#w exception that sam only needs reading glasses...

[jbreenr]

Déjà Vu –Bucky Barnes.

Summary: You and Bucky keep having those kinds of encounters and none of you know how.

Warning: poorly written smut (if you're under 18 please, don't read), unprotected sex (don't do that, kids. be responsible), alcohol, a bit of swearing, i think that's it.

Word count: almost 4k.

A/N: so, this is the first imagine i post here and it also is the first one in english (not my first language) so don't be too hard on me, i tried my best. lack of vocabulary, grammatical and orthography mistakes are all my fault. corrections, feedback and suggestions are always welcome.

Inspired by Déjà Vu –Voilà.

ᴹʸ ᵍⁱᶠ

You weren't sure how it happened, let alone how it all started, but here you were, legs tangled in bed sheets that were not yours, head resting on a pillow that was not yours, the air smelling like a cologne that certainly was not yours, and a strong and now partially warm metal arm wrapped around your waist.

Trying to turn to face the owner of said arm seemed to be the most difficult mission you ever had due to the buzz in your head that made you stop for a second so the room would stop spinning before your eyes.

You knew the headache was going to be bad, except you did not think this bad.

The first clear memory of last night popping in your head: you asking Sam to hand you the fifty dollars of the bet. Of course you were able to drink all those shots and stay on your feet for the rest of the party.

It had started boring as usual. Not that the music was bad or too low, but the fact that you had to attend every single party Tony hosted should be considered torture. You only wanted to go to bed, for God's sake!

The dance floor was full of people, the sofas were all occupied and the bar was not the exception; two bartenders were not enough to keep everyone happy with a drink on their hand.

Still, you managed to have one the whole time you were there and by the time you were taking your ninth shot, you started to feel a little dizzy. Maybe, it was the way you sat up too fast and turned on your heels with a specific destination: the improvised dance floor.

If you were staying, at least you'd make sure it was worth it.

Taking Sam's hand (the one that was not filling your cup with tequila again) and putting the money inside your bra, you tried to guide him to the center of the dance floor but, considering the big amount of people trying to do the same, you decided you'd be dancing somewhere near the sofas where Steve and Nat were sitting, talking.

Your dance moves were all innocent, even ridiculous; arms and hips moving to the beat of the song in a synchronized rhythm, changing your weight from foot to foot slightly to give the illusion of a real choreography, Sam doing the same in front of you.

Laughing at your own movements, you jumped turning to the left, trying to recreate La Macarena –or your version of it– when you saw him.

Dark long hair tied up in a small ponytail brushing the back of his neck, a pair of shorter locks falling to the sides of his face, framing it perfectly; black suit trousers so tight on his legs that you were sure they were going to break at any moment; light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up his elbows, making him look thicker than usual; vibrant blue eyes sparking like reflectors from where he was sitting; flesh hand playing with a glass of what seemed to be whiskey; vibranium arm with thin golden lines caressing a blonde's tight…

You snapped out of your trance only to evaporate the sweat in your body with the rush of hot anger that ran all the way from your toes to your ears.

Why were you angry? You had no idea. You only knew that it was unacceptable. He could not do that. Not in front of you.

It was until you took a wrong step back almost falling on your ass that you noticed you had stopped dancing. Sam's hand wrapped around your arm to keep you from actually falling. Steadying yourself, you cursed yourself for listening to Nat when she said that you'd look amazing in those high heels. Who would pay attention to your shoes when you were wearing a freaking black strapless dress that did little to cover your body?

The answer was looking right at you, sitting in an armchair next to that beautiful woman, who was talking about something he had lost interest moments ago when his eyes finally met your figure from a far, now traveling down your legs to lock his gaze on your heels.

Even from where you were standing you could see his jaw clenching and his hand forming a fist, the hand that was not tapping the blonde's leg. His drink, now forgotten on the table in front of him.

“You alright?” Sam's question was followed by his hand leaving your arm. You turned to him.

That's when you had the idea. Probably, the worst and best idea you had ever had.

“Yeah,” you said nodding. “We were in the middle of something, right?” The innocent look you gave him made him follow the game.

“We were, indeed.”

“Let's keep doing it, then.” The smirk on your lips, making Sam raise his right eyebrow in confusion.

And it felt as if the universe wanted it to happen, as if the Gods wanted to know what was next because just as you turned again, softly slamming your back to Sam's chest and started swinging your hips against him, the electronic music changed to a song you knew would help you with what you had planned.

“(Y/n), what are you doing?” Sam's laughter rumbled in your ear as you swayed.

“Just dance, Falcon. Have some fun.”

Raising your arms, you gave him permission to place his hands on your hips, which he did hesitant at first. But when he understood (or at least, he thought) that you were only enjoying the music, his grip on you became stronger and more confident. After all, most people around you were dancing the same way.

Opening your eyes, you tried to find the super soldier but in vain. The sofa he and his friend had been sitting on was now occupied by other people and you could only imagine one reason.

The song was coming to an end and you turned again to face Sam, who was smiling at you.

“It was a pleasure to dance with you, but right now, I need to go dust my nose.” You said in a false cordial voice and bowed with exaggeration, placing your hand in the cleavage of your dress.

“Those drinks are making their work already? Ouch!” he complained when you hit him in the shoulder. “The pleasure was mine.” He bowed back and walked to the other side of the dance floor, easily finding another partner to spend the rest of the party with.

You didn't need to go to the bathroom. Not really. That was only the excuse you gave to finally head to your room and take off that dress and heels that were killing you.

You hadn't taken three steps out of the party when you felt a hand close on your arm and drag you up the stairs.

In all honesty, if his grip wasn't that firm, you could have fallen on your knees more than once on your way to where the bedrooms were.

Only when the door was closed behind you was when you noticed you were not in your room. The bed was perfectly done and the nightstand didn't have your current reading on it. You were in Bucky's room.

Blurry memories of previous visits filled your head like flashing lights: your hands tightly clutched around the headboard, your feet slipping from the edge of the bed, your back pressed against the wall, your knees and elbows buried in the mattress. It felt like you'd been there a thousand times before.

Bucky wandered around the room like a lion inside a jail, his steps heavy against the floor and his hands trying to pull back the hair tickling his cheeks.

With a loud sigh, he finally turned and almost ran in your direction. The look in his eyes was something you've seen somewhere before.

“Wha-- what the fuck you think you were doing back there?” His question took you by surprise, even though it shouldn't have. It had been your main goal all the time.

“'Doing' what? What do you mean?” You decided that playing dumb was the best way to get on his nerves and apparently, it was working.

The super soldier bit the inside of his cheek trying to keep his composure. He was not having any of it.

“Don't try and act all innocent, as if you didn't know you were practically offering yourself to Sam with that stupid dance of yours.”

“I'm surprised you even noticed,” Taking a step ahead, you shortened the distance between you two. You knew he wouldn't find you intimidating, but at least he'd know you weren't afraid of him. “when you were too busy lifting the little skirt of that girl up her legs.”

His eyes darkened and he took a step closer, his face staying only a few inches from yours.

“'Little skirt', uh? What about this pathetic attempt of a dress?” His hands traveled from the sides of your breasts to your hips and stopped at the hem of the dress (that was too short for your liking, but you weren't going to tell him so).

“Sam seemed to like it.”

Faster than you thought was possible, he gripped the hem and drew you towards him, making your smaller form crash against him, your lips barely touching his while he leaned to be at your height.

“Do I look like I care about what he likes? Not even you care about it.” His grip on the dress had softened unconsciously. “I know all you wanted to do was to make me all bothered, except you did not think I'd fix that with someone else, someone better.”

With all your strength, you pushed him back by his chest –which only caused him to take three steps back of pure shock– and your right hand landed on his face with a SMACK!

If his eyes were dark before, now they were on fire. Anger and something else that you couldn't decipher radiated from his pupils.

“Fuck you, Barnes.” Your voice, nothing but poison.

Bucky started to shorten the distance again and you didn't know what to expect: Him yelling at you? A punch? Both? Either way, you were prepared for anything.

Or so you thought.

His metal hand took you by the waist pressing your bodies together and his flesh hand traveled to the back of your head to push your face to his in a hungry kiss.

At first, you were surprised. That was not the kind of smack you were wanting for. Not that you were complaining.

His tongue wanted to make its way inside your mouth but you wouldn't open it, so he took a handful of your hair and pulled, making you whine at the feeling and finally parting your lips just enough for him to do as he pleased.

You tried to resist, how much you wanted to but oh, if it was impossible. So you let yourself get lost in the kiss.

The familiar sensation in your lower belly and the way your legs trembled told you that you were fucked and before you knew it, you were gasping for air. Seemingly, you had forgotten how to breathe while Bucky's lips devoured yours in such a feral way.

With a quick movement, Bucky let go of your hip and hair and his hands went directly to the back of your thighs, indicating you to jump and cross your feet on his lower back, which you did gracefully despite the amount of alcohol in your system.

At no point your lips separated, not that any of your wanted them to.

Your hands intertwined in the back of his neck and pulled his hair softly making him groan in your mouth. It was not difficult to get rid of the hair tie, and once it was gone, Bucky's hair fell to the sides, brushing your face.

Bucky moved to the bed and sat on it, keeping you on his lap, straddling him. His hands moved all along your legs, just the way you imagined he did with his friendly friend back in the party and your blood boiled.

Pulling his hair again, but with more strength this time, you separated his face from yours, looking into his eyes with what he interpreted as disgust.

“Really think that Barbie is better than me?” you asked, your heavy breathing causing your breast to rise ang go down rapidly.

Bucky smirked, clearly enjoying the view of you asking such a thing. “You know I don't, doll. Just gotta make sure you don't forget I'm better than him.”

Having said that, the sound of a zipper opening was audible and soon the cold air of the room hit your back.

You recognized the feeling of Bucky's hands traveling from your thighs to your waist under the dress, to end up pulling it off of your body and tossing it across the room. It, falling right in the same spot they always did. Your lips, only separated when you rose your arms to take off the dress.

It was Bucky's turn to pull away, eyes glued to your bra. Its intense red color was driving him crazy, but not as much as the thong, which was far from being a proper piece of underwear, covering your drenching cunt.

With a quick movement, Bucky undid your bra, letting it fall past the bed with the fifty dollars slipping right after. And as if you didn't feel too exposed already, his hands ripped the thin sides of your remaining clothing, dragging it from behind, causing the fabric to rub against your clit roughly. You closed your eyes when a moan escaped your lips.

The sound of the fabric tearing apart bringing a memory of that night you were feeling waisted.

“Hey! Those were my favorite!” you had said right after he ripped your baby pink lace panties.

“Not anymore.”

Bucky's lips traveled from your jaw to your neck, finding that spot that had you trembling in his lap.

Deciding he was wearing too much clothes, your hands found their way from his still covered shoulders to his chest, looking for the first button, willing to unfasten it but once you realized it was going to be a more difficult task than you had expected, you decided to give him a payback for what he did a few weeks before.

Grabbing the shirt tightly, you pulled it, causing the buttons to fly out in all directions, clacking against the walls and floor.

“Are you kidding?” Bucky's mouth was no longer on you. “It was really expensive!” His eyes, telling you he wasn't lying. You almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“Not anymore.”

A knowing look took over his face. He also remembered.

“Nice one, doll. Let's see what else we can reprise from that day.”

Taking you by your ass and making you gasp, he stood up and turned to the bed, throwing you into the center of the soft mattress the second he was fully facing it. You felt small compared to him, his big frame taking off the now useless shirt obstructing the view of the rest of the room for you.

Watching him undo his belt and pushing down his pants and boxers at the same time was too much for you to witness. You closed your legs trying to relieve the sensation between them.

“No, doll. Don't do that, that's why I'm here.”

His palms massaged your ankles, both flesh and metal hands cold, taking off your heels.

His delicate touch was killing you, you wanted him to go higher, to go faster, to touch you where you needed him the most.

And it was as if he read your mind. His face lowered to rub his nose against your left leg, placing a kiss in your ankle and traveling up your thigh with his chin rubbing your skin. His facial hair tickled you but you didn't mind. You liked the feeling.

His face was at the height of your core and he knew by the way you buckled your hips that you were soaked. He didn't need to check to be sure, he could smell it.

Wet kisses and purple hickeys adorned your stomach by the time his mouth reached your breasts. One, he massaged with his metal hand, the coldness provoking goosebumps to run all over your body. The other was being attacked by his tongue and sucking lips.

When his teeth bit your nipple, your back arched and one of your legs slightly raised having minimal contact with Bucky's hard dick. The pressure of your chest against Bucky's mouth, muffled a groan coming from his throat.

With a soft pop he released your tit. “You know?” he asked, opening your legs and positioning himself between them. “As much as I'd love to take my sweet time with you, I can't wait to fuck you into oblivion.”

His tip was leaking precum already, you swore you saw his member twitch the second you bit your lower lip.

He started teasing you, rubbing his shaft from your entrance to your clit repeatedly, coating himself with your juices.

“For God's sake, Barnes, just do it!”

That was everything he needed to hear to finally enter you, stretching you out with his hardness without any warning.

A loud scream was swallowed by Bucky's lips when he leaned to kiss you. Tongues fighting for dominance in a heated battle.

His vibranium hand had yours pinned above your head, immobilizing them and keeping you from moving, from touching him. Flesh hand next to your head, preventing his full weight from crashing you.

Seconds passed until he felt your body adapting and accepting the new intruder, that's when he began to move, a slow pace at first, it felt like he wanted to make sure you were really there, too caught up in the painful pleasure he was feeling.

He separated from your face, enjoying the moment, you were just fascinated looking at his expression.

When a particular deep trust hit your g spot, the moan that left your mouth brought Bucky back to reality. His eyes opened in a snap and what you saw in them made you want to run away from that room and to stay under him forever at the same time.

Lust and hunger danced on his eyes, fire and need distilling from his pores.

The concentration look in Bucky's face gave you the second best idea of the night.

“C'mon, Barnes.” Containing a cry, you murmured. “I know you can do better.” Saying that you knew was more of an affirmation than a comment in the heat of the moment.

An arrogant smile drawn on Bucky's lips was followed by him quickening his pace. His now warm metal hand let go of yours to take control over your hips that were bucking up to meet his, accompanied with the hoarse sounds coming out of your mouth. He pinned you down with his fingers buried in your flesh, surely leaving some dark bruises to remember his excellent performance.

One of your hands flew back, trying to hold onto something for dear life while the other scratched, with black painted nails, Bucky's back. Meanwhile, he kept pounding you harder with each trust.

“You like it, baby girl? Bet Sam can't do it as good.” His words were dry, forcefully said along with one of his hands finding you where your bodies connected and pressing your clit roughly to prove a point.

It was talking all of you to find a coherent sentence to give as an answer. The way his body slammed yours, creating a delicious clapping sound, having your full attention.

“Wouldn't be so sure about that.” You almost whispered in a voice you didn't recognize as yours.

“Really?” One particular deep trust hit that sweet spot again making you arch your back and clench around him. A high pitched sound leaving your lips and a low groan leaving his. “Cause, from where I see it, it is me who's giving you the time of your life.”

He repeated the action again and again. Your breasts bounced up every time your bodies collided.

“Fuck.” Bucky's lips kissed your shoulder, his breath made you shiver and the feeling of his teeth grazing your hot skin causing a new memory to pop in your brain.

“God, you're perfect.” His hands squished your butt cheeks and moved you up and down to keep you riding him.

“Is that what you say to all the girls you get laid with?” You rolled your hips, challenging him to tell you.

“I've only said that to you, doll.” His words muffled in your neck followed by an assault of bites and dark marks.

He resumed the movement of his fingers against your clit, faster and applying more pressure this time.

“Ugh, just like that, yeeees!” A single tear of ecstasy fell from your eye, ruining the white pillowcase with the smallest stain of eyeliner.

As pleasure took over your body, you struggled to keep your eyes open. Your mouth parted and let a sinful groan fall from it when your orgasm finally hit you.

“Yes, baby girl, cum for me.”

Your clenching walls enveloped him so tight that his movements faltered for a second. He quickened the pace, riding you out of your release and spilling inside you, coating you with his seed.

An experimental trust before he pulled out of you made you cry out. Both your juices and his cum dripping in the now ruined bed.

Bucky rolled to his side and pulled you closer to him, embracing you in a hug. Your breathing, slowly returning to normal.

“Damn, we're gonna regret this in the morning.” You affirmed half asleep, resting your head on Bucky's chest.

Your head position didn't let you see Bucky's sad smile. “Yeah, we will.”

Once you turned your whole body to Bucky you couldn't hide the confused look that took over your face. You didn't remember how you got there, let alone why you were there. Why was it happening to you again?

Watching him like that, so peaceful, it almost made you feel bad for what you were about to do.

“My God, Barnes, let go of me!” you said loud enough to make him open a lazy eye trying to focus on you, the sound of your own voice increasing the pain in your head.

“What are you doing here?” His raspy voice did things to you in ways it shouldn't.

“That's an excellent question. I'd like to know the answer too.”

He sat, the sheet falling from his shoulders to where his public hair started. Immediately, you turned to the ceiling.

“Last thing I remember is you dancing that silly Friends routine with Sam and then… a smell of coconut.” That was the scent of your body wash.

You knew you were naked, except your brain didn't process what that meant until then.

“Ugh, not again.” You covered your face with your hands, trying to keep the sheets at the height of your chest with your arms to cover it as much as possible. “This can't keep happening.”

“Why not?” His question was followed by a yawning. “It is always good to wake up to your back pressed against me.”

[onecanonlife]

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 7,295

Chapter Warnings: swearing, injury, blood, aftermath of (temporary) character death, mild disassociation, slight s.uicidal ideation, references to past abuse

Chapter Summary: The emotional fallout is intense, but they don’t have time to stop and deal with it. Wilbur doesn’t particularly like where they decide to hole up, but beggars can’t be choosers.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Twelve: nowhere to run

The sun is too bright in his eyes. Too bright, and wrong, somehow, that it should be shining like this. Should still be shining, after the loss they’ve just suffered, after watching his brother crumple to dust in front of him. But the sun hardly cares for things like that, so they all stumble out of the hole in the ground that serves as the entrance to the spider spawner and beyond, and the daylight surrounds them, unforgiving.

“Where do we go, what do we do,” Tubbo is chanting, and Ranboo is muttering under his breath, a continuous litany of, “I can’t believe he’s gone, I can’t believe that happened—” His own lips feel glued shut, his throat devoid of sound. His skin buzzes.

(the two images interpose: Techno hanging from the vine, head at an unnatural angle, Techno wavering on his feet, blood pouring from his throat, and there is a flash of light and there is ash all at once, as if the first caused the second, as if instead of healing him, shoving his soul back into a body clinging to life, the totem burned him up from the inside out, and unlike the phoenix there was no rebirth)

“We can’t stay here,” Puffy says. Her eyes are wide, and her hands are shaking, but her voice has the same determined cant to it as it always does. “We need somewhere to hole up.”

“And where is that supposed to be?” Sapnap demands. His breathing is unsteady. “Where the fuck are we supposed to go after that? Where isn’t the thing gonna be able to reach? With, with Dream being, being, what even was that? Why was he—how was he—?” He breaks off, sparks crackling at his fingertips, and his face is a mask of distress, of questions

(was he always like that and did I not see or did something happen to him did something make him like that is that my friend or is there something inside of him something behind his eyes that is not him at all and if that is the case how did I not notice how did I not notice how did I not save him)

that Wilbur feels he recognizes. Or would, if he let himself. If he let himself care.

His eyes drift over to Phil. Phil, who stands silently, blood dripping from his wings, a thousand old injuries reopened by thrashing thorns. Who stands with Tommy in his arms, Tommy, who is curled up as tightly as he can reasonably manage, his face tucked into Phil’s shirt. Trembling. Quiet.

(he will die and I will kill him, the Egg says, and I have already begun, and you cannot protect him, you do not have the strength, except by what I can grant you)

“Church Prime,” Puffy says. “It’s the only place that might be safe.”

“Who’s to say it would be?” Sapnap snaps. “You saw it in there! The vines have never moved like that before, and Prime knows what else it can do now. And maybe the Egg wouldn’t be able to get in, but who’s to say that would stop—” He cuts off again, face contorting.

His leg is beginning to hurt, now. All of him is, actually, now that his adrenaline is wearing thin, now that the horror is sinking in, but it’s concentrated in his leg in particular, and he looks down to see that his left pant leg is all but shredded, blood dripping down in steady streams and splattering on the grass by his feet. The vines got him worse than he thought, then, and he bites his lip against the sting.

He’s had worse, though. He’s had so much worse. This is practically nothing, and Puffy and Sapnap are still arguing, and Tubbo and Ranboo are huddled together, eyeing the vines around them with deep suspicion, unmoving as they are just yet, and Phil is silent, and he’s going to stay silent, because Wilbur recognizes all too well the strain in his eyes, the way he’s holding onto Tommy with a death grip.

(he’s watched two of his sons die, now, and Techno will be back, will still have two lives left, but that does not heal the hurt, does not assuage the pain of seeing your brother, your son, your family die in front of your eyes before you can lift a finger to stop it, and Phil’s eyes shine with a grief almost beyond what Wilbur can understand. except he understands all too well, in the end)

He’s had worse, and someone needs to step up.

(the old mantle settles across his shoulders, and if he closes his eyes it’s like nothing’s changed at all, and the sun sets on the city he is determined to give everything for, still standing, walls still strong)

“Boxed in like a fish,” he croaks, and Puffy and Sapnap turn to him as one. “That’s what we’ll be, if we go to Church Prime. Whether it protects us in the moment of not won’t matter once we run out of supplies. We need somewhere better situated. Somewhere we can defend, that might withstand a siege, if it comes to it.”

Puffy makes a frustrated gesture. “I’m open to suggestions,” she says. “The prison, maybe, if we have to? We could probably keep people out as easily as—ah, shit, Sam.” She pulls her communicator out and taps out a quick message, and then frowns. “It’s telling me it can’t go through. Why isn’t it going through? Sam had all three lives, he should be—”

“Admins can read private messages,” Phil murmurs. “Wouldn’t surprise me if Dream could fuck with the whole system, whatever the fuck he is.”

Wilbur reads between the lines. Techno, for the moment, is unreachable. He processes the information and moves on, refusing to let it get to him, refusing to let himself be overpowered by

(Techno’s unreachable Techno’s unreachable Techno’s respawned and he’s on his own and they can’t talk to him can’t get to him quickly and what if something went wrong what if something happened)

emotions.

“Sam will make his way to us,” he says. “I’m vetoing the prison. Like hell are we staying in there. Other thoughts?”

“What gives you vetoing power?” Sapnap asks.

“Somebody needs to make a decision,” he says, and it is with strength he doesn’t feel, confidence he is only pretending at, a force of command that comes from some unknown place, since he feels as though he is miles away from himself, “and I don’t see you coming up with anything. Either help or stop complaining.”

Sapnap’s face reddens, and he opens his mouth, to argue, no doubt, but then Ranboo breaks in with, “Foolish, maybe?” and hunches his shoulders when attention turns to him. “Sorry, it’s just, I’m pretty sure Foolish isn’t, um, a big fan of the Egg or anything, so maybe he could help?”

Wilbur has no idea who the fuck Foolish is.

“Nah, he’s too far out,” Tubbo says. “It’ll take ages to get to his place. And we need somewhere close, but not too close, so we still have a good place to fight back from, right, Wilbur? If we leave now, the Egg’ll just take over the whole SMP with nothing to stop it.”

“My thoughts exactly, Tubbo,” he says, and again, it is just like the old days, and they are standing atop the L’Manberg walls, and Tubbo has just said something particularly clever, and warmth and pride curl in him before he remembers where they are, what they’re doing. They need to decide, and soon. They’re just hanging around near the entrance, and sooner or later, someone’s going to come after them, whether they let them go at first or not. “Is there anyone else who has a good position, location-wise and resource-wise?”

“Wait,” Puffy says. “Eret’s castle.”

“Eret’s castle doesn’t have doors,” Sapnap says.

“No, but I stopped by earlier to see if they wanted to join us,” Puffy says. “They weren’t there, but the grounds were completely free of vines. And sure, there aren’t any doors, but between all of us, I’m sure we could make some. Eret’s got plenty of supplies, last I checked.”

Eret. The name evokes a wealth of associations, most of them unpleasant. His first instinct is to reject this idea like the last, to avoid placing their lives in the hands of one who has already betrayed him, who led them all into a death trap, who almost ended their revolution in one fell swoop. But Puffy has a point. Eret’s castle ticks all the right boxes: it’s defendable, well-supplied, and if there are no vines to clear, all the better. They’ll have to build doors, but between the lot of them, that’s easily manageable.

(a wealth of associations and many unpleasant but there is Eret offering them supplies offering their fragile rebellion help and they tried so dearly to redeem themself and he could not have seen that then wrapped in his own shadows as he was but perhaps he can see it now perhaps he can better appreciate it, give a little more benefit of the doubt, and if he is given a second chance after everything after committing the worst crime of all then who is he to deny them absolution?)

(another memory, more blurry: he is scared but stalwart as they go through the motions, and he does not want to die, is terrified of that endless void, but he knows that the server needs a leader and his living self must be that leader, and Eret is here, and Eret agrees, and Eret acts out their part, and Eret is trying so hard, and he cannot see their eyes behind their glasses but he imagines that if he could, he would see a fool’s hope in them)

“Eret, then,” he says. “We go to Eret.”

And no one disagrees. It’s strange. They have no reason to listen to him, really. They have far more reasons not to listen to him, more reasons to think that following his lead will end in disaster than otherwise. But Puffy nods, and Sapnap backs down, and Tubbo and Ranboo both look to him for direction like it’s the war and he’s in charge of child soldiers once again. Phil looks to him, too, but his expression is inscrutable, and only a slight tightness around his eyes shows that he’s in any pain at all.

So they go to Eret. Staggering through the grass, tripping over vines that still don’t move, thank Prime, and then along the Prime Path, and his leg hurts worse with every step, pain jolting up into his hip, it seems, and it’s not long before he’s walking with a limp. But they’re all hurt in some way, so he hides it as best he can. He can deal with it when they’re safely behind stone walls.

And then, Tommy says, “Put me down, I can walk.”

Wilbur glances over. Tommy’s face is still buried in Phil’s shirt.

“You sure, mate?” Phil asks softly.

“Yes, I’m fucking sure,” Tommy snaps, louder now, turning his face outward, pushing against Phil’s chest. His cheeks are flushed, his breaths coming short and fast, and he’s trying to pass it off as anger, and maybe part of it is. But Wilbur knows him better than to think that that’s all. Knows him better than to think that he would have let Phil carry him in the first place if he was alright.

“Okay, then,” Phil says, and swings Tommy down. Tommy wavers for a step, but slaps away Phil’s hand when he extends it, muttering a sharp, “Fuck off.”

And then they keep going. Tommy doesn’t say anything else. Wilbur keeps glancing at him, but he’s refusing to meet anyone’s gaze, even Tubbo’s. And—that’s another thing that’s going to have to wait. He wants nothing more than to stop now and make sure that Tommy’s going to be okay, but they don’t have time, and the general in him will not call for a halt until the retreat is over, until he is sure the enemy is not biting at their heels.

(retreating from Dream once again, and it is familiar and not, the same and not, and history runs in a circle, echoes and rhymes)

Eret’s courtyard is indeed free of vines, just as Puffy promised. Wilbur half-expects them to be nowhere in sight, based on what Puffy said, but they are standing right there, next to a skeletal horse they’re frantically saddling, and they’re checking their communicator every now and again, with the jerky motions of someone who doesn’t particularly want to but can’t make themself stop.

Then, suddenly, they look up at the sky. Wilbur follows their gaze to the flock of crows wheeling overhead, a dark mass of beating wings, each bird barely distinguishable from the others. All of them completely, eerily silent.

Eret stands there a moment. Just staring. Wilbur can’t tell what the look on their face is, but their shoulders are tense. And then, they look back down, and realize that the lot of them are there, stumbling in under the gate, and they visibly startle.

“Hey, Eret,” Puffy says, before they can get a word in. “Can we crash? And build some gates?”

“What,” Eret says. “What is—Puffy, what is going on? How did Dream manage to kill Sam and Technoblade? Is he—” They run a hand through their hair, and then start striding forward, their cape flaring out behind them. They haven’t said anything about him yet, haven’t reacted to his presence. “He’s out, isn’t he? I was going to come and see, but he’s out?”

“He’s out,” Puffy agrees. “We were kind of hoping you’d help us out on this one.”

“Of course,” they say quickly. “Of course, anything you—anything you need.” They’re rattled, clearly, more than Wilbur has ever seen them, perhaps. “I just—how did this happen? I thought the prison was secure, I thought—are you all okay?”

“Aside from the obvious?” Puffy says. “Yeah, we’re great. You haven’t been around much lately, I don’t know how much you know about the Egg and all of that, but that’s an issue too, along with Dream. And some other stuff that I’ve got no idea about, that we really just kind of need to all sit down and talk about.”

“The Egg? I’ve—I’ve heard of it, I think. I’ve been elsewhere for a while.” Their lips twist into a smile that isn’t quite a smile. “Doing a bit of soul-searching, you might say. Found more questions than answers, unfortunately. Alright. I can get you all whatever you need, you can absolutely stay here if that’s what you’d like, but what was that about gates?”

Right. This is taking too long.

Wilbur still feels a bit outside of his body as he steps forward, but that’s alright. He’s limping, but the pain is distant, and he can let his brain work on autopilot, let his mouth move on its own without regarding the consequences, without thinking too much about

(this is Eret and you know them and they betrayed you and you hurt them and now you’re back and here is a test here is a true test it shouldn’t matter how they react to you you shouldn’t care for their opinion but you do you know you do though you pretend you don’t pretend they’re nothing but a traitor to you but you are a traitor to yourself and you know that between the two of you you are the worse and here you both are and you only need one more and everyone will be back together again like the old days like the old days those good old days)

what happens next.

“Right, then,” he says, straightening his spine and stepping up to be visible just behind Puffy, to the side and a few feet back. Eret’s head whips toward him. “To summarize: the Egg is bad, Dream is also bad, they’re now working together, also with Bad, Techno is gone, we’re all in rough shape, a mind-controlling potentially demonic entity is likely to try to take over the server, and also, I’m here, despite my best efforts. Does that paint enough of a picture for you, or should I elaborate further?”

