ ROSE !  I love you, too !  ❞

   Neither of them sleeps the rest of the night.  It’s one of the best nights of their lives.

-

❣- A memory that leaves them laughing

   Sometimes during a war like they’ve been fighting, things seem almost hopeless.  There are days when they all feel like giving up, and although Citrine tries not to show it, she’s feeling it too today.

   They lost a few of their Gems in the last battle ; now there’s been a cease in the fighting, and they’re all just trying to recover.  Everyone’s sitting around a makeshift fire that they don’t even need, staring at it or cuddled up to each other for support.  Citrine herself is leaning against Bismuth, her eyes flickering around the circle of Crystal Gems as if she’s mentally preparing herself for the next battle – wondering which friend she’ll lose next.

   Everything’s quiet until Bismuth speaks up beside her.          ❝  Man, I’m glad we’re not on Homeworld right now.  Can you ima-                  gine what kind of dust the Diamonds are talking about this ?  ❞

   That gets a small smile from Citrine.          ❝  They’re probably all smug thinking they’re winning.  But … they’re                  not.  ❞

          ❝  Yeah, like, just imagine –  ❞   Bismuth shifts around and poses with clasped hands, complete with shining eyes.          ❝  Oooooh, look at me !  I’m BLUE DIAMOND !  I’m all powerful                  but I’m still saaaaad and mysterious !  You know what I think                  would be a good attack ?  CRYING !  Not only can I drown the                  Crystal Gems in my tears, I can also make ‘em cry themselv-                  es to death !  ❞

          ❝  Pfffff !  ❞   Citrine can’t help herself from letting out a snorting laugh.  When Bismuth says it out loud, the way Blue Diamond is said to fight does sound kind of ridiculous.  She straightens her back and puffs out her chest.  She can easily keep it going.          ❝  Oh, and I’m YELLOW DIAMOND !  Blue, you need to get a                  grip and fight like me – ZAP ZAP ZAP !  You get zapped !  You                  get zapped !  Hey, does anybody smell burnt hair ?  ❞

   Before they know it, Crazy Lace has joined in as White Diamond, and the entire group is practically rolling around laughing so hard there are tears in all their eyes.

   It’s one of the better memories Citrine has of the war.

[front-lines]

     With the appointment of Valentina Fontaine as World Security Council Secretary (WSCS), it’s important to consider just what the Council is charged with protecting the world from.  The Avengers, repeatedly touted as Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, have been splintered following the enactment of the Accords and the closure of the Hart Island Facility.  Inspired vigilantes have unlawfully taken it upon themselves to fight back against street-level crime while the world waits for the other shoe to drop.  With the rise in gun trafficking, drug abuse, and even kidnapping of innocents, we’re left to wonder, to how many more dangers are we left vulnerable?

     It would be prudent for Fontaine to pursue one of the most infamous, unresolved threats that was left all but unattended during Malick’s tenure with the World Security Council: the warrant out against James Buchanan Barnes, a known terrorist who has remained elusive for nearly 2 years at the time of this publication.

     Barnes was implicated in the crash of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s Helicarrier Iliad in November of 2016.  The disaster killed many of the organization’s agents on board, and left many more critically injured, including Director Maria Hill, who sustained a severe gunshot wound.  The late WSCS, Alexander Pierce, released an official statement following the attack, officially implicating Barnes in the events as well as revealing him to be the Avenger operating under the mantle of Captain America.  Black box recordings recovered from the wreckage weeks later revealed an altercation between Barnes and Director Hill, including several stand down orders from Deputy Director Carter, supporting S.H.I.E.L.D.’s official press release.

     That December, Alexander Pierce was assassinated during the memorial service for the agents who lost their lives on the Iliad.  Ballistics and DNA put Barnes on a rooftop overseeing the memorial.  Barnes remained AWOL until March of 2017, turning himself in to S.H.I.E.L.D., who has declined to comment on the circumstances of his surrender.  However, this act of apparent admission follows closely behind the murder of U.S. Senator, Travis Jackson, whose body was found amidst the burnt ruins of his upstate cabin.  Due to the nature of the fire, no evidence has been found placing Barnes at the scene, however given Jackson’s firm support of the Accords, this incident fits an apparent pattern.

