Wobbles
08-23-2013, 11:08 PM
IMPORTANT: Some content may be rated M for lotsa violence and blood - I'll say so at the top. The rest is PG-13 for...ehem...milder violence and blood.
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Greetings, greetings!
Welcome to Spider-Fan's Tidbits! Spidey here. This is where I'll be posting little writing stuffs that I've done. I take requests! In fact, I'm requesting requests!
If you want to put someone through an intolerable amount of pain, or kill someone, I'm the Fan to do it. ...they have to be fictional, of course...
My stuff! READ AND COMMENT PLEEEEEEASE?!
The chaos rained upon New York. Burning debris floated from the sky, and the screams of frightened people mixed with the guttural roars of the Chitauri. The bodies of the few police men that had attempted to fight had long since grown cold, their eyes gazing unseeingly at the ruined skyscrapers and smoke-filled air. Loki let a small chuckle escape his lips and strode through the madness with an air of dignity. He stopped suddenly, and looked down.
On the ground before him was sprawled a muscular figure clad in red, white, and blue. His shield rested a few feet away, and his upper face mask lay ripped and shredded next to his head. Blood splattered on the ground surrounding his body, and his torso was so drenched in the crimson flood that the white stripes on his uniform were barely visible, if at all. The hilt of a Chitauri dagger protruded from his abdomen, and his right hand was clutched around the wound almost protectively. His chest rose spasmodically, and his once brilliant blue eyes had dimmed, barely open and glassy.
There lay a dying and defeated Steve Rogers, otherwise known as Captain America.
"Ahh. A fallen soldier." Loki spoke in his odd accent, pronouncing soldier like smolder. He lowered himself to the ground next to Steve, who growled angrily but with dying vigor. "Y-you'll never win, Loki," he stuttered. Loki frowned in a falsely sympathetic way. "Oh, but I already have, my good man! Look around you. The people are scattered, their protection has crumbled, and the so-called heroes that you and your little band claimed to be have failed."
"It- it won't last," the captain coughed. "The people are –" he paused to suck in a large breath, painfully, and expel in in short coughing fits, then continued in a strained voice. "The people a-are too st-strong. They will r-recover.." His tone was almost pleading, like he was trying to assure himself that it was true. In his mind, he fought the urge to close his eyes, let the pain overwhelm him, drift off to his memories and forget about the world. But he wouldn't let himself. His attention was drawn back to Loki, who hovered over him, his expression fierce and angry.
"If you can't stop me, who can?" Loki spat, regarding the dying man coldly. His brilliant green eyes were flashing with malice, but Steve was almost positive he saw something else for a second, a moment of mercy, of pain, but it disappeared soon enough. "T-there are... others..." the supersoldier murmured. "They w-will always defeat y-you." Loki's face contorted into a mask of anger, and he lunged forward, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of the knife. At the violent jolt to his wound, Steve grimaced slightly, drawing his hand away. "I cannot be defeated," Loki growled. He leaned in closer til he was nearly an inch away from the captain's ear, and began to twist the knife ever so slowly. As Steve let out an agonized cry of pain, the Asgardian hissed in his ear. "Those that try to stop me will suffer the same fate as your pitiful little group of heroes and this city."
As Steve convulsed in pain, Loki let go of the knife and stood slowly. He looked down on the supersoldier, weakly writhing. He became still as a bold crimson line slipped from the corner of his mouth and worked its way down his jaw. His breath hitched in his throat and he coughed weakly. Death was near. Loki could see this, and he sighed.
The debate started up in his mind. Does he let the Avenger die? Or does he keep him alive?
Why would you keep him alive?
Well, although he had opposed Loki, he wasn't sure if Steve really deserved to die. The man could be a useful ally.
You know he would rather die than assist you. You're not fooling anyone. Let him die.
Loki let out a little growl and crossed his arms. Deep down he didn't want him to die. Because if this one died, they all had to die. Including his br - Thor.
You're being soft.
"I'm not being soft," he hissed under his breath, turning to scan the remaining wreckage. A few of the Leviathans lay sprawled across massive stretches of ground, and though there were many Chitauri alive, there were just as many dead. How could six people take out that much of his grand army? How?
The corners of his lips turned upwards. He spun towards the nearest clump of Chitauri and motioned for them to take the supersoldier into a makeshift healing room the Chitauri had set up for their injured comrades. "See that he says alive. I want to interrogate him." He sighed and crossed his arms.
It is very probable that he will die, he thought. At least he would have tried.
The Chitauri were none too gentle with the injured captain. One grabbed him under his arms and dragged him to the building and threw him down. His head lolled to the side as if he was unconscious. One Chitauri, the only one that knew how to treat humans, approached. Loki cringed as the blood-stained knife clattered to the ground.
He stepped over to the shield laying on the ground. The paint was singed off in several places, and black Chitauri blood stained the edge and splattered onto the body of it. Loki spun it so that he was looking at the inside, and listened to the noise the vibranium made as it moved through the air. He let it drop to his side and took his time walking to the healing building. He placed the shield in the little alleyway, resting up against the wall. A smile tugged at his lips.
Spoils of war.
Loki began to walk through the wreckage, seemingly unfazed by the damage he had done. He knew there'd be more fighting, but for now the victory was his. The Avengers had been conquered, and he would rule these people like he was always meant to do.
He cast a look over his shoulder at Steve Rogers, deathly pale, unconscious, and bleeding out. Though he was his enemy, something caused Loki to admire him. Not to pity, but admire. His bravery in the face of death... unparalleled. And his steadfastness in his beliefs – everyone respected him for that. Why wouldn't they respect me for that? Loki wondered. He turned back to the carnage of New York City.
One down, five to go.As Loki strode through the chaos, the sounds of mechanical movement reached his ears. He stopped, turned, and squinted. A metal hand protruded from a pile of rubble, and the red and gold fingers clenched around a huge slab of concrete. A robotized voice grunted as the rock fell aside, revealing a red-and-gold arm. Almost instinctively, Loki tensed. If the genius-playboy-billionaire-philanthropist had enough strength to move the massive chunks of rubble, he probably had enough strength to fight.
But the metal man didn't move. His arm hung limp, the few breaths coming from the pile were strangled and pained. Loki's feet crunched over the little specks of concrete, and he peered over the edge. He suppressed a gasp, but a small, almost sympathetic grimace broke though. He chided himself and steeled his face.
The gold face plate was dented in several spots, and near the right side of the jaw an actual, gaping hole in the helmet oozed blood. How it got there, he'd never know. The eyeslits, which should have been glowing blue, were a dull grey color – blank. He heard a weak voice from inside grunting in pain, and his green eyes flicked to the glowing blue circle in the man's chest, then back up to the helmet.
