#'your sword looked very impressive' could you be hitting on him any harder

[spacexseven]

hey you know what? fuck it. im making another one of these. this one is chuuya. 

when he gets the order to get close to you, he almost lets out a yawn in the middle of the executive meeting. like… seriously? all he has to do in this mission is make you fall for him? this is gonna be so easy he could cry! you poor, pathetic thing. you're not gonna have any idea what hit you when he gets done.or, thats what he thinks. the initial plan is just to throw money at the problem. thats what people like, right? hes SUPER confident, just peacocking around and grinning at you like he knows something you don't (pretty accurate to the situation). of course, you inevitably show little interest in what appears to just be some douche flaunting his wealth and expecting you to drop your pants over it, and hes lost.

the extreme confidence that he came into this mission with is gone. you don't? want? these nice things hes offering you? why Not? hes very confused and upset at this point. he had no plan b and his ego just took a MASSIVE hit. now, he's pissed. he'll show YOU! you're gonna like him so FUCKING much and then he'll KILL you and then he WINS. his pursuit gets aggressive quick. stalking you to find out your likes, dislikes, friends, favorite places, any information he can get. thinks hard about gifts you'd actually Like instead of just getting you the most expensive thing he can find. researches your interests and/or areas of study/work so he has things to talk to you about. and it all starts out as a pretty elaborate revenge plot, and hes extremely annoyed at you for making him do all this, but the thing about doing a lot to get close to someone: you might start to FEEL close to them, as well. being with you is. calm. easy. different from what hes used to in every way. it feels nice, to be with you. he falls for you WAY harder than you end up falling for him by the end of it. his loyalty to the mafia and his passion for you cross swords, and he does everything he can to find a compromise. up until you find out, of course. then you make the decision for him, you pack your shit as quickly as you can when he goes out to his “office job” and make a break for it. 

you dont make it far. did you really think you could run away from the port mafia so easily? you’re cute, sweetheart, you really are. c’mon, please don’t cry, he’s not gonna hurt ya! he’s not mad! you don’t have to be scared, baby, please? just let chuuya take you home without a fuss, ok? it’s not like you have much say in the matter anyway. 

- 🩹

chuuya and dazai rock paper scissors to decide who takes this mission and chuuya loses so he gets it :O all content for this au is tagged as #spy au 🐟

cw: yandere character, obsessive behavior, stalking, tracking devices, breaking in, implied kidnapping, deceit

despite how annoyed he might have sounded when he was tasked with this, chuuya's actually not so upset. this was a break for him from the usual tiring jobs he was put on, and honestly, he was curious as to what kind of person you were to have access to so much valuable information. on paper, you looked quite ordinary. nice smile, a pretty impressive resume, but...somehow he felt like he wasn't picking up on something.

the day he's set to meet you, he offers to buy you a drink and asks if you'd like to sit down and talk with him. he even smiles all pretty and he knows he's irresistible when he lays down the charm like that, but you only smile and say you're busy.

oh. he wasn't expecting that.

so, he decides he must be able to woo you with money instead. who doesn't like a new watch and luxurious cakes? but it keeps happening regardless. he brings you expensive gifts and casually remarks about his new bike, but you don't take the bait. each time you thank him but return the gift with a firm statement about not wanting such an expensive gift. and then you go and tell him you don't care about his bikes, "but that sounds pretty cool!"

you were so...infuriating. how could you be so callous to his efforts, when he's trying so hard to do this right? you could at least come out of this with wonderful memories and expensive items, even if you'd lose your job. he didn't have to stroke your cheek and get you things wrapped in premium paper. if he wanted to, he could just as easily blackmail you—as long as it gets the job done. but you were so ungrateful for his consideration. he swore he would get his revenge on you after this job was done.

you would wish you never met him.

the easiest (and fastest) way to figure out what you would actually like, according to chuuya, was by stalking you and rummaging around your place when you were at work. he bugged your phone and listened in on conversations, making a careful list of all the things you liked and formulating ideas for gifts you'd appreciate.

as expected, it works. you're touched by the genuinely nice things he gets you and you're impressed when you see him reading the same book you've been reading. suddenly, chuuya isn't so much of a pretentious asshole to you. he's softer and smiles more and...and he looks happy.

he feels happy, too. and it terrified him. you're definitely not what he expected, calm and cute when he's used to brashness. you talk to him about everything and you're genuinely interested in what he has to say, not just listening to poke fun at him. it makes him feel so warm. he could only hope you liked him nearly as much as he liked you.

but then you decide to run away.

some part of him tries to understand. what made you decide to throw all of this away? what made you feel like he wasn't worth it anymore? but try as hard as he might, he can't help but feel betrayed. maybe the mafia thing scared you, but you knew him! you've been dating for long enough to know that he wouldn't hurt you! he worshipped the ground you walked on, he got you anything you could ever desire, and he was still risking so much to keep you by his side. he loved you.

on the bright side, he thinks to himself, as he scours the streets for your new apartment, eyes glued to the blinking dot on his screen, at least now there won't be any more secrets between the two of you. he could go back to his usual job and you would be by his side. it would be the best of both worlds.

#yandere bsd #yandere bungou stray dogs #yandere bungo stray dogs x reader #yandere x reader #yandere bungo stray dogs #yandere chuuya x reader #yandere chuuya nakahara #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x reader #yandere chuuya #yandere bsd x reader #bsd x reader #chuuya x you #ask 🐟 #anon 🐟 #bsd 🐟 #dazai 🩹 🐟 #spy au 🐟

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

Undertaker, Ronald, Edward and Charles Grey comforting their gf who lost their young niece in an accident(my 9 year old niece was killed nearing 2 years ago when a driver fell asleep at the wheel and jumped the curb)

I'm so sorry for your loss, sweetheart :(

and I hope that this is in some way healing for you! it actually felt kind of healing for me too-

I remember when my ex's young niece (I can't remember how old she was, four or five maybe) was killed, it's been at least five or six years now, and while I was never that close with his family in general, I still do remember the times I was over at his house for the parties where a low of his family was there and I got to play with his niece and, even though we weren't very close, I still remember her tiny smile and laugh

may both those darling little angels rest in peace and be forever remembered ❤️

It just… makes him sick to think about, you know? For a child who had their whole life ahead of her, someone who had so many people who love her, to be taken out of the world in an instant, it’s unfair. He’s in shock from the news, not only for (Name) and her emotions, but also likely because he’d undoubtedly met her niece. Played with her, spoke to her, sang her songs, looked after her. Even if it wasn’t a long time since they met, he still had a bond with the little girl. There’s no way he’s leaving his beloved’s side, no matter what that means. He’ll hold her and do anything she needs him to do. He has no words of comfort to offer except for something that tastes hollow coming out of his mouth: “At least she’s not suffering anymore. She’s with God now, my love.” Whether or not that’s any solace depends on his S/O. Regardless, he’s here for her. He’s not going anywhere, and if she didn’t know before that she could count on him in times of extreme stress, she knows now that she can.