     In the explosive prison break from Hart Island in September 2017, Barnes’ body could not be found nor was he accounted for publicly among those escapees who were detained for proper processing and release.  Several S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel, however, were killed in the incident, including STRIKE agent Brock Rumlow, who remains comatose after suffering severe burns and blunt force trauma.

       Additionally, Barnes is suspected to be responsible for the infiltration of the highly secure S.H.I.E.L.D. base dubbed ‘The Fridge’.  S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn’t be reached for comment on the matter, but Fontaine assured the Bugle that S.H.I.E.L.D. takes all measures to protect the intelligence and weaponry at its disposal to ensure the protection of national and international security.

     One of only a handful of ‘heroes’ to actually sign the document, Natasha Romanoff has been leading the investigation into Barnes’ whereabouts.  The WSC-backed investigation has produced little results and few leads.  While Romanoff could not be reached for comment, the Bugle was able to contact WSCS Fontaine.

     “It’s no understatement to say that [Rogers’] influence on the general public and the individuals calling themselves the Avengers is far-reaching,” Fontaine began. 

     When pressed for clarification on how this has affected ongoing investigations in the location of Barnes: “S.H.I.E.L.D. monitors potential threats.  We’re aware of which Avengers chose not to sign the Accords and could potentially be harboring [Barnes].  And while we believe it more likely that he is operating alone, we are not ruling out the possibility that he may be receiving assistance by former teammates or anti-establishment militia groups.”

     On the matter of fellow Avengers or street vigilantes potentially harboring Barnes from authorities, Fontaine went on to say it “would be considered aiding and abetting an act of terrorism and prosecuted as such.” 

     While the UNSC’s temporary amnesty period has been extended to Steve Rogers, the same cannot be said for James Barnes.

     “We have proof from the Iliad’s black box recordings that Barnes failed to follow through with orders from Deputy Director Carter to stand down.  Shortly after, Director Hill was shot and Carter once more ordered Barnes to stand down to no avail.  These are the facts.”

    Barnes was the most recently appointed Captain America, charged with upholding the values of the shield and country he represented.  This mantle was passed on by original shield-bearer, Steve Rogers, most often seen as the figurehead of the Avengers team.  While Barnes had only been publicly working with the Avengers since the Skrull invasion, Rogers has been a long-standing member and ally of the team since 2012.  The ideal of ‘Captain America’ represents a liberty and trust which has been severely betrayed by its latest holder, leaving citizens afraid of what the shield may no longer protect them from.

  When asked for comment on the matter, Steve Rogers had this to say; “Those S.H.I.E.L.D records have no context.  To publish writing referencing said articles without disclosing said context would be the equivalent of a smear job.  You paint this man as a merciless assassin.  That man is a hero.  He became the world's longest serving prisoner of war, after giving everything to his country.  The fact he continues to give everything, in spite of what he's been through, in spite of what you people say about him.  James Buchanan Barnes is the strongest man I know.  He is no more a threat than I am.  That is my comment.”

     In addition to the lurking concern about a terrorist at large, the Avengers’ disjointed behavior -  fractured by their politics regarding adherence to the Accords - does not instill confidence in the public, many of whom have become vocal about incidents involving other powered individuals unaffiliated with the larger Avengers Initiative.  These unknown vigilantes have gradually become emboldened throughout the city, ranging from Harlem to Hell’s Kitchen.  Could these figures be empowered by the lack of oversight on a group as visible as these costumed characters?

     If a shield wrapped in stars and stripes can turn on the very country it represents, where can we feel safe?  No hammers, no hulks, no devils turned loose in the streets can restore the trust the public has lost.  But perhaps Secretary Fontaine and a re-energized World Security Council may bring us peace of mind once again.

Report by Kat Farrell & Jessica Jones

[restlessmaknae]

Paradox [pt.7]

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7

Word count: 1925

Genre: angst, drama, a bit of fluff

Pairing: Lee Donghyuck (Haechan); Yu Dayoung (OC)

Setting: non AU

Warning: mentions of character death, suicide, hints of depression

Chapter warning: -

They were so young, so talented yet so desperate.