Though Loki didn't know much about electronics he could tell that blasted invisible person – whatsisface, TARDIS or LARDIE or whatever – was not operational. The arc reactor was sparking violently, and it flickered from the normal light blue to a dim aqua and back again repeatedly.
All in all, Tony Stark was not in good condition.
Loki knelt next to him and began to pry the helmet loose. He felt the warm, crimson fluid coat his fingers, but he paid it no mind. As he frowned in concentration, he –
"What... are you... d-doing? Augh. That hurts. That freaking HURTS, damn it, STOP!"
A metal hand whacked Loki on the back of the head rather ungracefully and weakly. Tony's pained voice seeped through the widened cracks in the helmet, and the blood flowed with renewed vigor.
"I am freeing you from this thing," Loki spat. "You could be grateful that the last thing you see is clear sky, not the inside of a helmet, you know."
Did he mean it? Was he going to let him die? If so... then what was he doing with Steve?
"I feel... so... grateful," Tony spat.
Though he was the weaker of the two Asgardian siblings, Loki was strong in his own ways. Said way being magic. After he was sick of feeling the sticky substance flowing from the helmet, he drew his hands back and with a quick flick of the wrist opened the helmet. He pulled it off and set it down next to the hero's head and glanced over the wound.
Apparently the metal had weakened in the jaw so that either a well-placed shot or a lucky misfire pierced right through the more vulnerable spot in his faceplate's jaw, going all the way through the metal, shutting the heads-up display down, and striking Tony's jawbone right under his ear. His mouth was filled with blood, and the entire right side of his face was crimson. With its newfound freedom, said blood flowed to the ground and began to pool there.
Loki raised a smug eyebrow. "I won," he stated simply.
Tony was not impressed. In fact, he was ready to blast the demi-god's head clean off his shoulders, if his suit was operational. Which it wasn't. So he settled for a spicy, "Whatever," his steel grey eyes sharp with anger. "You do realize –" He paused to turn his head and spit out some blood that had collected in his mouth. Goodness, how had it gotten there without him noticing? "- this is only... only one city?" His speaking was slow, and slurred, unlike his mind. "One tiny little... fraction... of this world?" It was his turn to raise a triumphant eyebrow. "We were 6. You had... had what, a c-couple thousand? They're pretty much...all... all dead..."
By now his speech was so difficult that his 's' sounds and 'x' sounds smushed together, and he said 't' like a little Nazi. So it sounded something like "Weh wur xik. Yuh haid whut, a cauple dousandt? Der piddy muk awl deadt."
This is ridiculous, Tony thought to himself. And would be hilarious if I wasn't on the verge of probable death and being stared down by the horned devil himself. Ha! Horned. He's wearing a horny helmet. He amused himself so much that a large grin was creeping across his face.
Loki was saying something – wait, what?
"-ants compared to my army," Loki growled. Tony didn't realize he was smiling until a throbbing pain hit him hard. But still, he was Tony Stark. He wasn't going to go turtle up into his suit when Rudolph came running. So he kept grinning.
"-pathetic mortals die. I will – for heaven's sake, man, STOP SMILING AT ME." Tony actually giggled. Or attempted to. It came out more like a cough, and then it turned into a full-blown wheezing fit, spraying the trickster demi-god with little flecks of blood. He tried to roll on his side, the pain growing every second, but the suit was too heavy. He made a little choked sound of panic.
He was trapped. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
It reminded him of caves. He hated caves. Caves where the walls seem to be closing in on you every second. Caves where people torture you to make missiles for them – and – and –
He realized he was hyperventilating. "A bit nervous about death, Stark?" Loki asked wryly.
"Shuddup," came the gasped reply. Tony felt blackness, blackness swirling around his vision, and the horizon wheeled back and forth like it didn't know where it belonged. He felt himself slipping, falling away into unconsciousness...
Loki peered down at Stark's limp body. He could just make out the tiny puffs of breath coming from his slack mouth. He sighed, the mental battle of kill him, save him rampaging through his mind.
I'm not the monster they say I am, Loki thought painfully. So I... I need to... stop acting up to the name...
But that's WEAKNESS! The stubborn side of his brain argued.
Iron Man was dying.
If he didn't act quickly, he'd be gone.
Loki stared for one more second, his face emotionless.
Then he made his decision. He shot to his feet. "Healer," he called. "I have another mortal for you."
Ugh, I hate this
I stared at the boy. He was gaunt, lanky, and pale. Well, for his mixed complexion, anyway. His melanin couldn’t seem to decide whether it wanted to be dark or light. He gazed back at me, looking inadequate and unaccepted. Those around him passed by without a second glance, without knowing what he was. He seemed restless in the form he was in – stuck, captive, wanting to be something else.
If only they could see who I really am, his eyes seemed to say.
That boy was me.
A lot of kids call me the Cannon. Some people know me as the Nighthawke. Really, my name is Ion Leviryn. I live at a boarding school – my parents were killed in a huge train wreck when I was just a kid staying at Grandma’s house. My best friend, Jason Argos, shared the same tragedy. We grew up together, went to the same school together, got in trouble together – yeah, you get the picture. We’re pretty much all each other has, and we’re loyal.
Then there’s Mersenne. Man, is she pretty. She’s shortish, with blond hair and steel grey eyes. She’s bubbly, funny and cute, but do not make her angry or you will feel the wrath of the eye daggers. I still have nightmares about that.
I slammed my locker shut as I shouldered my backpack and trudged towards the first class of the period. The buzz of excited students chattering to one another, the pinging of some dude dribbling a basketball down the hallway, and the excited, chirping laughter of the teenage girls all meshed together in the out-of-tune orchestra known as ‘highschool’. I glanced at my watch and muttered an exclamation under my breath, spurring myself into a jog. Late, as usual. I shouldered my way past some football jockeys, and one of them elbowed my bag, ripping it in two and spilling my books everywhere. I backed up. “Sorry, man,” I muttered, bending down to pick my books. “Watch where you’re goin’, you little twerp!” he said, his eyes glinting with malice. “I said sorry,” I growled, stuffing the last book into my bag and walking away. “Yeah, we’ll see about that later, Leviryn!” he called after me. His click laughed. I muttered something in ancient Greek as I burst in the chemistry classroom. I halted awkwardly as all the student’s heads swiveled towards me. “The Cannon’s late. Again,” I heard one snicker. “You are late, Mister Leviryn,” the teacher, Mrs. Dodley, said. Fake sweetness drenched her words. I almost gagged as I took a seat in the back of the class. “Sorry, ma’am,” I mumbled. She glared at me sweetly before turning back to her chalkboard. I tuned her out, thinking about my schedule. Finish some homework. Eat dinner. Fly around for a little bit, looking for trouble. Be back by curfew. No problem, right?
Wrong.