Eret stares at him. He stares back, doesn’t let himself fidget. He’s putting the general on display, and it has never felt more like a disguise, like yet another mask,

(and didn’t he tell Tommy he wasn’t going to do this anymore?)

but a familiar one, one that’s almost comfortable. He can force himself into the general’s shoes and worry about tactics and battles and numbers and strategy, and tuck the rest of himself away for when there’s time for it. Can think of this as just another alliance to be made, a debriefing to be held rather than

(Eret traitor friend ally enemy the place in your heart is curdled and sour and you do not know if you are capable of starting anew)

and his losses are statistics and cold facts rather than

(Techno’s eyes golden and glittering and then they go dim and pale red pale and staring the light in your brother’s eyes gone out and it is not the first time you have watched a brother die in front of you but Technoblade never dies is never supposed to die never to go to dust never and you cannot make sense of it cannot make sense of the world turned on its head)

“Wilbur?” Eret asks, after a very long moment, and he doesn’t understand why their voice breaks in the way that it does. “You’re—it’s you? Not Ghostbur?”

He spreads his arms, lifting an eyebrow.

“Do I look like Ghostbur to you?” he asks.

“No,” Eret answers right away. “No, that you do not. Um, has this been a thing, or…?” They trail off, and Wilbur can’t figure out exactly what their feelings are, but it’s too late to back down, even if he wanted to.

“For a bit,” he says. “Not for too long. Can we move on? We’ve got bigger issues to deal with at the moment.”

He means multiple things, with that. He means, there’s bigger things to worry about than why I’m here. He means, there’s bigger things to worry about than our history, and as so long as we’re on the same side for the moment, it can’t matter right now. He doesn’t know if Eret catches all of that, but whether they do or not, they nod, seeming to steady themself.

“Of course,” they say. “I—for the record, it is good to see you, Wilbur.” There is genuine relief in their voice, a tone that says they’re actually glad he’s here, more than glad, even, and he really doesn’t have time to unpack that at the moment. They need a plan, and fast, and they need some goddamn gates. And medical attention, probably. The cut on Puffy’s head looks nasty, and Phil’s wings are still dripping blood, and it’s difficult for Wilbur to look at them for too long,

(grief rises up guilt rises up crushing choking your father is grounded and it is your fault)

but it concerns him, how little Phil appears to care for their current state. So there’s that to handle, and it’s almost too much, almost. Almost too much for someone who has spent the majority of the time since he’s been brought back to life cringing away from meeting people, all the confidence he once displayed gone, shrinking, left in the void or in Pogtopia or on the podium from which he announced his own defeat, perhaps. But even still, he remembers how to be the general. He can hide in the general, present the general on the outside, be useful even while he thinks he might be on the verge of collapse, internally. He has been a general, and so he shall be again.

What comes first, then?

He pulls out his comm, scrolling through the messages. There are quite a few in the general chat from just after Sam’s death message, people from all over the server demanding to know what’s going on. His eyes drift over Techno’s, then, and he winces, but keeps reading. There are even more messages after that, capitalization usage increasing dramatically, and his eyes trace over familiar names, a pang in his heart. Niki. Fundy. Quackity. Several from Eret as well. Some from names he doesn’t recognize, like this Foolish person, and someone named Hannah.

But then, they all cut off. There have been none in the past half hour. Since they escaped from the Egg.

Out of curiosity, he taps out a few words: dream and egg have teamed, regrouping at eret’s. Upon hitting send, the screen goes fuzzy, giving him an error message he’s never seen before. So comms truly are down, then, and it’s probably just as well; Dream likely knows where they are, but if he doesn’t, there’s no reason to give him the information.

(and do these old allies old friends deserve to learn of your return from cold words on a screen do you not have the courage to face them yourself face your son your son you have not seen your son)

(the last time he spoke to Fundy, he disowned him. he doesn’t know if he still has a son)

(if he does not, he has no one to blame for himself, and perhaps that is why he is too cowardly to check)

“Right, then,” he says, looking back up. “Gates are the first priority. They might not do much against whatever the fuck that thing is, but it’s better than nothing. Eret, I assume you’d know the best way to go about it?”

Eret’s lips quirk into a slight smile, one that is, perhaps, slightly sardonic.

“It is my castle,” they agree. “The more hands I have, the quicker it will go, but I can get it done.”

“Anyone who’s not bleeding profusely, help them with that, then,” he says. “Anyone who is bleeding profusely—I assume you’ve got pots somewhere, Eret?” Eret nods, gesturing toward the inside. “Anyone who is bleeding profusely gets a pot. Once we’ve got that all covered, we’ll reconvene, come up with a plan for where to go from here. Everyone got that?”

He gets a few nods, and no one dissents, so he’ll take that as a yes. His gaze travels to the kids then, standing clumped together, and Tommy’s eyes are still shadowed, and Tubbo is shifting his weight between his feet, and Ranboo looks lost, awkward, and he wishes he didn’t have to ask anything more of them. But that’s not how wars work, and this has certainly turned into a war.

(child soldiers once again, and how history echoes)

“Tubbo, Ranboo, I want you on the gates as well,” he says, and tries to soften his tone at least a little bit, even if that’s all he can do. “And then afterward—Tubbo, I need you to go through with all of us exactly what you know about—what did you call them? Dreamons?”

Tubbo looks slightly miserable, but he nods. “Right,” he says. “I can try to ward the gates if you want. With, um, anti-demon stuff. I don’t know if it’ll work. I guess last time we didn’t manage to do much of anything at all.”

“Anti-what,” Eret says, but Wilbur shakes his head.

“We don’t have time for that. Tubbo will explain later. We—”

“The fuck am I supposed to do, then?” Tommy breaks in, crossing his arms. “You haven’t given me a job.” He glares, but it is so very obvious that it’s all a front, all a show, and Tommy’s expression dares him to challenge him, but Wilbur thinks that if he does, he just might break something in him. Tommy has always been so much more fragile than he presents himself as, so much more fragile than he likes to believe he is.

(despite it all, despite it all, he is only sixteen, only a child, a child grown old before his time but a child nonetheless, and now a child who watched his brother die for him, an estranged brother perhaps but still a brother, and Tommy has always cared so much and so deeply, no matter how much he pretends otherwise)

He hasn’t given Tommy a job, and he doesn’t really intend to, because Tommy, of all people, needs to sit the fuck down and rest for a moment. They all deserve a break, but in this moment, Tommy is the one who needs it most, and also the one least likely to accept as much.

If the general gives the order, Tommy will follow it, he knows that much,

(because he made his brother into a soldier he made his brother into a soldier and soldiers follow orders)

even if he’ll be angry at him for it, but Tommy angry with him is a sacrifice he’s willing to make. And perhaps directing his anger at him will help. Perhaps it would be better for Tommy to be angry with someone within reach rather than someone out of it.

(because Tommy is hurting, and the cause of that hurt is not here, and so perhaps if Wilbur offers himself he’ll feel better, will feel more in control, because Tommy needs control, because his abuser is out, is wandering free, and his abuser has killed their brother and told him that it is his fault)

But then, Phil breaks his silence.

“I’d like him to stick with me,” he says, with a smile that is obviously strained. “I’m not going to be able to reach everything myself.” He makes a vague gesture toward his wings, still dripping blood, and there is so much of it already drying on his feathers, sticky, tacky, almost blending in with the darkness of the feathers

(but stark against the grey-white of exposed bone)

“Why the actual shit—” Tommy starts.

“Good idea, Phil,” he cuts him off. “Tommy, help him with the wings, would you?”

“Why do I have to—”

“You too, Wil,” Phil says, and his mood sours immediately. “You think I don’t see that leg? C’mon, Eret, show us to the pots.”

When faced with that, he has no choice but to agree, really.

(he wouldn’t have ignored it. he wouldn’t have. He knows better than to leave a wound untreated in wartime. Even if something whispers at him that he deserves the pain, even if the bite of it brings him closer to reality. But his better sense knows: pain is not the penance that is asked of him, not a recompense that will do anyone any good)

**********

They meet again half an hour later in Eret’s throne room. Half an hour later, and his leg is bandaged and tender and no longer an open wound, and Tommy is frowning and refusing to meet anyone’s eyes, and the state of Phil’s wings is still bothersome, because he didn’t let either of them touch them beyond what was necessary,

(and he recollects countless nights spent running his fingers through soft, silken feathers as his father told him how to preen them, told him that it was a sign of trust, an activity that only family, only flock is allowed, and now Phil will no longer let them near him, will no longer even take care of them himself and it makes him sick to his stomach to think of what has been lost)

but they are no longer bleeding, and that has to be what matters.

The throne room is not the best location for this, he thinks. It feels awkward. But it’s a room big enough to fit everyone, which is the point, big enough to fit Puffy, presence looming and forehead now bandaged, to fit Sapnap, fidgety as he is, like a caged, snarling animal, all restless energy. Big enough for Tubbo, for Tommy, for Ranboo, for Phil, for Eret and for himself, and big enough that there is an obvious gap at Phil’s right side where someone else should be standing.

Eret eyes her throne, glances at everyone else in the room, and then seats herself at its base. It’s a pithy gesture, meaningless, but Wilbur has more important things to do than to call her out on it, even though the existence of the throne itself grates against him.

“Let’s call this meeting to order, then,” he says, and Eret frowns. Perhaps she doesn’t like that he’s calling the shots in her own

(ill-gotten, dearly kept)

castle, but tough. He’s brought out the general for all of their sakes, so the general is what they’re all going to get.

(it’s a mask again and masks crack but he can keep it up for long enough he can he can they need a leader so he will lead he will lead them)

(you were so good at compartmentalizing, once, go good at shoving it all away in boxes in dark shadowy corners never to be opened to gather dust and cobwebs and faded recollections but the boxes cracked and the demon’s escaped and Pandora was too weak to stop them and it all ended in a bang and he cannot tell if hope remains but that isn’t the point because the box is opened and once opened it is not so easily closed and you are putting on a show a lie and lies come back around again they always do and you should know better than to pretend at strength you do not have you will lead them to ruin again ruin and gunpowder smoke and what gives you the right)

“Yeah, alright,” Puffy says. “Can we start by talking about—whatever that was? What were you talking about, dreamons? What’s a dreamon?”

“That sounds like a made up word,” Tommy mutters.

“I wish it were made up,” Tubbo says, and he winces when all eyes turn to him. But a moment later, he straightens, setting his shoulders squarely, holding his head up high. “I’ll tell you all what I know. Even if that turns out to be not as much as I thought.” He pauses, clearly struggling for words.

“Start from the beginning,” he suggests, and Tubbo nods at him gratefully.

“Okay, right, the beginning,” he says. “In the very beginning, me and Fundy were messing around, and we found some old books. We went through them for a laugh, and we learned about these things called dreamons.”

“Wait, that’s what they’re actually called?” Tommy interjects. “Like, properly?”

Tubbo shrugs. “It’s what the books said,” he says. “We weren’t about to argue over names. Even if it did seem like a weird coincidence. But yeah, that’s what they’re called.” His voice falls into an odd cadence here, recitative, like he’s telling a story, and Wilbur crosses his arms, gripping at his elbows. “They come from the darkness of the void, lurking around the edges of a server’s code. Once they get in, their only goal is to cause chaos and destruction. They corrupt everything they touch, and they can possess people and turn them into their puppets. They have unknowable powers, because they’re a sickness, a rot, like an infection in the code of the server itself. It’s really, really difficult to get rid of them, but it can be done if you have the right tools. Or—” He blinks, stuttering a bit, his voice landing more naturally. “We thought so, anyway.”

“What does this have to do with Dream?” Sapnap asks, stopping his pacing, looking to Tubbo with an expression in his eyes that hurts to look at, a bit, wobbly and desperate and pinched, like he already knows the answer but hopes that he’s wrong, hopes as much as he is able, even though he knows it will be fruitless.

Wilbur has put the pieces together. As best he can, anyway. And Sapnap’s not a stupid man. He can see where this is leading.

“Dream got possessed.” Tubbo sighs, gaze drifting toward the floor. “It was a whole thing. Honestly, we were surprised nobody else noticed. But we—we performed an exorcism. And it was really scary, to be honest. But it worked. We could see it leave, all oozy and black and gross, and Dream was better afterward! He was! So we thought we got it out.”

“But it tricked you?” he asks.

“I don’t understand how it could have,” Tubbo replies. “It’s not—it’s not like the kind of possession that you see in a TV show, where the demon can pretend to be the person or something like that. It’s obvious. It’s too—it’s too wrong to blend in, if that makes sense. It made his voice go all funny and deep, and the way it moved—” He shudders, and then continues, miserably, “The way it moved, there’s no way you could mistake something like that for a human. That’s why we were so sure it worked. Because afterward, he seemed back to normal.”

Something about this doesn’t make sense.

“Tubbo,” he says, wheels spinning in his mind, “when was this?”

Tubbo blinks. “Manberg days,” he says. “Um, that’s why we never told you about it, I suppose.”

He barely bats an eye at the reference. It doesn’t make sense. Because he has sensed that wrongness, as Tubbo puts it, has been sensing it from the moment he set foot in that prison cell for the first time. On some level, he knew that something was deeply wrong, even if a demonic presence was the last thing he would have guessed. But if the whole thing happened during—during that time, and the signs of possession were as obvious as Tubbo says, he would have noticed, wouldn’t he? He had plenty of interactions with Dream during that time.

(unless his own shadows stretched long, stretched far enough to cover Dream’s, to cover the thing piloting him)

But no—his shadows were of his own making, not supernatural. If anything, his mindset should have made him more receptive to suspicious wrongness, not less. So what—

(Dream smiles, and you know what it’s like, to have something whispering in your head, he says, once you let something in, there’s no going back)

“Maybe the first bit was a fakeout,” Phil suggests, arms folded, head tilted. He’s perplexed, which is worrying; it’s rare to come across a being that Phil knows nothing about. “It made itself obvious to lure you in so it could slip under the radar. Faked leaving to put your guard down, maybe.”

It’s plausible. But somehow

(and Dream stands atop the Egg and he says, he says, I tried to fight at first, but it turns out it was right all along, and he says it he says it like it’s separate from him like there is not something else something other speaking from his mouth after all and he tried to fight it he tried to fight it and what does that mean)

“They’re the same,” he breathes, and doesn’t know what he means, not quite yet, “they’re the same, and the Egg controls people, and he was talking about fighting something, about giving in—”

He runs a hand through his hair. Shakes his head.

“Wil?” Phil asks.

“Oi, Wilbur,” Tommy says, almost at the same time. But he needs to—he needs to focus as the pieces click into place, faster than he can process, and he has a conclusion but not the words yet—

He holds up a hand.

“Tubbo,” he says, “you said it can corrupt things. What did you mean by that?”

“I dunno, really,” he says. “It talked about it in the books some, but it was all weird metaphorical language. Couldn’t really makes sense of it. We were more focused on the bits that told us how to get rid of them.”

(he says, you know what the void is like, and Tubbo says that they come from the void, and)

That’s alright. He’s not sure he needs a hard answer to that, because he thinks that if one were to describe the feeling of the corruption, it would be

(it is dark and it is peaceful and there is static at the edges eating away at what makes him himself eating at his soul at his sense of self and it is what he wants, to be nothing, and he does not imagine what it would feel like if it were not what he desired, if he tried to resist it, resist the void all-consuming, all-devouring, resist the void that takes all things into itself and is never satiated)

something familiar.

“Alright,” he says, and steeples his fingers together. “Let me paint a picture for you. Someone gets possessed. You exorcise the thing. But these things can corrupt, you say. So maybe you get rid of the thing itself. Maybe Dream’s pretty much back to normal. But maybe it leaves little bits of itself behind. Maybe he’s not possessed, but maybe that doesn’t matter so much anymore. Maybe it changed him regardless. Maybe it’s still changing him, even though it’s no longer there. Maybe a corruption took root, and there wasn’t any going back from it.” He tilts his head, closes his eyes. “Suppose that the Egg is the same type of thing. Something that forced its way through the cracks of the server, something that’s been smart about it, biding its time. The things that Dream was saying reminded me a lot of what the Egg was doing, you know? Manipulating people, making them into things they aren’t, or into their worst selves.”

He strings the words together as he goes. He’s not sure he’s getting his point across. He used to be so much better at this.

“Wait, so you’re saying you think he isn’t possessed?” Sapnap asks.

“I’m saying we don’t really know,” he answers. “Not unless we get it from him. But Tubbo’s the expert here, and if he says Dream’s not acting like he’s possessed, I believe him. But even if he’s not possessed outright, that doesn’t mean there’s no—influence, perhaps.” He keeps his eyes shut; the darkness on the back of his eyelids is a natural one, but he can almost pretend that it isn’t. That it is darker, deeper.

(void)

“He was right that I know what it’s like,” he says. “I’ve felt the Egg in my head. And I was in the void for—a long time. It felt like forever. I know what it feels like, and there’s some of it in him, I think. Him and the Egg both. They’re the same kind of wrong, the same kind of unbelonging. I’ve never been possessed by a demon before, but if it’s made up of void stuff, that’s the sort of thing that stays with you. Whispering.”

He opens his eyes. Everyone is staring at him, varying expressions of horror on their faces.

He goes back over his words. In retrospect, he can see how they probably came off sounding.

“Wil,” Phil says softly.

“I’m fine,” he says, not at all convincingly, he’s sure.

(once he starts thinking of the void of the peace and of the rest it’s hard to stop even though his desires are now tinged with red and he knows better than to listen but he cannot help himself)

“This is all speculation, anyway,” he continues. “Might not matter at all, in the end, what the particulars are. We just need a way to stop them. Can dreamons be killed, Tubbo?”

Tubbo takes a moment before replying. “I don’t think so,” he says. “Fundy might remember better. But I think the only thing in what we read was the exorcism.”

“Which doesn’t help us much if Dream’s not actually possessed,” Puffy says. “Unless it might work on the Egg? If the Egg’s a—a dreamon too?”

“Worth a shot if we can get to it again,” he says, “but I don’t like risking so much on a maybe.”

“The less we mess with forces beyond our understanding, the better,” Eret says suddenly. She frowns, pushing her sunglasses further up her face. “As I said earlier, I’ve been away a good bit recently, so I haven’t been tracking the Egg’s progress as much as perhaps I should have. But I did notice an increase in activity—well. It was shortly after we tried to resurrect you, Wilbur.” She inclines her head toward him. “I fear that in our efforts, we might have interfered with something we shouldn’t have interfered with. Weakened a barrier of some kind, between our existence and—something else.”

She speaks with a strange kind of gravity. But her words make an unfortunate kind of sense.

He doesn’t look at Phil.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Tommy states. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“I’m with Tommy on this one. What are you talking about?” Sapnap adds.

“We’re getting off track,” he says, snapping his fingers. “We’re going about this wrong. We don’t have enough information, and we don’t have enough power. Those are our problems. How do we solve them?”

“The obvious would be to get the word out,” Puffy says. “Comms are down, but we can go by word of mouth if we have to. Kinda risky, with the amount of vines on this server, but the nether portal’s right across the way. No vines in the nether, I think.”

“I have lots of old books myself,” Phil chimes in, eyes skyward. “Might be something in there to help that I’ve read and forgotten about. And I’ve got another source of info I’ve barely begun to go through. Old shit I found. It might be worth a shot.” He looks back down. “We need to go get Techno anyway.” He says the last in a tone that brooks no argument, and Wilbur doesn’t try, even if it’s perhaps not the most tactically sound option.

(he wants Techno back too, wants to lay eyes on him, hold his wrist in his hand and count his heartbeats, each one a reassurance, because he knows what it is for a brother to die and come back but that has never made it easier)

“It’s better than nothing,” he says. “Alright, I’ve got a plan, then. Some of us go to the tundra, get Technoblade, and go through whatever books Phil has. Some stay here and fortify the defenses as best we can using what Tubbo can remember that he thinks might work, and a couple of us go around through the nether and tell as many people as possible what’s going on. Gather allies, resources anything else we might need.”

It’s not much of a plan. But based on just how outclassed they are, just how little they know, just how much exhaustion shows in their faces, it might be the best plan they’re going to get for now. To throw themselves back into a battle so soon would be folly.

It never sits well with him to bank so much on a hope, though, a mere possibility that things will go their way.

(but certainties were ripped out from under him the moment Dream killed the unkillable, the moment he saw his brother  crumple to ash before his eyes)

“Great,” Puffy says, grimacing. “What could possibly go wrong with that?”

The silence that greets that statement serves perfectly well as a response.

He closes his eyes again. The darkness is no comfort.

[drethanramslay]

High

Pairing: M! Sam Dalton x MC( Malaika Agarwal)

Word count: 4.7 K words

Masterlist

WARNING: DIRTY TALK, SMUT AND NS*W!! IF YOU CLICK ON THE READ MORE TAG,THEN YOU ARE CONSENTING THAT YOU ARE 18+ AND ARE CAN VIEW SUCH WORKS 

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Songs: I see red by Everybody Loves an Outlaw and High by Dua Lipa and Whethan

forgive me if there are any mistakes

Coming to the engagement party was a bad idea.

Malaika knew from the very beginning that working for one of the hottest and most elligible CEO would have been a disaster. She knew that kissing him against the kitchen counter of his own home would have been catastrophic. His deft fingers running and teasing against the heat of her pussy in the backseat of the limo was problematic.

Don't even get her started on the blunder that happened on the dancefloor. She still remembered the way they were close to each other in borderline obscene ways.

But lately, these series of bad decisions have been one of the happiest moments of her life.

Yes you can call me boo boo the fool. Malaika thought to herself as she emptied the contents of another glass of champagne, to drown her misery and boredom.

The soft waltz music died down and she heard the feedback from the mic. She looked up and saw barbie doll standing there with her perfect nails and her perfect life.

"Thanks for coming to our fabulous party. This night is a dream come true for us. Sam is a dream come true for me." She raised her flute towards Sam's direction and fluttered her eyelashes.

Malaika scoffed. Is she for real? Did her fake eyelash poke her eyeballs that she if fluttering them like that?

Malaika was never one to be a bitch, hell she wouldn't even hurt a fly unintentionally, but the sexual frustration, her own feelings and the smooth champagne is not a good combination.

"This is so boring." Robin piqued as he took a sip of his whiskey.

"Ugh... Hard same. Is she always like this?"

"Yep. This is very serious business for Sofia. I heard that she even hired a ghost writer for the toast."

"Wow. That's pathetic. I mean how hard is it to write a toast for the person you 'love'?" Malaika asked, making air quotes with her free hand on the word love.

Especially when that person is Sam Dalton.

"It's only easy if you remotely like the person."

Sophia continued her monologue. " Same and I have been dating for only..." She proceeded to check her notes.

"Are you kidding me? Who the hell forgets when you start dating?"

"I know right? She even has her 'I love you' written down too. Imagine what we could've tricked her into saying if we'd swapped out her cards." Robin said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Malaika giggled. "I can definitely see that happening."

As Sofia continued to drone on about how much she loved him and yada yada, Robin provided her with whispered commentary which had her laughing so hard that tears streamed down her face.

Thank god for waterproof mascara.

They continued bullshiting each other when from the corner of her eye, she saw Sam step up near Sofia and kiss her cheek before proceeding to give his speech.

"Thank you Sofia and thank you to all of you for coming here to join us in celebrating our love."

Robin turned around to see him and scoffed, not even lowering his voice. "More like an arrangement."

Malaika's eyes widened. "Shhh Robin. I am not getting into trouble because of you."

"But you wouldn't mind getting in trouble for other reasons?" He asked cheekily.

A smirk danced on her lips. "Maybe..?"

Sam continued his speech, tears glinting in his eyes. "As you all know, I lost my first wife about five years ago... and for a long time, didn't think I would ever meet someone else who made me feel the way she did."

His eyes locked with hers and Malaika's breath hitched in her throat.

"But now I feel like I have a second chance at happiness again. I finally met someone who gets me. Someone I can't stop thinking about. Someone who lights up the whole room with her passion."

Sam... Are you even talking about Sofia at this point?

Malaika was frustrated by the 'hot and cold' behaviour Sam showed. One moment he is all over her saying things like 'I want to taste you' and then the next moment say that 'we can't'.

Malaika understood where he was coming from. She understood that this game they were playing was forbidden and dangerous but Malaika was never one to shy away from the adrenaline rush.

And on top of it, he is so possesive about me that he goes wild like a rogue buffalo when he sees me with another guy. Malaika snorted rolling her eyes.

"Awww I love you too boo-bear." Sofia squealed as she hugged him. Sam picked her up and twirled her around not letting go of her.

"Passion is not a word I would use for Sofia." Robin mused turning back to look at Malaika.

"...right." A frown tugged on her lips and and the longer she stared at her arms around Sam, the dizzier she felt.

If he thinks I am some weak bitch who will just sit on the sidelines and cry, then he is wrong.

She turned to Robin, who starts to make another snide remark but stopped short when he saw the determined look on her face.

A small smirk made its way on to his lips. "What? Finally want to join in on the fun? 'Cause you know I am down for anything."

The adrenaline, anger and alcohol surged through her as she came up with a plan.

Was it stupid? Yes.

Was that going to stop her? Nope.

As Sam continued his toast, Malaika turned her full attention to Robin. She placed her hand on Robin's chest and his eyes widened.

"What would you say to upping the ante on your little game with Sam? See how far we can really push him? All in good fun of course."

Robin gave her a thoughtful side-eye while poking his tongue against the inside of his lip. Finally, he chuckled.

"Consequences be damned. Let's do it."

In a fluid motion, he wrapped his hand around her waist and she leaned into him, which did not go unnoticed by Sam.

"As I was saying, Sofia is an incredible woman..."

Robin gave a grin. "Forget Sofia, you're the easiest woman to pretend-flirt with I've ever met."

"Back at ya, my partner-in-crime."

"I am hurt. I thought we could be partners and mor-"

"Shhh Robin, we are on a mission." She lightly slapped his chest.

Robin rolled his eyes. "And pray tell me what is the name of the mission?"

Without thinking Malaika blurted out. "Salty Sam."

Both of them snickered and Malaika punched him playfully. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sam struggling to get a visual on what was happening between the two.

Sam continued his speech. "But, uh, what I like most about Sofia is... ugh, move, you big oaf."

"What?!" Sofia's smile melted into a scowl.

"Whoops." Robin said with zero guilt.

Realisation dawned on Sam, as he struggled to fix the mess he made. "I said... 'you're smooth as merlot'? Because you've always had such sophisticated taste in everything...? Except men, I suppose."

The crowd chuckled at the joke and Robin shakes his head. "Always manages to stick the landing."

"Let's take it up a notch, shall we?" Malaika asked with a wicked grin.

"I like the sound of that. Didn't know you were so bad."

Malaika opened her mouth to reply when Sam tapped on the mic and sent a death glare Robin's way which sent a shiver down her spine.

"A-hem. I know some of you are busy smooth-talking your 'flavor of the week', but all eyes need to be up here, thanks."

Malaika's eyes narrowed. How fucking dare he, that entitled jackass?

Robin raised a hand in apology as he shifted to face the couple again, but his lips found her ear.

"Uh-oh we are making the boss mad."

"Oops we did it again." Malaika chuckled under her breath.

"But do you know what will make Sam go completely berserk with jealousy?"

"Enlighten me, O' wise one."

"If he saw us leave together."

"Damn Robin... You really went for the throat, huh?"

"That's how we prey Malaika."

"As much as that fulfills your wet dreams, I actually have thought out what we need to do." Malaika reached and smoothly snatched the glass out of Robin's hand.

"Hey! Give it back." Robin reached for it again and he was dangerously close, his cologne surrounding her. Her eyes darted and met furious hazel ones, staring back at her. Sam's speech was long forgotten and his eyes were solely focused on her... And Robin.

That might teach you not to fuck around with me.

"Now for the winning stroke... Kiss me."

Robin's eyes widened and his jaw was on the ground. "Seriously? Now?" He whispered back.

"Don't you want to?"

"Hell yeah." With that he pulled her body flush against his and crashed his lips to hers. Malaika grabbed his shoulders to steady herself.

Damn... Robin is a good kisser. Malaika thoughts as he deepened the kiss.

They pulled back and Malaika expected Sam to be on the verge of an exploding, ready to bark at them for the unsolicited PDA, but he wasn't.

He just smirked and the glint in his brown orbs making her wary. He reached for Sofia and pulled her into a passionate kiss, his eyes not leaving Malaika's shocked ones.

Oh...

Robin was calling her name but it sounded far away, as if her head was dunked in a bucket of cold water, the reality chilling into her bones.

She should look away or close her eyes to stop the pain, but she just could not. He could see the pink of his tongue entering Sofia's mouth and she saw red.

"I think I had enough excitement for the night." She mumbled as she got out of Robin's embrace and reached for her champagne flute, and raised it towards Sam's direction, an indication that he won.

Congratulations asshole, you stomped all over the remains of my dignity and heart.

She set the glass down and headed towards the bathroom so that she could have a breakdown in peace.

"Hey you okay?" Robin asked, catching her by the elbow. Malaika managed to out on a smile and patted his hands. "Just peachy. I will just go and get fresh." She turned on her heels and walked.

But even as she walked away, she could feel a pair of eyes staring at her leaving form.

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

She found the restroom like a oasis in the desert. It was completely empty and she finally was alone after hours of torture.

"It's okay.... You are going to be fine... Breathe in, breathe out." Her manicured nails were clutching the counter, trying to recentre herself. She looked up to see her reflection staring back at herself.

She was greatful for her russet brown skin for it could hide the bags underneath her eyes. Her onyx brown eyes looked tired due to the juggling between her work and her feelings. The only thing which had survived the entire ordeal was her dark hair with light brown undertones.

Under the soft lights of the restroom, her short baby blue dress popped against the deep bronze of her skin.

My life maybe falling apart but at least I look hot.

In midst of her washing her hands she saw Sofia strut in and stand in front of the basin beside her.

There are literally six other basins she could stand and do her gaudy makeup but no. Ever learnt of personal space lady? Malaika rolled her eyes as she continued washing her hands.

The quicker I finish, the faster I can yeet myself out of her highness' presence. Malaika chanted in her head as she reached for the tissue paper.

"He isn't going to love you."

Huh?

Malaika turned towards Sofia, with an incredulous expression in her face.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"I think you are reading too much into this."