Paradox of us (The paradox of you&me)

 People say that we were a wrong pair from the start. We were never meant to be together, it was never written in the stars. We met anyway and we fell in love. That’s when I realised what loss really was. That’s when I learned what love was.

Although coming from different companies, experiencing different training methods and being completely different, I think our paradox was one of a kind. It’s my favourite so far; the paradox of us, the paradox of you&me.

 Dear Donghyuck,

There were times when I believed it would work out. It turned out that I was wrong. I was only chasing a fantasy out of my reach. Life is not a dream, after all. I had to learn the hard way.

I wanted it to be as easy as the start. Without telling silly fibs, without hiding behind masks and without constantly being terrified. However, as trust exists, so does fear. Fear of the future, fear of failure, fear of the unknown. There are so many types of fear and you were only one of them. My greatest fear.

How easy it was in the beginning, right? Joking around without being afraid that we might hurt each other’s feelings. Yet, when one starts to care, insouciance is not a definition anymore. We love, we receive love, we hurt and we get hurt. It’s all part of the system, it’s all how it works. It was just a matter of time until we discovered it for ourselves. After that, there was no turning back. We were trapped in the prison that was called ‘love’.

Our relationship was the stern winter longing for the bright spring, never actually taking the warmth into consideration that will eventually make it disappear. As long as we could play with fire, as long as we didn’t fade away with the burning ashes, we were alright. We got burnt so many times, I don’t even know how many times but the hours we spent together with talking, gazing at each other or just lying beside one another definitely paid off. I wouldn’t regret anything.

The first few months were the so-called good times. We knew nothing about what was waiting for us. It was my mistake, I know. I never let you see how I was shaking in fear every time we parted our ways because I was afraid that we would get caught. But that wasn’t what really teared us apart. It was me, my own stubbornness and my own stupid body that made things turn out the way they did.

Believe me, I wish I could change but there’s no way that I could do so. The doctor says that I can’t do this anymore, I would only make it worse. Trapped in the cage of expectations with the weight of the pressure on my shoulder, I feel like I’m constantly being twisted. What is right and what is not? For who should I make sacrifice? What is my duty and what is the purpose of life? Is that the same thing?

Being confused in your own feelings and terrified at your own thoughts is the worst feeling in the world. You can’t be mad at someone else, the enemy is within you…

Remember how you always said that I would make it? I believed you because I wanted to believe that it would actually happen. I wanted it to be true but until I met you, I couldn’t afford to cherish the thought. It was a mere illusion for me, a dream that I couldn’t reach. It was the air that my lungs sought after; the medicine that I was ready to be given and the drug that kept me on toes, motivating me to keep going, pushing me to my limits. Pushing me until I fell.

In the end, I only have regrets regarding my debut. I shouldn’t have been so stupid, I should have just stepped on my dreams and walk towards another goal of mine. I was too adamant and that turned out to be my greatest weakness.

What I don’t regret is the things that we’ve done together. When we were together, our happiness doubled. When we were together, our sadness lessened. I know it sounds silly since it’s an equation that is far from even logical. But it’s the equation of love, so it doesn’t need explanation.

The hardest part was still yet to come. We couldn’t be prepared for what was following. The days got undeniably harder and so did the war that I wanted to win. It seems that I was an easy opponent and gave up easily. People usually think that if you commit suicide, it was the easy way for you. I have to tell you that it wasn’t. I’m not saying that I was brave and I really should have done it but you can’t imagine how many times I’ve changed my mind. I was constantly thinking about my family, the company, my dream and you. It wasn’t easy at all.

The thought first crossed my mind when Dr. Lee said that I should give up on my dream to become an idol. My body wouldn’t be able to handle it. You know that I’ve said that it was because of all the stress and pressure that was taking hold of me due to the upcoming debut of the Tender Thorns. Yet, I wanted to believe that I can do it.

That’s why I made the deal with the company.

To tell you the truth, I don’t know what it will feel like. Falling, flying with the wind and being free… But I know what I’ll be thinking of. Because amidst all the darkness and grief, you were always there. My beaming light. I’ll be thinking of that light. I’ll be thinking of you.