How, but…? He just saw (Niece) the other day. This isn’t right… it can’t have happened so quickly, can it? He gets hit harder with shock than his S/O, because he’s almost in denial that she’s gone. It’s no question that he’s been around that little girl, gently teasing her and impressing her with his fencing and things like that. Despite that she wasn’t his blood, she was close enough. His focus rapidly shifts from his own feelings to (Name)’s, because after all, this was her niece. She was closer to that child than he was, she spent more time with her. This must be devastating, so he makes sure he’s there for her. He makes sure Phipps and John and Ash can handle everything for Her Majesty, then Grey takes his darling home. If anyone so much as makes a comment that it was ‘only’ her niece (“be thankful it wasn’t your daughter or something, then you’d really be sad”), they’ll find themselves staring down his sword. Whatever she needs him to do, he’ll do it. No questions, no judgment, just support.

Fuckin’… that just ain’t right. It’s not. Everyone else can tell him till they’re blue in the face that the universe works in mysterious ways and all that shite, but that doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t think an aunt should have to bury her niece, or a mother her daughter. That little girl probably knew him as ‘Uncle Ronnie’, because he loves children and was very friendly with her. Although he might have kept his distance from (Name)’s family in general, because he doesn’t want to put them in danger just by being near them, he came around often enough to know (Niece); he’d always have a piece of candy in his pocket when he knew he’d be visiting his S/O, just in case (Niece) happened to be there too. It makes him angry and sad and he knows he shouldn’t be angry because it was an accident. He just sort of wants someone to blame. Having someone to blame makes it easier… only he knows it really doesn’t. He’ll actually go so far as to shirk his duties completely, (when usually he at least half-asses them) so that he can comfort (Name). He’s bad with comfort, though, so she’s… she’s got to tell him what she needs. If she does that, he’ll make it happen. This is just such a mess, he doesn’t want her to go to a dark place she can never come back from.

… Tragedy. Awful, Goddamn, bloody tragedy. That’s the only word for it that he can conjure up. That’s the only word that exists for something like this. Cases where he had to reap the soul of a child are those which are burned into his brain from his previous work, and burned in further are the children’s funerals he’s presided over in his current work. He hates it. The loss of a little one is something he feels so heavily, no matter who that child was. ‘There’s always a reason for these things,’ the higher-up Reapers would tell him, but he can’t believe that. He remembers (Niece) all too well, the way he would play with her and tell her jokes and sit in on her tea parties when his darling had her around. He tries so hard to be brave for her, whisking her to privacy and offering to her family that he’ll take care of everything for (Niece)’s funeral; no payment of any kind necessary. (He never takes any payment for the little ones, anyway.) And he makes sure to take care of everything, keeping his S/O fed and cleanly dressed and whatever else she needs. She’s going to be able to grieve in peace, dammit. At the same time… this is the inspiration behind his Bizarre Dolls, that grief, a perfect subject. Who would deserve to be brought back from death, if not a child whose life was taken too soon? He’s… simply not sure if he can bring himself to corrupt his precious (Name)’s beloved niece in that way.

#child death tw #twilightlover2007 #Black Butler #Kuroshitsuji #Edward #Grey #Ronald #Undertaker #reaction #romantic #platonic #angst #hurt/comfort #UGHHHHHH my heart :'c #one hell of a queue

[artekai]

“Fight me!” Artekai cried out, a little ways away from where Ignama was sitting on a log, apart from the rest of the werak.

His voice was high pitched and strained, and Ignama suspected it wasn’t coming across as self-assured as he intended. She barely moved as she tilted her head to look up at the kid, who scowled down at her from where he was standing, legs a bit apart in a careful warrior’s stance, as he held his child-sized spear in one hand and curled the other into a fist.

She then turned her gaze away again and went back to sharpening her spear.

“A self-respecting warrior would not pick a fight with an opponent who cannot fight back.” She said, punctuating her words with the sound of metal. “There is no challenge in that.”

“So you admit defeat before we’ve even fought?” Artekai turned his nose up, a shit-eating grin on his face. “That’s just sad.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at Ignama’s lips.

“Child, you are nine winters old.” She said. “You are barely half my height. You can hardly take down a measly Watcher by yourself.” She then shook her head, gaze still fixed on her own spear. “I won’t fight you until you are, at the very least, fifteen.”

“Coward! Fight me now!” Artekai said. “I might be nine, but you’re old and weak and missing one eye. Someone ought to challenge you for the chieftaincy before you become too weak to protect our werak.”

Now… that rubbed Ignama the wrong way.

With a flick of her wrist, she let her spear hit the snow with a crunching sound that seemed to attract Artekai’s attention. She stood up with a groan, reaffirming her grip around her weapon, but gave Artekai nothing more than a stony glance as she saw his face lit up with mischief.

“Very well.” She said. “If you insist.”

That child needed to be knocked down a peg. For the sake of his own chances at survival in the harsh world of southern Ban-Ur.

She had seen him fight plenty of times before, of course. He was strong, quick-witted, and assertive — he was quite impressive for a kid his age — but he was still a child. Not only was he physically smaller and more vulnerable, but he hadn’t seen a fraction of the world Ignama had seen, and so he was obviously no match for a seasoned adult like her.

He had barely only been able to try to land a hit on her when she knocked him down to the snow, drawing an “oof!” out of him.

“No fair!” He whined. “I wasn’t really ready! Let’s go at it again!”

He writhed around, kicked his feet, and tried to push Ignama’s spear off him with his own, but she was placing enough weight on it to keep him from wiggling away. The way she was holding her spear also left part of it positioned awfully close to Artekai’s head, so he turned his face up as much as he could to stay away, as if the spear were a sword and he were scared that she would cut him.

“It was a weak opening.” Ignama conceded with a nod. “You clearly are but a child.”

“But I was made by the machines!” Artekai shrieked, his voice cracking, as he wrenched harder and kicked his feet again. “I am Banukai’s successor. I am as good a vessel of the Blue Light as any flesh-and-blood human can be. You shouldn’t be able to beat me so easily!”

“You sing too loud for someone who doesn’t have a chorus to back him up.” Ignama said.  “Made by machines or not, you must fight to earn your rightful place in the hierarchy like your elders did long before you. Do you understand?”

Artekai pouted, scrunching up his face and puffing his cheeks in a way that made him look, simultaneously, cute as shit and like he was about to explode out of anger. He sucked in a deep breath, chest rising exaggeratedly high as if he was trying to look bigger and stronger than he was on purpose, but he then seemed to realize there was no point in arguing back. And so, he huffed, closing his eyes as he admitted defeat.

“Yes, my chieftain.” He grumbled.

“Very well.” Ignama put her spear aside and began getting up, taking Artekai’s hand to help him up as well. Once he was standing, she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Keep up your training, Artekai. The rest of the world won’t hold back like I do.”