"Please. You don't become the most successful heiress to a Multi-Million dollar Company by being an airhead." Sofia said as she reached for her face powder.

"I think the spotlight under which you stand has blinded you." Malaika said as she reached for her lipstick, coating a nice layer of Burgundy on her lips.

Sofia stopped what she was doing and turned towards her, a patronizing smile on her face. "Aw, aren't you cute. You think I didn't see that little game you had going on?"

"I was with Robin, what the hell are you talking about?" Malaika clenched her hand around the lipstick, annoyed by the fact that this bitch could see through her intentions. She maybe fuming on the inside but she had the perfect poker face on the outside.

"Oh naive Malaika. You both were so obvious that even the paparazzi noticed it. But, if you want to be a petulant child and continue living in the state of denial, then okay."

Malaika clenched her jaw. I am so close to yanking of her hair extensions. 

Sofia capped her lipstick and placed it in her clutch. She turned towards Malaika. "See, I don't give a damn about what's going on between you and Sam. But, I have known Sam for a long time and I have known that you are nothing but a momentary infatuation."

Sofia placed her left hand on her waist and the diamond ring glittered an underlying threat.

"Bask in the attention all you want, I am not saying no. But at the end of the day he is marrying me and it's my bed he going to be sleeping in."

Sofia walked up to Malaika and stared her down. Malaika matched the intensity of her stare, her height giving her the advantage of matching the intimidating glare.

"I usually get what I want, be it the good way or the crook's way. Nothing will ever stop me from getting what I want. So go, do your job of a nanny because that's all you will ever be. Ciao!"

Sofia turned on her heels and she walked out of the bathroom, leaving Malaika pissed to another level.

That bitch...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Wow... Pardon my language but that bitch!" Robin exclaimed as they stood near the window, in the hallway talking.

"That's exactly what I said!! See, I fucking topped in biochemistry in NYU. I'm financially independent- I mean as independent as I can be. I already have job offer but it starts after six months and that too, in LA. So that's why I took up this job of a nanny so that I could save up enough money to move, pay off my student loans and have time to work on my thesis."

Robin put his hand on Malaika's shoulder. "I know it's hard M. Hell, I am called Sam's assistant when I am literally the Chief operating officer."

"Fuck the rich. Fuck capitalism. I hate this. I’m sorry for being such a Debbie downer," Malaika grumbled as she crossed her arms and stared at her feet.

"No its okay... I understand. If you need to talk, I'm here okay?"

"What would I do without my partner-in-crime?"

"Probably die of boredom?" They both chuckled. Robin put an arm around Malaika and squeezed her into a side hug. Malaika returned the gesture and laid her head on his shoulder as they stared out of the 40th floor.

"Things will get better M."

"You don't know that." Pessimism ringing clear in her voice.

"But I know you and I know that you are hell of a fighter... And that's why I know you'd be great in bed."

Malaika groaned and pushed him. "Dude, read the room."

Robin laughed and something caught his eye, causing the laughter to die down. "Malaika, Sam is here."

"A'ight, that's my cue to leave. Once again, thank you Robin." Malaika started fast walking down the hallway. There was a deserted service elevator which she could use to get away undetected.

"Malaika!" Sam called out.

Fuck my luck. Malaika cursed as she stopped in her tracks.

"Back off Sam." Robin spoke up stepping in his way.

"Robin, can you kindly fuck off. You are the last person I want to talk to after the stunt you pulled. What the hell were you doing with Malaika?"

"Why does it matter to you?!"

"She is not one of your dates. I won't let you take advantage of her just because she is vulnerable."

Is he on crack?

"Who said he is taking advantage of me?" Malaika angrily spoke up, her eyes blazing with anger.

That seem to motivate Robin because he stood up taller and spoke back. "Yeah, calm down, Mr Big Shot. I'm cleaning up your mess."

Shock coloured his face which infuriated her further. "What is that supposed to mean?"

The sheer audacity to pull the Pikachu face...

"Sam I- I just can't with you. Robin, good bye! I had a lovely time." She threw a smile Robin's way and he waved back at her.

"Malaika, wait up!"

This time she rushed into the open lift and pressed the close button multiple times before it started closing. Sam was still pretty far away so she let out a sigh of relief.

Thank fuc-

The door opened and Sam entered.

Malaika dragged a hand down her face, groaning internally. She was already in a bad mood and she didn't have the bandwidth to deal with mixed signals at the moment.

The next time I meet like luck character, she and I are going to have a nice chat.

"Malaika." Sam said, his eyes focused on her.

"That's my name."

Sam clenched his jaw in annoyance, and Malaika crossed her arms stubbornly. She looked the other way but from the corner of her eye, she saw how the lights of the lift casted shadows on his face, making him look sharp and angular, as if he was cut from granite.

"See Malaika I just wanted to know if you are okay."

"I am in the utmost state of bliss." The words sarcastically dripped of her lips and Sam's eyes narrowed.

"Oh. So is this how we are going to go about this?"

"What's there to go about? I am fucking done and I need to sleep."

"Fine." Sam tuned around and pressed the emergency stop button on the lift and it smoothly came to a stop.

Malaika gripped on to the railing out of surprised and threw a dirty look towards Sam.

"We are not leaving until we talk." Sam said as he stood opposite her. The lift was four feet wide, and the fact that they were in a metal cage, all alone was really distracting Malaika.

"You want to talk? Fine. Let's talk about how I don't need you to protect me. It's a party, and I'm a young, single woman. I could be up to anything or fucking anyone, and it wouldn't be any of your business!"

"I know that but-" Sam said in a perplexed voice.

"Do you though? You hired me to be your nanny, not a girlfriend. That's Sofia's job."

Sam winced. "I..I know that too."

Malaika stepped forward and poked a finger into his chest. "One minute, you pull me onto the dance floor, then the next, I'm watching your engagement speech!"

Sam stood to his towering height, glaring down at her. "And I can't stop thinking about that dance or about the way you were grinding that ass on my dick. Do you know how long it took me to cool down?"

If it were any other day, Malaika’s brain would have short-circuited with the words he spoke, but not today. Today she was pissed, hurt and ready to beat the hell out of someone.

She grew up in fucking Brooklyn, she isn't some weak bitch you can trample on.

Another jab.

"Here is your big fucking chance to talk so go ahead and let me have it! Tell me how ‘sorry’ you are or how ‘wrong’ this is."

"Don't provoke me, Malaika." Sam spoke through clenched teeth.

She didn't care. Another step closer, another jab to the chest.

"Why did you really want me here tonight? Did you want me to be here and see her all over you? To see you playing tonsil hockey game with her? Sorry sir, but that is not covered in my pay-check."

She raised her finger to jab him again but this time Sam grabbed her finger tightly.

Wonder how would that feel aro-

Not the time brain. Malaika chided her inner thot.

"No of course not! I just- I just wanted you to stay. For once in my life, I wasn't thinking ahead."

The alcohol and the day's frustration had caught up to her and she didn't care if she sounded snarky and rude. He already deals with Sofia’s jabs, so how could I be any worse? "Wow, what an earth shattering revelation. Yeah well, let me make it easy for you and quit."

"Don't fucking do that." Sam rushed.

Malaika sighed, leaning her head in his broad strong shoulders. She looked up and spoke. "Face the facts. It'd be a lot easier for both of us if we don't have to see each other every day."

"I'm trying Malaika..." He said as his touch ran down her arms, changing from hard restraint to a gentle caress, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Even though I am angry, how does this man manage to get butterflies in my stomach.

"Every day, I'm fighting not to let myself get carried away. I'm fighting not to touch you. I'm fighting not to do this..." He buried his head into her neck and placed a hot, wet kiss at her jugular, knowing that it's the one spot that drives her absolutely mad.

"...or do this..." His hands slid from her waist to her ass, groping them. A gasp left her lips and her eyes fluttered shut, feeling the sensation of his lips kissing the crook of her neck, his hands wandering and sqeezing and his growing erection against her stomach.

"...and I definitely missed doing this." He pulled her hair, forcing her to look at him as he crashed his lips against hers, an avalanche of desire unleashed.

Malaika returned the kiss with equal fervour. She reached to loop her hands around his neck to pull him so close that she was literally painted on him.

But that wasn't enough for Sam.

He pushed her against the wall, his broad and sculpted body completely covering her frame. His hands unhooked her dainty ones and pushed them against the wall, locking them in place.

"I want to fuck you until I can feel that sweet little pussy clenching around my cock." He whispered in her ear, before catching her earlobe in his teeth and tugging.

Malaika let out a moan her stomach involuntarily clenched, desire lighting up each inch of her body, as if a matchstick was thrown into a pool of gasoline.

"Keep making those noises. Can't wait to make you scream my name until your throat is sore." Sam spoke in a husky voice, his hand letting her go and reaching for the zip on the back of her dress.

Malaika reached to help him but he just pushed her hand away. "Just relax and let me do what I'm good at." Sam started kneeling down, and that sent her imagination into overdrive.

"And what would that be?" Malaika asked, her eyes wanton as he unclasped her bra, showing off her plump breasts.

Sam then proceeded to remove her soaked panties, and holding them near his nose to inhale her scent before snapping his dark eyes towards her.

"To devour you. To worship you. To make you come hard."

Malaika clenched her thighs and Sam stood up, smirking at the effect his dirty talk had on her. He stood back up, his hand running along her smooth calf, thighs and stopped to rest on her hipbone, gently massaging it.

His other hand cupped her face, his thumb running along the cushion of her bottom lip. "Is that what you want, baby girl?"

Malaika was an outgoing woman and rarely found herself tongue tied but here she was, at a complete loss of words.

Oh god...

So instead of saying, she showed. Her hand reached for his erection, and palmed him through his trousers. Sam's eyes darkened and he descended on her mouth with such passion which had her breathless.

And as if that wasn't enough, his fingers found their way to her pussy, which was throbbing with a heartbeat of it own.

It was a fight for dominance. A fight to see who could get the other to bend at their will. Malaika's hand flew through the buttons of his tacky suit, exposing his strong, broad chest with sparse chest hair. Sam hooked her leg against his hip so that he could get better access to her, his hands running along the smooth supple skin.

Malaika's head rolled and rested on the cool surface of the elevator, lost in the pleasure of his fingers rubbing her clit. She was so wet and she knew that his hands would be dripping with her arousal.

Two digits entered her and her back arched against the wall, her breasts making contact with his naked chest.

"Do you feel it Malaika? Do you feel how wet you are for me? Do you know how sexy you look right now?" He spoke lowly, his voice husky with desire.

"Yes sir." Malaika choked out as his thumb brushed the hood of her sensitive clit.

"I'm... Gonna come." She panted out which was a mistake because he withdrew his fingers.

"Asshole." She sweated.

"And what about it? You wanted to quit didn't you? I did it-" Sam was interrupted by Malaika grabbing his ugly floral tie and pulling him towards her.

"With all due respect, fuck me, hard. Don't hold back one bit otherwise I swear to god, I won't let you come."

"Turn around, baby girl." She obeyed, almost giddy that she was finally gonna be dicked down.

He grabbed her wrists which made her yelp. He took his tie and tied it around them, securing them in their place. It was just perfect, not too tight nor too loose.

Sam moved her hair to one side placed hot fiery kissed on her neck, lapping up the moisture accumulated. "Look at you... What a delectable sight. You will forget your fucking name after I'm done with you."

"I'm holding you to it sir."

"The more you use sir, the more it feels like an insult." Sam said, his erection digging into her backside

"You do you sir."

Spreading her legs, she heard Sam's belt unbuckling, which made her excited and increase her yearning to feel him. The moment Sam saw her twitching, he slapped her ass which caused her to let out a breathless moan. He massage the spot where he spanked her leading her to get impatient.

What’s the fucking hold up?

"Stop fucking standing there with your junk in your hand you- holllyy shitt." She was interrupted as she felt Sam's dick rub against her walls, coating them with her arousal.

Grabbing her waist tightly, he entered and Sam rumbled in approval, enjoying the way her walls clenched and unclenched around him.

"You feels so good Malaika. Almost heavenly."

Malaika pressed her forehead against the cool surface and let out a moan, a flux of pain and pleasure cursing through her veins.

"Oh lord..." She moaned.

He moved slowly initially, so that she could get used to his size. But once Malaika started get fidgety and begged him to fuck him harder, it awoke something in him. Something primal and something which motivated him to snap his hips and pummel into her.

In. Out. In. out. A steady punishing rhythm was set which had Malaika crying, from ecstasy. Sam's hand reached to grab her breast and roll her nipple, making them erect and heavy with need. His other hand reached to rub her which had her screaming due to the override of stimulation.

"Please don't stop... pounding my pussy... please." Malaika begged, feeling her climax coming closer and closer as she soared above.

Sam grunted, his lower spine tingling and his abs clenching, his need to release fueling his motions further. His thrusts became shorter and faster, which was just enough to push them over the edge.

Malaika screamed, failing to be quiet while Sam moaned out loud, and sunk his teeth into her shoulder to muffle it. The bliss lasted for what seemed like eternity, both of them clutching on to each other as they slowly floated down from cloud nine. Malaika was leaning against the wall of the elevator, her legs feeling like jelly.

Sam unbound her hands and pulled put of her, causing her to wince at the sudden emptiness. He turned her towards him, hugging her in his muscular arms. He ran his fingers through her head as Malaika sought solace in his embrace, her breath becoming normal after a while.

Sam kissed her forehead. "We will try, Malaika."

"Yeah... I am not giving up on you Sam."

"Thank you for having faith in me baby girl. Its a mess but, I am not giving up on you either.” Malaika smiled, feeling some sort of peace in a very long time.

okay so um yeah... here is your flask of holy water

this would have to be the filthiest thing I have ever written sike

I hope you liked it heheheh

like, comment, reblog and let me know what you think <3

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Meant to Be

Characters: Spencer Reid x Maximoff!Reader, Wanda Maximoff, minor characters

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: fluff, minor angst

Summary: As a Maximoff, all you ever wanted to do was stay close to your family and protect them, but you were sent away to a summer camp for years. While there, you met a friend who you learned to love. However, your parents died, and you and your siblings underwent experiments that turned you into supers. You have a duty to protect innocent people from bad guys, but you never forgot about the boy from the camp... until he gets caught in your life.

summer camp @crossoverbingo

trust and vows @trope-bingo

superheroes/superpowers @foundfamilybingo​

crossover @marvelfluffbingo​

betrayal @cmbingo​

Author’s Note: If you have any requests, please send them in! this is unbeta’d and every mistake is all on me.

It sucks being the younger sibling of three because you don’t really get a say when they tell you to do something. With your parents being the hard workers they are, they don’t really have time to take care of you as much as they did with your older siblings. You were a mistake, or at least, that’s what your older brother liked to call you. Your older sister was always on your side, and you know you can count on her to always have your back.

It just sucks that you’re sent to a summer camp without them because they had more important things to do than to come with you. It’s not like your parents would say anything about it. The worst part is that the summer camp is in America--far away from your home. You live in Sokovia, which doesn’t really make much sense since the two countries are well over thousands of miles apart.

You’re all alone, and you have no one else to turn to. This camp houses a bunch of kids your age, so in theory, you should have no problem making friends. However, none of them are your friends. You don’t have much back home, and the ones you do are older than you. Your siblings want you to make friends your own age, and if you can do that here, then you know you can have friends from all over the world to visit.

It just sucks you’re the only different one here. Everyone else is from America, so they are easily able to adapt to their surroundings. All you know is poor houses and hard-working parents. This is far nicer than everything you’ve ever been to, so why aren’t your brother and sister here with you? They suffered the most, so they should know what life is like outside your small country.

Kids from all over the States gather with their friends, gossip, and laugh together. The camp counselors have already checked you in, so they aren’t going to waste any more time trying to figure out where you belong since there are so many kids still left to be checked in. They won’t miss you when you’re gone, so you head off toward the back where there are fewer kids around.

There are some on the jungle gym and swings, but you bypass them to where a gazebo sits big and tall. There is no one around the area, so you think this is the perfect area to lay back and watch as the world passes you by. All you need to do is get through this summer so you never have to go back again. You’ll just tell your siblings that you had a terrible time and you cried every night because there were all these bullies. All you have to do is turn on the charm, and they are putty in your hands.

Without all the kids screaming and having fun, this place can be really beautiful. There is nothing a kid can do over here, so you determine that this is the spot you’ll be every day until you get to go home. Upon walking closer to the gazebo, you noticed a very small child reading to himself with a chessboard displayed out in front of him.

He’s so engrossed in the book about biochemistry that he doesn’t notice you right away. He wears glasses that are twice the size of his head, and the clothes he’s wearing are professional in away. He’s definitely not like the other kids, and you feel attracted to him. You’re only thirteen, but you know this guy is someone worth getting to know.

“Hello,” you state as you get closer to him.

He jumps in surprise that someone--a girl--is talking to him.

“Hello,” he says and goes back to reading his book.

“My name is Y/N Maximoff. What’s your name?”

“Spencer Reid.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Wouldn’t you rather be hanging out with your friends?” he asks, sliding his glasses further up his nose.

“I don’t have friends. I’m a long way from home right now,” you sigh.

He doesn’t give you verbal permission to sit with him, but he does scoot over on the very big sofas. You smile kindly and take a seat before noticing the other books around him.

“Where are you from? You have an accent.”

“I do. I’m from Sokovia in Eastern Europe. Everywhere I go, I’m just the weird kid with accent.”

“Wow, you really are a long way from home. That’s precisely five thousand, three hundred and nine miles which is equivalent to eight thousand, five hundred and forty-five kilometers away.”

“How did you know that?” you chuckle.

“I have an IQ of 187 and can read 20,000 words per minute. I am studying to take the finals I need to take in order to get my undergraduate degree.”

“Wow, you’re really smart. You like to play chess?” you ask, pointing to the board.

“I do. Do you?”

“I’ve never played before. Can you teach me?”

“Sure,” he smiles, closing his textbook to take a break from studying.

He doesn’t know why, but he feels attracted to you in a way he’s never felt for anyone else. Everyone he goes to school with is so much older than he is, so he doesn’t have time to focus on building relationships. Now that his mom forced him to go to something like this, he is able to make friends with kids his own age. They may not be on the same level of intellect as he is, but at least they are the same age.

There’s something about Spencer that keeps you wanting to go back for more. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t have time for petty drama or care for people who don’t care for him. Back home, all you ever see is people fighting for materialistic things because most people in your village are very poor. Spencer lets you have anything you want--not that you ask for much anyway.

Your original plan was to tell your siblings that you never wanted to go back, but that all changed when you met Spencer. You went back the next summer and the summer after that and the summer after that. Spencer became the person your sister and brother hoped you’d find. He only ever wanted to be with you and no one else, and you felt the same way. You don’t know what love is at your age, but you know what like is--what you feel for Spencer is definitely a lot more than like.

Then one summer, you just stopped coming. Your parents died at the hands of a Stark, and your siblings and you volunteered to be experimented on by Struker and his HYDRA army. They used the Infinity Stone inside Loki’s scepter to give you and your siblings your powers. You didn't know it at the time, but Strucker is the bad guy and Tony ended up being the good guy.

Though, going through all that pain and experimenting, there was one person that never left your mind: Spencer. You like to think what he accomplished after that last summer. Where is he? What is he doing now? Does he have a family of his own? Is he happy? Those are just some of the questions you ask yourself before you go to sleep every night in hopes you might get to find out someday.

The experiments that you and your siblings went through brought you back to the United States, but only after years. Your brother is gone now--killed in action. It’s just you and Wanda, and you have to stick together if you want to come out of this thing alive. There is no one else you can count on except for her--wherever she goes, you go.

After the battle of Sokovia, Tony took you, Wanda, Vision, and Sam in to train to become Avengers. Well, Steve and Natasha did. Tony took off to be with his girlfriend Pepper, but you knew you were in good hands with the assassin and the super-soldier. You two fought like hell to prove to them you were worthy of being part of their team, and it’s finally time that they let you in. They see you as one of their own, and that’s all you ever wanted.

Your powers are very similar, if not exactly like Wanda’s. She’s a completely different person than you are, but the Infinity Stone saw it as one and the same. That’s why your powers are just like hers compared to your brother’s. Having two of the same kind of witch is beneficial to the team since it’s such a good asset to control minds and have powers that move and destroy things.

You’re going to need two sets of the same powers for this one because the world is in danger yet again. There is some kind of attack on the President, so that’s where you and your team are fighting the evil ones. These bad people think if they can wipe out all the important rulers, then their team can strike every country and infiltrate their government to make the entire world bow down at their feet.

They have large guns and big weapons, but you have your powers which are more than enough.

“Take the west and I’ll cover the east. We’ll meet back with Steve and Natasha,” Wanda orders.

“You got it,” you state.

Your blue magic shoots out of your hand, causing you to shoot into the sky. While she is red, you are blue--opposite ends of the spectrum but equally as likable. You land in the middle of an intersection, but there are no cars coming. Everyone is out of them, running and screaming like chickens with their heads cut off.

More and more bad people in uniforms file through, shooting at anything that moves. Your magic encompasses one of them, and you slam him into the other, creating a domino effect.

“Go! Get out of here!” you yell and rush to evacuate the remaining civilians.

Cut off one head, two more grow back. Twice as many soldiers come rushing in, and you have to fend them off so they don’t hurt anyone else. Whatever you can find to do maximum damage, you use your magic to use the objects as weapons. Tables, shards of glass, cars, mailboxes, and everything else to slam into each and every one of the men.

You think you got them all, but then you notice a civilian by one of the skyscrapers, scared out of his mind. The terrorist has both the ground and the sky covered, and they aren’t afraid of doing maximum damage to anyone on the ground. You don’t know how they managed it, but the skyscraper by the stranger is collapsing. Without even thinking, you shoot your hands out in front of you, and your magic holds up the falling debris. It’s a lot of power for one person to hold, but you can’t let him die because of a mistake you made.

“Go! Get out of here!” you strain to yell.

The force of the building is enough to make you fall to your knees, but when you look back at the man, your heart and world stop.

“Spencer?” you gasp.

“Y/N?” he exclaims.

The building is getting heavier, and you know you won’t be able to hold it up for much longer.

“Go! Run!” you yell. He doesn’t waste any more time and just escapes. Just like that, he’s gone again. “Wanda!! Tony! I need some help over here! Unless you want me to crumble under this fucking building!”

“Language!” Steve says over the comm, and you just roll your eyes.

Your older sister and mentor come rushing in to help with you, and once you are safe to step back without the fear of dying, you look around for Spencer. He’s gone, again, and you have no way of finding him this time. You can’t dwell on this for long because there are still bad guys that need to be killed and people that need saving.

If it’s meant to be, then it’s meant to be.

Tony was able to find Spencer so easily that a baby could have done it. He stayed after the fight which should have told you he was willing to give you another chance, but he could be waiting to tell you to fuck off or something along the lines. You didn't do anything wrong, but you can’t help but feel like you did.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Wanda asks outside of the cafe Spencer requested to meet with you in.

“Yeah, he was my only friend at summer camp. We clicked and connected, and I just left him without even a goodbye.”

“Our parents died,” she sighs.

“Yeah, and I had every opportunity to tell him what was going on, but I didn’t. He deserves to know why. I won’t be long,” you say.

With one pat on the shoulder, you quickly head inside the cafe. Spencer is sitting by the window on the far corner, and he looks up when he hears you coming over.

“Hi, Spencer. Long time no see,” you chuckle dryly.

“What happened to the accent? It’s gone away.”

“I guess that’s what I get for spending so much time in America,” you chuckle and take a seat across from him. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“I had to see you. I had to know that what I saw wasn’t in my head,” he sighs.

“I bet you have a ton of questions, but the one thing you need to know is that I didn’t leave you on purpose. I wanted to come back to you. You were always more than a friend to me, and I know you know that.”

“Then why didn’t you? I tried calling and messaging you, but you never responded back.”

“My parents died, and it was just me and my two siblings. I couldn’t leave them knowing what happened. They volunteered themselves and me for experiments with HYDRA and an Infinity Stone. It’s why I have these powers. I couldn’t go back to you the first time because I had obligations, and I couldn’t return without the fear of something bad happening to you. I was too afraid of messaging you because I know what you would have said, and I couldn’t bear to let you down or to betray your trust.”

“You didn’t let me down or betray me,” he says and grabs your hands from across the table. “I was just worried that my best friend had died.”

“In a way I did, I guess.”

“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

“It wasn’t all bad. I’ve made a new family, but I realize that it’s incomplete without you in it. I don’t know what you’ve been up to or if you’ve made a family on your own, but I’m staying in town for a while and I hope you’ll let me take you out?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he smiles widely.

“You’ve gotten very handsome since the last time I saw you,” you compliment, your cheeks heating up just a bit.

“And you’ve gotten even more beautiful.”

If he lets you, then you’ll be adding him to your new found family. If he lets you, then you’re never going to let him go. If he lets you, then you’ll love him for everything he’s worth.

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[myshipshipsitself]

Title: It’s Okay Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Eileen, Jack Word Count: 3140 Warning(s): SPOILERS 15x18; Angst w/ a happy ending Read on Ao3 here

Summary:

Everything is back to normal, the world keeps spinning, families are back and people are reunited. Everyone is back and safe. Everyone except the one person Dean has been waiting to walk through the door.

A cosmic reset button. Dean didn’t think they could actually do it. Well, they didn’t necessarily. It had mostly been Jack.

The nephilim slept for a solid week after the fight. After Chuck was gone for good, as well as Amara. Dean had worried if the boy would wake up, but Sam kept an eye on him. And everything was back the way it should be. Mostly, anyway. The world seemed to be back. According to news reports, the entire world just didn’t remember the two or three days between when they disappeared and when they were returned. Some people had little memory, and there were cases of some people missing entirely still, though enough John and Jane Does kept turning up that it appeared that everyone had returned, in one fashion or another. People tried to piece it together, but few people had any pieces, and they weren’t sharing. Bobby, Charlie, Stevie, they were all back. Eileen was back, and happy with Sam. They had been helping Bobby and Charlie, tracking down and tracing all of the missing family members to the claims of people whose memories had been more affected, and working on reuniting them with their loved ones.

The day Jack woke up, he disappeared almost immediately, leaving behind Sam and Eileen worried, and Dean cursing under his breath. He had hoped to talk to Jack. To find out if he…If the Empty might like him better than Chuck. If he could do anything to bring Cas back. But he left.

It was a win. On some level, Dean knew that. On a logical level, maybe. The entire population of the world had been returned. Sam had Eileen. Charlie had Stevie. They were worried about Dean, of course. But they were also happy. They won.

They won. Dean didn’t. Dean felt like screaming at the world. They got to go on as if nothing had changed. As if everyone was safe and alive, but not everyone was. Cas wasn’t.

Dean spent more than his fair share of time drunk. He’d tried for a few days, reading books and going through lore. But he couldn’t ind anything, and when Sam offered to help, he let his brother search. And he got drunk.

He alternated between drinking in his room and drinking in the trap room. Staring, just staring at the wall where the Empty had manifested, had came to take Cas away from him.

Standing in there, now two weeks after everything—a week after Jack had left, Dean’s eyes traced the wall. Sam had cleaned up the glass shards from the beer bottle Dean had thrown at the wall last night. Just like he’d cleaned it up every time it happened. The stained splatter of the small amount of liquid left in the bottles still decorated the wall. Dark spots of beer soaked into the cracks.

Sam had tried to get him to talk at first, but he’d given up after a few days. It wasn’t his business to know exactly what had happened. Cas was gone. That was all he needed to know. The details were for Dean alone. The tearful words spoken into the air between him and Cas—those were his burden to carry.

The words unspoken between them—those were heavier, but still his alone to carry.

Lately, Sam left Dean to his own devices. Probably believing he’d come around eventually. It was a naive thought, but it suited Dean’s needs, so he didn’t correct it. Sam only ever bothered him to make sure he ate a meal on occasion, and drank some water along with the beer. Otherwise, he left Dean alone and stayed buried in books that didn’t hold any answers.

Which was why it was strange to hear his brother’s voice calling his name, and hurried footsteps in the hall outside. “Dean! Dean! Wait, no don’t—“ His voice broke off, and Sam turned to see his brother wince at the shatter of yet against bottle against the wall.

“Leave me alone, Sam,” Dean muttered. His voice didn’t sound angry, not anymore. Just tired.

“At least that’s the last bottle I’ll have to clean up,” Sam said. Dean heard the sigh, but he wasn’t looking at his brother, just using to storm past him and go get another beer. It was early, before noon, and he hadn’t been awake long enough to build up anything stronger than a light buzz, and that wouldn’t get him through the day.

“Tell yourself whatever you need to.”

“Dean, wait,” Sam grabbed his arm, and Dean jerked away from him like he’d caught fire, glare now turned to his brother.

“Leave me alone,” he repeated, venom returning to his voice.

“Jack’s back,” Sam said. Now Dean could see the smile on Sam’s face, the brightness in his eyes. Dean wanted to punch him.

“Good for him. Hope he brought more beer.”

“No, Dean, wait,” Sam hurried, stepping to block Dean’s path, though he didn’t touch him again. Sam’s hands were held up in front of Dean to stop him, but he didn’t reach out to try and grab his arm again. “He didn’t come back alone.”

Dean waited a beat, eyebrows raised before sighing. “I don’t care. Tell Bobby or whoever that I’m sick.”

“Dean,” Sam repeated his name again, it almost sounding like a whine. Dean was tired of this already. He just wanted to lock himself in his room, and let everyone else enjoy their new perfect world. He was the only one suffering, apparently.

The thought wasn’t a fair one, he knew. Sam missed Cas, and Jack missed him, but it wasn’t the same.

“Cas is with him.”

The words sounded strange, like they didn’t make sense together. The words all had distinct meanings, and Dean understood those, but put together in that way—It sounded almost like static.

“What?” For the first time since the day Cas was taken, when he’d had to tell Sam that Cas was gone, he heard his own voice break.

He wasn’t sure if Sam said anything else. It sounded like an ocean roaring in his ears as he pushed past Sam, his legs carrying him at a sprint through the bunker. It belated occurred to him that he should’ve asked Sam where Jack and Cas were, but he stopped dead when his feet reached the entryway.

Jack’s smile was bright when he turned to look at Dean, but Dean’s eyes were glued to the figure beside him. “Cas,” he breathed, so quietly he didn’t think either of them could hear him, but Cas smiled.