 And after that… well, I don’t know what will happen. You will probably blame yourself, saying that it was your mistake but let me tell you that it wasn’t. If you hadn’t been there, I would have done it even earlier. So, please, accept my decision and do me a favour.

When I’m not going to be there, please, be the one who smiles. The one who brings laughter and the one who gives hope for others. Be as radiant as you were and continue to be the beaming light for others. Last but not least, never be afraid to love again. And be loved.

I love you, Donghyuck. I should have said it earlier.

 Love,

Dayoungie

 With the letter in his hands, reading her words for the hundredth time, Donghyuck couldn’t help but shed a tear. He felt lonely again and the whole situation made him remember how much he really missed her. He blamed it on the wound that her loss caused which still couldn’t fully recover. It wasn’t as aching as in the beginning but it still hurt. Every single time he read her letter, it was less and less heart-wrenching but the hollowness hadn’t faded yet.

“Donghyuck, come on! We’re coming up next!” Youngho hollered gleefully and opened the dressing’s room door. Poor boy almost had a heart attack when his band member showed up in the room, grinning widely at his scaredy-cat friend.

“Why are you so scared?”

“I was just…” he was hesitating whether to admit that he was reading Dayoung’s letter or say an innocent, little lie. In the end, he decided to tell the truth. “I’ve just finished reading her letter when you came in,” he confessed sheepishly, looking down at the paper in front of him.

He didn’t need to say whose letter it was, Youngho knew it perfectly. In fact, he was the first who got to know about Dayoung’s last words since he was there when the doctor gave it to Donghyuck. He said that they had found it in the girl’s hand when they were operating her. His name was written on the back, so after they had clarified that he was the so-called Donghyuck, he could finally seize it.

At first, he wasn’t even able to read until the end, he bawled in tears after 2 paragraphs. The more he read, the worse he felt. It was tearing him apart, knowing that she had planned her suicide beforehand and he couldn’t figure out that she was up to such a terrifying move.

Yet, he wanted to do her the favour that she had asked and it meant that he couldn’t blame himself. It was one hell of a ride, to say the least, but he managed to move on and start living again. The fans noticed the change in his bubbly behaviour but he had to keep it as a secret due to Dayoung’s and his contract. On top of that, it was about his private life and although he loved his fans like family, he wouldn’t like to share the burden with them. It could have destroyed him even more.

“Oh, I see,” Youngho nodded and awkwardly ruffled his hair. “Do you need a moment to recollect your thoughts and−“

“No, I’m fine. Let’s go and rock this stage!” he immediately cut him off, giving him a thumbs-up. The leader smiled gently and slung his arm around Donghyuck’s shoulder.

Although he was nervous as hell, the current NCT sub-unit’s stage with Youngho – aka Johnny -, Yuta, Ten, Mark, Hansol, Winwin and Kun – turned out to be pretty successful and when they took their seats in the audience, some of their sunbaenims congratulated on their energetic and jaw-dropping performance. Donghyuck boosted a proud grin but he knew that the most exciting part was still yet to come.

They were nominated for the ‘Best Dance Performance Male Group’ and ‘Best Music Video’ awards along other bands like BTS, EXO, GOT7 and Monsta X and it would be an understatement to say that they were shocked when they won the latter. Donghyuck literally froze when he heard their name, questioning whether he had gone totally crazy or he had a problem with his hearing.

Nonetheless, they walked onto the stage and started their winning speech. First, it was Johnny who gave one since he was the leader of the sub-unit and the member who had trained the most, then, it was the international members’ turn - Winwin, Kun, Ten and Yuta. Mark thought of the international fans and said thank you in English, too, while Donghyuck didn’t prepare anything special, he said what was already arranged with the boys.

“I would like to dedicate this award to a very special person whom we had lost this year. I met her exactly a year ago and if she was here today, I’m sure she would do her best to make everyone happy. Please, in memory of Yu Dayoung, join me and observe one minute of silence for her! Thank you!” he bowed respectfully, his eyes scanning the reaction of the other idols.