“Hey, fuzzball!” I yelled from atop the tower. “You know, it be a lot easier for both of us if you’d just give up!” The half-bear, half-human thing roared in protest and chunked a car door at me. “I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” I shouted, dodging the hunk of metal. He growled something which I won’t repeat in polite company – I think it was a rather rude way of saying ‘come down and fight.’ “Are you sure you don’t want to come up here? There’s a good view!” I joked. He stomped the ground, causing the asphalt to crack. “Okay, okay, don’t get your fur in a tangle.” I stood and stepped towards the ledge. “You’re gonna catch me, right?” He shrugged. I dove off the building like I was jumping into a swimming pool. There were those few seconds of terrorizing calm – the surrounding crowd gaped in horror, a few women screamed, and everyone was trying to look through my mask to see who I was. The bear-person watched, mildly entertained, making no move to catch my freefall. I closed my eyes, the wind whistling past my ears, sensing the ground approaching at breakneck speed. At the last second, something happened.
From the crowd’s perspective, it probably looked like I either went *poof* or *splat*. Then some random hawk flew towards the bear-person, screeching all the way. From my perspective, I felt myself change. I knew I what I wanted to be, and bang, there I was, a black nighthawk screaming bloody murder while flying towards an opponent ten times my size.
Yes, I am a shapeshifter. They call me the Nighthawke, because that’s how I usually get around, like a little tweety bird – except I’ve got a death wish on every citizen-terrorizing crook in Los Angeles. I don’t think the other tweety birds share my feelings.
So, anyway, I ducked under the bear-person’s blows, the updrafts catching my tiny, hawk form. This is stupid, I thought to myself. I flew a little higher, just out of his reach, and changed again. “Hey, what’s up?” I asked casually. Suddenly a massive lion dropped on top of him. “Well, the answer was me,” I said between slashing at the great oaf. I barreled into his legs, landing him flat on his face. I pounced on him, making sure he didn’t get up again, and changed back into good ol’ me. Some cops approached, with the biggest pair of handcuffs I had ever seen. They would definitely work on the bear-man. I glanced at my watch – fourteen minutes to spare. I’d make it back before curfew, no problem. I hiked my mask up a little farther, shifted into the nighthawk, and flew off.
I was grinning to myself, thinking how smooth I was for getting that thing before curfew, and that this time there’d be no detention for me, when suddenly something came from my right. I slammed into a skyscraper, screeching some unpolite remarks in bird. Some robotic creature had pinned me to the wall. I screamed in its face, and it ran a scan of my face. Maybe there’s a hawk on the tweety bird’s ‘wanted’ list? Whatever the case, I attempted to stick my tongue out at the robot (kinda hard to do when you’re a bird) and melted into a worm. The instant I changed, I realized it. They’re looking for Nighthawke. Me. If I had just – aw, shoot. The robot let out a shrill whistle, and I flailed. “Hey, man, do you mind? I got sensitive ears!” I tweeted, annoyed. I flew a little faster as the robot gave chase. I was losing him, which was good, but his little helicopter blades seemed to be getting louder. I rounded a corner and flew right into another robot. Before I could get over my surprise, it locked steel arms around me, pinioning my wings to my sides. “Oh, you wanna hug?” I mumbled, shifting into a 60-foot dragon. I crushed the robot with one of my claws. “There’s your hug.” It was probably really weird looking, seeing a huge dragon appear out of nowhere at the top of a skyscaper. I turned, and– Oh, shoot – hundreds of robots piled into me. I flapped my wings frantically, pulling at the air without much success. The tiny creatures dug into my scales – finding the little chinks and drilling into them. I flung myself against the skyscaper, dislodging a dozen or so. They plummeted to the earth with fading whistles. Experimentally, I blew a puff of smoke at some on my wing, and they evaporated. I gave a toothy grin. “Betcha didn’t count on this!” I coated myself in flames and spun in the air to keep the fire alive. The robots melted off of me, like I was molting. I stared again, shaking my head with a spark-filled sigh. I transformed back into a bird – a pigeon this time, less conspicuous – and flew through the still-crowded streets of Los Angeles. I sailed by an electronic billboard, reading it casually. Cash for gold, best burgers in town, closes at midnight! The current time is: 9:58.
Aw, shoot.
I flew faster. This would be the third week in a row. I dodged a pigeon, soared over a skyscraper and descended in front of the school, melting into Ion Leviryn as I dropped. I hit the ground running and dashed down the hall, burst into my room and buried myself under the covers right as the bell rang.
“You’re late,” Jason mumbled.
“Fashionably,” I replied.
“Sure. Clothes in bed is fashionable. So be it.”
About a week later, I was sitting ontop of a skyscaper, gazing across the LA skyline. I was thinking hard. I had asked Mersenne out, and she accepted. Something bothered me, though.
Not that it wasn’t wonderful. It was. But I had told her who I was.
Like, who I was really.
She wasn’t very surprised. She just asked me to take her to the top of a building. I did, and there I told her my fatal weakness.
Part of me regretted it. Part of me felt guilty about regretting it. “I can trust her, right?” I murmured aloud.
“No, you can’t,” a voice sounded behind me. I scrambled to my feet and spun to face the speaker. His face was like a slab of rock; hard, unfeeling, emotionless. He was tall and bulky, at least twice my size – I didn’t doubt that he could squish me easily. It was his eyes that scared me most, really – jet black, glinting with evil pleasure and brimming with a calm rage, like he wouldn’t hesitate to torture someone and might even enjoy it.
I backed away. “You’ve got nowhere to run, kid,” he growled with a flick of his wrist. Suddenly I found my arms being held by two guys only a little less meaty than Rock Face and a knife at my weak spot – the small of my neck. I raised my hands slightly, stiffening. “What do you want?” I asked quietly, already forming a plan in my head, assessing the weaknesses of those holding me. “See, kid,” Rock Face said, stepping forward until he was nose to nose with me. “You caused my business a lot of harm.” He grabbed the knife, digging it deeper in my neck. I breathed shallow breaths, trying to calm the rising panic in my throat. “Yeah, you’ve caused a lot of citizens harm,” I said without moving. “And it’s my job to protect them.” I closed my eyes and morphed into mockingbird. I almost said FEAR ME! Until I realized that I had shifted into a completely different animal than I wanted. The meaty dudes looked down at me, then burst out laughing. Okay, maybe this wasn’t the best option. I stretched my muscles, trying to shift again, but I couldn’t. “NOT FUNNY!” I squeaked in defiance. “NOT FUNNNNNNNN..... hey, HEY HEY EY EY PUT ME DOWN!” Suddenly I found myself in cage as a tweety bird, unable to morph. I banged again the cage and fell backwards and – oh, no. No, no, no, no.... that’s not possible. I had to do a double-take. Mersenne... was... there. She was wearing a bullet proof vest, with a holster on her hip. I watched, dumbfounded, as she picked up my Hogue Avenger and holstered it. She fixed me a honey-sweet smiled. I couldn’t breath. I KNEW I shouldn’t have told her... why did I tell her? He thought, desperate. Her smile was the last thing I saw before a bag was placed over the cage.