Artekai nodded curtly, though he avoided eye contact. With no more acknowledgment, he held his spear close to him and took off, as if hoping to spare himself any more embarrassment.

Good. Ignama has achieved her purpose if that was the case. The last thing she wanted was to dishearten the kid, but a little bit of caution would serve him well.

Thankfully, it seemed like she had found that sweet spot. When he was, once again, on higher ground than Ignama, and could look down at her comfortably, Artekai stopped in his tracks and turned on his heel to face her.

“I will be back.” He said, with an overly serious air, unfitting for his childish looks, that only made him look all the more adorable. “Next week.”

Ignama couldn’t help the smile that softened her expression, as she looked up at the kid. And so, she caved in. “Fine.” She said. “I’ll track your progress.”

#reposting here so you can read if you don't have an ao3 account ^^ #oc: artekai #oc: ignama #oc tag #deni's stuff #deni's fics #horizon oc #horizon au #long post #fic: baby steps

[rotshop]

for writing I have a fun idea. Give us jeb but with an employer s/o because I think it would b fucked up and funny considering how he is about the employers

considering i just revisted . employer reader content earlier 2day this is fitting .,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

[ no warnings needed?????? i think???? ]

-

-You're something that's impossibly difficult to understand. You're entirely something else disguising itself as Nevadian. You're something people only see glimpses of the mock truth of in little slips here and there, just split seconds of something entirely otherworldly. There really aren't many words to describe it, other than the title of 'Employer.'

-Jeb is a man of science. He's done nothing but try and understand and learn throughout his entire career, collecting and applying knowledge in any way that may be effective. Anything that proves difficult to figure out becomes some little hobby he'll dig and pry into for any little scrap of information whereas others would drop it and move to something quicker.

-He's always had some complicated feelings on anything out there beyond Nevada. It's hard to hate something with no borders, even harder when you know you've utilized parts of it for your own power. (Admittedly, he was terrified when you'd first even glanced at his halo. Whether he was scared you'd make a case with this very point and he would have no retort or that you'd make a grab for it, he wasn't sure. He'd just hoped you didn't notice him readjusting his grip on the sword he'd held pointed at you.)

-You'd passively existed in Nevada for a long time, more of an Observer than anything else. You stayed out of sight and out of mind as much as possible, lingering in the corners of rooms, loitering around scaffolding of unfinished buildings, or hanging from dingy beams among the ceiling. There was no real purpose, no real method- you just liked seeing how people reasoned and behaved. You just liked seeing how these grunts spent their short lifespans in an apocalypse.

-Of course, not everyone is so interesting. There's plenty who exist reasonlessly, waiting till something stronger than themselves comes to take them out, aimless wanderers with constantly-shifting or plain nonexistent morals and goals. However, there's always a diamond somewhere in the rough. The so-called Savior had always been an interesting one to watch. Admittedly, he was impressive in the simple way of combative skills, but there was always something to be looked at in how he even bothered to try and fix things.

-Anyway, theatrics aside, he's not a fan of you on first meeting. Even if you tried to introduce yourself normally, he's immediately suspicious. All of his experience with and knowledge of employers has been negative, and the chances of this encounter being any different seem all too low in his eyes. Any step forwards you make is met with him taking two back. (He's glad you decide to keep up whatever friendly front you've come up with. He knows he can't lie and say he's entirely sure of how he could even try and land a hit on you. He's not sure of how he would really handle the encounter if you suddenly decided to just go for it other than playing defense till he can get away.)

-You're a little too persistent in your insistence you don't have any malicious intent, claiming that you're only curious about him. Eventually, he's worn down and agrees that you can follow him around, so long as you try and carry some weight and don't cause any problems. Just don't expect too much, he's keeping you at arm's length and then some. (Admittedly, he's nervous for the first while. It's a little nerve-wracking to have something so alien to him and everyone around him looming over his shoulder. He does his best to ignore it and focus on not dropping any of the files he's holding onto. He still does. You have to help him get all the papers back together from being spilled out onto the floor. It's a bit funny.)

-Over time, he does start talking to you more directly. At first it's simple questions, asking for why you're here, where you came from, if you even have a name. (You give answers, just ones he can't really understand. He stops looking too far into your origins with the 2nd question when you mention having seen the same story as Nevada, as him, before. He doesn't ask any further when you, presumably, give a tellingly apologetic smile at the question of the end of those stories.) It's all short lived conversations that only serve to establish some sort of basis with you. He'll answer some of the questions you have regarding him, all too wary of which ones he gives any real reply.

-Eventually, though, they start becoming more long-winded. He tells you more about himself, recounting some stories back from his days as a scientist and life before the red sky. He's still got some lingering anxieties about it, but they tend to dissolve at any genuine curiosity you display or laugh at something he tells you about. (He remembers fondly that you'd found some silly little story about Crackpot's shenanigans particularly amusing, snickering to yourself about it long after his retelling.)

-His habit of acquiring knowledge comes back prominently with you, ever-curious about your abilities and the sort of 'culture' among employers. It's almost cute seeing how interested he is in hearing about something that seemed to menial and mundane to you. (You might fabricate a few little things there, just because it's a little funny to see his reactions, but can anyone really blame you? It's just fun tosee him either whole-heartedly believe you or slowly realize you're laughing and most-definitely lying, scoffing with a roll of his eyes as you apologize tenfold. It's a little unfortunate you can't see the little endearing smile he has in your own fit of laughter.)

-He's not really too warm, unfortunately for you, but he makes some effort to find relatively comfortable shelter for the two of you. It's really just nice he's at all alright with you shifting close to him for any semblance of heat, even if he might laugh at your nearly betrayed look when he's making to get up before the 'sun's even risen. (He'll fold more often than not, staying with you a little while longer even if part of him can't help but feel like he's wasting some time. He excuses it saying he wouldn't be able to carry you around while you tried to collect yourself and that it would make him unproductive anyway. It's almost ironic when he ends up passing back out for longer than 'a while' right with you.)

-There's never any real title put to the relationship the two of you have but in a mix of the 'two oblivious motherfuckers' and 'its really just obvious and would be pointless to be flowery with a title' kind of ways. People see it in the synergy the two of you have, whether in combat or in conversation. You help him out whenever he seems overwhelmed by enemies and he (without really knowing why, considering you could easily survive yourself) does the same for you. You always bring up some comment he can't ignore and he always has some retort for you. It's almost sickening (but in like the married couple kind of way).

#employer reader #YIPPEEE been a while since ive used that tag lol #jebediah christoff x reader #jebus x reader #madness combat x reader #madcom x reader #rot writes #oh my god my knee hurts someone free me from this fresh hell.

[flameslikeanything]

tfw you realize Aziraphale isn’t the one with a thing for bad boys, Crowley is.