The stadium stayed totally silent for a moment and then, one particular band stood up and the others emulated their action one by one. Soon, the whole audience got to their feet and no word was exchanged for a minute.

Donghyuck – who was doing his best to cover up his gratitude – looked up at the ceiling, wondering whether Dayoung would be able to see this.

I love you, too, Dayoung. No matter where you are, you will always be my beaming light.

[mathildahilda]

Ashton I

AN: the first part of my two part story in my pre-game fic “Kids of the Western Sun”: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17225921/chapters/40507103 

If you were to read the whole story, then this is chapter 4 in the fic!

It’s an early morning in a very early April when the Ashton National Bank opens its doors to the first of its customers and makes a name for itself by becoming the first ever bank opened in a town so far West of Saint Magdalene since its own opening. It also makes a name for itself by opening in a town that’s barely a town and which has little to contribute with past its fair share of drunkards and idiots.

Ashton, built around the foundation of an old plantation house burnt to the ground by the Northerners by the end of the war, took its name from the last fighting man to die on its streets, some five months after the war ended when everyone else had had the good fortune of moving away. William Ashton, of little meaning other than his death from being trampled by his own horse, stood in remembrance in a slightly smaller form in the stone circle erected outside what was to become the Bank, some odd twenty years later. His sword had been chipped off and stolen not even two years after his erection and his musket had been gone before he was even put up at all, so to say that Ashton had a good patron was like saying that the seas were full of white whales.

Mister Ashton’s house was now the town’s one and only shop, where one could buy anything and everything for the fair price of five dollars to the lowest and most useless things, and up to the awfully expensive and necessary shit of fifty. To say that the people of Ashton were greedy and cheap, was as much of an understatement as to say that Rip Van Winkle had missed just a couple of years.

Ashton wasn’t much of a livestock town, nothing like Valentine or Rhodes, but it was covered in just as much shit and grime as those. Ashton didn’t have many lawmen, but had, evidently, enough. No one ever got away with more than a few dollars from the store, and no one had yet to touch the bank.

And why on God’s green Earth the town eventually got its own bank, was a question not even the managers could tell themselves; their job mainly revolving around solving problems that either weren’t possible to solve or those that weren’t in their department to solve.

Over the years, from its opening day in 1886 until it had been rebuilt and enlarged in the matter of guards and security and the adding of the Cornwall Safe in 1896, the bank would have been robbed a total of five times; three, of which, Thomas Martins had been there to witness.

Five times in ten years, and by then you’d think security would’ve gotten that little bit better.

A year or so before the third one, and not even a month after the second, Martins' one of the five men let go of their positions on account of inebriation, common laziness and the art of being an all together prick to anyone regardless of position. That, and the blatant execution by Officer Martins of Officer Teague for no apparent reason.

But, to his credit, Officer Martins had killed one of the robbers in the one robbery, and that was enough to earn him some more months of even more inebriation and needed rest before he either had to take up bounty hunting or take part in the lumber business. It was safe to say that he preferred neither.

Now, it wasn’t altogether his fault, he’d reasoned when he’d stood in front of the judge and the Sheriff and the whole goddamn town; Officer Teague had crossed his line of fire when he’d taken aim at the robbers. Officer Teague, ( I’m very sorry for your loss, ma’am ), had obviously not seen Martins when he’d taken aim and fired, but heard the crack of the gun and turned just in time for the bullet to pass in between the eyes.

It weren’t his fault. Not that that reasoning got him anywhere.

But then again, he’d been acquitted of his apparent crimes when he’d killed one of them.

(“One of the robbers, Your Honor. Yessir, Your Honor. Shot him right between them ribs.”

“Then where’s the body, Mister Martins?”

“Why, he most likely went and died in them woods, Your Honor. Most likely picked up by those friends of his.”)

Two out of three robberies, and Officer Martins was sure he’d killed someone. There wasn’t any proof, but he was so sure of it. The lie others doubted but he believed, tasted all the sweeter when tasted on the brim of a bottle. He’d killed one of the bastards. He sure as shit had.

(“I’m as sure as the sky is blue that I killed one of them!”