I screeched, throwing myself again the cage again and again. It hurt, yeah, but I had to get out. I had to get – out – OUT – the cage door opened and I flew – not like flew, but kinda got carried by my momentum – and hit the floor, hard. Instantly I morphed into a hundred-pound grizzly, roaring shredding anything in range. I felt flesh under my claws and my vision blurred with rage. I stamped heavily, my vision clearing. I realized that my claws were buried into the chest of a man. I backed away, my claws red and dripping. A crimson pool formed around him. I let out a mournful sound, thinking it was a civilian, but when I saw his badge, I growled. Suddenly a sharp pain hit my side and I roared. I felt myself shrinking against my own will – changing. Not a bird, I thought. Please not a bird. I found myself kneeling on the concrete in my human form. I pulled a small dart out of my ribcage and smashed it on the ground. I breathed heavily, my vision growing darker. I gritted my teeth and fought paralysis as a dozen gun barrels circled my head. Rock Face pushed his way through and grabbed me by my collar, hoisting to my feet. A stab of pain went through my head and my eyes rolled bac, but Rock Face clamped his hand on my jaw, jolting me back to consciousness. I glared at him, and he glared at me. “Who are you?” I asked. He laughed like it was a hilarious joke. “You have heard of me, Nighthawke. I am the Shadow of Death.” I choked. Him?! He was my long time enemy that I had never seen – constantly sending out his cronies to steal, loot and pillage the citizens. This is the guy I had been fighting? Great. “But you can call me Bob,” he added with a smile. I frowned. “Bob? That’s not very scary.” He growled in anger and slapped me, drawing a knife. “Whelp,” he hissed. “I’ll show you just how scary Bob can be!!” He prepared to strike, and I cringed, waiting for the impact. “Wait!” someone cried. I opened my eyes... Mersenne. I looked up at her hopefully. Instead of saying something like, “You can’t kill him!” or “I love him!” she said, “It’d be better if we tortured him!” I made a little whining in the back of my throat. She glared at me. Taking advantage of the pause, I swept my leg under Rock Face’s leg and ran for it, morphing into an elephant. Okay, maybe it wasn’t the brightest idea for escaping, but it worked. I busted through the concrete wall like it was a stack of toothpicks. After a bit of car-stomping, road-smashing, and traffic causing, I changed to a bird. I was beginning to not like those creatures. I morphed into human, in the highest spot I could find, and restrained tears. I couldn’t believe – Mersenne – I grimaced. That was it. I was staying single for the rest of my life.
After a day on the tower (not caring about curfew) I came down, strolling the streets. I had to stop the guy; and Mersenne. I saw the hole where I (elephant form) had come through the wall, and stepped in. This time I would be ready. I had spent my night constructing a lethal bomb. With any luck, it should take out the whole building. My feet crunched eerily over the rubble. Smoke and dust lingered in the air. I heard a moanish-scream to my right, and when I looked – aw, dang it. Jason and Mersenne, tied up, gagged suspended from the ceiling. I morphed quickly, brought them down and untied them. I left the gag on Mersenne, however.
“I was right,” I heard someone catcall. “You did come back for your friends.” I gulped. Guards blocked the exit, and two rings circled me. I could take them out pretty easily – but Jason and Mersenne... “Run!” I told them. “Run, and don’t look back!” They did so. I knocked out the guards easily, but hundreds more swarmed in. There was no way I could set the bomb and get out.... suddenly I realized what had to be done. With grim determination, I walked towards the Shadow of Death, who brandished his knife. Explosions rained around me and rain pelted the ground. See, if this were a movie, I think to myself, this is when the sad, melodramatic music would cue. I would look up into the rain, oblivious of the – The earth shook as an the ground exploded next to me. I fell sideways. -actually, scratch that. The explosions are a little too big to ignore. I kept walking, activating the bomb as I went. I threw it over my shoulder as I morphed into a Nighthawk – one last go, eh? And attacked the Shadow. The battle was short – he caught me after thirty four seconds I morphed back to human. We went hand to hand for a few more seconds. He grabbed my arm, snapped it (with a yelp from me) and twisted it behind my back. “Time to die, Nighthawke.”
Then the bomb went off.
We slammed into a wall. Shrapnel and rocks rained down on us. I vaguely felt a warm sensation cascade down my back, and when I tried to get up, pain arced down my spine. I realized with moisture in my eyes (From the dust. Of course. What did you think?) that he had managed to stab me in my weak spot. I looked up at him through gritted teeth – his neck was cocked at a painful angle and a little blood dibbled from his mouth. He was dead. I had done what I came for. I thought about all my great times with Jason, my first and last date with Mersenne, the single kiss we had shared – I didn’t regret it. I was wrong. If I had survived, I wouldn’t have stayed single. I couldn’t have. I still loved her. I breathed out slowly, my eyes growing dim. My body went limp.
Thus the end of the Nighthawke.Sometimes she cries.
Sometimes she breaks down.
Sometimes she can only see the faults.
Sometimes she looks in the mirror, and like a glaring crack, she sees right through her facade and wonders if others can see it, too. She muffles her desperate cries for help in the pillow at night, hoping no one hears, but at the same time needing a rescuer so badly.
Sometimes she realizes her humor, her smile, she's perfected it - to the point of locking herself in a shell of happiness with no escape, a mask of perfection. She knows there's no way anyone can see it... unless they look into her eyes. So she looks away. She doesn't make eye contact. And when she does, she trusts that person, silently pleading to be saved from her self-made prison.
Sometimes when she cries, she can see the facade widening. She knows the more she lets herself break, the harder it will be to repair. So she learns not to break. She learns to bottle the emotions, to keep them all inside, and not to express them.
Because expression is like handing the murderer the knife, loading the gun to be shot with. Expression is vulnerability is pain. And pain is something she's had too much of.
She's never had her heart broken. She's had her heart torn out, slowly, excruciatingly, vein by vein, muscle by muscle, and held in the hands of someone she trusted. She watches, hoping they'll understand, as they turn it over in their hands, inspecting the flaws, the dents, the erosion. And when they look up at her, for a moment, as if deciding, she clutches at the hole in her chest. Her facade was broken to them. They knew who she really was. Maybe, just maybe -
She watches in horror as they cast the heart upon the ground and step on it while walking away, murmuring under their breath that it was useless anyway. She feels pain flood her mind and body, pain she cannot describe, and she picks up her heart. It's not shattered or broken... just torn beyond repair, like the most painful of wounds to the flesh.