#good omens #book omens #azcrow #air conditioning #I was reading 3 as crowley being fascinated by aziraphale's new body or something #but now I have to read it as 'you disappeared someone without knowing where you sent him AND you possessed an old lady? [heart eyes]' #he fell because he was hanging around the 'wrong people' because he had a crush on lucifer mark my words #'your sword looked very impressive' could you be hitting on him any harder

[flowercrown-bard]

I have a sentence for you...or a prompt. I don't know what I want you to do with it, but by god please do something:

"He doesn't have anxiety. He just has a god complex and no opposable thumbs!"

My darling nonny. First of all, what. Second of all, I love you and I love this prompt! I made the weirdest noise when I read it. I did not expect that second sentence XD

The thing is, I didn't know what I wanted to do with this prompt either...while being sober, so here's what my slightly tipsy brain came up with :D

word count: 2160

can be read platonic or romatic I think

content warnings: use of the name ‘Julian’ (not by Geralt), one very bad sexual innuendo (nothing sexual happens)

part 2

The spell hit Jaskier square in the chest, before Geralt had time to react and throw himself in front of him.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s eyes went wide, though not in fear but in anticipation, as they snapped over to the witcher. “Geralt, what’s happening?”

Helplessly but not overly concerned, Geralt watched as Jaskier’s arms took on an unnatural position, bent at his sides. The bard’s head started to bob.

Geralt blinked at him and turned to the young sorcerer that looked curiously at Jaskier.

“Why aren’t you more worried?” The mage furrowed his brows. “Shouldn’t he be terrified?”

He turned to Geralt, who only shrugged.

“This happens regularly,” Geralt replied and his lips twitched up. “Last month, he’s been hit by a truth spell and the month before, he drank a potion that made him invisible to all but Roach.” His smile turned into a grin. “That was a very peaceful time.”

“Excuse me?” Jaskier squawked, his head still bobbing. “You missed me!”

“I didn’t. I could still hear you.” Geralt turned his attention back to the sorcerer who stared at them as if they were insane. “So, what exactly does this spell do?” Almost casually, Geralt’s hand wandered to the sword strapped to his back. “It better not be anything actually dangerous.”

Jaskier might have gotten cocky with how easily Geralt was able to break curses with all the experience he now had, but that didn’t mean Geralt wasn’t prepared to fight anyone who meant to cause Jaskier true harm. Even if Jaskier thought himself near invincible by now.

“No, no!” The mage held up his hands. “It’s not dangerous. I swear! It’s just supposed to…” he swallowed, his eyes darting between Jaskier and Geralt, clearly trying to figure out which one was more dangerous: The armed witcher or the bard who didn’t seem to be bothered in the least by being cursed but seemed rather giddy at the prospect of finding out what was going to happen next – after all, curses made for the most exciting songs, according to the bard. “It’s supposed to make his appearance match his character.”

Jaskier opened his mouth, probably to say something along the lines of ‘I already am as beautiful on the outside as I am on the inside’, but instead of words, a loud cock-a-doodle-doo left Jaskier’s lips. For a second, he looked terrified, before his expression morphed into one of fury and he let out a tirade of what was probably supposed to be insults.

Geralt exchanged a look with the mage, drawing up one eyebrow, when Jaskier continued to cluck.

“Ah, well, you see,” the mage turned bright red, “Marx was quite sure that he,” he glanced at Jaskier, who suddenly shrunk, his hair turning bright red and rising up and turning into a coxcomb, “was a coward and would turn into a chicken.”

Jaskier gave the mage one final indignant glare, probably cursing his rival’s name, before his mouth turned into a beak and his face was no longer that of a human, capable of expressing such emotions.

“Your employer was wrong,” Geralt deadpanned. “Jaskier is anything but a coward.” With the corners of his lips twitching and a glint in his eyes, he added, “But he definitely can be a cocky bastard.”

Jaskier, the cock, fluttered with his wings in indignation and let out another crow, looking up at Geralt. Though Jaskier could no longer speak or make facial expressions, Geralt knew exactly what the pleading look Jaskier sent him meant.

Geralt knew a hundred and one ways to break a curse. But more importantly, he knew Jaskier.

And so, Geralt knew exactly what Jaskier needed him to do.

--

It was ridiculously easy to break into Valdo Marx’ quarters at night, even while carrying a rooster that never stopped clucking and fluttering his wings excitedly in one arm. Jaskier could count himself lucky that he hadn’t turned into a peacock. It might have been more fitting, if Geralt had anything to say about it, but it would have definitely made scaling the building and squeezing through the window together, much harder.

Once inside the troubadour’s rooms, Geralt set Jaskier down gently.

“Do your worst,” he said with a grin and watched Jaskier ruffle his feathers in excitement, before he darted across the room, tearing at Valdo Marx’ notebooks with his beak, tearing at the decorative pillows on the armchair and plucking the strings of the lute standing against a wall harshly enough with his claws that they nearly snapped.

Geralt grimaced at the sound, but leaned back against a wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest, watching in amusement as his best friend wreaked as much havoc in his rival’s rooms as possible.

The noise must have roused Valdo Marx from his sleep, for a muffled curse came through the closed door, presumably leading to the troubadour’s bed room. The sound of Valdo Marx jumping out of his bed and hasting towards his now destroyed living room was interrupted by Jaskier, who crowed again and fluttered his wings in an attempt to make himself taller, preparing to make an impression when Valdo finally saw him.

The door was flung open and a dishevelled troubadour appeared, staring in horror at the mess that was his living space.

“What in the name of –“

His eyes fell on Jaskier first, then he saw the witcher still leaning against the wall, pointedly casual. Realisation dawned on Valdo’s face, followed briefly by a flash of triumph, that instantly turned into regret when Jaskier began hacking at the notebooks with more glee than before, preening under the horrified attention of his new audience.

“Witcher,” Valdo said breathlessly. “Put a stop to this, this instant!”

Geralt lifted a brow. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“Yes, yes, I proved Julian is a coward.” He waved his hands through the air, his voice turning shrill with every second that his panic grew. “I get to see him anxious and he’s reacting very poorly and I have to face the consequences. I get it. I shouldn’t have hired that mage. Is that what you want to hear?”

Geralt let out a low hum, drawing it out longer than necessary, simply because he knew how much Jaskier enjoyed witnessing Valdo’s growing despair.

“You’re right, you’re the one who has to face the consequences for cursing him.”

Relief flooded Valdo’s face. “Great. Now make him stop!”

Jaskier looked Valdo directly in the eyes as he fluttered onto the table and ruined the remaining notes the troubadour had carefully arranged in neat piles on his desk in the least dignified way a bird could ruin something. Though Jaskier’s voice was stolen from him, the mess he left on the notes couldn’t have been a more obvious statement: Valdo’s songs were shit.

The slighted troubadour’s face turned red with fury.