“The sky ain’t blue today. Meanin’ it’s some kinda lie.”

“It was blue just a second ago!”

“Then you’re just too fucking drunk to notice.”)

What Thomas Martins didn’t tell anyone, even when his tongue got loose and he rambled about everything from the way the pigs smelled and to the way the lady in the big manor house was mighty pretty, was that the robber he’d killed ( “shot between them ribs, I tell ya!” ) had not even been a year older than his sister’s son.

But how was he to know, when the kid had been bundled up in rags and a bandana, hair plastered to a sweat drenched face under a hat curled at the brim? How was he to know; he, who had never taken aim at another living person in his life before that day, that it had been a kid?

Yes, maybe he’d gotten that little taste of death in him that day, but he still weren’t going around murdering folks. He weren’t shooting the urchins stealing his cabbages at three in the morning and he weren’t picking up his gun for other purposes than for show.

Yes, maybe he did kill Officer Teague that day. Maybe so. But that kid had died first; crawled away in pain in the evening sun and disappeared from view and died in the mud, and then Martins had turned his gun around, aimed at the man with the chequered bandana and shot Teague.

Teague deserved it, no doubt. But that kid didn’t; hadn’t even raised his gun, not even to threaten. As far as Martins knew, that kid hadn’t done nothing. Done nothing to deserve a bullet to the lung and an awful cough of blood up the throat.

Martins had been shot that day too. Taken one to the shoulder and counted his lucky stars, but it seemed to have been a pure miracle that he weren’t even deader than Teague; the man with the gun, scarce of a boy, had been pushed out the meager back door by another man and Martins wished, oh so desperately, that he could forget those eyes so filled with wrath.

Martins wished a lot of things; wished for his wife to come back from the dead, for his daughter to wish a word from him. He wished for that kid to stop screaming whenever he slept and he dreamed of that man to stop looking at him.

If he ever got to meet the Devil, he expected his eyes to look like those.

It was a goddamn miracle he wasn’t dead. A goddamn fucking miracle that he hadn’t joined that kid.

And that, that right there, would be what would weigh down his soul when judgement came.

***

Thomas Martins might’ve been too old for the job when the offer first came through; he weren’t as quick as he’d once been and maybe he wasn’t as sharp anymore, but he could shoot better than any of the other men, even Teague, and that was the only reason why he was allowed to stay on.

Well, until that second robbery, at least.

The first, which had happened barely three weeks after the bank first opened, had been a bust. The men responsible, along with some ween of a girl which rosy cheeks and mud brown eyes, had gotten away with barely a hundred dollars and the Sheriff’s horse.

Martins had been outside, had set his sights on the men as they exited and had been the one to pick Officer Malkin up of the floor and push his gun back into his hands. He’d been the one to report to Teague, who’d then reported back to the Sheriff. Teague had been the one who’d come scurrying back to help with the clean up, tail between his legs, and Martins had watched how the Sheriff had yelled himself raw over any signs of the horse thief.

(“Screw the bank! Where’s my goddamn horse? I paid top dollar for the damn thing!”)

Between two bottles of whiskey a month or so later, Malkin had relayed how a town further down South had gotten robbed, a store, sure, but robbed nonetheless. One of the bastards had taken a tumble off the horse, may or may not have survived, but the store had been empty of anything worth something, and, Malkin assured him, one of the horses sounded awfully like the Sheriff’s horse.

Neither man, of course, wanted to be the one to tell the Sheriff that his horse had become part of some merry band of thieves. ‘Modern Day Robin Hood’, as Malkin came to call that gang before he’d passed out and drooled all over the newly polished wood. Maybe the Sheriff had heard about it anyway, Martins wondered, when in the days later the Sheriff seemed angrier than a pack of wolves.

It goes six months, and the Sheriff’s got himself a new horse; a beautiful chestnut mare with the temper of a pony and the stubbornness of a mule, and Martins has gone two weeks without a bottle in remembrance of his darling wife, God rest her soul, when he sees a chequered bandana once again.

Coincidence or not, Officer Martins locks eyes with the man and they nod in greeting and passing and they both go on with their day. Until mid-noon, of course, because things are rarely simple it seems.