Sometimes there's no repairing injuries that have been done. She knows this, and she seals up her facade again, locking away those memories, never to be seen again... but sometimes...
...sometimes she cries.
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Greetings, greetings!
Welcome to Spider-Fan's Tidbits! Spidey here. This is where I'll be posting little writing stuffs that I've done. I take requests! In fact, I'm requesting requests!
If you want to put someone through an intolerable amount of pain, or kill someone, I'm the Fan to do it. ...they have to be fictional, of course...
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The chaos rained upon New York. Burning debris floated from the sky, and the screams of frightened people mixed with the guttural roars of the Chitauri. The bodies of the few police men that had attempted to fight had long since grown cold, their eyes gazing unseeingly at the ruined skyscrapers and smoke-filled air. Loki let a small chuckle escape his lips and strode through the madness with an air of dignity. He stopped suddenly, and looked down.
On the ground before him was sprawled a muscular figure clad in red, white, and blue. His shield rested a few feet away, and his upper face mask lay ripped and shredded next to his head. Blood splattered on the ground surrounding his body, and his torso was so drenched in the crimson flood that the white stripes on his uniform were barely visible, if at all. The hilt of a Chitauri dagger protruded from his abdomen, and his right hand was clutched around the wound almost protectively. His chest rose spasmodically, and his once brilliant blue eyes had dimmed, barely open and glassy.
There lay a dying and defeated Steve Rogers, otherwise known as Captain America.
"Ahh. A fallen soldier." Loki spoke in his odd accent, pronouncing soldier like smolder. He lowered himself to the ground next to Steve, who growled angrily but with dying vigor. "Y-you'll never win, Loki," he stuttered. Loki frowned in a falsely sympathetic way. "Oh, but I already have, my good man! Look around you. The people are scattered, their protection has crumbled, and the so-called heroes that you and your little band claimed to be have failed."
"It- it won't last," the captain coughed. "The people are –" he paused to suck in a large breath, painfully, and expel in in short coughing fits, then continued in a strained voice. "The people a-are too st-strong. They will r-recover.." His tone was almost pleading, like he was trying to assure himself that it was true. In his mind, he fought the urge to close his eyes, let the pain overwhelm him, drift off to his memories and forget about the world. But he wouldn't let himself. His attention was drawn back to Loki, who hovered over him, his expression fierce and angry.
"If you can't stop me, who can?" Loki spat, regarding the dying man coldly. His brilliant green eyes were flashing with malice, but Steve was almost positive he saw something else for a second, a moment of mercy, of pain, but it disappeared soon enough. "T-there are... others..." the supersoldier murmured. "They w-will always defeat y-you." Loki's face contorted into a mask of anger, and he lunged forward, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of the knife. At the violent jolt to his wound, Steve grimaced slightly, drawing his hand away. "I cannot be defeated," Loki growled. He leaned in closer til he was nearly an inch away from the captain's ear, and began to twist the knife ever so slowly. As Steve let out an agonized cry of pain, the Asgardian hissed in his ear. "Those that try to stop me will suffer the same fate as your pitiful little group of heroes and this city."
As Steve convulsed in pain, Loki let go of the knife and stood slowly. He looked down on the supersoldier, weakly writhing. He became still as a bold crimson line slipped from the corner of his mouth and worked its way down his jaw. His breath hitched in his throat and he coughed weakly. Death was near. Loki could see this, and he sighed.
The debate started up in his mind. Does he let the Avenger die? Or does he keep him alive?
Why would you keep him alive?
Well, although he had opposed Loki, he wasn't sure if Steve really deserved to die. The man could be a useful ally.
You know he would rather die than assist you. You're not fooling anyone. Let him die.
Loki let out a little growl and crossed his arms. Deep down he didn't want him to die. Because if this one died, they all had to die. Including his br - Thor.
You're being soft.
"I'm not being soft," he hissed under his breath, turning to scan the remaining wreckage. A few of the Leviathans lay sprawled across massive stretches of ground, and though there were many Chitauri alive, there were just as many dead. How could six people take out that much of his grand army? How?
The corners of his lips turned upwards. He spun towards the nearest clump of Chitauri and motioned for them to take the supersoldier into a makeshift healing room the Chitauri had set up for their injured comrades. "See that he says alive. I want to interrogate him." He sighed and crossed his arms.
It is very probable that he will die, he thought. At least he would have tried.
The Chitauri were none too gentle with the injured captain. One grabbed him under his arms and dragged him to the building and threw him down. His head lolled to the side as if he was unconscious. One Chitauri, the only one that knew how to treat humans, approached. Loki cringed as the blood-stained knife clattered to the ground.
He stepped over to the shield laying on the ground. The paint was singed off in several places, and black Chitauri blood stained the edge and splattered onto the body of it. Loki spun it so that he was looking at the inside, and listened to the noise the vibranium made as it moved through the air. He let it drop to his side and took his time walking to the healing building. He placed the shield in the little alleyway, resting up against the wall. A smile tugged at his lips.
Spoils of war.
Loki began to walk through the wreckage, seemingly unfazed by the damage he had done. He knew there'd be more fighting, but for now the victory was his. The Avengers had been conquered, and he would rule these people like he was always meant to do.
He cast a look over his shoulder at Steve Rogers, deathly pale, unconscious, and bleeding out. Though he was his enemy, something caused Loki to admire him. Not to pity, but admire. His bravery in the face of death... unparalleled. And his steadfastness in his beliefs – everyone respected him for that. Why wouldn't they respect me for that? Loki wondered. He turned back to the carnage of New York City.
One down, five to go.As Loki strode through the chaos, the sounds of mechanical movement reached his ears. He stopped, turned, and squinted. A metal hand protruded from a pile of rubble, and the red and gold fingers clenched around a huge slab of concrete. A robotized voice grunted as the rock fell aside, revealing a red-and-gold arm. Almost instinctively, Loki tensed. If the genius-playboy-billionaire-philanthropist had enough strength to move the massive chunks of rubble, he probably had enough strength to fight.
But the metal man didn't move. His arm hung limp, the few breaths coming from the pile were strangled and pained. Loki's feet crunched over the little specks of concrete, and he peered over the edge. He suppressed a gasp, but a small, almost sympathetic grimace broke though. He chided himself and steeled his face.
The gold face plate was dented in several spots, and near the right side of the jaw an actual, gaping hole in the helmet oozed blood. How it got there, he'd never know. The eyeslits, which should have been glowing blue, were a dull grey color – blank. He heard a weak voice from inside grunting in pain, and his green eyes flicked to the glowing blue circle in the man's chest, then back up to the helmet.
Though Loki didn't know much about electronics he could tell that blasted invisible person – whatsisface, TARDIS or LARDIE or whatever – was not operational. The arc reactor was sparking violently, and it flickered from the normal light blue to a dim aqua and back again repeatedly.