“How dare you!” Valdo took a step towards the destructive rooster but thought better of it almost immediately. He settled on pointing an accusatory finger at Jaskier instead of risking coming anywhere near him. “You’re a cad and a coward! I should have known how poorly you’d react to being cursed – becoming panicked and being unable to control yourself!”

Geralt tilted his head to the side. “See, that’s the thing,” he said slowly, his voice even enough that only Jaskier would be able to tell how much he enjoyed this as well, “That’s where you are wrong. Jaskier isn’t a coward. His fluttering around and destroying things right now? He’s not having anxiety. He just has a god complex and no opposable thumbs!" Geralt gave Valdo a shit-eating grin. “And he’s got a crow to pluck with you.”

“He-“ Valdo visibly had to restrain himself. “Help me, witcher. You can’t just let this monster destroy my property. He…he-!”

“You want me to get rid of a monster for you?”

Valdo nodded eagerly.

Geralt exchanged a look with Jaskier and shrugged.

“I don’t work for free.”

Valdo spluttered. “You can’t be serious.”

Geralt remained silent and Jaskier took a threatening step towards the open door to Valdo’s bedroom, obviously with the intent of destroying Valdo’s bed in any way he could think of. Panic flashed across Valdo’s face.

“I’ll pay you!” he shouted quickly. “I – I’ll write a sing about you. If you help me, I’ll sing about…” his eyes darted around the room, clearly struggling to come up with something on the spot. His gaze found Jaskier, before he grabbed Geralt’s arm, licking his lips nervously, or perhaps in an attempt to look seductive, “ – about how masterfully you handle cock.”

Jaskier froze and Geralt could see the moment when Valdo realised that he had said the wrong fucking thing.

If cocks could look murderous, Jaskier definitely did in this moment.

Geralt couldn’t tell if his rage came from the prospect of Valdo writing a song about this encounter and making a profit out of it, or if he was indignant because Jaskier had had the exact same idea for a song. Or perhaps he had a problem with Valdo’s barely concealed attempt at compromising Geralt, something Jaskier himself had taken great joy in doing with the worst possible pick-up lines, since the day they had met.

Whatever the reason for his anger, Jaskier took a deliberate pause, in which Valdo had enough time to regret every decision that had led up to this moment, before he charged at the troubadour, fluttering his wings and jumping up into Valdo’s face, clawing at his curls and tearing at his lacy night shirt.

“Witcher!” Valdo screeched, not unlike a rooster himself, and waved his arms to shoo Jaskier off – unsuccessfully. “Make him go away! Break the fucking curse! I – I’ll pay you! Twenty crowns!”

“Seventy,” Geralt deadpanned. No one in their right mind would pay that much coin, but Valdo Marx was evidently desperate and his decision was helped along by the rooster, who’s beak came dangerously close to tugging at the troubadour’s moustache.

“Fine! I’ll pay you seventy crowns.” Valdo’s voice broke in his blind panic. He would likely be unable to sing the next day, from all the shouting he did. “Just get him off of me!”

Geralt waited another heartbeat, granting Jaskier a last moment of rightful – and undoubtedly petty – vengeance, before pushing off the wall, opening his arms invitingly.

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier clucked in disappointment and pecked one last time at Valdo’s hair, before fluttering into Geralt’s arms.

The witcher left the troubadour’s rooms with his best friend, still in the form of a very smug cock in his arms, seventy crows richer and an experience he and Jaskier would laugh about many times over the next years.

--

As Geralt sat the rooster down on the bed at the room they had rented and let himself fall onto the bed next to him, Jaskier looked incredibly pleased with himself, preening and making noises, as if recounting the happenings, though Geralt had witnessed them first- hand.

When Geralt tilted his head in amusement, Jaskier seemed to realise that he still had no voice – or opposable thumbs - and let out a rather loud and obnoxious noise.

“Sorry,” Geralt said with a shit-eating grin, “I have no idea what you want from me. You’ll have to speak more clearly.”

Jaskier glared at him and fluttered closer to tug at Geralt’s hair impatiently.

Geralt chuckled and ran a hand over Jaskier’s soft feathers, making the bird-bard relax under his ministrations, though it was clear that Jaskier did so very reluctantly and would hold a grudge, if Geralt didn’t break the curse in the next five minutes.

Geralt hummed thoughtfully as he petted Jaskier.

“Just for the record, I thought taking revenge on Marx was a terrible idea,” he said, and when Jaskier clucked reproachfully, he added, “but it was quite impressive. And I had a lot of fun watching you.”

Geralt hadn’t known that cocks had the ability to look proud, but Jaskier somehow managed to do just that.

“In fact,” Geralt said slowly, already knowing that Jaskier would agree, once he heard Geralt’s full proposition, “how would you like to wait just a little longer before I break the curse?”

Jaskier pecked at Geralt’s fingers and glared at him.

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me,” Geralt said, flicking his fingers lightly against Jaskier’s beak. At his words, Jaskier perked up, cocking his head to the side curiously.

“Last winter, Lambert destroyed my room with a moon dust bomb. The damn silver shavings are still everywhere.” Geralt’s lips stretched into a wolfish grin. “I’m sure, as my ‘best friend in the whole wide world’, you wouldn’t mind returning the favour and wreaking a little havoc in my brother’s room. I couldn’t imagine anyone would be better suited for that job than you.”

Jaskier fluttered excitedly into Geralt’s lap and the sound he made in response to Geralt’s words could only be described as incredibly cocky.

#at first i wanted to make the prompt about Roach #but nahh #Hähnchen #aka. my favourite insult Dandelion receives in the witcher books #i still don't know if the english translation is 'cock' or 'chicken' but either way I love the german word the translater chose #it's beautifully stupid #my writing #geralt #jaskier #valdo marx #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt&jaskier #fic #witcher #witcher fic #prompt #ask and you shall receive #here i was thinking (for the tenth time this year) that I would take a break from writing #and then my dear nonny just had to sent me the funniest prompt #ily nonny #feral jaskier #cursed jaskier

[lily-drake]

Photograph

Based on

Thank you @johannaiii for letting me write this!!!! It was so much fun and it was a really good prompt!

Talia didn’t like the process of giving birth, in fact she loathed it.  She swore she would never, and she meant never do it again.  But when she was giving birth, and she found out that she was having twins, and she got to hold her children that she sacrificed and suffered for, she loved them.  When she learned that one of them was a girl, she knew that her father would be furious and demand her death.  So she immediately summoned one of the monks from the Tibetan temple that her father was allying with and gave them the girl.  She demanded that they train her and protect, and that she would never, ever be mentioned to Ra’s.  She even killed the nurses who helped her give birth to make sure that there was no one left who would know.  It wouldn’t be hard to find replacements for them anyways, it’s not like their lives were significant.  They had served out their use, now there was no need for them.  When it was time she presented her son, Damian, to her father claiming him to be the only child and heir to the Demon’s Head.  Ra’s was very pleased with her and she felt pride at being able to carry out her task properly that her father was very much pleased with her and her child.