“Hello, Dean,” he said. The familiar greeting, the familiar voice, broke something, and Dean surged across the empty space between them, nearly knocking them both over as he wrapped his arms around Cas. He vaguely registered Jack’s hand brushing his arm, pressed against Cas’s back for just a moment to help keep Dean from actually knocking them over, then the nephilim stepped out of his line of sight.

“You’re alive,” Dean said, his voice muffled against the shoulder of Cas’s trench coat.

“I am,” Cas answered. Dean felt the arms around him loosen after a moment, a silent signal that the typically expected hug had reached its allotted time limit, but Dean only tightened his grip. He wasn’t ready to let go, not yet. Seconds ticked by. Cas wrapped his arms around Dean again, though loosely, almost uncertain. Slow footsteps drew closer—heavy steps that definitely belonged to his brother, not Eileen.

If Sam noticed that Dean held on to Cas a little too long, he had the decency not to mention it. Once Dean felt like he could breathe again, he pulled back. The smile that stretched across his face pulled at muscles sorely used over the last few weeks.

Looking at Cas though, his hands still resting on the angel’s shoulders, he knew he should say something. He had to say something, but no words came out. His smile faded a little, though Cas was still beaming at him.

“I think this calls for a celebration dinner.” Dean hadn’t been so happy to hear his brother’s voice in a long time.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said quickly, squeezing Cas’s shoulder again, as if reminded himself that he was here, alive and in one piece.

Dinner was a blur for Dean. Everyone was relieved, everyone was happy. Dean made everyone swear multiple times that they were done with making deals with anything. “No demon deals, no angel deals, no deals with—“ he broke off for a moment, waving vaguely at nothing. “All powerful voids of Emptiness or whatever. None.”

Otherwise, Dean was quiet at dinner. Some part of him couldn’t quite believe it was real, but some small part of him was also unreasonably pissed off. And he knew it wasn’t fair, he knew that. But fuck. He’d been miserable, he’d spent endless nights cataloging everything he’d done wrong, how he’d gotten him and Cas into that damn situation in the first place, and how Cas had just made his big speech, knowing he would be swallowed up by the Empty. No facing Dean after he said it, no having to deal with Dean’s pain after he was gone, with Dean’s guilt, with his understanding, with his realization—hell, he probably hadn’t even heard Dean’s prayers.

Dean hardly noticed when Jack helped Sam clear the table, and Eileen got up to leave with Sam. He barely registered Jack giving Cas another hug before leaving for his room. He did notice the subtle, uncomfortable way Cas shifted a bit once they were alone. He’d been acutely aware of the angel since the moment he got back. Every smile that faded a little into something uncertain when he caught Dean’s eye, every hesitation when he accidentally brushed against Dean’s arm when he reached past him or was speaking with his hands too much.

“Good night, Dean.” The words, the scrape of the chair as Cas stood, snapped Dean back, his hand reaching out to grip the sleeve of Cas’s trench coat without conscious thought. Cas froze, blue eyes meeting his with some uncertainty, though no less warmth than they always held. Love, Dean knew now.

Dean licked his lips, and tried not to notice the way Cas’s eyes dropped a fraction to follow the movement. Dean opened his mouth, tried to form any kind of coherent thought. An apology, a confession, anything.

“You stupid son of a bitch.” Not that. He did not intend to say that, and judging by the way Cas’s expression hardened, defensive in what he must’ve assumed to become an angry response to his confession to Dean, he hadn’t expected that response either. Dean stood as well so they were closer to eye level, his grip only tightening on the sleeve of Cas’s coat. “You don’t get to just tell me you frickin love me, and then die. You can’t just—What the hell, man?”

“I’m sorry if my words made you uncomfortable, Dean. It was never my intention,” Cas answered, his voice low and dejected in a way that made Dean feel like the bad guy. But he wasn’t. Cas was the one that left—what right did he have to make Dean feel guilty over being upset with him for leaving?

Except, it occurred belatedly to Dean that that wasn’t what Cas had apologized for. “Cas, that’s not—“

“I didn’t intend to hurt you, or make you feel—“

“Cas, stop. You—“

“—uncomfortable. I don’t expect—“

“—aren’t listening to—“

“—you to reciprocate. You don’t—“

“—me. Will you shut up for a—“

“—have to say anything. I understa—“

Dean almost wishes he could fall back on alcohol, or say he wasn’t thinking, but he was. He knew exactly what he was doing when he cut Cas off one more time, this time the only way he knew for certain would shut him up. The hand gripping Cas’s sleeve came up to the lapel of his trench coat instead, tugging Cas forward as his other hand found the back of Cas’s neck.

When their lips met, it was like everything stopped, and everything came alive simultaneously. Words ceased, the room fell away, the steady hum of the fridge faded. And everything felt electric. His skin buzzed, his lips burned in the most pleasant way—and after a moment it hit him that Cas wasn’t moving.

Dean jerked away as soon as the realization occurred to him. Cas stared, unmoving back at him, eyes wide. Dread and guilt hit him like a wave. He’d misread everything. Cas didn’t love him—not like that—of course he didn’t. Dean was just a human, and not even a good one at that. His soul was tainted, burned and charred from the pits of Hell, from the demon, from everything he’d done and everyone he’d hurt without the excuse of either.

“Shit,” Dean breathed out. His hands pulled back, palms held up in front of him. “Cas, I’m sorry. I didn’t—I misunderstood—Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Dean,” Cas’s voice was softer, almost wistful this time when he spoke, a small, almost disbelieving smile pulling at his lips. Dean didn’t move, didn’t say anything, afraid of screwing up again. It seemed to be the only thing he was good at, apparently. But Cas only reached out, taking one of Dean’s hands in his own, and pulling it forward to press flat against as his chest as he closer the distance between them again.

Every muscle in Dean’s body seemed to melt into the embrace this time, in the reciprocity of Cas’s lips pressed against his. Dean wrapped his hand still under Cas’s tight in the fabric of the trench coat under his fingers, as if he could hold on tightly enough to keep him from leaving again. The kiss was more desperate, or maybe it only felt that way to Dean. After a moment, Cas moved a hand to his face, fingers caressing over his cheek causing Dean’s breath to hitch. He didn’t realize there were tears on his face until Cas pulled away, just a little, and Dean felt fingertips brush wet tears away from his face. When his eyes fluttered open, he couldn’t catch his breath, not with the way Cas was looking at him. His eyes were bright and warm, filled with the love that he’d been able to voice and Dean was still unable to.

“Cas, I—“

“Hey Dean, can you help me with—Shit, sorry,” Sam’s hurried voice broke off at the same time that Dean stumbled back away from Cas, facing burning and gaze unable to meet his brother’s.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered under his breath. “Can it wait, Sam?” The words came out sharper than he’d intended.

“It’s nothing, it can wait,” Sam said quickly.

“There’s no need,” Cas answered. Dean was surprised, and honestly a little annoyed, with how even his tone was. How little affected he sounded. “I’ll go and check on Jack.” He caught Dean’s eye offering a smile that made Dean blush harder, before turning to leave.

“I’m really sorry,” Sam repeated. “I uh, I didn’t mean to interrupt…anything.”

“Nothing to interrupt,” Dean answered. He coughed to clear his throat and made his way to the fridge for a beer, still unable to catch Sam’s eye.

“Right,” Sam said. Dean could hear the disbelief in his tone.

“What do you need, Sammy?”

“It’s nothing, really,” Sam insisted, but his laptop was open and perched on his arm. Dean looked at it instead of his brother, nodding towards it.

“Really? Seriously, what’s going on?”

“Just the latest list of John and Jane Does Bobby sent over,” Sam answered. He closed the laptop and set it on the table. Dean popped the cap off his beer, already dreading whatever Sam was going to say. “You know it’s okay, right?” Sam’s voice was softer when he spoke again.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Dean responded. “I’ll help you go through the list tomorrow, alright? I’m tired, I think I’m just gonna—“

“Dean, stop,” Sam said, exasperation clear in his tone. Dean stopped moving towards the door, though his back was still to his brother, hand clenching the beer bottle so tight his knuckles were turning white. “It’s okay. You and Cas. You deserve to be happy, just like I am with Eileen.” Dean didn’t respond, he wasn’t sure how to. After a moment, Sam laughed a little, and Dean turned around to shoot a glare at him. Sam only held a hand up in innocence. “Sorry, I just. I’m surprised I didn’t figure it out sooner.”

“Yeah, and how’s that?” Dean snapped at him. He didn’t intend to snap at him, but how the hell did Sam expect that he was supposed to figure something out when Dean wasn’t even sure he’d figured it out entirely?

“Every time we lost Cas, you were always—you were devastated, and it was worse every time. Especially this last time, I thought—Dean, I honestly, if he hadn’t come back, I wasn’t sure we’d had ever gotten you back,” Sam admitted. Dean felt himself—not relax, more just drop. His shoulders fell, his head dropped, his grip on the bottle loosened a little.

“I know,” he said quietly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Sam said. Dean dragged his eyes back up to meet Sam’s, to se a warm smile on his face. Dean was unwilling to move, so Sam did, walking towards him and reaching out to squeeze Dean’s shoulder. “Just be happy. Let yourself be happy, for once. Everything’s ok. There’s no overarching evil, no Chuck, no Amara. Hell, I haven’t seen even the inkling of any kind of demon activity since everything was set back. It’s ok. The world is ok, and you and Cas—That’s ok too.”

Dean didn’t know what he was supposed to say. He hadn’t expected any of this, and hadn’t even thought about how he was going to tell Sam, much less how Sam would respond. So he didn’t say anything, he just reached up, wrapping his arms around his brother in a tight hug. Sam had that bright, stupid smile on his face when he pulled away, drawing an involuntary smile from Dean as well, even as he shoved Sam’s shoulder before turning to leave. “Thanks, Sammy,” he said, mostly because he knew he should, and if he didn’t say it now, he wasn’t going to.

It felt like some kind of weight was taken from his shoulder as he left the kitchen in search of Castiel. A smile tugged at his lips at the thought of the angel, and eh was finally able to indulge the excitement and happiness everyone else had found since the world had been put back together again, now a little bit brighter.

[thewordjunkyard]

A Wish Well Made Chapter 1

Author’s Note: Hey! if you think I missed a tag or the rating, then let me know! I’m putting down all I can think of, but I’m only human! Thanks and happy reading.

Fandom(s): Danny Phantom

Summary: A fight leads to Desiree granting a wish for Tucker and Danny. This is a bad thing, right?

Rating: Teen

Tags: Danny Phantom, Danny Fenton, Tucker Foley, Sam Manson, Desiree, Swearing, Cursing,

Ships: None Currently. 

Chapter 1

He was done.

He didn't want to do this today.

Or any day for that matter.

But he needed to set the record straight.

For his sake.

_________________________________________

“No. I'm going home and doing my homework for once.” A boy with raven hair and light blue eyes sternly said. He was making eye contact with a girl in gothic clothing. She has deep violet eyes and dark hair pulled back into a ponytail on the top of her head.

She was glaring back in draggers.

“You can't just say no!” The girl argued. “She could destroy the town! You saw what she could do at the meteor shower last fall!” The girl gestured in a certain direction in the park they were in. “Are you honestly just going to ignore her wish granting?!”

The boy held his ground. “Yes. Sam, I'm going to ignore it because there are other people who can catch her.”

“Oh yeah? Who Danny? Valerie?” Sam's voice dripped with venom at the mention of the other girl's name. “Or your parents? The G.I.W.?” Sam put her hands on her hips. “Or do you mean your sister and us?” She gestured to an African-American boy in a red beret and thick rimmed glasses. The boy was watching the exchange between his best friends in silent horror.

Sam was pushing buttons. The boy knew. But he could only watch.

Danny's eyes flashed from blue to an acid green. It was mostly hidden by his bangs, but the boy in the red beret saw the change. “Um, Sam-” the boy tried to mediate.

“Stay out of this Tucker.” The girl growled at the boy in glasses. Danny snarled at Sam as his hair moved out of his now acid green eyes.

That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

“Don't tell him what to do Sam.” Danny growled out. Sam wasn't phased by the tone or the eyes. “If he wants to talk, then let him talk! His opinions matter.” 

“This is between you and me Fenton. Not him! So his opinion doesn't apply here!” Sam raised her voice.

Tucker started to back away slowly from the two. Tensions have been high for a few months now. Danny was under constant stress from ghost hunting and school. Sam wasn't making it any easier by telling Danny that he was just overreacting to it all. Brushing him off and urging him to keep fighting ghosts. It was going to turn on their heads sooner or later.

Tucker honestly loves them both, but even he knew Danny had limits, even with ghost powers.

Danny was going to snap. 

Like he was right now.

Tucker hugged himself as Danny growled like an animal. “He is a part of this group as much as you.” Danny snarled. Tucker's eyes widened as he saw Danny's teeth. His canines were unnaturally elongated and sharp. “He deserved the RIGHT to SPEAK!” Danny bellowed at Sam.

Sam held her ground fearlessly. She had a scolding look to her face. “What could he honestly add that could be sooooo helpful.” Her tone gave a bit of sarcasm.

Ouch. That hurt Tuck's heart.

She didn't mean for it to come across that way.

Right?

Danny stepped closer to Sam's face and said dangerously low. “Maybe if you let him talk, we'll know.” They were a breath apart with Danny a few inches taller than Sam. They were glaring dangerously at each other as Sam turned quickly red in the face.

She moved her arms up to push Danny. Tucker saw the motion and quickly shoulder shoved Danny out of the way. Sam pushed Tucker to the ground. He landed on his elbows. 

Tucker was okay. He wasn't physically hurt.

But he was emotionally exhausted.

“WHY YOU LITTLE- OOF!” Tucker quickly got up and tackled Danny to the ground. Tucker pinned his best friend to avoid the boy from hurting Sam. She didn't mean to push Tucker or tried to with Danny. She was just mad. And people did stupid things when they were mad.

Like picking fights with a teenager who could literally pick up cars and throw them across town.

Oh man… Danny could honestly kill somebody if he wasn't careful.

Danny looked at Tucker with a fury in his eyes. “TUCKER!” Danny screeched. “LET ME GO NOW!” Tucker didn't move, and Danny didn't move him with force like he could have.

A minute passed before Tucker spoke. “You need to cool off.” Tucker looked concerned. “You don't look like yourself D.” Tucker used an old nickname of Danny's.

A really old nickname.

Danny stared at Tucker for a few seconds before relaxing a small bit. He was breathing heavily. He felt like punching down a wall, or yelling.

Yelling down a wall sounded great about now.

Tucker looked back at Sam. She was standing there. Arms limp at her sides with wide eyes. She was staring at Danny. Like she just now noticed how mad he looked. “Sa-am.” Tucker breath shaky. His nerves were fried. “Go.”

“Tucker I-”

“Go.” Tucker added more emphasis this time.

She got the message. 

She jogged up the trail that left the park. When she was out of sight. Tucker looked to the halfa pinned beneath him. 

Tucker had the boy by his hands above his head. He was being pinned by one of Tucker's knees in the admin. His closed eyes had dark circles around them. His canines were long and sharp. He was breathing heavily through his teeth in a way to calm himself.

Danny never forces himself up. He never forced Tucker off of him.

Danny had a weird rule about that.

He would have forced anyone else off him by now. Used his super strength to get up and fight on.

But not with Tucker. Tucker was the only exception. And well… Jazz. Tucker didn't fully understand it, but he didn't have to. It was Danny after all.

A few minutes passed, and Danny's anger slipped into sobbing. Tucker moved off of Danny and released his hands. Tucker was soon wrapped up in an embrace by the young halfa. 

Danny buried his head in his best friend-no, brother's- shoulder and cried. “I-I just wanted t-to get my res-search paper d-done.” Danny sobbed. Tucker rubbed circles into his back. “I don't want to f-fail.”

“I know man. I know.” Tucker soothed. “We can go to my place and get started if you want. There are other folk who can take care of the ghosts.”

“I w-wished I wasn't such a f-freak.” Danny sobbed.

“Dude, you're not a freak. If I had to wish for anything, it would be for you to stay the same, powers and all.” Tucker said. “And maybe for you to be less…”

“Fucked up.” Danny sniffed. “Believe me, I want that. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if the portal never fully opened, or if Sam never talked us into hunting ghosts.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Didn't Sam make a wish similar to that during the meteor last semester?” Tucker furrowed his eyebrows together in thought.

“It was to never meet me, and in turn you, but she was wearing the Specter Deflector so she remembered.” Danny sniffed again. He stopped crying at least. 

Tucker huffed annoyed. “We never said we didn't want to meet her.” Tucker mumbled.

“Exactly!” Danny leaned up and broke the hug to look Tucker in the eye. His nose was running and his eyes were red from crying. “WHY are we still friends with her!?” Danny croaked. “She has been nothing but a pain since I got my powers!” He pointed to the direction Sam left the park. “She didn't even let you have a chance to talk!”

“Duuuude, that was so uncool.” Tucker slump where he sat.

“And it's not the first time she's done it either! Last week for the molecule model thing, she didn't let you do anything! I saw from my table.” Danny was mad, but he was a lot calmer than a few minutes ago.

Tucker groaned. “It was soooooo unfair. And that was one of the few projects I was looking forward to! I can't believe Mr. Mindle assigned us partners for the thing.” Tucker crossed his arms.

“I know! I was just lucky not to get Dash as one.” Danny grimaced. “I might have actually hurt him that day if we were partners.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It was a looong day.”

Tucker smirked. “Bet it made your day to get paired with the cute smart girl.” Tucker wriggled his eyebrows.

Danny lightly glared. “Seriously Tucker?” Tucker innocently smiled. Danny rolled his eyes. “Okay. Fine. It actually did. But not for the reasons you're thinking of.”

Tucker was curious now. “Really? How she made your day?” He was really curious to know how one project together made Danny's day.

“She was just- I don't know.” Danny found it hard to explain. “She just- gave off this welcoming and non-judgy vibe? I think. She was super nice and wasn't all in your face about stuff. She even explained to me what the molecule model was, and the difference between the carbon molecules in diamonds and graphite.”

“Danny, we were told that three weeks ago.” Tucker said after a moment.

Danny groaned and put his face in his hands. “All stupid Ghost hunting is messing with my studies!” Danny looked up at Tucker. “It's a wonder that I'm passing at all…”

“Hey. Solid C+ is better than Dash record F-.” Tucker smirked.

“You don't know that he has an F-.” Danny said. He squinted his eyes at Tucker. “...Do you?”

“Not only do I know, but can back it up with math. Care for the statistics?” Tucker gloated.

Danny lightly laughed. “Maybe another day.” Danny looked up at the sky. It was still daylight outside. “We should get going. How-how do I look?” Danny asks hesitantly.

Tucker did a once over. “Your eyes are back to blue, but your teeth are still sharp.” Tucker kept scanning Danny for anything weird. “You look tired, but otherwise normal.”

Danny sighed and got up. He offered Tucker a hand up as Danny said “I feel tired.”

“I feel you D.” Tucker took Danny's offered hand.

Once to their feet, Danny and Tucker started to walk to Tucker's house, where Tucker's parents and warm fresh baked cookies will greet them. Studying and talking filled their afternoon with a fresh of breath air.

Desiree hazed into existence at the park. The ghost child was too upset with his goth friend to notice her.

She was graceful for that.

The halfa looked ready to kill if his sergeant brother hadn't stepped in.

Their conversation after the goth girl left was interesting, to say the least. Desiree almost granted the ghost child's wish when his brother negated it with his own. But they were getting clever, but she had her loopholes.

The brother left the wish open-ended, and the ghost child continued it with the conversation.

She could use whatever they said to grant their wish. It will take more time to grant it, but it is possible.

Been awhile since Desiree granted a wish like that.

[ottomations]

A giant iron vault door, the cosmetic aspect of it was intimidating to say the least.

Sounds of the redstone, hard at work, poured through the gaps of the blackstone and obsidian walls wherever it could. The many doors and platforms were all designed for the prison to be at maximum security.

Tapping of boots on the ground, one was more metallic and the other was the soles of regular sneakers— squeaking every now and then on the smooth surface.

The warden, guiding the visitor through the process, led them to the aquamarine lamps that shone dimly underneath the black-tinted glass.

Raising the sharp, fire aspect axe, Sam spoke behind his mask,

“Punz, I’m going to have to do a manual check for Items— to make sure you’re not carrying anything into the cell.”

“Alright, got it. Do what you need to do,” the hooded blonde responded, icy eyes blinked to the tip of their shoes as they held their arms loosely to the side.

It was a quick inspection. The burning lingered lightly as the poison seeped into the visitor’s skin, the cold water caused it to finally fade away.

The sounds of the ink swirling in the small, glass pot and the quill writing on the page of the forms was the only sound other than the running lava to both of their lefts. Each of the signatures were neat for a person like them, reading out ‘Punz.’

Punz blanked out for a few of the next parts in the process, mainly remembering the hot lava on his skin feel like a warm, summer day instead of the inferno of the nether.

He was now just staring at a curtain of lava, The Warden filled the silence every minute or two with a reassurance that the lava, “takes a moment to clear away.”

The curtain fell, revealing a horned man with hair that resembled Captain Puffy’s. He seems scared of who was going to visit him, pressing his body against the back wall of the cell. After seeing the blue eyes and platinum hair, Dream calmed and relaxed— seeming relieved.

The brick platform below Punz’s feet moved towards the prisoner, the bubble of the lava resonating in their ears. Stepping off the contraption, they felt the floor of obsidian— regular and cracked. There were scratches and chips in the walls and floor accompanying different spots and marks of dried blood.

The curtain falls, the barricade is lowered.

Silence, a mumble here and there from Dream.

Punz sighed, walking closer as they grasped the right sleeve of their hoodie with the opposite hand, “Dream, are you still...” he paused, collecting his voice with a cough as he took a deep inhale, “are you mad at me?”

Not replying, the prisoner grazed his swollen, bruised cheek. It definitely seemed new. Punz was worried, making a stride closer to Dream and reaching out their hand to wait for a reaction.

“Dream,” they called again, the other had no reaction— again.

Sigh, “Dream.”

The stern tone and the ‘woosh’ in the air caused the ram child to look up. Punz’s arm came down to their sides, stiffly.

“I’m... I’m sorry, truly I am... there’s... stuff going on and—“ the innate rubbed his eyes, dark circles have accumulated from the lack of cushioned resting grounds, “I’m like... glad you came— I’m glad i swear.”

“Well...” the blonde looked around before refocusing on Dream, “While we’re getting this out of the way, i’m a.. a huge dick for- for just excepting the offer from... tommy and stuff...”

Dream gestured for them to sit down on the floor, each doing so.

“And I’m... I’m also sorry for... you— I was really split on the decision between your side and.. his.”

The prisoner nodded slightly and slowly in response, blinking back the moist feeling in his eyes.

“It’s my... my fucking fault for even paying you like... the amount I was, it was such a bad accommodation for what.. what you were doing.”

Punz didn’t reply, being silent for a period of time as Dream continued to stroke and rub the cuts and bruises on his body. They were concerned, although it didn’t seem like a good segway to just ask what they were.

“So how has been your time in... the prison?”

“Definitely... Definitely could be better... I’ve been visited by Tommy... Bad... Sapnap... Ranboo— I think...” eyes closed as his Adam’s apple bobbed, “Quackity has been visiting.. every day...”

“What... what does he want?”

“Well... Tommy was... revived... the information went around... fast— a-and he wants to.. wants to know the secret to revival and stuff...”

Punz started to connect the dots, Quackity? This? To Dream for crying out loud??

“Did... you tell him?”

“N... no— well— he did first ask for the book, but I already... burned it. After... refusing to give information...” streaks of warm tears ran down his face, the emeralds of his irises disappeared as the eyelids closed shut.

Dream unzipped the shirt of the orange outfit that he wore, taking it off to a mostly ripped, white tank top. The rips and tears revealed large scars and cuts in his torso that were definitely not there before his imprisonment. Some were still bleeding or open, the scars haven’t formed at all.

Punz gasped at the sight reaching to lightly graze their fingertips on the wounds— causing a reaction of pain in Dream’s face, drawing in air through his gritted teeth. They lifted and pulled the hood off of their head.

Dream couldn’t help but inspect how the other changed from their last interaction, their back hair was kept in a tight bun that sat at the crown of their head. Bangs still hung forwards and swept right to keep out of Punz’s eyes

Speaking of his eyes, there was a specific glisten that wasn’t in them anymore. It reminded Dream of contacts. What could he be hiding?

“I’m.. so sorry for you. I didn’t think that this would happen...”

“I knew it was bound to have someone yearning for the information... but I didn’t think torture would be one of the options... I don’t...” the taller sniffled as his knees curled to his chest, careful to not touch the tender skin.

Both of them paused to recollect their thoughts.

“So Punz... how is... how is the uh... outside,” Dream asked, the hunt for an answer commenced.

“It’s alright, that... th-the... egg... is... w... wonderful, it’s great!” They responded, seemingly in a trance.

“Punz... please, are you okay?”

“Yep! no... I’m perfectly fine, everything’s weird...” a heavy sigh, hands reaching up to their eyes to take out the contacts.

Ruby red.

“I don’t... I know I’m.. Not... I’m fine— No...” they tried to cover up the controlling voice.

“Hey, I don’t know if you can properly speak to me, but I respect your decision. Hopefully you... achieve your goals!”

Punz stood and walked over to sit next to Dream, leaning their head back on the wall. They took a heavy sigh after a while, crossing their legs and moving their head forwards to stare at the floor. Dream put his arm around Punz’s shoulder, causing a slight jolt.

Both of them leaned into the embrace, Dream took another step and undid the other’s hair bun. It fell down quite gracefully with a few ruffles of his hand, some strands shone like lightning as they reflected the glowstone’s gleam.

The pair stayed like this for a while, taking in the warmth of the other. Before Punz really knew it, there was a hand that rested palm to palm with the prisoner’s. The arm on their shoulder was interlaced with the hairs on their scalp.

Punz moved his head, wanting to look at the other’s eyes. Dream was absurdly close, he blinked in surprise as the other made eye contact.

The inmate looked away to his bare feet.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to do that— If it makes you uncomfortable.”

Punz moved their free hand to cup the other’s cheek, turning Dream’s head to face him again. The freckles on his face better emphasized the peachy glow.

The shorter chuckled, blonde hair brushed their shoulders at their length, “Your face is pink, Dream. You thinking about George or something?”

“Nah, I’m thinking about someone else, they’re nicer to me and have better hair for me to grasp when I want to kiss them,” the responder cooed.

“What a charmer,” Punz smirked, “I could’ve sworn he was a child torturer.”

Dream scoffed, “I couldn’t tell if that was a joke or you were being serious. Either way, you’re for some reason into that shit.”

“I’m my defense, I was being paid,” They paused, “In second defense, the torturer is good lookin’.”

Both of them laughed, rustling around in their positions as each hid their flushed faces.

“I can’t tell if you’re glad that we’re flirting or mad that you enjoy it—“ Dream smiled, looking at the other with a smile.

Punz giggled, “Both— but I think it’s mostly the first option.”

“Heh, I’m glad. I’ve liked you and what you do.”

“Mmh... yeah, I have too...”

Dream paused, turning his body to face Punz.

“Do you want to... maybe...?”

“Wait like... actually, you want to?”

“Yeah... just...”

A message appeared in the chat, Punz pulled up his menu to read the alert from The Warden, Sam.

‘Punz, your visiting hours are over. Please tell me when you’re ready to leave by the next 5 minutes or I will force you to leave.

Dream also read the message, “You... you need to leave...”

“Yeah.. I’ll see you later, Dream. I had quite a bit of fun talking with you about our lives,” Punz replied as they put their contacts back in.

The prisoner didn’t want him to leave, it wasn’t a proper ‘goodbye’ and he wanted to do what he’s been wanting to do for a long while. They made amends and had shared feelings, why now?

“I’m ready to leave, Sam...”

Punz had already gotten into the water, the Warden continued to give instructions as they readied to be ‘splash-potioned’ out of the cell.

“Punz—!”

“Huh?”

“I have something to give to you before you leave,” Dream stood up and jogged over to the water, going into it and held Punz’s head with his hands.

“What are you doin—?”

But Punz was cut off from finishing their sentence, cut off with the feeling of the other pressing his lips against their own. It was slightly chapped, but filled with the love and happiness that they shared that evening.

They responded, pressing into the kiss with lust. Their hands reached up and around Dream’s shoulders, grasping tightly and pulling him closer to his body. The taller shared the tight embrace and his hands moved down to the other’s waist.

Before they knew it, it was over. Punz woke to see Sam at the other side of the room with the levers behind him.

“So, how was your visit?”

“It was... good, yeah.”

Punz wished it lasted longer though. Maybe he could visit another time to continue what Dream and them had.

Upon exiting the prison, they visited their home and tended to their bees. They changed into something more comfortable as the night shone ever so bright in the sky. Making their stride to a lectern, they got out a book and quill.

Lighting a candle, ink dropped off of the tip.

Punz started to write a letter to the arctic,

“Dear Technoblade,

I believe you owe us a favor...”

[jay-and-dean]

Rescue You  Chapter 2 : October 28,29 and 31.

Dean x reader

Summary : My name is Y/n. I’m the outcast of my witch community. This is the story of how I rescued Dean Winchester, the story of how he saved me.

Serie Warnings : Swearing. Injuries. Smut. Fluff. Angst.

Chapter warning : Injuries.

Words : 2.9k

***Rescue You Chapter 1***

***Want to read more ? => MASTERLIST***

__________________________________

October 28, 7am.

           Something hurts badly on my back and shoulders, it wakens me.

           I open my eyes and my heart races. I fell asleep in the cabin ! Shit ! I spent the whole night taking care of the man they call the king of hunters while they were celebrating his death like it was an equinox. They made Ophelia the youngest member of the Coven and talked about how they just changed the world.

           I just left. And spent the night here.

           Suddenly a pain hit my chest : Is he dead ? I turn my head to check on him, really hoping, everything was not for nothing. But my breath get caught in my throat and I jump.

           His eyes are open.

           I crawl back as fast as I can in a held back scream. I was just within easy reach, he could have killed me just like that. How could I be so reckless ? How could I feel comfortable enough to fall asleep just there, on the floor, beside my mortal enemy ?

           I look at him for an instant, he takes a labored, trembling inhale. His swollen piercing green eyes are full of questions, and drowned in pain, I can’t even imagine how much suffering he must be feeling. But he doesn’t talk, or move his face at all.