All in all, Tony Stark was not in good condition.
Loki knelt next to him and began to pry the helmet loose. He felt the warm, crimson fluid coat his fingers, but he paid it no mind. As he frowned in concentration, he –
"What... are you... d-doing? Augh. That hurts. That freaking HURTS, damn it, STOP!"
A metal hand whacked Loki on the back of the head rather ungracefully and weakly. Tony's pained voice seeped through the widened cracks in the helmet, and the blood flowed with renewed vigor.
"I am freeing you from this thing," Loki spat. "You could be grateful that the last thing you see is clear sky, not the inside of a helmet, you know."
Did he mean it? Was he going to let him die? If so... then what was he doing with Steve?
"I feel... so... grateful," Tony spat.
Though he was the weaker of the two Asgardian siblings, Loki was strong in his own ways. Said way being magic. After he was sick of feeling the sticky substance flowing from the helmet, he drew his hands back and with a quick flick of the wrist opened the helmet. He pulled it off and set it down next to the hero's head and glanced over the wound.
Apparently the metal had weakened in the jaw so that either a well-placed shot or a lucky misfire pierced right through the more vulnerable spot in his faceplate's jaw, going all the way through the metal, shutting the heads-up display down, and striking Tony's jawbone right under his ear. His mouth was filled with blood, and the entire right side of his face was crimson. With its newfound freedom, said blood flowed to the ground and began to pool there.
Loki raised a smug eyebrow. "I won," he stated simply.
Tony was not impressed. In fact, he was ready to blast the demi-god's head clean off his shoulders, if his suit was operational. Which it wasn't. So he settled for a spicy, "Whatever," his steel grey eyes sharp with anger. "You do realize –" He paused to turn his head and spit out some blood that had collected in his mouth. Goodness, how had it gotten there without him noticing? "- this is only... only one city?" His speaking was slow, and slurred, unlike his mind. "One tiny little... fraction... of this world?" It was his turn to raise a triumphant eyebrow. "We were 6. You had... had what, a c-couple thousand? They're pretty much...all... all dead..."
By now his speech was so difficult that his 's' sounds and 'x' sounds smushed together, and he said 't' like a little Nazi. So it sounded something like "Weh wur xik. Yuh haid whut, a cauple dousandt? Der piddy muk awl deadt."
This is ridiculous, Tony thought to himself. And would be hilarious if I wasn't on the verge of probable death and being stared down by the horned devil himself. Ha! Horned. He's wearing a horny helmet. He amused himself so much that a large grin was creeping across his face.
Loki was saying something – wait, what?
"-ants compared to my army," Loki growled. Tony didn't realize he was smiling until a throbbing pain hit him hard. But still, he was Tony Stark. He wasn't going to go turtle up into his suit when Rudolph came running. So he kept grinning.
"-pathetic mortals die. I will – for heaven's sake, man, STOP SMILING AT ME." Tony actually giggled. Or attempted to. It came out more like a cough, and then it turned into a full-blown wheezing fit, spraying the trickster demi-god with little flecks of blood. He tried to roll on his side, the pain growing every second, but the suit was too heavy. He made a little choked sound of panic.
He was trapped. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
It reminded him of caves. He hated caves. Caves where the walls seem to be closing in on you every second. Caves where people torture you to make missiles for them – and – and –
He realized he was hyperventilating. "A bit nervous about death, Stark?" Loki asked wryly.
"Shuddup," came the gasped reply. Tony felt blackness, blackness swirling around his vision, and the horizon wheeled back and forth like it didn't know where it belonged. He felt himself slipping, falling away into unconsciousness...
Loki peered down at Stark's limp body. He could just make out the tiny puffs of breath coming from his slack mouth. He sighed, the mental battle of kill him, save him rampaging through his mind.
I'm not the monster they say I am, Loki thought painfully. So I... I need to... stop acting up to the name...
But that's WEAKNESS! The stubborn side of his brain argued.
Iron Man was dying.
If he didn't act quickly, he'd be gone.
Loki stared for one more second, his face emotionless.
Then he made his decision. He shot to his feet. "Healer," he called. "I have another mortal for you."
Ugh, I hate this
I stared at the boy. He was gaunt, lanky, and pale. Well, for his mixed complexion, anyway. His melanin couldn’t seem to decide whether it wanted to be dark or light. He gazed back at me, looking inadequate and unaccepted. Those around him passed by without a second glance, without knowing what he was. He seemed restless in the form he was in – stuck, captive, wanting to be something else.
If only they could see who I really am, his eyes seemed to say.
That boy was me.
A lot of kids call me the Cannon. Some people know me as the Nighthawke. Really, my name is Ion Leviryn. I live at a boarding school – my parents were killed in a huge train wreck when I was just a kid staying at Grandma’s house. My best friend, Jason Argos, shared the same tragedy. We grew up together, went to the same school together, got in trouble together – yeah, you get the picture. We’re pretty much all each other has, and we’re loyal.
Then there’s Mersenne. Man, is she pretty. She’s shortish, with blond hair and steel grey eyes. She’s bubbly, funny and cute, but do not make her angry or you will feel the wrath of the eye daggers. I still have nightmares about that.
I slammed my locker shut as I shouldered my backpack and trudged towards the first class of the period. The buzz of excited students chattering to one another, the pinging of some dude dribbling a basketball down the hallway, and the excited, chirping laughter of the teenage girls all meshed together in the out-of-tune orchestra known as ‘highschool’. I glanced at my watch and muttered an exclamation under my breath, spurring myself into a jog. Late, as usual. I shouldered my way past some football jockeys, and one of them elbowed my bag, ripping it in two and spilling my books everywhere. I backed up. “Sorry, man,” I muttered, bending down to pick my books. “Watch where you’re goin’, you little twerp!” he said, his eyes glinting with malice. “I said sorry,” I growled, stuffing the last book into my bag and walking away. “Yeah, we’ll see about that later, Leviryn!” he called after me. His click laughed. I muttered something in ancient Greek as I burst in the chemistry classroom. I halted awkwardly as all the student’s heads swiveled towards me. “The Cannon’s late. Again,” I heard one snicker. “You are late, Mister Leviryn,” the teacher, Mrs. Dodley, said. Fake sweetness drenched her words. I almost gagged as I took a seat in the back of the class. “Sorry, ma’am,” I mumbled. She glared at me sweetly before turning back to her chalkboard. I tuned her out, thinking about my schedule. Finish some homework. Eat dinner. Fly around for a little bit, looking for trouble. Be back by curfew. No problem, right?
Wrong.