Even though Marinette, as she had named the child before she had given her up, was no longer in the league, she made sure she was still in her daughter’s life.  Once every year she left for “training” purposes with Damian and went to the ancient temple in Tibet to visit her daughter and make sure that the two siblings got to spend time with each other.  Marinette was growing up so fast and the monks would report to her of her daughter’s progress.  They told her that Marinette was destined for greatness and to be a powerful leader, and that pleased Talia greatly.  The man in charge of her daughter's training, Master Wang Fu, would show her photos of her daughter and her accomplishments; she wished that she would be allowed to do the same for Damian.  But the League and the Temple of Order, while partners, were two separate entities when it came to how they were trained and taught.  She smiled as she saw her children sparing on the temple’s grounds, each assessing how strong the other had become since their last meeting a year ago.

They were both 6-years-old now, and Marinette had lost one of her top baby teeth.  She wore the traditional light blue training robes the monks wore while Damian wore his traditional black and red armor with his katana sheathed on his back.  She watched her children and a small smile graced her lips as she watched the two.  They were opposites in almost everything, yet they were still so similar.  Damian’s fighting was aggressive and forceful while Marinette’s focussed on out maneuvering and tiring out the opponent from a distance before striking where it hurt the most.  Their personalities were like fire and ice with Damian being aggressive and mighty while Marinette was soft and humble.  Damian was assertive and forceful in the way he spoke, while Marinette was gentle and descriptive.  Though, like she said before they had many similarities that helped to cement their relationship.  They both were very artistic, in battle they both would get up and personal with their challenger if given the opportunity, both were very intelligent and soaked everything up like a sponge, and both were highly competitive.  The sound of metal being hit together sounded from the training grounds as Damian and Marinette fought with their respective weapons; Damian with his katana and Marinette with her two daggers.

“You’ve definitely improved since the last visit, 'ukht, but so have I.”

Damian announced as he went in to sweep his sister’s legs all while bringing his blade down towards her.  Marinette used her daggers to lift Damian’s blade and flipped backwards as Damian tried to perform his strike.  She was very flexible and graceful when she was in the air.  It sometimes looked as if she were flying when she performed some of her stunts.

“Maybe you have, Xiōngdì, but I seem to still have the upper hand.”

Marinette replied with smugness dripping from her voice as her brother glared at her.  Marinette carefully crafted her words to manipulate while Damian spoke his mind and used his to order and command.  They were opposites, but they completed each other in a way few will ever know.

The day Damian and Talia were to begin their trek back down the mountain Fu ran up to Damian and placed a piece of paper in his hands.  He bowed respectfully to the old man and looked at the picture.  It was a picture the old man had taken a few days ago.  Marinette was smiling brightly and had her arm around his shoulder while he had his arms crossed in front of him and leaned into his sister’s touch with a small smirk.  They were both in their training clothes and stood in front of the mountains that hid and protected the Temple of Order.  He smiled at it and glanced at his sister who was waving goodbye with a big sad smile.  He simply nodded and left not knowing that this would be the last time he would for many years that he would lay eyes on her once again.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Order, it was gone, destroyed!  Marinette felt tears rush down her face as she watched her friends and mentors perish in the flames of miraculous magic gone astray.  She could feel the cold wind passing by her as Master Fu dragged her away, but she couldn’t remove her gaze from her home that was falling into pieces.  What would Damian think, she had to leave something for him to let him know she was okay!  But she was never given the chance because she couldn’t pull away from her master.  They were the last ones left, and Marinette couldn’t wrap her mind around it at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

Damian and Talia hiked the trial many months later, and as they neared the top they could sense something was definitely off.  The top of the temple would usually be in view by now. When they finally reached the top they froze as they saw the ruins of the burned and destroyed temple in front of them.  Talia was the first to break from her daze and ran to the ruins searching through them to find any remains of her daughter.  Damian soon joined his mother, but it was no use.  Damian and Talia believed the worst had happened to her, and with silent tears flowing down his face he stabbed his sword into the ground in front of the burnt remains and fell onto his knees in front of it.  The sword would serve as a gravestone for the fallen warriors here, but it specifically would serve as Marinette’s grave marker.  She was a brave warrior, one of the best, and she was gone now.  Talia stood by her son’s side and soon kneeled in front of it as well with her hand placed on her son’s shoulder.  As they traveled down the mountain Damian swore that he would never be vulnerable again, he would never care about anyone ever again, because the pain he felt was too intense and never wanted to feel it ever again.

So both He and Talia took on more missions, Talia was rarely at the base, always gone doing whatever her father needed.  The training in Tibet never happened again, and Damian grew closer to his grandfather.  He trained harder, attacked ruthlessly, and channeled all his pain and rage into his strikes.  He held onto the photo that Fu had given him of the two of them so many years ago.  He had it tucked away in a secret place in his room where no one would ever find it, because he wanted to keep her with him in some way.  Never again, he wouldn’t be hurt like before ever again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette lived with Master Fu in a tea parlor under the guise of Marin Fu.  She helped him run his parlor and distribute his charms to the people through the teas she brewed while he placed charms on people through the massage therapy he did.  Fu let her be home schooled as she already knew way more than any normal school could teach her.  She would just be repeating things when she could be learning more new material.  She was also taught how to better practice her magic and use the miraculous.  She was going to be the new guardian one day, she was going to be the last guardian one day, and that thought scared her and brought back all of the nightmares.  She locked that night and anything before the fire back up in her mind only remembering what she needed to when she needed to.

Fu wanted her to interact with people though, so with the money he made he sent her to a gymnastics class where she could still retain her skills and get better at them.  She honestly loved the classes and she felt so free when she did them.  Nobody could beat her, in fact she advanced to level 10 quickly and was well on her way to the elite by the time she was 13.  And that’s when Hawkmoth struck Paris.

Lady Rouge and her partner Chat Noir made a decent team, but he was nowhere near her skill level which often annoyed her.  He wasn’t a true black cat, her brother was.  He was her balanced counterpart, and this cat was just a stand in.  And as time went on the imbalance continued the boy became corrupted by the destructive energy of the ring.  She had continually told Master Fu about it, but he would not listen.  And then it was time for him to pass, and she became the grand guardian, the last grand guardian.  Tears fell down the young 15-year-olds face as she watched her mentor's spirit leave him in his peaceful slumber.  He was so old, and it was just his time for him to go, but now she had nowhere to go, but she knew what she had to do.

“Hello, M’lady.”

Chat Noir said in a flirty tone as he spun his staff as if the speed he was doing it at would impress her.

“Hello, Chat.”

She replied terse with her arms crossed in front of her as she leaned on the railing of the Eiffel Tower and gazed at the sky that held little stars due to all of the lights of the city below them.

“Are you not excited to see your soulmate?  Come on M’lady,”

He said grabbing one of her hands with a large smile and deep voice,

“let me take you out somewhere, just the two of us.”