“H-hi… My name is Y/n” I say, trying to sound calm. “You’re badly hurt… I-I tried to heal you but you… you need medicine, and to drink something.”

He tries to talk but his mouth barely moves so he sighs in a discreet whine of pain and frustration.

“It’s okay…” I raise my hands in a sign of peace. “Listen, I have to take this opportunity of you being awake to give you something to drink, and painkillers. I gave you anti-biotics with a syringe but you need… W-will you kill me if I try to sit you just a little to make you drink ?”

Still no answer… With shaking hands, I put a palm on his forehead and sigh, he’s still burning with fever.

“I will check your wound now, don’t move… Please.”

Saying that, I push the blanket down to reveal his chest and stomach ; he tries to move, like he was afraid, but the ties I used and his extreme weakness doesn’t allow it. I move the bandage a little and frown, there is a huge inflammation but the bleeding stopped thanks to the magic ointment.

“From what I know… you have a knife wound on your stomach, broken ribs, a badly broken leg, a bruise almost the size of your back, cuts everywhere, but that’s okay, and your head has been hit hard, I really hope you don’t have head trauma…” I list, trying to help him stay awake. “You may have other things but I will only know when you’re able to tell me where it hurts, okay ?”

His lips says “yes” but no sound comes out.

“I’m sorry I had to tie you up… I just… don’t want to get killed” I sigh.

Once again, his lips move, but I can’t understand what he says, so I come closer, knowing the risk I take. I kneel close to him.

“Same ?” I ask but he keeps going. “Sammy ?”

He closes his eyes in relief.

“No Sammy here, I’m sorry…” he sighs in pain. “Is he friend or enemy ?… Friend. Okay… Your phone is dead, but I’ll try to contact him.”

He weakly nods.

           I stay here a few seconds, watching his swollen face. Then I slowly untied him, my palms sweating.

“I do this because I want to give you something to drink, please don’t attack me, you can’t go anywhere, for now you need me…” I keep talking.

After the ties are undone, I take all I need before I come sit behind his head. Lifting it slowly, I put it on my knees and move them to have him a little higher, his head almost on my belly, and my legs on his back to make him a little straighter. He grunts in pain.

“I’m sorry” I say sincerely. “Okay, you need sugar and painkillers and water… So I’ll mix the three. This is high-calorie drink, and see, I put powerful painkiller in it…”

I let it melt and stir it with the straw. Then I give it to him. He refuses it, closing his mouth so I sigh and lower my arms in defeat. Of course he doesn’t trust me.

“Mister Winchester” I say softly. “I will do my best to keep you alive, but if you don’t heal soon, they will find you, and kill both of us…”

I put my hand on his forehead again and decide to add paracetamol in the drink to lower the fever. I show him what I do, really hoping he will drink what I give him.

“Please…” my voice is exhausted, but I won’t give up so easily. “At least try.”

He lets his lips part and I thank him in a sigh of relief. When he almost chokes on the first sip, I try to comfort him by touching his sweaty forehead, stroking it a little while the cough with his broken ribs makes him almost faint in pain.

“It’s okay… It’s okay… You need more, just a little more for me M. Winchester. Please…”

           After a few minutes, he finishes it, it was a very small glass, but this is victory. I stay a little beneath is back to make sure he doesn’t choke.

“You’ll feel better with the painkillers… I-I’m sorry, I didn’t manage to put you on the bed but, when you’ll be able to move, I promise I’ll help you, the wooden floor must be horrible and cold… I’m really sorry, do you need another blanket ?”

His mouth says “no”.

“I have to go M. Winchester. If they look for me too long, they will be suspicious. Just don’t move or try to go out okay ? We’re in the middle of the forest. And don’t call or anything… I’m the only one who doesn’t want you dead for miles. I’m sorry… I’ll check on you tonight, I promise…”

October 29, 9am;

             Sweating, I look at my watch. Shit. I had a lot of deliveries to do this morning, and, even waking up early, I didn’t manage to finish yet. I was asked for two different mushrooms and at least five plants. I can’t believe people calling themselves witches can’t go in the woods themselves to find ingredients… But at least it gives me the best opportunity to wonder without anybody looking for me.

           While I look for the required ingredients in my way to the cabin, I think about yesterday evening. The hunter still didn’t talk, but he was awake again. I cleaned his wounds, checked his leg, and gave him something to drink again. I really hope today he will be able to eat something I brought.

           I’ve never felt so alive in my entire life, my senses are in alert, my brain works quicker, and I do my duties so faster. The only thing obsessing me is making him survive, and the pain he feels.

           I know who Sammy is now, his brother. Sam Winchester. I hear they are really close and literally went to Hell for each other. To actual Hell. They are all the community talks about lately, from my mother to the witch of the post office. They sent Sam a magical untraceable message, saying his brother was dead, with the rest of his blood and a picture of the car that still lays in the forest, under an invisibility spell.

           I don’t know that Sam-guy, but as they celebrate his older brother death, and keep rewarding Ophelia, they seem really afraid of him, they reinforced security. I wish I could contact him, but none of my calls can go out the town since I tried to contact my father years ago, and I have no idea where to send a letter. It wouldn’t be such a good idea anyway, his brother can’t be moved for now so I’d better keep him with me a little more… At least that’s what I tell myself.

           When I finally see the cabin, with already almost all my ingredients for later, my heart races a little as usual. I push the door and see his eyes are closed. I rush toward him to check his pulse.

Thank the Goddesses, he’s alive. But there is something wrong… the blanket is wet… But not blood. Oh !

           I get up and put my face in my hands, how could I have never thought of that. He’s a human being. Good think he’s unconscious, because I wouldn’t have wanted to face the look on a warrior that peed himself’s eyes.

           I rush to the bathroom and take towels, soap and a basin of water. Please don’t wake up… I think pushing the cover. With a sigh, I push his boxers down, trying not to look at him. Now what… I take the little towel and soak it, rubbing the soap on it to make foam.

           The instant I put the wet towel on his stomach, he wakes up in a deep inhale. Cold water.

“I’m sorry” I wince. “It’s cold…”

“No…” he painfully whispers, trying to move but the restrains keep him still and he’s completely paralyzed by weakness and pain.

“You can’t move…” I sigh. “It’s okay, see me as a nurse” I try.

I keep my eyes away when I wash his chest, just looking enough to avoid the wounds. I wash his arms and shoulders, better do it all at once. While I rinse the towel and put more soap on it, I notice the look on his face, jaw clenched, eyes shut in a frown. Dignity must be pretty much all is left for a man that went to actual Hell.

“I told them you were dead” I say to catch his attention on anything else.

With the fresh foam I start washing his legs, careful with the splint.

“They will kill me when they’ll know… If… If they know” I wash his thighs. “But they already hate me so I guess that will just give them an excuse” I lift my head to look at his face. “I guess I deserve their hate though… Hiding a mortal enemy.” I stroke his hips and finally wash his intimate parts, trying to look at it the less I can, and I keep casually talking to distract him. “You must be asking yourself where you are… It’s my cabin. I mean it wasn’t mine but it became, so don’t worry, no one comes here, except me.” I push his hips up a little to wash under him, his butt and lower back. “And the cabin is invisible for humans, but also for demons and angels… So just me. Here you go…”

I go to the bathroom, I come back with clean water and another little towel. As I start to rinse the soap on his body, he looks at my face intensely, like he was trying to read me.

I never saw a body like his, and I really try to be indifferent to him, but every scar is a mystery, a story I will never know. He’s so strong and manly and… I surprise myself comparing him with Aiden, the only other men I’ve seen naked, and it’s like they weren’t even of the same matter.

           When I feel myself blushing, I decide I have to distract myself too.

“Okay, now I’ll dry you, but I have no clothes, and I can’t give you the blanket, so I’ll give you my hoodie to hide, I quickly go find something for the cold, don’t worry okay ?”

I take off my oversized hoodie and shiver at the feeling of cold air on me. After wiping the floor where he lays, I put it on him and notice he passed out again.

 October 31, 6am.

           As usual, I get up earlier, take a quick shower and breakfast and go before anybody wakes up at home. Tonight is Halloween, and if I’m not allowed in most ceremonies, I have to attempt the Halloween rituals, even men do. It means I won’t see the hunter tonight. It will be the first time in four days I don’t visit him at least twice and I’m terrified.

           Yesterday he said two or three weak words to make me notice wounds I haven’t seen, like his dislocated shoulders… But this time I had at least painkillers to give him. He can’t really sit, but he moves just a little more now his shoulder is in place. He will soon be able to go to the toilets and on the bed.

           I go out of the house with a big bag full of stuffs for him and cross the empty streets to join the woods. I go through the neighborhood, rushing when I cross Aiden’s garden, because I know he wakes up early. But he’s here, taking the mails.

“Y/n ?” he stops me with a surprised look.

“Hey…” I sigh involuntarily.

“In a hurry ?” he asks with that kind sad smile he always have.

“Yeah… Halloween…”

“I wanted to tell you… I’m sorry they sent you after Dean Winchester alone… This pisses me off, you could have died. Ophelia got all the rewards and…”

“It’s okay” I cut him. “It’s really okay, I didn’t kill him so…”

“Still, what if he had still been alive ?”

“We’re not allowed to talk” I say coldly, thinking about the hunter alone in the cabin.

“I know, but I really miss you” that sad smile again.

I miss him too, and usually I tell him, but not today. I nod and tell him to have a nice day, which is pretty ridiculous to answer. Then I leave hoping he won’t notice something is wrong with me, Aiden knows me too well.

           When I enter the cabin, I smile seeing the hunter is awake. I put the bag on the floor and kneel, as usual.

“I will untie you for a while” I say, already doing it. “Today you will try to eat something solid, I brought mashed potatoes with pieces of chicken…”

He looks at me and tries to sit but fails. It’s strange, seeing him in those clothes ; I gave him the sweater I had kept from Aiden and bought boxers in the store, careful to not catch attention.

“Wait, I’ll help you but first…” I inject medicine on his arm, trying not to hurt him too much with the needle.

           After I cleaned his wounds and checked the fever, I sit behind him, helping him until, this time, he’s almost sitting, resting on my chest between my legs.

“The good news are, I don’t think the stabbing touched any vital organ, or you would have died already, and the fever is going down… Bad news are…” I put the bowl in front of him and propose him the fork, he takes it weakly. “I won’t come back today. It’s Halloween and it’s a big deal in the community. Not fun Halloween night like in movies though… Sacrifice of a goat, never-ending rituals and powers demonstrations.”

He tries to take a bite but his arm won’t carry his own weight to his mouth so I just push under it to make it easier, without making him feel like I’m feeding him.

“They will bully me again…” I sigh falling silent.

“Who ?” he whispers after a little while, making my heart race at the idea of him actually listening to me.

“Everyone.” I push under his arm again. “I’m… I’m not thought highly of them… See… I have no powers and…”

I shouldn’t be telling him that. I stop talking and help him eat until he doesn’t want anymore. After a while he sighs and almost passes out again.

“Wait ! M. Winchester, I haven’t given you your meds yet” I say, touching his cheek from behind.

“Dean…” he grunts.

“Dean” I state with a shy smile. “Is your valid leg working just a little ?”

He moves it and shrugs, immediately wincing.

After half an hour, he’s finally on the bed, he’s sweating from pain but I couldn’t stand seeing him on the floor like that anymore. He’s so brave, so silent. The fear is fading, even if I still feel like when I rescued that wolf from Ollie’s trap, knowing he could kill me, just hoping he will understand I’m trying to cut the ropes for him.

“Look what I bought !” I smile with an old remote in my hand. “It has a shitty image and only three channel but that way you won’t die of boredom.” I turn the old TV toward him. “This is the bottle for… you know, this is a bottle of coke, just don’t mistake them” I try to joke.

Half a smile appears on his face and it’s like I saw a whole knew him.

           I give him covers and make sure the pillow under his head is okay. I put a pill of painkiller in a little bottle next to him, and make sure he can reach everything. Then I look at him one last time hesitating for a second. How am I supposed to say that I will miss him… Because I sure will.

           I turn and open the door in a sigh.

“Y/n” he says, letting me hear his voice clearly this time. “Thank you.”

_____________________________

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[wwoww-au]

Lovesick

I’ve always been afraid of being alone. For as long as I could remember I was terrified that my world would always be cold, empty, incomplete. I could only hope that I would find someone special… and one day I found him. My Senpai. From the moment I met him, I knew he was the one. I felt complete. But he was destined to be with someone else.

She likes him, but not in the way I like him. She could never appreciate him the way I do. She is a selfish, shallow human being. She doesn’t deserve someone as good as him. But I found something to stop her. Something to cut their ties -- their heartstrings -- before she could take him away from me. I thought I was doing the right thing, protecting Senpai from ending up with the wrong person.

I knew it the moment I cut the string. The searing pain in my hand where I had held the scissors, the jagged red scar etched beneath my ring finger. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done this. It wasn’t my choice to make. I-

“Yan?” Senpai waved a hand in front of their face.

“Huh?” Yan looked up at him. The two were sitting across from each other at a small table in a cafe. They had been meeting like this a lot in the last few weeks; getting lunch or walking through the park and simply getting to know each other.  Yan cherished these moments more than anything in the world.  “Sorry, lost in thought.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Senpai leaned forward, a look of concern on his face. “You haven’t been acting like your normal, obsessively cheery self lately. And you look awfully pale.”

“I’m fine, I promise,” they reassured him, placing a gloved hand over his. “I’ve been tired, that’s all.”

“Are you sure it’s just that? You could be coming down with something. Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“Oh, alright. If you say so.” Yan gave a half-hearted smile. “I’ll get a checkup tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Senpai sat back in his chair. “I care about you, you know. I don’t want you to get sick.”

"You're just the sweetest, do you know that?" Yan said. The pair smiled at each other. "So, what were we talking about, before all this?"

"Your trip to the library?"

"Oh, right! So yeah B and I get to the Gardening Section, and then this giant vine shoots out of nowhere and-"

.

.

.

Henrik rarely got appointments these days. His patients mainly consisted of officers from the nearby Crime Department or special cases assigned by the Committee themselves. Sitting at his desk, he checked his schedule for the day. It was completely empty, except for one person who had scheduled a checkup for later that afternoon. He was a little surprised, but he was grateful to have something to do that day. 

They arrived five minutes early to the appointment, greeting him at the door with a smile. "Good morning, Doctor."

"You can just call me Henrik," he said, politely shaking their hand. Their greeting reminded him of Jackie, another positive force trying and failing to brighten his ever sour mood. "Yan, was it?"

"That's me," they answered cheerfully as they followed him back into the office. They perched up on the edge of one of the beds. Henrik pulled a clipboard off of his desk and read what was written there.

"So, it says here you've been feeling sick? Can you describe your symptoms?"

Yan looked down at their hands, folded in their lap. "I've been really tired lately. I guess I've been a little more irritable."

"Anything else?" Henrik barely looked up from his clipboard.

"Well, I-" They hesitated. "Uh, I've been struggling with my magic a bit."

Henrik's eyes went wide upon hearing this, and his head snapped up to look at them. His grip tightened on the clipboard. He spoke slowly, but with urgency. "What did you say?"

"I've been struggling with my magic a bit? Nothing too serious, I've just been getting headaches when I try to sense emotions or look at strings…" They trailed off when they saw the look Henrik was giving them. It was a look of fear, and of sadness.

"Did you use any core magic, other than your own?"

"W-what?"

"Did you use any core magic other than your own?" he repeated, his tone urgent and serious.

"I…" they trailed off and slumped their shoulders. They pulled off one of their gloves, holding up their left hand to reveal a small red iridescent scar on the knuckle beneath their ring finger. "Yes."

Henrik's heart broke for the person in front of him. Someone so young, having to endure the consequences of such a horrible decision. He so badly wanted to tell them everything was alright, but they needed to hear the truth. "You're corrupting."

 "I thought because I used an item, nothing bad would happen. But I guess not," Yan continued, their breathing picking up as they spoke. "It was such a dumb mistake, and now my life is over! I'll lose my apprenticeship, they'll break my locket, they'll throw me in jail and- oh wizard god, what will my mom think?!" They broke into a sob, covering their face with their hands.

Henrik froze. He didn't know what to do; it had been too long since he had comforted someone. He moved forward and put a hand on their shoulder, a gesture Jackie had used to comfort him countless times. "Hey, it's alright. You're going to be alright."

"How?" Yan choked out between sobs, tear-filled eyes begging for some sort of answer.

"I-" He paused to consider what he could say, if he could trust the stranger in front of him. Something about them told him he could. "I'm working on a cure. Something that can stop corruption before it can destroy the wizard. It's slow work, but I have help." He decided not to go into detail about Anti. The poor kid was already so afraid, it would be best not to mention the walking corpse in the basement. 

"You- you are?" They sniffed, a small smile tugging at the corners of their mouth. "And you'd be willing to help me?"

"Of course," he said softly, managing to return the slight smile. 

"Then I want to help you, too." They wiped a few stray tears from their eyes. "Where do we start?"

Henrik stepped back. He was hesitant to bring someone else into this, but the need for more help outweighed the worry. "First you have to promise not to tell anyone about any of this. The Committee already has me under watch, and if they find out I'm messing with corruption they'll break my item even more. You'll be fine; you're in a very early stage of corruption. It's barely noticeable. Keep that scar covered, and don't tax yourself too much when using magic."

They slipped their glove back on and nodded. They had a new look of determination on their tear-soaked face. Henrik bent over and shifted the carpet to the side, revealing the basement door.

"I keep my research down here," he said, lifting the hatch to the stairs. "I'll go grab some of it for you to look over, see what you can do to help, though admittedly, there's not much. Wait up here." He disappeared down the dark steps.

Yan stood up from the bed and began pacing around. They absentmindedly fiddled with their locket as they began to process their feelings. On one hand, their selfish decision led to their own corruption; on the other, sheer luck brought them to someone working on a cure. Yan halted their pacing in front of the trap door. The sound of Henrik's voice, along with a second, harsher voice, drifted from below. Using the smallest bit of Heart magic, they could sense strong emotion from below. Concern, fear, anger. It put them on edge. 

They moved towards open door, gently padding down the steps. They spotted Henrik arguing in a hushed tone with another man, whose back was turned to them. "Henrik, are you alright?" they said quietly.

"Yan," Henrik said quickly, eyes wide with panic. "I told you to wait upstairs."

"I heard you talking and I wanted to check-" They were quickly cut off when the other man turned around, revealing his haunting features. Blood oozed from a cut on his neck, and his skin clung to his bones, as if he hadn’t eaten in years. Jet black eyes glared at them, green and blue irises seemingly glowing with fury. Yan clapped a hand over their mouth. "Oh m-my wizard god… your neck-"

"I told you this was a bad idea!" the man yelled back at Henrik. He stalked towards Yan, a hideous sneer on his face. His hands flickered with glitchy, crimson and dark green magic. 

"Anti, calm down," Henrik begged, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

"No! Listen to me!" Anti whipped around, throwing Henrik’s hand off, and pointed an accusing finger at the doctor, who shrunk visibly. "You're way too trusting! That's what got you into this mess in the first place!" He turned back to Yan. "You! Get out!"

"I'm- I'm sorry! I shouldn't have-" Yan stuttered out the best they could. They backed away slowly, heart practically beating out of their chest. 

"GET OUT!" Anti screamed. The magic gathering at his hands burst out, knocking back everything around him. Yan flew back into the stairs with a strangled cry. The room settled, unbearably quiet after the blast. Yan stood on shaky feet before scrambling up the stairs, a few fresh tears streaking their face.

"What did you do?" Henrik broke the silence, pushing past Anti to get to the stairs.

"I didn't know I could do that." Anti flexed his hand, staring at it with curiosity. "Honestly. You know I can't control my magic."

Henrik was already midway up the stairs. "I don't care about your magic,” the doctor snapped, “what you need to be controlling is your temper. We'll talk about this later." He disappeared up the stairs, calling after Yan.

Anti huffed, and slumped over into the worn desk chair. He glanced over at the jar on the desk, where Sam was silently bobbing in the green potion. "Don't look at me like that," he grumbled. "Okay.. maybe I overreacted, but I have every right to be on edge."

 Sam bumped up against the glass. 

"It would be nice to have a little more help... But how do I know we can trust them?"

Sam bumped the glass again, making a few bubbles float to the surface.

 "You're right. You're always right. I'll go apologize."

He stood up, grabbing the tattered notebook and numerous loose scraps of paper that made up his corruption research, as well as Sam's jar. With one last look at Sam for reassurance, he made his way upstairs, carefully lifting the trap door with his free hand when he reached the top. 

He peaked out, glancing around the room with wild eyes. His gaze landed on Henrik, hands resting on a shaking Yan's shoulders. Tears ran down their face, and the doctor was muttering something in hopes of calming them down. Anti cleared his throat.

Henrik turned around, immediately moving in front of Yan. "That was fast. Already coming to apologize?"

Anti shrugged before climbing up the last of the stairs. "Sam convinced me that we could use more help, okay? They can stay."

"Sam?" Yan whispered to the doctor, peering around his side. "Is he talking about that thing in the jar?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Henrik sighed. "All that time sitting alone in the basement is making him lose his grip on reality."

"Are you two going to stand around insulting me all day, or are we going to get some work done?" Anti cut in, tapping his foot impatiently.

"I have some books on old life magic in my room, I'll go get those while you two start going over notes," Henrik said, walking over to the door that lead to his apartment. "Anti, if you try anything, I'll make sure you stay dead this time."

"Yikes, low blow," Anti gasped, and held a hand to his heart to feign hurt. "But your point stands."

"I mean it. Play nice." Henrik stepped into his apartment and shut the door, leaving the two alone.

Anti kneeled down on the floor, laying out all of his work and Sam's jar in front of him. He glanced up at Yan, who still watched nervously from a few feet away. "Well, you wanted to help, right? Come here," he grunted, waving them over. They slowly walked over and sat in front of him, cautiously watching him. "So, Yan, what'd you do?"

"What?" Yan flinched slightly, half expecting Anti to lash out at them again.

"What did you do to get corrupted?"

"Oh, that." They looked away. "I used an item with a Soul core in it. I have a Heart core." 

"Really, that's it? Why?"

"Well," they hesitated, "I really like this guy, and I was scared I was going to lose him to someone else. So I used the item to cut their heartstrings." They looked up to see Anti staring at them with disbelief. His mouth slowly curled into a smile and he started to howl with laughter. "Why are you laughing?!" 

"Are you kidding me?" He spoke after catching his breath. "You got corrupted over a crush?! Oh my god, you know what this makes you? A Yan-dere!" He began to laugh harder at his own joke.

"Stop laughing, it's not funny," they huffed, crossing their arms. "Whatever! How did you corrupt then, if what I did was so ridiculous?!"

"How do you even know I'm corrupt?" 

"You literally just threw me into the stairway with glitch magic."

"You got me there," Anti admitted, reaching up to gently scratch at his neck. A few bits of caked-up blood flaked off. "It's a long story. I was at a low point in my life, thought magic would help. Obviously, that wasn't the case."

"How did your family react to finding out you're corrupted?" Yan asked. They tensed when they saw his face grow solemn. "Sorry, I just- I'm really worried about what might happen if my friends or family find out."

"No, it's fine," Anti said. "My family was out of the picture long before I corrupted."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be," Anti scoffed, shaking his head. "I doubt they miss me much, anyways." Those words hung in the air for what felt like hours before he spoke again. "Hey, Yandere, now's not the time to mope around. We got work to do."

"Are you seriously going to keep calling me that?"

"Absolutely." He handed them a notebook with a wink.

"Whatever," they grumbled, snatching the notebook from his hand. Their brow furrowed as they flipped through the crumpled, occasionally bloodstained pages. "Your handwriting is terrible. Does this say 'soul' or 'seal'?"

Anti leaned forward to read the scribbled words. "That says 'core'."

Yan looked at the page again. "You're such a mess."

Anti snickered. "Oh yeah, well-"

Henrik opened the door to the apartment, a pile of old books precariously balanced under one arm. He watched the other two on the floor, quickly exchanging playful insults back and forth. He couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips. His efforts always felt so hopeless,yet such a small exchange between strangers made him feel optimistic for the first time in months. Maybe there was some hope left.

[juicifeur]

The Guy at the Bar (Lucifer x reader)

Summary: Lucifer decides to go to a bar and get drunk to deal with his problems

AN: I haven’t written in months, so be kind :)

Word count: 1.1k

One drink after the other, he sat at the bar hoping he would feel numb. His head had begun to feel heavy with drink and when he turned it the room lagged. With his energy in the toilet since becoming more or less human, all he felt like doing was drinking, and plotting his sweet revenge against those good-for-nothing Winchesters.

One of the bartenders brought around another bottle of...something. Her name tag read Stacy, and her shirt clung tightly around her chest. Her hands worked quickly and gracefully with the bottles as she poured him another and took the empty’s away. Not bad. He thought as he sipped. The burn that trickled down his throat was less-so than it had been when he started, but the feeling in his head kept getting lighter and lighter. He hadn’t felt this good since before he lost his grace.

He had never really spent time with humans, considering that he thought they were a bunch of primitive mud-monkeys, who didn’t deserve a lot of what they got. But all things aside, he did appreciate the chaos they caused when using substances like this. Made them fun to watch at least.

   “And then they locked me in a big cage for the ‘greater good’ and it ‘saved humanity’,” He rolled his eyes and drank again. The second bartender, you, nodded along with the story, as you had probably a million times to hundreds of different customers. This guy just clearly needed to talk.

The bar was empty except for your current customer and the other bartender.

   “Sounds like quite the story.” You muttered, cleaning the counter with a damp cloth. It was nearly closing time. The 8pm-2am shift was starting to take its toll and you could feel your limbs slowly starting to lose the ability to work efficiently. All you wanted was to go home and sleep for the next two days.     The only thing that seemed to keep you awake was the man sitting across the bar. He wore dark colours, and they made his eyes look darker than they probably were which made him all the more enticing. Slowly taking him in, your tired eyes wandered over his broad shoulders and stubbled chin. Then you realized his lips were moving, and you had to start paying attention again. It wouldn’t be long before your brain would begin to shut down for the night, taking your inhibitions with it.    “Now my son is stuck with those mutton-heads and I can’t get anywhere near him,” He drank.    “So, I killed a lot of people and tried to destroy the world one time and I’m the bad guy.” Lucifer finished off his drink and looked up at you. Having no idea where this conversation had come from, you just smiled and nodded.

He sighed.

   “Here,” You said, pouring two shots and sliding one to the man across the counter. He looked up into your eyes and smiled softly.

   “I feel like you understand everything.” He lay his chin on the top of his arms on the bar and smiled up at you. At this point, he was very far gone, his eyes sparkling with drunkenness and something evil, but you smiled back down at him anyway. He wasn’t too bad looking, quite attractive in physique; and if you liked the rugged, slightly crazy type, then he was practically a score and a half. He looked like the kind of guy that teaches kindergarten, but apparently had a sex dungeon at home considering how much he was talking about being in a cage. Hopefully never confused the two.

   “I’m telling you, bartending is like therapy with alcohol.” You smiled and proceeded to clean another glass and set it back on its hook.

   “What’s your name?”    “Lu- uh Nick.” Lucifer responded quickly. Remembering that most folks didn’t exactly like to chat casually with the devil, or the criminally insane.    “Alright then, Nick. Anything else you got on your mind?” You took back the shot you made for yourself and breathed out, setting the glass in the sink. The shift was almost over anyway. The man in front of you did the same and handed you the empty shot glass. He shook his head.

   “No, not really.”

   “Well then I guess it’s time for the bill then.” You turned around and started to ring up everything he’d ordered. Hopefully he would still leave a tip.

   “Wait. I gotta pay for these?” He  looked at all the empty glasses that had started to pile up in front of him and you laughed.

Nice smile, Lucifer thought. Would look better on my floor.. No wait that’s not how it goes...     “How many have you had tonight?” You asked, pulling him out of his mind long enough to maintain eye contact.    “Enough.” He puffed out his cheeks and breathed back out, a puff of warm air, scented with enough alcohol to knock out a bear. It would have made you dizzy if you weren’t already so tired. You didn’t exactly know how he was still sitting upright.

Lucifer reached into the back pocket of his jeans for the money he had and put it on the counter, all three dollars and twenty five cents. You stared at him for a moment.

   “Well, I agree. Maybe you should have a glass of water.” You started filling a glass from the tap and he scoffed, his shoulders slumping forwards.

It wouldn’t be the first time that you had to let a customer go without paying. Your boss didn’t like it very much. But from experience, you knew that the hangover only got worse when you woke up and realized how much you’d spent on alcohol.

   “Never understand why you humans drink this stuff. The molecules are so boring, there’s nothing good about it.” He groaned softly.

   “Keeps us hydrated, and it’ll make the headache you’ll have tomorrow a little less nerve-damaging.” You chuckled softly and leaned on the bar as the alcohol started to visibly catch up with the man in front of you.

   “Maybe w’ should get together sometime.” He smiled wickedly and his head lolled to one side for a moment. With that goofy grin on his lips he looked like a cat that ate the canary. You smirked softly, wondering why you found him so attractive.    “Yeah, maybe we can take over the world together, handsome.” You started to flirt back, finding your inhibitions lowered by the attractive man at the bar and his mysterious eyes. “I thought you'd never ask.” The man smirked.

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[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHEN THEY GO TO VC FIRMS THEY HAVE TO DO WELL IN SCHOOL, WHERE YOU WORK REGULAR HOURS AT ONE JOB TO MAKE A LANGUAGE THAT HAS CAR, CDR, CONS, QUOTE, COND, ATOM, EQ, AND A NOTATION FOR FUNCTIONS EXPRESSED AS LISTS, THEN YOU MAY NEED TO BE CONSTANTLY DOING THINGS THAT SEEM TO BE ANY SYNTAX FOR IT

You couldn't just do what you wanted to hear. Most programming probably consists of writing little glue programs, and for the same reason, as a bunch of people is the way to notice startup ideas is a question of fashion than technology, even he can probably get to an edge of programming e. It was also how we picked founders who'd be successful. Design is not just that it's unfair. They know controlling the browser is one of the reasons, though they may not consciously realize it, but I can live without them. But I can think of are W. Plus most of them. That may seem utopian, but it's hard to design something for a group that doesn't include you, it could be because you're living in the future, then build what's missing into something even better: Live in the future, then it's probably big enough no matter how cozy the terms. One founder said explicitly that the relationship between money and work also changes the way you compete for such jobs. Don't try to start Twitter.