“Hey, fuzzball!” I yelled from atop the tower. “You know, it be a lot easier for both of us if you’d just give up!” The half-bear, half-human thing roared in protest and chunked a car door at me. “I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” I shouted, dodging the hunk of metal. He growled something which I won’t repeat in polite company – I think it was a rather rude way of saying ‘come down and fight.’ “Are you sure you don’t want to come up here? There’s a good view!” I joked. He stomped the ground, causing the asphalt to crack. “Okay, okay, don’t get your fur in a tangle.” I stood and stepped towards the ledge. “You’re gonna catch me, right?” He shrugged. I dove off the building like I was jumping into a swimming pool. There were those few seconds of terrorizing calm – the surrounding crowd gaped in horror, a few women screamed, and everyone was trying to look through my mask to see who I was. The bear-person watched, mildly entertained, making no move to catch my freefall. I closed my eyes, the wind whistling past my ears, sensing the ground approaching at breakneck speed. At the last second, something happened.
From the crowd’s perspective, it probably looked like I either went *poof* or *splat*. Then some random hawk flew towards the bear-person, screeching all the way. From my perspective, I felt myself change. I knew I what I wanted to be, and bang, there I was, a black nighthawk screaming bloody murder while flying towards an opponent ten times my size.
Yes, I am a shapeshifter. They call me the Nighthawke, because that’s how I usually get around, like a little tweety bird – except I’ve got a death wish on every citizen-terrorizing crook in Los Angeles. I don’t think the other tweety birds share my feelings.
So, anyway, I ducked under the bear-person’s blows, the updrafts catching my tiny, hawk form. This is stupid, I thought to myself. I flew a little higher, just out of his reach, and changed again. “Hey, what’s up?” I asked casually. Suddenly a massive lion dropped on top of him. “Well, the answer was me,” I said between slashing at the great oaf. I barreled into his legs, landing him flat on his face. I pounced on him, making sure he didn’t get up again, and changed back into good ol’ me. Some cops approached, with the biggest pair of handcuffs I had ever seen. They would definitely work on the bear-man. I glanced at my watch – fourteen minutes to spare. I’d make it back before curfew, no problem. I hiked my mask up a little farther, shifted into the nighthawk, and flew off.
I was grinning to myself, thinking how smooth I was for getting that thing before curfew, and that this time there’d be no detention for me, when suddenly something came from my right. I slammed into a skyscraper, screeching some unpolite remarks in bird. Some robotic creature had pinned me to the wall. I screamed in its face, and it ran a scan of my face. Maybe there’s a hawk on the tweety bird’s ‘wanted’ list? Whatever the case, I attempted to stick my tongue out at the robot (kinda hard to do when you’re a bird) and melted into a worm. The instant I changed, I realized it. They’re looking for Nighthawke. Me. If I had just – aw, shoot. The robot let out a shrill whistle, and I flailed. “Hey, man, do you mind? I got sensitive ears!” I tweeted, annoyed. I flew a little faster as the robot gave chase. I was losing him, which was good, but his little helicopter blades seemed to be getting louder. I rounded a corner and flew right into another robot. Before I could get over my surprise, it locked steel arms around me, pinioning my wings to my sides. “Oh, you wanna hug?” I mumbled, shifting into a 60-foot dragon. I crushed the robot with one of my claws. “There’s your hug.” It was probably really weird looking, seeing a huge dragon appear out of nowhere at the top of a skyscaper. I turned, and– Oh, shoot – hundreds of robots piled into me. I flapped my wings frantically, pulling at the air without much success. The tiny creatures dug into my scales – finding the little chinks and drilling into them. I flung myself against the skyscaper, dislodging a dozen or so. They plummeted to the earth with fading whistles. Experimentally, I blew a puff of smoke at some on my wing, and they evaporated. I gave a toothy grin. “Betcha didn’t count on this!” I coated myself in flames and spun in the air to keep the fire alive. The robots melted off of me, like I was molting. I stared again, shaking my head with a spark-filled sigh. I transformed back into a bird – a pigeon this time, less conspicuous – and flew through the still-crowded streets of Los Angeles. I sailed by an electronic billboard, reading it casually. Cash for gold, best burgers in town, closes at midnight! The current time is: 9:58.
Aw, shoot.
I flew faster. This would be the third week in a row. I dodged a pigeon, soared over a skyscraper and descended in front of the school, melting into Ion Leviryn as I dropped. I hit the ground running and dashed down the hall, burst into my room and buried myself under the covers right as the bell rang.
“You’re late,” Jason mumbled.
“Fashionably,” I replied.
“Sure. Clothes in bed is fashionable. So be it.”
About a week later, I was sitting ontop of a skyscaper, gazing across the LA skyline. I was thinking hard. I had asked Mersenne out, and she accepted. Something bothered me, though.
Not that it wasn’t wonderful. It was. But I had told her who I was.
Like, who I was really.
She wasn’t very surprised. She just asked me to take her to the top of a building. I did, and there I told her my fatal weakness.
Part of me regretted it. Part of me felt guilty about regretting it. “I can trust her, right?” I murmured aloud.
“No, you can’t,” a voice sounded behind me. I scrambled to my feet and spun to face the speaker. His face was like a slab of rock; hard, unfeeling, emotionless. He was tall and bulky, at least twice my size – I didn’t doubt that he could squish me easily. It was his eyes that scared me most, really – jet black, glinting with evil pleasure and brimming with a calm rage, like he wouldn’t hesitate to torture someone and might even enjoy it.
I backed away. “You’ve got nowhere to run, kid,” he growled with a flick of his wrist. Suddenly I found my arms being held by two guys only a little less meaty than Rock Face and a knife at my weak spot – the small of my neck. I raised my hands slightly, stiffening. “What do you want?” I asked quietly, already forming a plan in my head, assessing the weaknesses of those holding me. “See, kid,” Rock Face said, stepping forward until he was nose to nose with me. “You caused my business a lot of harm.” He grabbed the knife, digging it deeper in my neck. I breathed shallow breaths, trying to calm the rising panic in my throat. “Yeah, you’ve caused a lot of citizens harm,” I said without moving. “And it’s my job to protect them.” I closed my eyes and morphed into mockingbird. I almost said FEAR ME! Until I realized that I had shifted into a completely different animal than I wanted. The meaty dudes looked down at me, then burst out laughing. Okay, maybe this wasn’t the best option. I stretched my muscles, trying to shift again, but I couldn’t. “NOT FUNNY!” I squeaked in defiance. “NOT FUNNNNNNNN..... hey, HEY HEY EY EY PUT ME DOWN!” Suddenly I found myself in cage as a tweety bird, unable to morph. I banged again the cage and fell backwards and – oh, no. No, no, no, no.... that’s not possible. I had to do a double-take. Mersenne... was... there. She was wearing a bullet proof vest, with a holster on her hip. I watched, dumbfounded, as she picked up my Hogue Avenger and holstered it. She fixed me a honey-sweet smiled. I couldn’t breath. I KNEW I shouldn’t have told her... why did I tell her? He thought, desperate. Her smile was the last thing I saw before a bag was placed over the cage.