It took everything in Marinette not to break his wrist in that moment, but she had to play along.

“Okay.”

Chat’s eyes widened and his leather tail began to move side to side in an excited manner.

“W-wait, really?!”

“You know what, ya.  This week has been really tough and I could use it.”

Chat’s smile turned into a smirk and a dark twinkle lit up his eyes.  He took a step back and held his hand, his ringed hand, out for her to take.  SHe smiled at him gently and innocently and took his hand, and as he was about to pull her forward she took hold of the rings and ripped her hand off, taking the ring with her.  There was a blonde boy with green eyes staring at her with shock and hurt written all over his face, then eventually anger.

“I am revoking you from being able to wield the Black Cat Miraculous.  You are not compatible to wield this power as you are not my balanced counterpart.  The ring has been corrupting and harming you after all of your exposure to it when you are not the right one to wear it while I hold the earrings.  Thank you for the help you have given me in the past, but I’m afraid that I can not risk hurting you any longer.”

The boy stared at her with wide shocked eyes and nodded.  She could see that he too had now noticed the change as with the ring it didn’t feel like he changed at all.  She helped him get to his house and left after shaking his hand and thanking him one last time for his help.  And as she was about to leave the property she heard the sound of something above her opening and through the now open window she saw an akuma flying out of it.

She quickly caught the akuma and crashed through the glass window into the dark room.  Before Hawkmoth could even realize what had happened she had tied him up in her yo-yo and he was pinned in place with the tight cord.  If she pulled it any tighter it would cut into his skin and draw blood.  She grabbed the broach from the middle of the suit --which was as hideous as his akuma designs, if not worse-- and watched the man detransform making sure the camera on her yo-yo recorded the whole thing.

“You will be subject to the curse of whatever your abused kwami sees fit for you, and then the people of Paris will have you.”

Was all she said as she brought the man onto his knees so he could properly respect the kwami and the God’s they are.  Nooroo appeared and stared down at the man in front of him with an angered fiery glare.

“Gabriel Agreste, you have abused me and my miraculous for too long!  I bring upon a curse upon you, that no one will ever believe a word you say, and that your craft of manipulation will only work against you!”