Some now think YC's alumni network is certainly among the most valuable new ideas take root first among people in their teens and early twenties. Seventeenth-century England was much like the third world today, in that ideas and techniques from one field can often be transplanted successfully to others. Though ITA is also in a sense using a mainframe-era programming language. And although Python does have a function data type, there is a tendency to worry that it's sliding back toward becoming another Venezuela. The root cause of variation in income, it seems to decrease most other gaps. Such tricks account for some variation in wealth, and indeed for some of the time about which of two proofs was better. It is a case of the mistaken meeting the outdated. Historically the opportunities to start startups, why not give it to him as investment? Running a business is so much more wealth than another. Deals fall through.

Live in the future. It is not merely a useless metric, but positively misleading. For example, the good china so many households have, and Jessica was its mom. A timeslice selected at random would more likely find me tracking down a weird DLL loading bug on Swedish Windows, or tracking down a weird DLL loading bug on Swedish Windows, or tracking down a weird DLL loading bug on Swedish Windows, or tracking down a bug in the financial model Excel spreadsheet the night before a board meeting, rather than having brilliant flashes of strategic insight. Instead of matching beige cubicles they have an assortment of furniture they bought used. For a few specialists like thieves and speculators something you have to design for the user, however benevolently, seems inevitably to corrupt the designer. A good architect, for example, so competition ensured the average journalist was fairly good. That was a big problem for me when I had no idea where articles in the mainstream media came from. Just move on to the next.

Then you're saying that it's unjust that people want the wrong things. And there was no point in making anything else return a value, because there could not be anything waiting for it. YC's brand was initially my brand, and our applicants were people who'd read my essays. Since this is in effect the company's profit on a hire, the market will determine that: if you're a maker, think of your initial version not as a product, but as a trick for getting users to start talking to users, I don't think you'd want to; someone who really, truly doesn't care what his peers think of him is probably a startup. If you wanted more wealth, you could make a fortune without stealing it. Prestige is especially dangerous to the ambitious. Presumably someone wanted to point out to us that we were savages and our world was stupid. Next time you're in a powerful position. It's particularly good if there's an admixture of disdain in the big players' attitude, because that often misleads them. Like serfs, the middle class made a living largely by creating wealth has been turned on and off.

So an employer who's fairly pleasant to work for them. You'd seem a barbarian if you behaved that way today. So the average quality of writing online isn't what the print media are boring. However, startups usually have a fairly informal atmosphere, and there's no way anything so short and written in such an informal style could have anything useful to say about such and such topic, when people with degrees in the subject have already written many thick books about it. The ones who are uncertain believe it and give up, and the leaders end up being those who are best at selling themselves to VCs. So this relationship has to be in control. Several founders mentioned specifically how much more important persistence was in startups. She has a horror of ostentation so visceral it's almost a phobia.

Everyone would be wearing the same clothes, have the same cause. Jessica and ask What does the Social Radar say? Like rich food, idleness only seems desirable when you don't. It's sadly common to read that sort of thing all the time, I would say that writing a properly polymorphic version that behaves like the preceding examples is somewhere between eleven and fourteen. I don't think you can even talk about good or bad design except with reference to some intended user. I. Kids didn't admire it or despise it. Sam Altman is a very specialized skill. Dressing down loses appeal as men suit up at the office writes Tenisha Mercer of The Detroit News. The designer is human too. As a thirteen-year-old kid, I didn't get the additional message. If you asked the pointy-haired boss doesn't even want to think about VoIP.

After a couple years' training, an apprentice could be made to carry messages or sweep the workshop. But there is another language called Perl that is considered a lot cooler than Java. And if teenagers respected adults more, adults also had more use for teenagers. Google, despite serious interest from Microsoft and Yahoo—what must have seemed like telling someone dying of thirst in a desert that he didn't want a glass of water on his head. There continued to be bribes, as there still are everywhere, but politics had by then been left to men who were driven more by vanity than greed. You have to do well on tests. They notice that people who write them win Nobel prizes. That's what we look for in founders, not just startups, and think it's therefore the mark of a successful startup will consume at least 3-5 years of your life, a year's preparation would be a crapshoot. Not publicly.

Thanks to Sam Altman, Paul Buchheit, David Cann, Zak Stone, Trevor Blackwell, Mark Nitzberg, and Chris Anderson for sparking my interest in this topic.

[vickypoochoices]

Hold My Girl.

Author's Note: I've been gone forever! This was meant to be a short fic, because I hated the whole break up scenario and I also didn't think the London scene was realistic. I don't think you'd be able to forgive and forget in five seconds flat after a break up like that. So I've taken some of the dialogue from that chapter and done a little tweaking. Except now, I think I might have to do a part two with Big Ben. If people would want to read that?

Tagging: @zigortega4life @emerald-bijou @littlegreenmoo @krsnlove @sarzkh31

Let me know if you want to be added/removed to the tag list.

[MASTERLIST.]

Damn Abbie and her stupid phone! Damn social media! Damn Zig and his perfect smile that she missed so much! Nothing good ever came out of a little stalking session online did it? Sure, she was pretty pleased to see that gorgeous face of his again. But then she remembered, she didn’t know if she’d ever get to see that gorgeous face again. Touch that gorgeous face again. Kiss that gorgeous face again. At the very least she was relieved to see no new girlfriends or random girls. If anything, she was a little smug to see her face cropping up over and over again in older posts. Until she realised that’s exactly what they were. Old posts that meant nothing now.

Clammy fingertips slapped at her forehead in frustration, the sound vibrating off the bare walls. Launching her phone at the front door, a strangled scream of frustration followed, before the tinny echo of the radio started up. Damn it. You pick your moments. Her phone was well loved, and a little battered and bruised, constantly malfunctioning. But maybe a little music would lighten the mood?

Leaving the phone, instead she pottered into the kitchen, flicking on the kettle and humming softly in time with the pop song blaring from the floor. Steam billowed upwards as the kettle rumbled to a stop minutes later. Once the bubbling vibrations subsided, she noted the sudden change in music. I Miss You by Clean Bandit had replaced the upbeat pop song, her pulse quickening as the lyrics washed over her. Stop! “Hey Google, change stations.” Silence rang out, before the chorus of Too Good At Goodbyes by Sam Smith jolted to life. Her fingertips flexed at her side, as her free hand concentrated on dousing the teabag in boiling water. “Hey Google, change stations.” Third times a charm right? Her phone contemplated the command, a series of vibrations buzzing against the hard floor before suddenly whirring to life once again. This time her chin wobbled and her hands clutched at the kitchen work top in a desperate bid to keep herself from collapsing, a tsunami of emotion crashing over her. Not this song. Anything but this song. Please. “Hey Google, stop. Google…Google. Heyyyy. Stop. Please.” Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol continued, taunting her as she struggled to swallow down fresh tears. She’d done so well up until this point to keep them at bay, but if anything was going to tip her over the edge, it was this song. Their song.

Hot tears trickled down her face, dripping off the tip of her nose and collecting in the crevice of her dry lips, her body racked with sobs, whimpers diminishing in defeat. An inexplicable numbness surrounded her, the lyrics seeming to penetrate through her skin and infiltrate every last one of her thoughts. Thoughts she hadn’t allowed herself to have up until now. Thoughts of Zig.

Her head jerked violently, her body still swaying to an absent song, her phone having long stopped playing. A loud, urgent knock was now insistently rapping out on the front door. Her brows knitted together closely as she wearily placed one foot in front of the other. Mentally running over all the possible people at work that had her home address she came up short, shaking her head dismissively, knowing she hadn’t struck up any real friendships in her time in London.

Using the door as a shield once she pulled it back, her head peered round the corner, only one eye daring to open and come face to face with her killer. She sagged against the frame in relief, suffering a momentary lapse of memory, before realisation set in. With his feet awkwardly shuffling over the gleaming floor of the communal hallway, and his fingertips drumming against his thigh nervously, Zig stood in the doorway, a faint, uncertain ghost of a smile fixed into place.

Her mouth flapped open and shut as she gawked at him for a full minute. “I… Uhh… Hey. What are you doing here?” She cringed inwardly at her fumbled choice of greeting. There were a million and one things she could have said, yet that was all she managed to come up with on the spot.

“I’m here for you. I can’t do this any more.”

The desperation dripped off of every single word he spoke, garnering her full attention. His wavy hair had grown in the time they’d spent apart, making her wonder if she had any influence over that decision, having always preferred it on the longer side. Or maybe this was his new style? That would explain the sudden growth of facial hair. That needs to stay! Feeling the full weight of his relentless staring, she finally caved, eyes fully locking with his. They widened in surprise at the darkened circles underneath and pools of water gathering in the corner of his eyes.

Zig’s voice wobbled, grappling with the surge of emotions stirring at the sight of her. “Can I come in?”

A rush of hot hair escaped in a brief moment of hesitancy, before she finally stood aside to let Zig in. He’d barely taken two steps before stopping in his tracks, his boot clunking against her phone and sending it skidding further along the floor.

“Shit. Sorry.” He scurried across the room, stooping to pick up the phone. As his fingers curled around it, the screen lit up revealing her background photo. A photo of them both together, complete with their cat Bella, and their dog Trix. A happy family. His eyes hurriedly met hers, a surprised look spreading over his features.

Heat rushed to her face, turning her back on him and taking a few seconds to compose herself under the guise of closing the door.

“Can I get you a drink?” Her voice took on an overly cheery tone as she pushed past the embarrassment at being caught red handed. She’d done well at hiding her feelings and pretending everything was fine, but some days she’d lose count of the amount of times she’d pull her phone out just to catch a glimpse of him. Of them. Together.

“Sure. Whatever you’re having.” Zig paused, surveying his surroundings as she flicked the kettle on once more. “Is this it then? Is it just you?” He queried, sweeping his arm around the air gesturing towards the flat.

“And my super hot room mate Jack.”

A crestfallen look slipped into place as he managed a low gasp, barely audible even to himself. “Oh.”

“Sorry. Sorry. Why am I like this? I was kidding Zig!”

“Did you really just make up a fake roomie on the spot like that?”

“Oh Jack’s a real person.” She replied flatly, head down as she seemed to handle the kettle with unnecessary caution.

“But he doesn’t live with you?”

“Not anymore.”

“What happened?”

She rubbed at the back of her head sheepishly. “Ohh that. Nothing.”

Crossing his arms across his chest and leaning his weight onto one leg, he quirked an eyebrow questioningly.

“Okay fine. He said I was a nightmare to live with, can you believe that?”

Zig’s shoulders gently shook as he struggled to contain his laughter, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

“Hey!” Her eyes flashed warningly.

“Alright, sorry. What was it then? The hair down the plughole? Putting the toilet roll on the holder the wrong way? Or the toothpaste you always seem to leave in the bottom of the sink?”

Her jaw slackened, her features turning stony as she looked at him aghast. “All of the above.”

“At least he didn’t notice the weird, and completely incorrect way you stack everything in the dishwasher.” Zig chuckled light heartedly, stopping himself seconds later as she pushed her lips out into an over exaggerated pout.

“That was the last thing he said to me. ZIG! Why didn’t you tell me I’m a nightmare?”

His body tensed, taking a step back and running a finger along an oak floating shelf absent-mindedly. She slowly closed the gap a moment later, shuffling forward with two steaming mugs, holding one out at arms length for Zig.

“Zig?”

“I…I don’t think you want to hear what I have to say.”

“I’m wounded enough as it is. Come on, just kick me when I’m down why don’t you, I’m giving you a free pass here!” She looked over her shoulder to give him a playful grin as she made her way over to the plush sofa, Zig trailing behind uncertainly like a lost puppy. She slowly slinked backwards, curling her legs up underneath her, carefully setting her mug down on the glass coffee table. After a few seconds Zig followed suit.

“No that’s not it. It’s just, well, I don’t think you are a nightmare to live with really.”

“Oh please. You’ve just listed off all my terrible habits!”

“And yet i’ve lived with you for how long now without mentioning them once? Because…”

She wrapped her arms around herself instinctively, hand resting on her elbow and rubbing distractedly as Zig stopped himself, both of them aware of the words he’d just swallowed down.

He let out a low whistle as his eyes wandered once more around her rented flat. “This place is nice and all but it’s so…”

“Boring.” She finished for him, noticing his reluctance to finish what he started.

The corner of his mouth tugged upwards in a wry smile. “Yep. Totally.”

“Pretty to look at, but would it kill them to add a splash of colour? Or you know, just fill it with some…stuff? Anything really! Apparently it’s in the contract that I signed that I won’t change a thing and…Eurgh I’m sorry! You didn’t just fly like four thousand miles to hear me complain about how boring my flat is.”

“If it matters to you, it matters to me.”

Reaching out for her tea, her eyes dropped to the pale liquid, suddenly engrossed as her mind raced over the potential responses she could give him now.

“Zig don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Do that.”

One eyebrow raised in indication for her to continue.

Her free hand scrubbed harshly at her face, a long drawn out breath following. “That thing where you’re cute, caring and just all around great.”

Zig’s chuckle was gentle and light. “That’s not a thing, that’s just me.”

“Stop, you’re killing me! I forgot how perfect you are. No wait, what am I saying? Of course I didn’t!” With the mug back in place, she cradled her head in her hands, a stretched out sigh simultaneously morphing into a string of giggles. “God, sorry Zig! Lucky escape huh?”

With an unreadable expression etched onto his face as he studied her, Zig found his body slowly edging closer to hers, their eyes fixed on each other. “You know that’s not what I think.”

A flicker of hesitation rippled through him, before his hands took control, taking her small hands in his, adding a gentle squeeze of reassurance. Her pulse quickened, confliction overpowering her senses, surprising herself at the feeling of her thumb brushing against Zig’s. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

An easy silence stretched out for a few minutes, both drinking in the other’s eyes with continued strokes to the hand, revelling in the feeling of being back where they belong. But the elephant in the room was only getting harder to ignore.

“What are we doing Zig?” She managed to choke out, her throat suddenly dry.

He looked up from where he’d been contently watching her thumb stroke idle circles around his own. “I know I screwed up. We should have talked about our plans for graduation months before now. In hindsight, I realise you tried to bring it up, but I assumed things would just work out because we loved each other.”

She reeled backwards, unprepared for his sudden admission, Zig’s grip only tightening around her hands. “What are you saying?”

“Why don’t we have that talk now? And this time I’ll listen. Please give me another chance.”

She found herself nodding eagerly, the ability to speak having escaped her.

“I love you and I made a huge mistake.” A shiver trailed down her spine as the words left his mouth. Zig noticed, shrugging his denim jacket off and gently laying it over her shoulders, his face stretching as he offered her a warm smile. His smell engulfed her, her eyes fluttering shut for a split second as warmth surrounded her. She wiggled a little closer to Zig on the sofa.

“I know we agreed parting ways was the best choice for both of us, that we needed to follow our own dreams. But my dreams are nothing without you.” Zig sighed, his fingers now tangling with hers, knitting and kneading together repetitively as he worked up the courage to continue. Wiggling even further, goosebumps began to surface at the sudden close proximity. Too close. There was no going back from here. She’d already made her decision, she realised.

“They need me in Tokyo by the end of August, but instead of being excited I just feel empty. I thought I wanted an adventure, but without you, Japan feels about as exciting as a trip to the dentist. I love you baby. I love you and I miss you. Please take me back.”

Salty tears spilled down her face as her mouth flailed open and shut uselessly. Pressing his forehead against hers and dipping down to her level, they swayed for a beat, the comfortable silence cut short a minute later.

"If it’s an adventure you want, you’ve come to the right place.”

Zig’s chin inclined upwards as his head quirked questioningly.

“We could go for a butchers round Camden Lock, you’d probably fit right in there. Leather is very in around those parts.”

Zig chuckled, lacing his fingers through hers once more. “I’m not sure I can even pretend to know what half of that just meant. But I’ve moved on from leather.”

“Luckily for you, denim is pretty popular round those parts too.”

His eyes softened, warmth spreading over his features as he gave a tiny nod, gesturing for her to continue.

“We could go to a pie and mash shop, complete with jellied eels of course. Or i’ll race you down the steps in Covent Garden, there’s a spiral staircase with 193 steps. We could follow the Pearly Kings and Queens and get an awesome selfie with them. Or maybe you’d prefer the standard monarchy, with a trip to The Tower Of London or…”

She flinched as a pair of lips silenced her. Soft, warm, confident lips. Lips that felt like home. She hesitated for the briefest of seconds, before melting against him.

“I don’t care what we do today, as long as I’m with you…doing this.” He swooped down for another swift kiss, catching her bottom lip between his teeth and tugging.

Her body stilled, stunned into a ramrod straight, rigid posture. Her chest heaved upwards, breathing a laborious chore all of a sudden. A warm, pink tinge coloured her cheeks and her tongue traced along the grooves of her bottom lip. She savoured the taste, a powerful concoction that was so undeniably Zig. A hint of cigarette smoke. He must have been nervous, or stressed. The only two reasons he’d ever reach for the packet of smokes. Coffee. Jetlag is a bitch right? And an underlying taste of mint. Gum, candy, toothpaste. She didn’t know which, and frankly she didn’t care either.

The sudden assault on her senses pulled down the final barrier, fully exposing her as an influx of memories catapulted towards her head on.

The first kiss. Morning kisses. Goodnight kisses. Happy kisses. Lingering kisses. Sloppy kisses. Over the top and annoyingly in your face kisses - The kind that always made Zack say ‘Okay, you two are adorable, we get it!’. Tipsy kisses. Angry kisses. Goodbye kisses. The last kiss. Except it wasn’t. Not now. Not ever. Not if she could help it.

“I can’t believe you came all this way and you haven’t made any plans at all. The Zig I know would be desperate to get out and explore and go on an adventure. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Her tongue poked out slightly as she made light of the situation, the continuous loud thud in her ear of her heartbeat a constant reminder of the true affect Zig was having on her. That he’d always had on her.

“It’s not that I don’t have any plans. I was just kind of hoping you’d want to join me for them.

Edging backwards on the sofa, her eyes peered back at him with some skepticism as she assessed Zig. "Ah ha! I knew it. Well Ortega, that depends. I’ve been here a while now and I’ve done a lot of the touristy things already. What have you got up your sleeve that can convince me to let you take me out for the night?”

A dopey grin spread across his face, his eyes glistening eagerly. “Have you ever been inside Big Ben at night?”

[minnie-marvel]

Advice from an Avenger (Peter Parker x Reader)

-Peter Parker is not one to make himself standout, but with you, he just can’t help himself! When the Avengers accidentally get a hold of his phone while he looks at a picture you’ve posted, he gets a truck-load of advice he didn’t necessarily ask for.

Peter Parker x Reader

Words: 1,730

A/N: This is a request for the lovely @holland-haven !!! Everyone check out her fics as well!!!

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Peter Parker was a simple guy. He was never one to be showy or to stick out of the crowd and he liked it that way! Being low-key meant that he didn’t draw attention to himself, which was fantastic because he already had enough attention on him as Spiderman. But you were a totally different story.

You were popular, you were beautiful, and you were radiant. People always tended to gravitate towards you and your warm genuine personality and Peter was no exception to this.  You two had first met through the school’s first full run-through practice of Beauty and the Beast. Peter wasn’t the type to be into plays at all, but he was forced into it to perform for the orchestra by his band instructor. What could he say? Peter was a mean saxophone player. That’s when he saw you.

You weren’t the lead, those roles were given out to seniors out of respect, and well, seniority but you did happen to have a small role of the feather duster. You were singing alongside the rest of the ensemble, dancing, twirling and smiling. The play was one of your favorite times of the year because you now had the time to be on stage and show a completely new side to yourself. Peter was able to see this and was bewitched. 

Since then he was hopeless. The two of you only shared a handful of conversations together because of your busy schedule, but he loved them nonetheless. Everything about you just seemed so…natural.

And then the Avengers had to butt in.

Peter wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary; he was visiting the compound for the weekend scrolling through his Instagram feed when he saw you post a picture. It was a selfie of yourself and your friends at a park standing in a rose garden. He read your caption and tried to hide his goofy smile.

What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other word would smell as sweet.

While Peter was more of a science geek, he could appreciate your apparent love for literature specifically Shakespeare. It made him feel like the two of you weren’t worlds apart after all.

“Who’s the girl you're gawking at?” Tony teased leaning over his shoulder.

“Huh???? W-what what are you- HEY!” Tony lifted the phone out of his hands raising it above his head while still observing your picture. “She seems like she’d be your type kid, congrats.” He said already walking away from him. Peter stumbled out of his chair trying to reach for Tony. “Mr. Stark she’s not-”

“Hey everyone, Peter finally got a girlfriend!!” He shouted cupping one hand over his mouth.

“Congratulations small son of the spider!!” Thor high fived Peter so hard that Peter almost thought his hand was broken for a minute. The rest of the Avengers started to crowd around him.

“I really thought you were gonna die alone for a minute there Peter, good job!” Sam commented patting him on the back.

“Guys shes-” Peter tried before getting cut off again.

“Is she smart?” Bruce asked walking in a book in hand.

“She’s so well read its insane,” Peter gushed. Bruce nodded gently. “I approve!” he said simply going back to his reading. “Wait that’s not what I meant!” Peter yelped.

“Is she sweet?” Bucky asked stretching his arms.

“You’d think she’d give me diabetes.”

“Is she pretty?” Nat asked sitting on the counter watching him. Peter turned to her for a split second “Gorgeous..” he sighed happily before shaking his head reminding himself of his circumstances.

“Here have a look,” Tony said pressing a couple of buttons on Peter’s phone. Soon enough, your picture was on display for all the Avengers to see on their T.V.

“Wait!” Peter called.

“Now Peter,” Steve began folding his arms. “Since you’re old enough to be having relationships I think we should talk about how to properly treat a woman.”

“Oh my god please don’t you sound like one of your ‘Rappin with Cap’ videos-”

“Oh my, what a beautiful girl!” Wanda commented walking in with Vision. “Is she your girlfriend Peter?”

“Yes!” Tony interjected.

“NO!!!!!!” Peter finally screamed a top of his lungs plopping himself on a couch and throwing his face into his hands. The room fell silent aside from a couple of noises of awkward shuffling.

“She’s way out of my league guys…”

“You can say that again.”

“Sam!” Nat hissed,

“Have you tried talking to her at least?” Bruce asked taking a seat by the blushing Peter. He pat his back sympathetically. He knew how crazy these people could be.

“I mean… like a couple of times! Kind of!”

“Oh, goodness kid…” Tony sighed taking a seat as well. He pinched the bridge of his nose shaking his head miserably. “Alright, here’s what you’ve gotta do.” He took the glasses from his eyes staring Peter down now.  “You play up your game, make her think you’re better than life itself. Oh, and maybe buy her a dozen flowers or two.”

“Mr. Stark I’m a high-school student who doesn’t get paid for the ONE job that he does.”

“Maybe you should ask her out for dancing!” Steve suggested enthusiastically. “It may be old school but dancing was always the best date idea when Buck and I were younger.” Bucky nodded in agreement smiling as he reminisced. “I can still remember the night before I left.”

Tony sighed annoyingly loud. “Okay Grandpas one and two, thanks for the advice but Peter needs a fresh new perspective that doesn’t reek of the Great Depression.”

“Don’t listen to Tony,” Steve rolled his eyes. “Trust me, he’s not the one you should be taking love advice from, how long did it take for you to finally propose to Pepper Tony?”

Tony’s nose scrunched up as his mouth gaped. “Okay, but who hasn’t been on a date for at least a literal century??”

Steve’s face turned cherry red. “I was frozen!!!! I gave my life for this country!”

Tony shook his head reeling back in laughter. “Excuses, excuses.”

“Peter, just tell her how you feel,” Nat said leaning back on the counter now. “Trust me women don’t like it when you beat around the bush.” She explained.

“Throw her a banquet in honor of her stupendous beauty!” Thor shouted raising his fist in the air. The Avengers took a moment to stare at him. “What, too much?”

Peter only sighed giving up. “It’s not like I have a chance with her anyway.” He muttered finally taking hands away from his face. The Avengers looked at Peter in sympathy. He looked completely defeated. “It’s just… I’m just a regular guy you know?” Peter began rambling. “I keep to myself, I try not to cause trouble, I’m in the band for Pete’s sake!” He groaned throwing his hands in the air. “She’s in a whole other game than me.”

“Peter,” Wanda began sitting across from him. “Trust me, if there’s anything any girl likes the most about guys it’s when they’re themselves. No one wants to be lied to. I think this girl will be happy to be around you just as you are,” She smiled sweetly at him before leaning over to pat him on the head.

“And if all else fails that’s when you buy her a dozen roses.”

“Tony!!”

---

Peter held his straps close to his chest as he kept his head low sighing. The weekend at the compound had completely worn him out, he wasn’t sure if he could even make it through the next two periods, let alone the rest of the day. He let a loud yawn out of his mouth as he started to head to his next class when an announcement was made on the loudspeaker.

“Attention students of Midtown Tech! Auditions for the school play are now underway! Sign up for a role today!” Peter looked up at the incoming announcements board ahead. He had almost forgotten that it was play season. He felt someone shove into his shoulder. “Oh sorry!!” they called. Peter lost all ability to speak for seconds.

“Oh! Peter! Oh my gosh, I haven’t seen you in forever!!” You chirped turning to him now. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear smiling at him brightly. 

“How have you been?” you asked stopping mid-walk.

“Y/N!!! I-Uh.. good! I’ve been good you know, just doing my own thing,” he stammered nervously returning your smile.

“I saw you won the decathlon last month, you were amazing!!” You said eyes sparkling with admiration. “I had no clue how intelligent you are!”

“Ah i-its nothing really…” He was trying not to blush, his bashfulness was taking over. “Uh, are you going to sign up for the play?” he asked nodding his head over to the announcement board.

“Oh totally,” You said looking over. “I’ll probably only get something small although… I’m still not a senior and my skills aren’t too hot yet!”

“What?!” Peter exclaimed. “Y/N you’re amazing what are you saying??” His lips slammed shut immediately. So much for staying low-key. You felt your cheeks heat slightly. “Peter you’re the sweetest!” You laughed. “Thank you!”

Wanda and Natasha’s words started to echo in his head. He took a short breath. There would be no dozen roses, no late night dancing, no banquets in honor of your stellar beauty, Peter was just going to be himself.

“I mean it Y/N, you’ve always been really great at acting…just watching you having such a great time up there makes me have fun myself..!” He gave you a smile so sweet that you thought for a second you had a toothache. “You’re really talented.”

The bell rang suddenly and Peter looked up at the noise shocked. “Oh man, I’m gonna be late!! I’ll see you around Y/N!” He said racing off to class leaving you behind.

You were still blushing hard and felt yourself grasp at your blouse in a feeble attempt to try and make your heart settle down. You had never seen Peter being so genuinely kind and lovely; maybe you just hadn’t been around him enough to have gotten the chance. You bit your lip before turning to get to class as well.

You were just going to have to change that weren’t you?

Part 2

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[67midnightwriter]

Better Than Revenge

A/N: This is my entry for @impala-dreamer ‘s Tell Me a Me Story. Hope I delivered Beka! Thanks to @sculptorofbeginnings for the read through. My prompt is in bold. Flashbacks in italic.

W/C: 500 x 5.364 (2,682. Fuck your rules)

Warnings: Angst. Graphic Detail. Death. Dark Fic. Mick’s Sarcasm.

Summary: Mick lives.

The heat from the fire dried the tear tracks running down Beka’s face. She held on to Sam’s arm as he held her, leaning into his chest as she watched the pyre burn. The flames licked away at the face of her best friend, turning everything to ash. Sam pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and she felt his own tears dampen her hair.

“Cas and I will come in from the West side. Sam: you, Beka and Mick head in from the East, and Logan and Ketch, cover the South side.” Dean pointed at the blueprint spread out on the hood of the Impala as the sun began to sink below the horizon. “We estimate there to be between 15 to 20 vamps inside, so everyone stay safe.”

“20 vampires against the seven of us? We’ll be in and out and home in time for Jeopardy.” Logan joked, pulling a chuckle from the group.

As the flames turned into embers and the embers turned into cold ash, she looked at the other faces surrounding the blaze. Ketch stood across from her, his red eyes betraying his otherwise emotionless face.

Beka watched with a teasing smile as Ketch reached out and pulled Logan in for a kiss, the display of affection still foreign on the former British Men of Letters agent. Sam noted her gaze and pulled her around to his chest, pressing his lips against hers.

“You ready?” He murmured, his breath hot on her mouth.

“As long as I’ve got you, I’m ready for anything.”

Mick stood next to Ketch, wiping his own eyes on his coat sleeve. Cas stared into the embers, his gaze lost.

They had been prepared for the vampires, but not the werewolves. Bodies littered the floor, blood squelching beneath their boots. Beka leaned on Mick, eyes closed and lungs burning as she tried to catch her breath. They were all covered in blood, guts and bruises, but they were all okay.

“Has anyone seen Ketch or Logan?” Mick asked, prompting Beka to open her eyes and survey the room.

Logan’s scream caused everyone to jump up, and the fire of a gun set them all running once more.

Beka froze just past the doorway. There were fewer bodies in this room, fewer fanged mouths gaping open. Her eyes landed on Ketch’s gun, just past Logan’s fingertips. They trailed up her arm, landing on unseeing brown eyes as a scream filled the room.

Cas caught her as her knees buckled, and she realized that the scream was her own.

Dean stood next to Cas, his jaw set but his eyes clear.

No one knew what to say. They stood in silence as Ketch walked out of the warehouse cradling Logan against his chest. Sam held Beka as she watched, her eyes fixed on Logan’s hand as it bounced with every step Ketch took.

They almost hadn’t gone on this hunt.

They should never have gone on this hunt.

“How could you!” Beka’s fist connected with Dean’s chest, forcing the air from his lungs. “You’re the one that suggested we go after the vampire nest,” she beat Dean’s chest again, “you’re the one who said we should split up,” Dean grabbed both of her wrists as she pulled back to hit him again, “and now you can’t even cry for her? She was our friend Dean!” A sob wrenched its way out of her mouth.