I screeched, throwing myself again the cage again and again. It hurt, yeah, but I had to get out. I had to get – out – OUT – the cage door opened and I flew – not like flew, but kinda got carried by my momentum – and hit the floor, hard. Instantly I morphed into a hundred-pound grizzly, roaring shredding anything in range. I felt flesh under my claws and my vision blurred with rage. I stamped heavily, my vision clearing. I realized that my claws were buried into the chest of a man. I backed away, my claws red and dripping. A crimson pool formed around him. I let out a mournful sound, thinking it was a civilian, but when I saw his badge, I growled. Suddenly a sharp pain hit my side and I roared. I felt myself shrinking against my own will – changing. Not a bird, I thought. Please not a bird. I found myself kneeling on the concrete in my human form. I pulled a small dart out of my ribcage and smashed it on the ground. I breathed heavily, my vision growing darker. I gritted my teeth and fought paralysis as a dozen gun barrels circled my head. Rock Face pushed his way through and grabbed me by my collar, hoisting to my feet. A stab of pain went through my head and my eyes rolled bac, but Rock Face clamped his hand on my jaw, jolting me back to consciousness. I glared at him, and he glared at me. “Who are you?” I asked. He laughed like it was a hilarious joke. “You have heard of me, Nighthawke. I am the Shadow of Death.” I choked. Him?! He was my long time enemy that I had never seen – constantly sending out his cronies to steal, loot and pillage the citizens. This is the guy I had been fighting? Great. “But you can call me Bob,” he added with a smile. I frowned. “Bob? That’s not very scary.” He growled in anger and slapped me, drawing a knife. “Whelp,” he hissed. “I’ll show you just how scary Bob can be!!” He prepared to strike, and I cringed, waiting for the impact. “Wait!” someone cried. I opened my eyes... Mersenne. I looked up at her hopefully. Instead of saying something like, “You can’t kill him!” or “I love him!” she said, “It’d be better if we tortured him!” I made a little whining in the back of my throat. She glared at me. Taking advantage of the pause, I swept my leg under Rock Face’s leg and ran for it, morphing into an elephant. Okay, maybe it wasn’t the brightest idea for escaping, but it worked. I busted through the concrete wall like it was a stack of toothpicks. After a bit of car-stomping, road-smashing, and traffic causing, I changed to a bird. I was beginning to not like those creatures. I morphed into human, in the highest spot I could find, and restrained tears. I couldn’t believe – Mersenne – I grimaced. That was it. I was staying single for the rest of my life.
After a day on the tower (not caring about curfew) I came down, strolling the streets. I had to stop the guy; and Mersenne. I saw the hole where I (elephant form) had come through the wall, and stepped in. This time I would be ready. I had spent my night constructing a lethal bomb. With any luck, it should take out the whole building. My feet crunched eerily over the rubble. Smoke and dust lingered in the air. I heard a moanish-scream to my right, and when I looked – aw, dang it. Jason and Mersenne, tied up, gagged suspended from the ceiling. I morphed quickly, brought them down and untied them. I left the gag on Mersenne, however.
“I was right,” I heard someone catcall. “You did come back for your friends.” I gulped. Guards blocked the exit, and two rings circled me. I could take them out pretty easily – but Jason and Mersenne... “Run!” I told them. “Run, and don’t look back!” They did so. I knocked out the guards easily, but hundreds more swarmed in. There was no way I could set the bomb and get out.... suddenly I realized what had to be done. With grim determination, I walked towards the Shadow of Death, who brandished his knife. Explosions rained around me and rain pelted the ground. See, if this were a movie, I think to myself, this is when the sad, melodramatic music would cue. I would look up into the rain, oblivious of the – The earth shook as an the ground exploded next to me. I fell sideways. -actually, scratch that. The explosions are a little too big to ignore. I kept walking, activating the bomb as I went. I threw it over my shoulder as I morphed into a Nighthawk – one last go, eh? And attacked the Shadow. The battle was short – he caught me after thirty four seconds I morphed back to human. We went hand to hand for a few more seconds. He grabbed my arm, snapped it (with a yelp from me) and twisted it behind my back. “Time to die, Nighthawke.”
Then the bomb went off.
We slammed into a wall. Shrapnel and rocks rained down on us. I vaguely felt a warm sensation cascade down my back, and when I tried to get up, pain arced down my spine. I realized with moisture in my eyes (From the dust. Of course. What did you think?) that he had managed to stab me in my weak spot. I looked up at him through gritted teeth – his neck was cocked at a painful angle and a little blood dibbled from his mouth. He was dead. I had done what I came for. I thought about all my great times with Jason, my first and last date with Mersenne, the single kiss we had shared – I didn’t regret it. I was wrong. If I had survived, I wouldn’t have stayed single. I couldn’t have. I still loved her. I breathed out slowly, my eyes growing dim. My body went limp.
Thus the end of the Nighthawke.Sometimes she cries.
Sometimes she breaks down.
Sometimes she can only see the faults.
Sometimes she looks in the mirror, and like a glaring crack, she sees right through her facade and wonders if others can see it, too. She muffles her desperate cries for help in the pillow at night, hoping no one hears, but at the same time needing a rescuer so badly.
Sometimes she realizes her humor, her smile, she's perfected it - to the point of locking herself in a shell of happiness with no escape, a mask of perfection. She knows there's no way anyone can see it... unless they look into her eyes. So she looks away. She doesn't make eye contact. And when she does, she trusts that person, silently pleading to be saved from her self-made prison.
Sometimes when she cries, she can see the facade widening. She knows the more she lets herself break, the harder it will be to repair. So she learns not to break. She learns to bottle the emotions, to keep them all inside, and not to express them.
Because expression is like handing the murderer the knife, loading the gun to be shot with. Expression is vulnerability is pain. And pain is something she's had too much of.
She's never had her heart broken. She's had her heart torn out, slowly, excruciatingly, vein by vein, muscle by muscle, and held in the hands of someone she trusted. She watches, hoping they'll understand, as they turn it over in their hands, inspecting the flaws, the dents, the erosion. And when they look up at her, for a moment, as if deciding, she clutches at the hole in her chest. Her facade was broken to them. They knew who she really was. Maybe, just maybe -
She watches in horror as they cast the heart upon the ground and step on it while walking away, murmuring under their breath that it was useless anyway. She feels pain flood her mind and body, pain she cannot describe, and she picks up her heart. It's not shattered or broken... just torn beyond repair, like the most painful of wounds to the flesh.
Sometimes there's no repairing injuries that have been done. She knows this, and she seals up her facade again, locking away those memories, never to be seen again... but sometimes...
...sometimes she cries.
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