Teague curses up a storm, grips his repeater in gloved hands and crouches behind what can only be described as the worst of covers; cloth draped table, and fires off round after round once the men have broken the windows.

It’s Hell on Earth, Martins thinks, until Malkin kicks open the doors, shoots the gun from a laughing man’s hands and Martins fires, without really looking, at the first dark clad shape he can find.

It just so happens, that the shape with the dark clothes, without being a civilian, lets out a cry and a breath that sounds an awful like when his nephew broke his leg when he fell from the apple tree in the garden and Martins turned and makes the mistake of meeting the boy’s eyes.

Because that’s what he is.

Just a boy.

His eyes are wide and dark and his left brow is slightly scarred. He’s dirty, sweaty and dressed in rags that are far too big for someone so small as him. He’s not old enough to have a voice that doesn’t break; he’s not old enough to be a man. He’s not old enough to be shot.

(“He ain’t old enough to be dead.” He tells his bottle and the ghost of his dead wife.)

Had he stood up, perhaps he would’ve reached Martins’ chest. Crouched down as he is, however, hunkered behind the upturned tables of the waiting area, he’s no bigger than Missus Carlsen’s dog.

The kid, boy , stands and trips, falls flat on his face and it shoots his gun up and away. The shot has caught the attention of someone else, who now turns and fires once. He fires twice, Martins thinks, but he goes down before the second bullet can hit and scoots behind the opened door before anymore bullets can whizz pass.

He thinks he hears someone call a name, John maybe, and then the man with the gun is up and gone; the only proof that he was ever there the bullet in Martins’ shoulder. Martins forces himself upward, grips his gun and hears the unmistakable shouting from Teague; Martins is blind now, turns on his body’s command and fires.

He looks at the man he greeted before, and by God that is one Hell of an angry man, but he’s not the one he shoots. He’s not sure if he aims or if it’s by pure accident; either way, Theodore Teague is dead before anyone can blink twice.

The commotion is over soon enough; the safes are mostly empty and the men are scattered to the wind and there’s a bright smear of blood and footprints gone into the woods. There’s no body to be found, but there’s sure as shit a whole lot of blood.

So, Thomas Martins doesn’t tell anyone about how he shot a kid.

He just tells everyone how he stopped a robbery from getting any worse. Tells them how he saved people’s investments in a town that barely had any money to start with and how Teague knew the line of work they all had.

Knew the danger they all faced.

He also tells them, mostly to the kids, how the robbers stole the Sheriff’s horse.

Again.

[this-tinyviking]

ON THE SUBJECT OF SPACE - okay I know what you’re thinking, but just hear me out

The biggest problem with space travel is the distances. 

Forget about dark matter, solar flares, black holes, red dwarfs, white dwarfs, quasars, gravity or even the lack of oxygen and water, and all matters necessary for the sustaining of the organic body. 

When you are out there in the great black void filling out the unfathomable gaps between the stars, then, and first then can you fully grasp what “nothing” and “empty” and “alone” mean. 

Space is simply so incomprehensibly, immensely huge that it can simply not be described by words. Sometimes, when your are standing firmly on your two flat feet, you can gaze up at a starry sky and mistake the Universe for being just about gargantuan. 

But once you’ve let go of the ground, and have taken off towards the stars, you’ll realize too late that that’s a grim understatement.

After a minute or two you’ll look down and see the landscape fall away beneath you – plants, animals, rivers and houses turning the size of toys, the playthings of giants. 

After four minutes whole geographical structures can be seen clearly in all their complexity. 

After eight the blurry outlines of the continents become visible in the golden hued horizon. 

After twelve the very planet disappears underneath you. and you pop out of the thinning atmosphere like a stone pulled out of sticky mud. That’s when you start picking up serious speed, now finally free of the friction of the Earth’s atmosphere. 

You’ll pass by the moons within just 15 minutes. You are now travelling much too fast to see individual landmarks clearly. 

Just five hours later you’ll have travelled beyond the last icebound clumps of celestial rock, and you’ll be beyond the bounds of the solar system.