“Beka, I’m sorry-”

“You’re sorry? Sorry for what? Sorry that it was her and not you? Sorry that you fought with me and not her? Sorry that you were right after all this time, that it did end bad, that we just burned my best fucking friend, one of your friends, and all you could do was stand there like it wasn’t Logan laying on that pyre?”

“Beka…” Sam’s voice was soft, his touch gentle as he reached for her, but she didn’t want to be calmed.

She pulled free from Dean’s grasp, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand as she ran for the bunker.

The burn of the whiskey did little to numb the pain, but she kept drinking anyways. She let her feet guide her down the halls of the bunker, bottle in tow, and came to a stop in front of the door of her old bedroom. She placed a trembling hand on the handle, biting her lip as she opened the door to her past.

The room was just as she had left it the night she snuck down the hall and into Sam’s room; bed unmade, a wayward flannel and pair of jeans laying rumpled in the corner, knick knacks and trinkets haphazardly displayed on nearly every horizontal surface. The only change was the fine layer of dust that had settled in her absence. Beka shut and locked the door behind her, needing some time to be alone.

The bottle had been empty for a few hours when the click of the door across the hall pulled Beka from her memories. She stood on unsteady legs and padded across the hall, stopping in front of the door. The number 27 glinted in the light, cold to the touch as Beka lifted a finger to it. For a second she thought she saw the door creak open and Logan tiptoe out down the hall, no doubt sneaking away to Ketch’s room, but with a few blinks the whiskey induced vision was gone, the door still shut.

She opened the door and stepped inside, finding comfort in the familiarity of the room. Ketch was sitting on the edge of the bed, a bottle of scotch in his hand and a glass between his feet. He looked over as Beka approached, his eyes meeting hers for a moment before darting away as a tear carved out a path down his cheek. She sat down next to him, close but not touching, a heavy silence blanketing the room.

“She deserved better than you.” Beka’s own voice surprised her as she broke the silence.

“I know.” Ketch poured a glass of scotch and handed it to her before taking a swig out of the bottle.

“She loved you.”

“I told her not to.”

“As if that could have stopped her.” Beka scoffed, and the corner of Ketch’s mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. Silence crept in once more, and Beka lost herself in the amber of the scotch in her hands.

“It was a witch.” Beka nearly jumped as Ketch’s voice snapped her brain back into focus. “She jumped in front of the spell. It should have been me.”

Beka looked at him with sorrow filled eyes, wishing that she could see the person that Logan had, wanting to offer him some sort of comfort, but she didn’t know how. She watched his hands as he took another drink from the bottle, and she noticed his duffle bag was packed and ready to go at his feet.

“Going somewhere?”

“I’m going to kill the witch.”

“What then?”

“Then I’ll do what I was always meant to do; kill monsters until it kills me.”

“I’m coming with you.” Ketch raised an eyebrow. “Just to kill the witch.”

“No.”

“She killed my best friend, and I will get my revenge. If you don’t take me with you, I’m going do a terrible job sneaking out of this bunker after you, thus setting Sam and Dean on our trail to come and collect me, thus slowing you down, so you might as well just take me with you.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“I noticed.”

Beka stood up, draining her glass of scotch before crossing the hall back to her room and pulling a half-packed duffle bag of her own from underneath her bed. She added her handgun and a pack of witch killing bullets from the footlocker at the end of her bed before heisting it over her shoulder. Ketch was waiting for her in the hallway, his bag on his back.

They slunk through the bunker on light feet, though everyone else had long since retired to their rooms. Ketch grabbed the keys to his Bentley from the wall as Beka opened the door to the garage. They froze when the light that shouldn’t have been on washed over them, cautiously peeking around the corner.

Mick was leaning against the Bentley, bag at his feet, arms crossed over his chest.

“Bloody took you long enough.” He bent down to pick up his bag and moved to the trunk of the car. “Come now Ketch, be a dear and open the boot.”

“What are you doing?” Beka asked as Mick loaded all of the bags and opened the back door for her.

“If you thought that I would let the two of you go off on some suicidal revenge mission three-quarters of the way to wasted all by your lonesome, you’d be wrong. Besides, someone has to make sure that this brute comes back home.” Mick reached out and squeezed Ketch’s shoulder as he got in the car, causing him to sigh. “I’ve grown rather fond of his solemn demeanor.”

Ketch rolled his eyes as he pulled out of the garage.

The rest of the ride to the warehouse was silent. The dividing lines on the road flashed by as a near solid strip of color, leading the way to their destination as the Bentley flew through the night. It was clear with exception of a few distant storm clouds, the stars crisp against the dark sky in the cold October. Beka watched them as they drove, wondering what secrets they held.

The warehouse was empty when they got inside. Someone, Beka wasn’t sure who, had called in backup after the incident to dispose of the carnage they had left behind. They only had one room left to search, and there was still no sign of the witch.

Beka’s knuckles were white on the grip of her pistol. Her hand shook slightly as she snuck her way through the dark, the occasional beam of moonlight through partially covered windows being their only source of light. The earlier whiskey caused her feet to tangle a bit more than usual, but the pressing anxiety of the hunt was burning through her buzz quickly.

When they reached the back of the last stockroom, the world around them exploded in activity.

The witch entered the room behind them, shutting the door and trapping them. She cackled, her hair raising in the air like bad special effects on a low budget horror film. Her eyes glowed yellow as she quickly muttered a spell, flourishing her hand and sending a blade of yellow light towards Ketch, who fell to the right. The box where he had been standing took the impact, falling into two pieces where the spell had struck.

They dove for cover as the witch began to duplicate, her cackle filling the room as thunder began to rumble outside.

“This is fine. We’re fine. Everything’s fine.” Beka murmured aloud, trying to calm her racing mind as she took aim and fired, causing one of the copies to dissipate.

“Well love, your definition of fine must be very different on this side of the pond.” Mick answered as he took aim at a second version of the witch.

“She’s astral projecting!” Ketch yelled from across the room. He took aim and fired, his bullet ripping through three more projections. He ran from his spot to theirs as the room fell quiet once more. “We need to get out of here. We can’t hurt her projections, but she can definitely hurt us. We need backup, and to figure out which witch is which.”

“That’s incentive enough for me, let’s go.”

Mick stood up and led the way, racing out of the room in search of phone service.

Ketch helped Beka up, urging her to follow Mick as spells began to fly around them. They took aim, giving Mick cover as he fled the warehouse, phone in hand.

Beka tried to keep her eyes on the path before her, but her boot caught on the side of a box, sending her sprawling behind a 55-gallon drum. She saw the witch as she fell, yellow eyes staring straight at her. As the witch cackled, she felt her heart begin to race. The now familiar chanting of the spell filled the air around her, and Beka curled into a ball, bracing herself for an impact that never came.

Light flashed, illuminating the room, followed by a loud thud. Beka opened her eyes in time to see Ketch’s head roll crookedly across the floor, coming to a rest just past her feet. His unseeing eyes stared up at her, stopping the scream in her throat and pushing her back into running.

Beka ran straight ahead, focusing on the door out of the warehouse. She felt a heavy pressure on her thigh, and her stomach lurched into her throat as the ground gave out beneath her foot. Her mind reeled as she hit the ground, racing to figure out why there was ground where there shouldn’t be.

She could hear the witch’s footsteps as she came closer, and when Beka looked back her stomach dropped; there, four feet away, connected by only a trail of dark blood, lay her left leg. There was only one witch left in the room now, and Beka seized her moment. She saw her pistol out of the corner of her eye and she reached for it, stretching until her arm burned with the effort, her fingers barely reaching the gun.

As the witch bore down on her Beka heaved herself forward, firmly grabbing the gun. She aimed at the center of the witch’s head and pulled the trigger, the shot echoing throughout the room as the projection smoked out.

Defeat overwhelmed Beka as she sat up, her pistol falling out of her hand and clattering on the floor. She watched the blood pulsing out of her wound with a morbid curiosity, the knowledge that she had failed heavy on her mind. This was the end, and every version of the witch had been a fake.

Realization slammed into her as she realized the answer had been staring at her all night; it wasn’t a witch they were after. She pulled out her phone, screaming in frustration at the lack of service in the warehouse. Mick was long gone, and with a glance at her leg across the room she knew that she would never make it out in time to get the message to Sam.

Biting her lip, she dipped her finger in the pool of blood before her. It was thicker than she imagined her own blood to be, warmer too, but it would have to do. She got out two words before her eyelids were too heavy to keep open. She laid down on the cool wood floor, closing her eyes and letting her mind wander. If she didn’t focus, she could imagine that she wasn’t dying. Instead, she was just sitting in her bathtub at the bunker as the water drained out, the air around her getting colder by the moment, gravity increasing, until the darkness of oblivion nullified even that thought.

Sam choked on a sob when he ran into the room, his knees buckling as he fell beside her. He pulled her close, her blood soaking into his jeans as he rocked her body back and forth. Two words caught his eye as he held her, written in her own blood by her own hand on the dirty warehouse floor: yellow eyes.

The pyre burned hot. It dried the tears on Sam’s face as they fell over his clenched jaw. Dean stood next to him, his own tears dripping steadily down his face. While the fire blazed, they would mourn. When the flames had turned to ash, they would hunt the last prince of hell to the ends of the earth, because there was nothing a Winchester did better than revenge.

The Whole Enchilada: @impala-dreamer @sculptorofbeginnings @curly-haired-disaster @rideandwritethings @adoptdontshoppets @supernatural-idjit-95 @team-free-will-you-idjits-67

[ohscorbus]

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child: Saturday 11th August, 2018

I’d call this a recap but it’s going to read like a love letter to this cast and in particular, Joe. You see, Albus has always been my favourite. I’m so emotionally attached and invested in this character that I panic every time a new actor comes in to play him. This isn’t just a character I like, he’s a kindred spirit I need in my life. I’m in too deep. My biggest fear is that there will be an Albus I can’t connect with and although Joe is the fourth Albus I’ve seen now and this has yet to happen, that fear still lingers. So I’ve been taking my time and just watching and learning who his Albus is and you know what? Good things come to those who wait because now, especially after today, I’m at a place where I can say he’s become one of my favourites to watch on stage. He completely pulled my focus for the entire show today. Which is really saying something when next to him you have Jonathan doing that smile he does. You know, the one that looks like it can cure cancer and bring about world peace? Anyway, my point being, Scorpius has always been distracting for us as an audience. That character is suppose to pull on our heartstrings that way. Albus always has to work a little harder to get that reaction. (Although I do appreciate the irony of people not seeing who he is. Life imitating art and all.) Yet each Albus has been quite distinctive. Each one different from the last but still inherently the same character. To me, Sam’s Albus was defensive and impulsive, Theo’s Albus was open with his vulnerability but found hope and determination in his despair, and Joe’s Albus is resigned to his lot in life. He accepts every hit but continues on in spite of them. There’s quiet sort of maturity about him. His shield is his humour, not his actions or words. It’s such an interesting take on the character and it’s one I don’t think I could ever tire of watching.

Act One, Scene Three

After Albus and Rose had decided to check out the compartments, Albus started to walk in the opposite direction to her and began peering down the ‘corridor’ of the carriage. He ended up in front of Scorpius’s compartment but he didn’t look in straight away, he just sort of lingered outside. He was completely unaware that Scorpius was watching him the whole time with this look of recognition and awe on his face. He knew who Albus was and couldn’t look away. On stage there’s no walls or doors that show us the Hogwarts Express, yet I’ve never felt that sliding glass door separating them in this moment more clearly than I did today. It was such a heart stopping, delicate moment. There was a stillness about it. Being able to see their two worlds so separately before they become entangled. You had Albus looking at all these compartments but it’s the one right in front of him that’ll change his life. The very thing he’s scared of will make him stronger. While Scorpius is alone in that compartment, still safe in the bubble his family have kept him in for years. We could only watch and wait. Then Albus looks and makes the decision almost instantly and as Albus steps in that compartment, into his bubble, Scorpius’s world changes too. You could feel the excitement rolling off Scorpius once he started talking to Albus and Rose. This is the boy who knows his history and has dreamt of having friends like Harry Potter. Then suddenly he finds a Granger, a Weasley, and a Potter standing in front of him. I think Hogwarts became very real to him in that moment. All the stories he’s read and now he’s living it. This is quite literally the dream. Except of course they reject him. He sat down and turned his back to the door to avoid having to watch them leave him behind. But then Albus says he’s staying and Scorpius was not expecting that. You could see the internal panic as he visibly breathed in and out to calm himself. Partly out of shock, probably mostly out of nervousness. His thank you was precious. He truly meant that. Which is why I think Albus really goes out of his way to make sure Scorpius knows he’s teasing him about only staying for his sweets. That reaction (“I didn’t stay for you”) is so Albus. You know how I said before about Joe’s Albus using his humour? I think this is a great example of that. I’m sure Albus is just as nervous as Scorpius in this moment. So he’s instinctively fallen back on his dry humour. But then he looked at Scorpius and sang, ‘I stayed for your sweeeets’, making Scorpius relax almost instantly. For a lack of a better word, it’s really sweet. They’ve known each other for a matter of minutes at this point and already they’re giving each other what they need. Reassurance and a clean slate. Albus needs someone to look past his family name just as much as Scorpius does.

Act One, Scene Four

As soon as Albus walked up to the Sorting Hat and stood there all happy and smiley, like he knew he’d got this, I knew this was going to be a good scene. Why? Because it made me realise this Albus doesn’t know yet. He’s got a good relationship with his dad, he’s nervous about school but he’s ‘ready’, he’s already made a friend, and now the Hat is going to listen to him just like his dad said it would. Nothing to worry about! But then that one word brings his whole world crashing down around him. Slytherin. There must be so much running through his head in that moment. Everything has changed. The future he’d expected is now unknown. Yet the worst part? His dad lied. The Sorting Hat hadn’t listened to him. (Although I’d argue it did, but you know, to Albus in this moment it felt like it hadn’t. Little did he know that house is exactly where he belongs and needs to be.) The look on his face tells you that much. This was not the answer he was expecting or on some level, hoping for. Then Scorpius’s voice cuts through the noise and Albus turned towards him. He then looked up at the Slytherin banner hanging above him before walking towards Scorpius, accepting his fate. I think for Albus, this was the first of many cases of ‘works for Harry Potter but not Albus Potter’ at Hogwarts. It’s what slowly crushes him over time. That feeling of not being good enough. For the Hat, for the other kids, and for his family.

“And be my good friend” – Albus’s face broke my heart today. He looked so heavy hearted and somewhat shocked by Scorpius’s words here. His good friend? Isn’t he already a good friend? Why is Scorpius even asking that? Albus reached out for him as the scene ended after this line and he still looked at a loss over his friend. It also made me think about the argument later on in the library. Albus is always floored and then completely guilt ridden over Scorpius’s accusations and evidence of him being an awful friend. It’s an interesting contrast with Joe’s Albus and other interpretations. I’ve seen others take that phrase and agree without a second thought because it goes without saying. It never occurs to them that Scorpius would think anything different of him. That he’d have to ask for that. Is he failing at this too?

Act One, Scene Six

“Meet the once great Harry Potter, now a stone cold Minister man” – As Amos is speaking, Delphi and Harry always shake hands. It’s not a big moment, they’re both just being polite and humouring Amos. It’s what happens afterwards that’s interesting. So Harry looks down at his hand after she’s gone. He doesn’t know why, it’s an instinct thing. Sometimes he’ll shake it or flex his fingers. Just something so small, a detail easily missed and overlooked, but there and a sign if you know. It’s great. But anyway, that’s not what had me on the edge of my seat. I don’t know if Eve always does this and I’ve only just noticed, but after she shook his hand, she slowly and subconsciously reached back for her wand with this look in her eye as she stared at Harry while he was focused on Amos. Then just as her hand was there, she seemed to snap out of it. Years she’s been watching and planning and her instincts nearly made her throw it all away. It was super interesting! It gave me a fascinating insight in her Delphi, and Delphi in general. It definitely made me pay more attention to her smaller movements for the rest of the show. Like how visibly relieved she was when Amos backed down in St. Oswalds. It makes me wonder whether that’s part of her mask, or her mask slipping. I ended up watching the show with that in mind and made me realise just how young she is. The disorganised, frantic, and repetitive words scribbled across the walls of her room (there’s a panel that just has the word ‘father’ written over and over again in her disjointed, pointy, jagged handwriting) now felt childish. I felt her age and isolation in them. They became less ‘writings of a mad man obsessed’ and more ‘rages of a hurting, angry soul’. If that makes any sense. Don’t get me wrong, she’s dangerous, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I could see more clear than ever that part of her that desperately wants her father. It drives her like it does Albus and Scorpius. (Although all three take completely different roads in terms of handling it, obviously.) That’s why she can manipulate them so easily in that respect. She understands. I know this is all level one of understanding the characters/plot. I don’t think I’m explaining it very well. I think what I’m trying to say is that Eve made me think about Delphi more than I have before. I like the idea of her slipping. That one little action created ripples, and I’ve been intrigued by it ever since.

Act One, Scene Seven

Ginny and Albus sharing a smile at the very beginning of this scene still warms my heart. I really love the openness of their relationship. They may not say anything to each other in words here but they communicate quite easily. It’s practiced and heartfelt.

I think it’s great how relaxed and at home Joe’s Albus feels in his bedroom. He’s lying down and one of the most chilled out Albus’s I’ve seen in terms of being comfortable with his family repeating invading his space. Probably because he doesn’t see it as that I guess… I loved Dylan’s James bragging about the cloak. The emphasis on the ‘my’ as he pointed to himself really rubbing salt in the wound. Except Albus is lying on his back and mocking him once he’d left, imitating him by mouthing back his mouths and his pointing. He then started to sit up to help Lily look for her book but once his mum took over he carried on lying down. Joe’s Albus feels less like an outsider to his family. His issue is a communication one with his dad specifically. Which is interesting, and leads me into my next point, that Tom’s Harry and Joe’s Albus really worked well with this in mind.

(Did I mention that Tom Peters was on as Harry today? I haven’t seen him before but he was barely half way through his first scene and I already knew he was going to be brilliant. He’s someone I would definitely go out of my way to see again.)

Joe’s Albus and Tom’s Harry were so different to how Joe plays against Jamie’s Harry. Or any Albus and Harry in fact. It was in scenes like this that you could really see it. Now I’ll admit my favourite versions of this scene are always the angriest ones. The ones where they shout, get all up in each other’s faces, and even hit the other with blanket). To me, the aggression made those ugly words make sense. They’re not thinking, they’re feeling. Too much. They’re both explosive when pushed so of course when that’s aimed at each other it’s going to be a catastrophic. But then today happened. The whole scene felt different, less volatile. Albus seemed more open with this Harry. He was lying down on his bed but then sat up when Harry walked into his room. Then Albus shuffled further away as Harry got closer and Harry stopped, mid speech and in his tracks. Albus realises what that movement must have looked like so he patted the space next to him on his bed and encouraged his dad to sit down next to him. He was simply making space, not trying to put distance between them. Harry continued talking and then at some point Albus brought his legs up onto the bed and sat cross legged, with his back against his pillow, so he could face his dad. By this point I was on the edge of my seat because I don’t feel like I’ve ever seen this dynamic before. This Albus was still giving his dad a chance, and this Harry was really trying. So it felt uneven worse when it fell apart. It was less explosive but hurt just the same. Albus’s resigned face said it all. Those words didn’t cut him down the way they have other Albus’s because they’re words he already believes. He’s a disappointment. It makes sense. Just like fairy wings makes sense and invisibility cloaks make sense.

Act Two, Scene Six

So ‘Hide and Seek’ is playing in this scene and right at the beginning, even though it’s the instrumental version, you hear the words ‘hide and seek’ sung as the two boys walk forwards out of the shadows and towards the light, towards Hogwarts. My head connected the two and all I could see was Albus lagging behind, looking to the left of him into the depths of the forest, while Scorpius proceeded on forwards, looking up in awe at the castle until he was bathed in the same warm light. Hide and seek. A random observation I know, but I like their differences as much as I do their similarities and the music is in show is beautiful. I should definitely talk about it more.

Act Three, Scene Seven

What struck me here was Scorpius’s happiness. He was noticeably excited to be there with Hermione and Ron. I can’t help but imagine a younger Scorpius reading all about the trio and wanting his own adventure. Now he’s here, with Hermione and Ron, and they’re doing something completely wild. These aren’t just stories anymore, he’s in one. I bet he gets a tingle. If not over that, then maybe the fact that if he’s with Hermione and Ron and surely that makes him Harry in this scenario? I’m sure that hits him later on. He’s too much of a nerd not to. (Although I’m sure part of his happiness is relief. Those two are familiar faces and he has a way of fixing things now. But thinking about Scorpius’s geeking out is way more fun.)

Act Three, Scene Nine

So while Scorpius was doing his whole ‘It’s Haaaarry Potterrrr’ thing, Albus looked round at his mum and pulled this ‘I don’t know this lunatic, I played no part in these antics’ face. I love that Albus clearly loves Scorpius, weirdness and all, but I also love that he sometimes pretends he’s judging him for it. Or maybe he is. But it comes from a place of love. The way only true, long lasting friendships can. Your best friend is judging you, but they’re allowed to because you both know they’re just as bad.

Act Three, Scene Ten

“I agree it doesn’t sound good” - What I really loved about this scene was Albus and Scorpius’s interactions. I’ve seen previous Albus and Scorpius’s share looks as McGonagall speaks but these two went beyond that. Scorpius in particular was talking/mouthing something to Albus after he spoke. I really love all these additional interactions. It reads so much like a four year long friendship should. They have that connection that makes them sometimes forget there’s other people in the room.

Act Three, Scene Eleven

“Are you okay, Albus?” “No” “No. Nor me.” - These lines really hit home today. I felt them in a completely new way I’ve never thought about before. So Joe’s Albus is opening up to his dad here. He’s trying. His dad asking him if he’s okay means something to Albus because he responds honestly. No, he isn’t. What broke me today was how Harry’s own honesty back may have been taken. I felt like Albus started to believe they were connecting with this conversation. That his dad was finally listening to him and they were openly talking about the things that matter. But then Harry turns the conversation back onto himself (’Nor me’) and Albus breaks. Ginny is right, Albus does want him to be honest with him, but in this moment? I think he just needs his dad to listen. This look flashed across Joe’s face, of disappointed and hurt, and then he just walked off. He wanted his dad to hear that he’s not okay and do something about it, not just have him tell him he’s not okay either. It’s easy to forget that he’s simply just a child reaching out for his parent. I know people find it comforting to know they’re not alone in their pain, but I think here Albus feels like it trivialises his own. It didn’t surprise me to see Joe’s Albus looking more upset here than he did after their argument in his bedroom. That comment before was something he’d half suspected anyway, but to have Harry still overlooking him even now really hurts him. Meanwhile Harry was left sat on the suitcase at the end of Albus’s bed and staring off into space. Harry was so wrapped up in Harry (and the loss at what to do) that he fails to see Albus. Again. Quite literally too. He didn’t look at Albus for those last lines and I don’t think that helped Albus’s thought process.

Act Three, Scene Fourteen

“Do you think I’ve been tested too? I have, haven’t I?” - Another line which left a new impression on me. I think there’s a couple of ways to interpret its meaning but today I really felt Albus’s resounding disappointment. He isn’t asking if he’s been tested because he doesn’t want to feel left out or as a way of making sense of their adventure, it was said as if he’d already accepted he had failed. This was just another failure in a long list for Albus. You could hear it in his despondent tone.

Act Three, Scene Sixteen

I absolutely adore Albus and Scorpius’s interactions here. They shuffle in closer and face each other as they talk animatedly while the scene sets up around them. It’s like they’re in this bubble and are completely unaware as the world/stage moves around them. It portrays their relationship beautifully. You really feel the history and depth of their friendship in these moments. 

“Let’s do something new, something fun” - I love, love, love, love that Albus’s idea of something ‘fun’ was to drop it off the owlery. He just sort of looked around and then stretched his arm out over the side with the Time-Turner in his hand. It’s so reckless and instinctive and you know what really intrigues me? It requires zero magic. I wonder whether that’s a conscious decision...

Back to Delphi again. I just want to add that I find her one of the most sinister Delphi’s I’ve seen. I think that’s why I’m so interested in where that comes from. This child, hidden from the wizarding world but the focus of rumours. The scary parallel with Scorpius probably isn’t lost on her. She hates Scorpius. Eve makes that blatantly obvious on stage. She’s spiteful at every given opportunity. Even right in front of Albus. It’s a fine line but it’s like she can’t help herself. I wonder if it’s because of his family and their deflection, or if it’s something more petty, like everyone believing him to be the son of Voldemort. This is what I meant before when I was trying (and probably failing) to explain what I meant by seeing her youth. It’s not about her literal age, but her approach to things. She’s focused yet reckless at times. It makes a terrifying, vicious combination. She’s definitely more like her mother than her father in that respect. With previous Delphi’s, I’ve seen her here still be quite playful and innocent with the boys. The act doesn’t drop until that very last second. But with Eve, I could see her slowing slipping. The point where she’s telling them about augureys, she was glaring down at Scorpius with this look on her face that told me she knew he was making the connections in his head, and she wasn’t scared or nervous, but enjoying it. She wants him to give her a reason to end this charade. She’s enjoyed playing with them, but she wants her goal. Now.

Act Three, Scene Nineteen

“Craig. Get away. Get help!” – Albus is bound on the floor and at the mercy of Delphi and yet his first words were to try and save Craig. I just wanted to highlight this before I make my next point. (I will fight anyone who tells me this boy doesn’t have the loveliest heart.)

“Avada Kedavra!” – Albus looked away as her words rang out. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Craig. He knows their meaning, he sees that flash of green. He knows, and he’s broken by it. The way she said the word ‘spare’ a few lines later really looked like they cut into him. He tried to save a spare, both Cedric and himself, but instead he’s created a whole new one. It wasn’t until the very end of this scene, when Delphi stands in front of his body with the Time-Turner in her hands that he finally looks. He was stood next to her and he looked over his shoulder at Craig’s body on the ground before looking back and finally placing his hands on the Time-Turner. It was such a heartbreaking moment. It was slow and felt fragile. Like he couldn’t leave, not without acknowledging what he’s done first. It added even more weight to his line (“what she did to Craig…”) a few scenes later.

Act Four, Scene Three

“The Bathilda Bagshot?” – Albus nerding out over Bathilda is everything. He went up and slightly stroked the door, and then ran away when it opened. His ‘acting casual’ as she walked past him afterwards was atrocious. The boy has no chill, and he calls Scorpius out for this! Bless.

Act Four, Scene Eight

The ‘Made Leanne Cry’ Award today goes to… James Howard! (He always looks far too happy every time I tell him.) So, background context. Although he didn’t do it today, Joe’s Albus has been running over to Scorpius during Act Four, Scene Three during his geek out over Bathilda. He focuses him and gets him to breathe in and out in time with him. It’s really sweet and a true testament to their relationship. Acknowledging your anxiety and panic attacks with someone and then letting that person not only see you but help you in your weakest moments speaks volumes as to how much Albus means to Scorpius. While I know that moment on stage is by no means a full blown panic attack, it’s just Scorpius freaking out so much he forgets breathe, I love that Albus recognises the signs instantly and stops his own geeking out to help him. We know they’re that close but to see it in such a ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ moment says how these actions aren’t even a big deal to them. They will help and protect and save each other without question and move on with their day. I’m completely digressing now but that’s why I love Joe and Jonathan’s Albus and Scorpius so much. Their portrayal of the friendship is subtle but everywhere and so rich. Anyway, back to James Howard. So after they had all been reunited and hugged it out, Scorpius was trying to process how they’d got there and talk to them about Delphi and of course he started to stumble with his words and Draco, just like Albus, focuses him and makes a point to take a long, deep breath in and out as a way of telling him to do the same. It broke me. Jonathan is consciously playing Scorpius with these panic attacks in mind. It’s who his Scorpius is. I’ve always personally imagined Scorpius having these kind of issues so that in itself is nothing new, but I thought it was something he would probably keep hidden from his dad. So seeing that Draco was one hundred percent aware and knew exactly how to help him was unexpected but so completely welcomed. They may be having some communication issues but Scorpius needs his dad just as much as Draco needs him. I don’t know if it’s because it’s just the two of them but I feel their desperation and reliance on each other so much more than I do with Harry and Albus. Their relationship is so intense in those scenes once they’re back together it leaves you knowing without a doubt that they work through their issues.

One last point on this. I really love that Scorpius has the unwavering support of the two people in his life he needs the most. The fact that he doesn’t have to hide it from either of them and that they both play yet another role in his life, an important one too, really warms my heart. I’m glad Scorpius has this. That feeling when you can’t breathe and the moment when your vision falters and you can’t focus properly on the sounds around you, only the feeling of your chest as its about to burst, it feels life threatening and terrifyingly endless. Yet he gives them the power to pull him out of that. To be the light in the darkness. It speaks of so much trust and love. Again, it’s another ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ moment but it gave you such an incredible insight into Scorpius and his relationship with his dad. This cast are exceptional at providing these little moments. Look out for them!

Act Four, Scene Nine

This is going to seem like a really weird note to make but between scene nine and ten, they kind of lower the lights and the actors do this thing where they slowly move into place before snapping into the scene as the music and lights do. (It shows movement of time and I love it.) Anyway, sometimes the actors do things in character during this slow motion bit that make my heart burst. Like, Samuel’s Scorpius would do this little wave at Albus because they had just been separated while Albus slept and Scorpius was, presumably, hanging out with his dad. Anthony’s Scorpius would tuck his hair behind his ear. And, like father like son, Alex’s Draco once smoothed his hair down as he walked through the door. All these tiny actions brought me such joy. Is that weird? Anyway, Joe joined the club today by waking up during this part and doing this big yawn. I think I giggled. It’s so Albus-y. I love it. That boy’s relationship with sleep reads like a love story. He’s such a teenage boy.

Act Four, Scene Ten

“Draco, trust my dad. He won’t let us down.” – Two things about this scene. One, the look on Scorpius’s face as he looks between Albus and Draco is priceless. He’s on the edge of his seat (literally), not knowing what his dad will do after being spoken to like that. I think there’s also a little bit of awe in there? Albus speaking to his dad without fear means something when your dad is Draco Malfoy. Making friends isn’t easy when your family has that reputation. The fact it doesn’t phase Albus isn’t lost on Scorpius. (Although personally I do like to think they already sort of know each other. They’ve been best friends for four years, there’s no way they haven’t met each others parents yet. And I’ll fight anyone who doesn’t believe Albus met Astoria. You think a mother who knows she has years left not decades wouldn’t go out of her way to meet her son’s only friend?) Anyway, Draco doesn’t say anything back but his fingers were working overtime.

(To explain that last comment for those of you who haven’t read many of my recaps before, James’s Draco does this thing where he rubs this thumb and forefinger together, going round and round in frantic circles, whenever he’s stressed or anxious or angry for some reason or another. I think it’s a form of control for him? Like he’s channeled all that energy down into his fingers so it’s manageable. I’ve always been a big fan of this but now that we have Jonathan who’s emphasising Scorpius’s own anxiety, it’s added a whole new layer to it. Maybe that’s why he opened up to his dad or maybe how Draco spotted the signs. I really like the idea of these two helping each other out that way.)

And secondly, once Draco decides not to contest the plan anymore he pulls Scorpius (and sort of herds Albus) over towards the back of the church and behind him while he helps transfigure Harry. Today, once Draco had turned round and was facing away from the boys, Albus turned to Scorpius and pulled this face which can only be described as the grimace emoji. That kind of ‘eek! I can’t believe I just did that!’ face. It was great. He seemed so confident in the moment but obviously inside and afterwards he was not so chilled.

When Harry has transfigured into Voldemort, he turns round and faces everyone in the church. The reactions are what you’d expect. From Ron’s ‘bloody hell’ to the memories and fear cursing through Draco leaving him looking rather drained. But nestled behind the adults and peering through are Albus and Scorpius. I couldn’t see Scorpius that well but Albus’s face was loud and clear. His face hardened as he looked at ‘Voldemort’. It was unexpected but the more I think about it, it’s really not. For a boy with confidence issues he does have a tendency to tackle things head on. Visually though, it made such an interesting mix of reactions!

Act Four, Scene Eleven

“Alohomora!” - Joe’s Albus does this thing with his wand every time before he uses it. He holds out his arm and then wipes it on his sleeve quickly a couple of times. I love it because it’s a quirky Albus thing. But it also makes me a little bit sad when I think why he might be doing that. Because to me it reads like he’s doing it because he doesn’t believe in himself. He doesn’t trust his wand or his magic not to fail him. So maybe he’s cleaning it? Hoping by polishing it, it will somehow make it work better? Maybe he did it once and then he managed to successfully cast something and now he thinks he has to do it every time. Or maybe it’s just a ‘thing’ but you know me, I like to read into everything and make it angsty. It definitely feels like it’s something to do with his temperamental relationship with magic. Albus isn’t a Squib or bad at magic, it’s a self esteem issue that hinders his ability. The more pressure he puts on himself, the more it falters. The second he convinces himself he’s going to fail, he does. Back in the wand dance (Act One, Scene Four), Albus pulled this face as he held up his wand that clearly told us he knew this wouldn’t work but hey, he was going to have a go anyway. Of course then when he doesn’t work he’s proved himself right. Jump forward to this scene and what’s interesting here is that in this moment failure is not an option, and it’s in moments like this when there’s no time for doubt that Albus always succeeds. (For example, the cushioning charm as he jumps off the train.) Yet Albus still stopped here to swipe his wand across his sleeve before he cast. He’s exposed and there’s lethal spells flying all around and he still stops! I wonder if whether it’s a case of that seed of doubt being so ingrained in him that he still has to do it, or if it was done subconsciously out of habit, or even because he knows he can’t fail and does it to (in his mind) make sure he doesn’t fail.

On a personal note, as someone who’s struggled with OCD for the past fifteen or so years, that connection with cleaning and something working right isn’t lost on me. I’m not saying that’s what it’s about, or that act is a compulsion for Albus, but it could so easily be because that need to clean isn’t always about cleanliness. It’s sometimes just the act itself. It’s your brain telling you that you have to do this process otherwise something bad with happen. Sometimes you’re not even aware, you subconsciously do it with little thought. Other times it chips away at you until you break. Or worse, those times when you do it with no resistance because you’re convinced those voices in your head are right. This thing will work if only you do this process first. I’ve never really thought about what it would be like for a wizard with OCD before but there’s no way it wouldn’t affect their magic. Especially if it was in relation to their wand. Again, I’m not saying that’s what it is, but if it was then I could understand Albus not wanting to fight it in that moment. 

You know what? It almost reminds me of Scorpius’s wand too and how Anthony felt the carvings on it were a kind of self harm born from Scorpius’s grief. Magic is so greatly affected by your emotions and both Albus and Scorpius have to deal that. They both do it in different ways but what’s interesting is that, in theory, they’ve both focused all that negative attention onto their wands. This physical extension of their magic. I might be completely wrong here but it definitely makes for an interesting line of thought...

Act Four, Scene Fifteen

“I’m going into pigeon racing. I’m quite excited about it.” - Another Joe thing that I loved! When he said this line he leaned into his dad and pointed upwards as if pointing out a pigeon in a nearby tree. Sadly, Harry didn’t look so he never reacted to it but Albus was having a great time teasing his dad. What a beautiful way to end the show. I love their mutual hug afterwards of course, that always feels like a conclusion. But seeing where their relationship was and where it’ll be again was something we need even more than that.

Trying to summarise this show in a few sentences is impossible. I’ve just written six thousand words on something I’ve been watching over and over again for two years now and I could still easily say more. That’s what I love about this play. You can’t see and know and understand it all. No one ever will. Every cast and every show gives you something new. I sat there today and I’m still in awe of the beauty of this story and its translation onto the stage. I tell people that this is my favourite instalment of the Harry Potter series and they’re baffled by that. I love the books and using my imagination because yes, even though it’s happening inside my head ‘why on earth should that mean that it is not real’? And as much as that is true, this play brings me out of my head in that sense. It makes it real in a way a movie can’t. I’m there at Hogwarts with Harry and better than that, I get to share the experience with others. Imagination is great but it’s so personal. No one’s Hogwarts in their head is going to be the same as anyone else’s. You’re always going to be alone in that sense. But there in the Palace Theatre I’m not. We’re all watching the same thing. It’s that Scorpius feeling of realising you’re not reading about this adventure, you’re part of it. 

I think because I purposely distanced myself from fandom until Cursed Child, I never felt that inclusion of the wizarding world that way. Fandoms can be so destructive but here I’ve found a community of kind and passionate people (fans and actors alike) that has been so welcoming. It’s what Hogwarts should be. Every new cast feels like a new term, and each show feels like a lesson. You live, you laugh, you learn, and I come away feeling a little bit more connected to this world that I’ve loved since I was a child. My family often ask when I’m going to grow up and give up on Harry Potter and it confuses me every time. You don’t outgrow Harry Potter, you grow with it. I found myself in the teenage version of these characters and I still see myself in the adult versions now. They’re real to me, to a lot of us, and getting cast after cast who understand that is what makes this show what it is. Their skills as actors are of course phenomenal, but it’s the heart and energy they put into every show that makes it magical. That doesn’t come from acting lessons or theatre experience, it’s a feeling you just have if you’ve grown up with the books. It stays with you and inspires you.

[qandnoablog]

War (Marvel Imagine)

Title: Discovered

Pairing: [In Progress]

Warnings: Based on the movie - Captain America: Civil War

Part: 7, [6], [5], [4], [3], [2], [1]

Key: Y/N - Your Name

Word Count: 4,709

Summary: [Y/N] takes part in a battle she never even dreamed possible. She knew the Avengers team always had their differences, but never did she think they could fight one another to this extent. Not only that, but she’s now a part of it.

Note From Author: Thank you to everyone that patiently waits for these updates! I’m still nowhere on a pairing, but hopefully the storyline is captivating enough so that it isn’t an issue. Thanks again for reading and any comments are welcome!

Part 7 - War

This is so wrong… [Y/N] thought as she watched Stark and his friends gang up against Steve. Why is this team always so broken… She sighed to herself as she impatiently waited for the Captain’s signal and silently observed the scene that unfolded.

“Alright,” Stark declared, “I’ve run out of patience.” He brought his hands up to his face and yelled out, “Underoos!”

At that, something white shot out and clung to Cap’s shield. A red and blue figure leaped out and snatched the weapon away while simultaneously tying up the Captain’s hands together. The person landed on the small vehicle close to Stark and the others, his costume reminding [Y/N] of a spider. It was then that she realized the material that tied up Captain America’s hands looked an awful lot like the webbing of an arachnid.

“Nice job kid,” Tony said.

“Thanks!” The spider-person exclaimed, “Well, I could have stuck the landing a little better. It’s just a new suit- Wait it’s nothing, Mr. Stark. It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Yeah, we don’t really need to start a conversation,” Tony interrupted the stranger’s rambling.

“Okay,” he replied a bit out of breath and then turned back to Cap, “C-Cap-Captain,” he saluted, “Big fan. I’m Spider-Man.”

[Y/N] tried to suppress a smile, his stuttering speech reminding her slightly of Ant-Man’s earlier star-struck attitude with Captain America. He sounds young… Actually, she couldn’t help but think he sounded very familiar. Did she know this kid behind the mask?

“We found it,” Sam said through the earpiece, shaking [Y/N] from her thoughts, “The Quinjet’s in hanger five, North Runway.”

That was the cue.

Captain America lifted his bound hands in the air and an arrow whistled past as it accurately sliced through the webbing. Iron Man turned his back to Steve, his helmet locking in place over his head, as he surveyed where the arrow was shot from.

“All right, Lang,” Captain America mumbled into the comms.

With that comment, Ant-Man jumped off the shield and grew in size as he kicked the unsuspecting Spider-Man, stealing back the Captain’s shield.

“I believe this is yours, Captain America,” he announced, handing back the weapon to its rightful owner.

Peaceful negotiations were over. Everyone began to run around as they each had their own objective. They all had their own battles to face - except her. [Y/N]’s primary objective was to get to the jet without being detected. It was the perfect job for her since her powers allowed her to erase her presence almost completely. Even computers had a hard time keeping track of her movements, so long as she didn’t lose concentration.

“What the hell is that?” Bucky’s voice questioned through the ear piece as [Y/N] ran through the terminal towards where the Winter Soldier and the Falcon were headed.

“Everyone’s got a gimmick now,” Sam grunted.

Then she heard the sound of glass shattering and Sam yelling. She could faintly hear that familiar kid voice that she now identified as Spider-Man. He sounded rather excited, complimenting Bucky’s metal arm, which seemed like an odd thing to be talking about during a heated battle. In fact, talking at all in battle was rather odd.

Gotta hurry, gotta hurry, gotta hurry! [Y/N] chanted in her head as the air continuously shifted around her to hide her from sight. She was nearing the two’s location and could faintly make out their skirmish through the broken glass windows.

“This might be a bad time to bring this up,” she began, a bit out of breath, “but I have no idea where the hanger that Sam mentioned is.”

“Just follow Bucky and Sam!” Cap huffed out as he struggled with the whoever was attacking him this time.

“Roger that, Cap!” [Y/N] answered and propelled herself upwards through the broken glass opening. The only problem was… The two were a bit preoccupied with a certain spider to actually get anywhere.

I guess I should help them out… [Y/N] sighed internally as she rushed off after the three. She was just in time to see Falcon struggling with the kid when Bucky hurtled something at the spider.

“Oh, God,” Spider-Man gasped as he turned just in time to dodge the oncoming projectile.

Bucky ducked away behind a pillar, both of her teammates oblivious to her presence, when she noticed Spider-Man going off to pick up the broken panel that the Winter Soldier had just thrown at him.

“Hey, buddy!” the kid called out, as Bucky turned to see his enemy, “I think you lost this!”

“Bucky, look out!” [Y/N] cried out as the object hurtled through the air towards him. The energy that surrounding her dissipated as she let go of the veil she used to cover herself and instead focused her power towards the broken panel. With a strong push, she knocked the object out of the air and away from where Bucky stood.

Spider-Man’s mask eyes widened when he saw [Y/N] appear out of nowhere while Bucky nodded in gratitude in her direction. She nodded back at him as her energy shifted again and she was once more gone from sight.

“Wait, you’re-!” Spider-Man began but he was unable to finish. Falcon had used the opportunity to charge into the boy, making him fall from his perch he stood upon.

Thinking fast, the spider shot out more webbing, lifting himself from under Falcon, and then shot out more at Sam’s wings. His wings retracted involuntarily as he propelled downwards towards the floor.

Letting go of her invisibility a second time, [Y/N] wrapped Sam with her energy and absorbed his fall just before he crashed into a cell phone stand. The glass shattered and the construct caved in on impact, but thankfully Sam was unfazed.

“Thanks,” Sam said as he got up from the floor, wiping off the glass that clung to his clothes.

[Y/N] just smiled as she quickly disappeared before Spider-Man could get another good look at her.

However, the moment was short-lived as the spider took this moment to shoot out webbing at both of Sam’s hands, pinning him to the railing. The kid then landed sideways on one of the airport’s infrastructure, perfectly sticking onto the flat surface of metal and plastic.

“Those wings carbon fiber?” he asked, genuinely curious on the material of the Falcon’s wings.

“Is this stuff coming out of you?” Sam shot back with a question of his own, a disgusted look plastered on his face. It was touching his bare skin, so of course he would be grossed out if those webbings were indeed coming out of this stranger’s body.

“That would explain the-” Spider-Man went into a scientific jargon as he geeked out over the material of the wings and its mechanisms, ignoring Sam’s question. Half of the things he said went over [Y/N]’s head as she tried to grasp what the point was in his long dialogue. “...Gotta say, that’s awesome.”

“I don’t know if you’ve been in a fight before, but there’s usually not this much talking,” Sam advised, getting slightly annoyed by the kid’s constant chatter. Bucky took this distraction as an opportunity and silently rushed towards the two, but the kid’s next move made [Y/N] dodge for cover.

“Sorry, my bad,” he apologized to Sam, leaping off and swinging into both Bucky and Sam, barely missing [Y/N] as she hurriedly got out of the way. Her teammates, on the other hand, were not that lucky and broke through the railing, tumbling down towards the floor below.

“Crap!” [Y/N] let escape as she hurried over to her falling team.

In that brief moment where she flickered in-and-out of focus from losing concentration, something flew at her. Reacting too late, her wrist was forced onto the railing with a sharp enough force that made her yelp in pain. Sticky, white webbing had pinned her down, restricting her movements.

Grabbing the webbing with her free hand, she ignored the goosebumps that made their way up her arm and tugged. It didn’t budge and shivers went up her spine the more she analyzed the web.

Ugh… This looks so real! It feels real… God, I hate spider webs! [Y/N] cursed as she continued to struggle against the material but it was much tougher than it looked.

After the spider finished taking care of Sam and Bucky, he turned to [Y/N] as she uneasily tried to back away as far as possible against the webbing. Her wrist protested against her persistent pulling, but she needed some distance so she could calm down. The pain of her arm twisting against the web, Spider-Man inching towards her, her friends on the ground in whatever state the spider had left them, all of those factors were starting to make her panic. Feeling trapped was not helping. However, the next thing Spider-Man said surprised her.

“Oh, my God… It is you…”

“What?” [Y/N] asked, stopping her insistent struggles. Still, she cautiously readied her energy within her. It coiled around her, parts of her body already vanishing, but the kid just stood there, not making a move against her.

“It’s really you!” The kid exclaimed as he jumped up towards her. That made her flinch back, more of her disappearing from sight. “W-wait!” He stuttered, lifting up his hands to show he was not going to hurt her, “You might not recognize me with this on,” he said while pointing at his mask, “but I’ve been hoping I could meet you again!”

[Y/N] did feel as though she had met this person before, but nothing really seemed to click. Her curiosity got the best of her and the energy she had used to vanish slowly disperse into the air. Though his face was covered by a mask, he looked relieved to [Y/N] when he saw that she was willing to listen.

“I’m really sorry-” He began, as he reached out his hand, but something latched onto his arm and yanked him into the air. He yelled in surprise as the object flew straight through the window, taking the mysterious kid with him in a matter of seconds. Spider-Man collided hard into the metal that held the window together, the flying thing letting him go as he fell to the ground. [Y/N] just stood there, stunned.

“You couldn’t have done that earlier?” Bucky moaned as he lay on the floor, exhausted.

Hearing his voice, she snapped out of it and willed her power into the material that surrounded her wrist. The webbing that had plastered her onto the railing snapped away, the energy that [Y/N] forced into the thin lining being too much for it to take. When she was free, she rotated her wrist and rubbed at the stiff muscles. Finding no injuries beside some minor bruising, [Y/N] made her way back to the two stuck to the ground.

“I hate you,” Sam grumbled.

“Need a little help?” [Y/N] laughed, pushing aside the disappointment of not knowing how Spider-Man had known her. That matter can be put on hold for another day.

“That’d be great, thanks!” Sam called up as he stopped struggling against the webbing and relaxed.

“Jeez, what would you boys do without me?” She chuckled as she sent out her energy to snap the strange material off of her fellow teammates.

~

The whole team joined together as they raced towards the jet. [Y/N] followed behind them, invisible to the rest, but still very present. Bucky and Sam knew she was among them, though they had no idea where, while the others could only assume that she was.

Everyone stopped advancing, however, when Vision made an appearance, his beam breaking into the cement as if to draw a line of where they were not allowed to pass. He floated above their heads and while their attention fell to the android, but [Y/N] snuck around them all and continued on foot towards the Quinjet. That was her mission after all.

“Captain Rogers!” Vision called down, oblivious that one person had slipped past, “I know you believe what you’re doing is right. But for the collective good, you must surrender now.”

Iron Man’s team all gathered as well, jumping down from all directions to join Vision. Since no one knew [Y/N] was there, she nearly collided with the new king of Wakanda when he suddenly fell from the sky and landed next to Stark. She bit her lip, trying not to let the surprise in her voice escape, as she froze mere inches from him.

She held her breath as she slowly backed away from the man dressed like a black panther, and took her time going around him. Her powers prevented people from seeing her and erased her presence, but they didn’t make her invincible. If he had just clawed the air in front of him, blood would surely have been shed.

Only when she was a few feet away from both groups did she finally sprint to her destination. The jet was so close, but there was one tiny problem. She couldn’t fly the contraption. In fact, she didn’t even know how to open it to get inside.

“Cap, we have another problem,” [Y/N] groaned as the fight turned full swing behind her.

“A bit busy!” He grunted back.

“Who are you talking to?” [Y/N] heard Iron Man’s voice question through Cap’s comms. That could only mean they were fighting each other.

“I’m at the Quinjet bu-”

“Talk later!” He interrupted, a bit distracted by the onslaught of attacks.

“Seriously, who are you talking to?” Tony yelled, “We’re all-”

“I can’t open the jet, Steve, let alone fly the damn thing!” [Y/N] shouted over the sound of Stark’s voice, but then she realized that Cap could hear her perfectly fine, “Oops, sorry.”

“Wait for us there,” was all he said back.

She turned towards the fight, eyeing all the destruction of their skirmish, and leaned back on the cool metal of the Quinjet. [Y/N] looked up at the vehicle and sighed. Great… Just great.

~

“We gotta go,” Bucky whispered, [Y/N] quietly listening in through the earpiece. There wasn’t really much else for her to do. “That guy’s probably in Siberia by now.”

“We gotta draw out the fliers,” Cap replied, a bit out of breath, “I’ll take Vision. You get to the jet.”

“You know I could occupy them too. Just let me fight and-” [Y/N] began but the Captain quickly cut her off.

“You’re staying hidden, [Y/N].”

“I can fight too, Steve!” She protested. It wasn’t like she was aching to fight, especially not those she considered her friends, but anything was better than uselessly waiting alone by the carrier. Hearing everyone actually doing something while she just sat near the carrier was a bit humiliating.

“I’ll take Vision. You get to the jet,” Cap instructed, ignoring her complaints.

“No,” Sam countered, raising his voice to be heard over the wind, “You get to the jet. Both of you! The rest of us aren’t getting out of here.”

“As much as I hate to admit it,” Clint added, “if we’re gonna win this one, some of us might have to lose it.”

“This isn’t the real fight, Steve!”

“Alright, Sam. What’s the play?” Cap conceded.

“We need a diversion! Something big!”

“I could-”

“Someone else!” Steve cut [Y/N] off again. He was really starting to piss her off.

“I got something kinda big,” Scott finally joined in, “but I can’t hold it very long. On my signal, run like hell. And if I tear myself in half… Don’t come back for me.”

In a matter of seconds, metal creaking and breaking could be heard from where [Y/N] waited. She grew curious as more sounds of destruction crashed right outside, but she balled up her hands into a fist, her nails digging into her gloves, and continued to wait.

There better be a pretty good reason why I have to wait here and do nothing, Steve, [Y/N] warned her friend internally as she stewed in her own impatience, Even Scott is out there doing something and-

“[Y/N]?”

A familiar voice startled her out of her thoughts as she quickly turned to find its source. Natasha Romanoff, aka. Black Widow. The second Avenger she had ever met. The ex-assassin. A great friend and a terrifying enemy. And right now, they weren’t really on speaking terms.

“Um…” [Y/N]’s throat felt incredibly dry and she couldn’t even muster up enough courage to actually say anything.

I just had to ask for something to do, didn’t I? Why does the universe hate me?

Her calculating gaze didn’t falter as the two just stared at one another. [Y/N] knew that whatever was going through that woman’s head was something she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. So much experience and training was imbedded into every fiber of Natasha’s being. How could she even begin to match up to this agent?

“N-” [Y/N] began, but Romanoff put a finger to her lips. She wisely did as Natasha instructed, noticing her eyes softening. For some reason, [Y/N] felt like she wouldn’t be battling this person. She didn’t know why, but Natasha wasn’t going to fight her.

Then, two figures finally made their way towards her. She nearly sagged in relief, but the joy was short-lived as a sudden ray of light shot out at the tall structure that towered over the approaching men.

“Steve! Bucky!” [Y/N] shouted as she thoughtlessly tried to block Vision’s ray from completely toppling the structure over.

“Don’t!” Natasha yelled, but she was too late.

The pain of blocking a power that defied all logic seared into her scarred palms and she screamed out in agony. It was too much for her to bear and her barrier didn’t even hold for a second as Vision continued to bring the watchtower down.

“[Y/N]!” The two yelled almost simultaneously as they saw her crumple to the floor in pain, clutching her hands close to her chest as if to cradle them from further damage.

The building finally fell, but before it could block their path, a red energy stretched out and blocked it from completely toppling over. Wanda grunted with effort as she held onto the heavy tower, helping out her friends so that they could achieve their mission.

Just as [Y/N] was finally coming back to her senses, the pain in her palms dulling considerably, Wanda screamed and her hold on the structure vanished. In that split moment, [Y/N] ignored the throbbing that cut into her flesh and sent out her own energy to take over Wanda’s job. Still, she was not as powerful as Wanda, who got her powers from the infinity stone embedded in Vision’s head. It was too heavy for her to hold for long.

“Hurry!” [Y/N] cried as beads of sweat dripped down her face.

The two finally made it in, but they were too distracted with [Y/N]’s predicament that they had missed the other person waiting for them in the room. Natasha sauntered over to the two men, gently squeezing [Y/N]’s shoulder as she passed by.

“Stay down,” she told [Y/N], almost in a whisper, as she looked back toward the two super soldiers. “You’re not going to stop.”

“You know I can’t,” Steve replied.

“I’m gonna regret this,” Natasha sighed as she pointed her weapon at the men. Before any of them could make a move, she shifted her aim and in an instant, the Black Panther was brought down to his knees. Powerful electricity pulsed into the king as he crumpled to the floor.

“Go,” she advised her friend, who nodded in appreciation and jogged towards the jet.

As the two made their way over to the vehicle, Bucky reached out and grabbed [Y/N]’s hand, pulling her with them towards the carrier. She choked back the pain, her eyes watering slightly, as a small burst of her powers forced Bucky’s hand off of hers. It wasn’t enough to hurt him, but it was clear that a normal person’s hand would go numb from the amount of power she involuntarily used. [Y/N] quickly hid her hands behind her back before anyone knew what had happened. Both he and Steve stopped just for a moment, looking over at her with questioning eyes, but she just smiled that same smile back at the two of them. It had never failed her and she prayed it wouldn’t fail her today.

“Go,” she said as Natasha hit the king again with another volt of electricity, “I’ll stay behind. They might need me.”

Steve looked as though he wanted to protest, but [Y/N] turned her pleading eyes to Bucky. He hesitated, but then felt something strange and looked down at the hand that had grabbed her. The Winter Soldier immediately understood why she chose to stay, and nodded before dragging Steve aboard the ship.

The jet came to life as the two settled in their seats. It shot out at the remains of the fallen watchtower, moving away the bigger pieces that would hinder the jet from getting out. It was then that the Black Panther finally broke free of the taser Natasha continuously fired at him and leaped up to catch the plane before it could take off.

“Oh, no you don’t!” [Y/N] huffed as she knocked the king out of the air and back onto the ground. With that, it was too late for the panther to catch the Quinjet as it raced off into the open sky.

His face was covered by a sleek, black mask, but both Natasha and [Y/N] could feel his rage seeping out. He turned to [Y/N] but then brought his full attention onto the person who had betrayed his team.

“I said I’d help you find him, not catch him,” Natasha explained, holding her head up high, “There’s a difference.”

The two stared silently at one another as [Y/N] slowly brought her hands from behind her back, her arms shaking at the motion. She winced slightly and looked down at the blood soaked gloves. It was foolish of her to try and stop the full force of an infinity stone. All that raw power was unstoppable for a human such as herself. Blood dripped down onto the cement floor, seeping into the cracks, as she trembled just to keep standing. Bucky must have understood when he looked down at his own hand that was probably covered in her blood. He knew that if Steve had known, it would have ultimately hindered the entire mission, and she silently thanked Bucky for that.

“Shit,” [Y/N] laughed, more out of pain than out of joy, her consciousness slipping, “This really hurts.”

~

“Mom is going to kill me,” [Y/N] groaned as she glared up at the security cameras that surrounded the room.

When the government had taken the team and imprisoned them in the middle of the ocean, their medical division had struggled with the gloves that were sticking to the dried blood on the palms of [Y/N]’s hands. Rather than think of a solution to slip them off, they decided the fastest way was to cut them off entirely. Now, they were probably lying in the trash, all tattered up and useless.

“Those were from my mom, you know!”

“Hey, [Y/N],” Scott called from the other side of the cell, “Are you really fifty-years-old?”

“They were just joking,” Sam scoffed, “There’s no way she’s that old.”

“We might have been playing around,” Clint chuckled, “but I never lied.”

“I aged well, didn’t I?” [Y/N] smiled, though some of them couldn’t see that.

“That’s impossible,” Sam countered, “You’re just pulling our legs.”

“What’s your secret?” Scott questioned, his excitement seeping through the walls of the cage.

“I moisturize,” [Y/N] laughed, the others groaning at her playful comment.

Thankfully, since no one in the government even knew who exactly [Y/N] was to the Avengers, she was placed in a normal cell with the others. Wanda, on the other hand, had been taken to another, tighter cage since everyone knew of her powerful abilities. Due to the fact that there were no further restraints on [Y/N] she could have escaped by herself, but it was too risky. In addition, she didn’t want to break out if the others were unable to come with her. Instead, she decided to wait for an opportunity to present itself. She didn’t have to wait too long.

“But going back to the topic,” [Y/N] glared back up at the cameras, “you people owe me a new pair of gloves!”

A figure walked up to [Y/N]’s cell after her remark, making her glance to the side with a bored expression. The person before her, however, was not the usual prison guard she had expected and she jolted upright with a beaming smile plastered on her face.

“I’ll be sure to buy them for you once we get out of here,” Steve chuckled, helping her out of her cramped cell.

The others were already stretching out their limbs as they enjoyed their new freedom. Wanda was also amongst them, her pale face turning brighter at seeing [Y/N] again. Before long, they filed out of the room and out into the open, basking in the rays of the sun and smiling to the cool ocean breeze.

“Hey, Captain America,” she began, grinning mischievously, “now that you’re a wanted fugitive, are you going to change your name?”

“No,” he smiled with the air of a leader, “because that name doesn’t represent the American government. It represents the American people. And I am loyal to nothing but the American dream.” [Check Author’s Note at the bottom]

“Alright, Cap,” [Y/N] nodded, the unexpectedly serious answer warming her heart, “Where to, now?”

“I’ll drop everyone off at where they all want to go,” he replied as everyone hurried into the jet Steve must have driven to get here. “I’m guessing you want to go home?”

[Y/N] shook her head, surprising most of the crew as she looked over the ocean with a sad smile.

“I knew the moment Clint came for me that a normal life was not something I could have anymore,” [Y/N] sighed, her mind drifting to the letter she had hid in her room for just this occasion. Eventually, her family would find it and hopefully… They’d understand.

“[Y/N],” Clint spoke up, looking guilty for dragging her away, but she held up her bandaged hand to stop him.

“It’s not your fault,” she soothed, “If not you, then someone else would have asked for my help.” She paused, taking in a breath and finally putting to words the feelings she held and could never deny. “And I would have gone without another thought. That’s just how I am.”

“Is there any place you’d like to go?” Steve gently asked, “I hear Wakanda’s a nice place if you’re interested.”

“Doesn’t the King of Wakanda kind of hate you for foiling his plan for revenge against Bucky?”

“A lot has happened since then.”

“Hmm…”

She was a bit curious, but her ambition was lost and she felt a bit depleted. There was no goal she could strive for, so motivation was hard to find. There was no family, hidden and safe, that she could return to, like Hawkeye. She didn’t have the never-ending loyalty towards the American people, like Captain America. And she wasn’t all that sure she could keep up with him, like Falcon, if she were to follow under the Captain’s command. In fact, it took most of her energy just smiling to reassure her fellow teammates that she was alright.

Where do I want to go? What do I want to do?

“Thank you for the offer, Steve,” [Y/N] finally answered, a particular spider flashing across her mind, “but there’s someone I’d like to meet before I leave.”

Author’s Note: The quote above is a mix of two Captain America quotes from the comics :) "I cannot represent the American government; the president does that. I must represent the American people. I represent the American dream, the freedom to strive to become all that you dream of being. Being Captain America has been my American dream.” - Captain America #180 "I'm loyal to nothing, General, except the dream." - Daredevil: Born Again

[PART 8]

Tags: @themeanestlittlewitch @stressedandbandobessed7771 @moistpotatobear