And this is when you’ll make the colossal mistake of looking up towards the still distant star that you’ve chosen as your destinantion, and turn your gaze back to the Sun and think to yourself: “Hey this is not too shabby. At this speed I'll be reach the nearest star in two or three days.”

That’s where you’re wrong.

That pinpoint glowing dot out far in the vastness will not be growing any bigger no matter how far and for how long you think you’ve been flying. 

(Talking about space travel people, no matter where they’re coming from, always seem to have peculiar tendency to describe space travel as flying, when actually, since space has no mass – aka. the name “space”, what you are actually doing is floating or gravity-hopping if you prefer that term. Most likely it has to do with how we live our whole life on a atmosphere-entombed planet, and therefore we see everything that transports itself without having to touch the ground as being flying. Quite natural really considering that under the influence of a strong gravitational pull it actually takes significant effort to lift an object from the ground. Out in space it is really just a matter of you hanging there, making space travel a surprisingly comfortable and mind numbingly simple form of transportation. This of cause also puts the shear size of the Universe into perfect incomprehensible comprehension, because considering how diminutively tiny a part the planets take up in the Universe, and the people living on those small lumps of rock still think that it’s their whole wide world and everything else, even the stars, diminish in comparison).

Anyways, back on subject. 

After ten whole years of doing absolutely nothing except for just hanging there of course, you’ll finally reach the furthest distant boarders of a new and wholly unexplored solar system. 

At this point you’ll with absolute certainty be regretting bitterly that you ever chose to leave good old Earth in the first place. And if you are not provisioned with a truckload of luck, then you’ll in all likelihood end up in a dead solar system.

Good on you. GOOD. ON. YOU!

Pick up your bags and on to the next system. Pray that your luck improves.

…. chances are that it won't.

Okay, lets visualize this: Imagine pea soup cooking in a pot, preferably the industrial sort. Think of the peas as the planets and moons and stir them around. Note how the peas will arrange themselves into small dense clusters, spread out across the surface of the pot. 

In turn, think of yourself as that miniscule black peppercorn floating around in between, and imagine that you’ve traverses the relative vast distance between the peas. See, that would be kind of far, wouldn’t it?

A fair comparison it might be, but not fair enough. Realistically those peas should’ve been dispersed in an ocean.

There are just as many planets as there are corns of sand on Earth – but resting in what ocean!

To just make everything even worse, your chances of encountering organic life (any kind – single and multi-celled organisms – fungus and bacteria if you’re really, really seriously lucky) are 1/6.533.214. The chances of encountering intelligent life forms are more microscopic still: 1/67.337.890.167.

Virtually impossible. You better just forget it mate.

Sorry. If E.T. is even out there, you’ll never meet him.

Still, though – Somewhere out there in the impossible vastness; hiding, living a life as isolated as any other life form that has learned to say: “I think, therefore I am”.

Sad really, when you really get down to it.

How whole entire civilizations have been born and have grown and bloomed and died without ever knowing that they were not alone.

Any civilization, no matter how great or how small, will always reach some critical stage in evolution where they turn their sensory organs towards the star-spangled night sky and ask: “Are there anyone like us out there? Or are we really the sole consciousness traversing an empty void?”

99.998 percent will be extinct without ever knowing, leaving behind them a trail of burnt out space probes and satellites eternally orbiting around an once living world.

But once in a little while it happens that an organism manages to traverse the void, and with immense luck dump down on an already inhabited lump of space rock.

This has only happen a total of twelve sole times in the entire history of the Universe. Ever. Just to put it into proper perspective.

And only one – one! – time have those habitants been in position of an intellect surpassing that of a goldfish. 

So next time you ask yourself: "Why have we never received signal from an alien race? Is that an UFO? Could Earth qualify for a membership in the Galactic Council?" and so on, you'll know the answer: 

"Aliens are out there and they are just as lost and lonely as you are. And much thanks to the shear incomprehensible vastness of the universe you’ll never see them". 

As for the doomsday-cultists: "Don't panic. A superior race will NEVER go to war with Earth. Sad to be you to have wasted an entire life preparing for an something that’s never going to happen".