And with that, pain courses through Gabriel and the wings of a butterfly were branded on the left side of his chest just above his heart.  She left soon after that and sent the footage for the police.  She watched from a distance as the police took him in, and told one of the officers that Adrien was innocent and had no connection to his father’s scheme.  Once she was sure Gabriel would not be able to escape his justice she pulled the horse miraculous from her yo-yo and summoned a portal to wherever she needed to be next.

~~~~~~~~~~

Damian was in the cave training when Todd burst in and began to run towards him with a stupid smug grin on his face.  Damian rolled his eyes and watched Todd stop in front of him holding something small and flimsy in his hand.

“Demon Spawn,”

He breathed out, his smug smile growing wider,

“Did you have a girlfriend in the league?”

Damian was….confused.  He had no such thing, but as Todd showed him the thing in his hand his blood froze.  It was the photo of him and Marinette.  How did he find it?!  Why did he even have it?!

“Give it back, Todd.”

Damian growled lowly hands gripping the hilt of his sword tightly.

“She is!  Guys, Damian had a-“

He tackled Jason after that and wrestled the photo out of his grip and held it close to him.  He glared daggers at Todd and made absolutely sure that the old photo was still intact.  Once he was sure.  Todd was back on his feet and Damian had the urge to run him through with his sword for daring to rummage through his belongings and to dare touch his picture.  He opened his mouth to spit out fiery words of anger, when a portal opened right in front of Damian.  A girl walked out of it and the portal immediately closed.  It was absolutely silent in the cave as the other occupants who were also there stared at the person.  The girl was rigid as she stared Damian directly in the eyes, and he felt a familiar pull to her.

“Kaalki, Tikki separate.  Tikki spots off.”

She spoke quickly, and her voice, and those words, and he knew who she was.  But that was impossible, because she had died, hadn’t she?!  Arms wrapped around him and he could hear sniffles and he felt his arms wrap robotically around the small frame of his sister.

“Xiōngdì, I missed you so much!  I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner!  Th-the Order was destroyed and Fu woul-wouldn’t let me leave a message, and-and someone was misusing the Butterfly in France (sniff).  And-and…..”

She took a long shaky breath in and sighed,

“I missed you so much.”

It took a while to realize that silent tears were falling down his face, and he hugged her even tighter against his chest.  Because his sister, his twin sister was alive, and she hadn’t died in the fire and destruction of the temple.

“It’s okay, 'ukht.  I’ve got you.”

They stayed like that for a few precious moments before Todd yelled,

“What the f*!”

———————

Permanent Taglist:

@aespades @adrestar

#maribat #sibling au #sibling daminette #marinette al ghul wayne #marinette fu #damian al ghul wayne #monk marinette #talia sugar #bio!dad bruce wayne #twins au #The Order #mlb x batman #dc x mlb #angst #fluff

[bringbackthebastard]

Bring Back the Bastard Daily Prompts

Hello, folks! I'm posting these two weeks before we begin our fest, on September 1st, to give folks some inspiration on what to write each day as we celebrate Severus Snape's pettiest, most dastardly moments. I specifically picked out moments Snaters always harp on, that Snapedom personally enjoys--from any moment with Trevor to bitching at Lupin at Sirius, to the moments that Lily turns away and Dumbledore's face flashes with disgust--sure, he's a bastard, but he's our bastard, and that's what we like about him. You don't want him? Good. We'll keep him. Here are 30 scene prompts for 30 days--it's a long list, pulled chronologically from all seven books, but I found that it reminded me of everything I love about this character. The moments where he's called deranged, the moments where he slips into all-caps, the ugliest moments of the soul. Hope yall enjoy. Excited to kick off the fest starting September 1st, and absolutely excited to see what Snapedom will do. Let's Bring Back the Bastard! The prompts are below the readmore.

Day 1: The Scar Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacheer with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes--and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead. "Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head. "What is it?" asked Percy. "N-nothing." The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look--a felling that he didn't like Harry at all. "Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked Percy. "Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to--everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

Day 2: Bad Impressions Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name. "Ah, yes," he said softly. "Harry Potter. Our new--celebrity."

Day 3: Potions Class "Potter!" said Snape suddenly "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Ron, who looked as stumped as he was; Hermione's hand shot into the air. "I don't know, sir," said Harry. Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Tut, tut--fame clearly isn't everything."

Day 4: A Horrible Sight Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages. "Blasted thing," Snape was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?" Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but-- "POTTER!" Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped. "I just wondered if I could have my book back." "GET OUT! OUT!"

Day 5: Maybe He's Ill "Hang on..." Harry muttered to Ron. "There's an empty chair at the staff table...Where's Snape?" Professor Severus Snape was Harry's least favorite teacher. Harry also happened to be Snape's least favorite student. Cruel, sarcastic, and disliked by everybody except the students from his own House (Slytherin), Snape taught Potions. "Maybe he's ill!" said Ron hopefully. "Maybe he's left," said Harry, "because he missed out on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job again!" "Or he might have been sacked!" said Ron enthusiastically. "I mean, everyone hates him--" "Or maybe," said a very cold voice right behind them, "he's waiting to hear why you two didn't arrive on the school train."

Day 6: Slytherin Takes the Field "But I booked the field!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "But I booked it!" "Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. 'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker.'"

Day 7: No Quidditch For You! "I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful," he said. "It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest." "Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong." Dumbledore was giving Harry a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made Harry feel as though he were being X-rayed. "Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly. Snape looked furious.

Day 8: Expelliarmus! "Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry--you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!" "Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?" Ron muttered in Harry's ear. Snape's upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at *him* like that he'd have been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction. Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them. "As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our fist spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course." "I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured, watching Snape baring his teeth. "One--two--three--" Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: "Expelliarmus!" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet. He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Day 9: Only Bite Him A Little Bit, Please "Don't move, Potter," said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. "I'll get rid of it..."

Day 10: Poisoning Trevor The end of the lesson in sight, Snape strode over to Neville, who was cowering by his cauldron. "Everyone gather 'round," said Snape, his black eyes glittering, "and watch what happens to Longbottom's toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don't doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned." The Gryffindors watched fearfully. The Slytherins looked excited. Snape picked up Trevor the toad in his left hand and dipped a small spoon into Neville's potion, which was now green. He trickled a few drops down Trevor's throat. There was a moment of hushed silence, in which Trevor gulped; then there was a small op, and Trevor the tadpole was wriggling in Snape's palm. The Gryffindors burst into applause. Snape, looking sour, pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his robe, poured a few drops on top of Trevor, and he reappeared suddenly, fully grown. "Five points from Gryffindor," said Snape, which wiped smiles from every face. "I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed."

Day 11: Insufferable Know-It-All Everyone sat in motionless silence; everyone except Hermione, whose hand, as it so often did, had shot straight into the air. "Anyone?" Snape said, ignoring Hermione. His twisted smile was back. "Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between--" "We told you," said Parvati suddenly, "we haven't got as far as werewolves yet, we're still on--" "Silence!" snarled Snape. "Well, well, well, I never thought I'd meet a third-year class who wouldn't even recognize a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are..." "Please, sir," said Hermione, whose hand was still in the air, "the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf--" "That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger," said Snape coolly. "Fire more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all."

Day 12: Your Saintly Father "I would hate for you to run away with a false idea of your father, Potter," he said, a terrible grin twisting his face. "Have you been imagining some act of glorious heroism? Then let me correct you--your saintly father and his friends played a highly amusing joke on me that would have resulted in my death if your father hadn't gotten cold feet at the last moment. There was nothing brave about what he did. He was saving his own skin as much as mine. Had their joke succeeded, he would have been expelled from Hogwarts." Snape's uneven, yellowish teeth were bared.

Day 13: Don't Talk About What You Don't Understand "KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL!" Snape shouted, looking suddenly quite deranged. "DON'T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" A few sparks shot out of the end o his wand, which was still pointed at Black's face. Hermione fell silent. "Vengeance is very sweet," Snape breathed at Black. "How I hoped I would be the one to catch you..." "The joke's on you again, Severus," Black snarled. "As long as this boy brings his rat up to the castle" --he jerked his head at Ron-- "I'll come quietly...." "Up to the castle?" said Snape silkily. "I don't think we need to go that far. All I have to do is call the dementors once we get out of the Willow. They'll be very pleased to see you, Black...pleased enough to give you a little Kiss, I daresay...."

Day 14: A Great Disappointment "He must have Disapparated, Severus. We should have let somebody in the room with him. When this gets out--" "HE DIDN'T DISAPPARATE!" Snape roared, now very close at hand. "YOU CAN'T APPARATE *OR* DISAPPARATE INSIDE THIS CASTLE! THIS--HAS--SOMETHING--TO--DO--WITH--POTTER!" "Severus--be reasonable--Harry has been locked up--" BAM. The door of the hospital wing burst open. Fudge, Snape, and Dumbledore came striding into the ward. Dumbledore alone looked calm. Indeed, he looked as though he was quite enjoying himself. Fudge appeared angry. But Snape was beside himself. "OUT WITH IT, POTTER!" he bellowed. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" "Professor Snape!" shrieked Madam Pomfrey. "Control yourself!" "See here, Snape, be reasonable," said Fudge. "This door's been locked, we just saw--" "THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE, I KNOW IT!" Snape howled, pointing at Harry and Hermione. His face was twisted; spit was flying from his mouth. "Calm down, man!" Fudge barked. "You're talking nonsense!" "YOU DON'T KNOW POTTER!" shrieked Snape. "HE DID IT, I KNOW HE DID IT--" "That will do, Severus," said Dumbledore quietly. "Think about what you are saying. This door has been locked since I left the war ten minutes ago. Madam Pomfrey, have these students left their beds?" "Of course not!" said Madam Pomfrey, bristling. "I would have heard them!" "Well, there you have it, Severus," said Dumbledore calmly. "Unless you are suggesting that Harry and Hermione are able to be in two places at once, I'm afraid I don't see any point in troubling them further." Snape stood there, seething, staring from Fudge, who looked thoroughly shocked at his behavior, to Dumbledore, whose eyes were twinkling behind his glasses. Snape whirled about, robes swishing behind him, and stormed out of the ward. "Fellow seems quite unbalanced," said Fudge, staring after him. "I'd watch out for him if I were you, Dumbledore." "Oh, he's not unbalanced," said Dumbledore quietly. "He's just suffered a severe disappointment."

Day 15: Haven't You Heard? "Blimey, haven' yeh heard?" said Hagrid, his smile fading a little. He lowered his voice, even though there was nobody in sight. "Er--Snape told all the Slytherins this mornin'....Thought everyone'd know by now...Professor Lupin's a werewolf, see. An' he was loose on the grounds las' night...He's packin' now, o' course."

Day 16: I See No Difference "And what is all this noise about?" said a soft, deadly voice. Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamored to give their explanations; Snape pointed a long yellow finger at Malfoy and said, "Explain." "Potter attacked me, sir--" "We attacked each other at the same time!" Harry shouted. "--and he hit Goyle--look--" Snape examined Goyle, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi. "Hospital wing, Goyle," Snape said calmly. "Malfoy got Hermione!" Ron said. "Look!" He forced Hermione to show Snape her teeth--she was doing her best to hide them with her hands, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape's back. Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, "I see no difference."

Day 17: The Dark Mark Snape strode forward, past Dumbledore, pulling up the left sleeve of his robes as he went. He struck out his forearm and showed it to Fudge, who recoiled. "There," said Snape harshly. "There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff's too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord's vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eater to be sure of a welcome back into the fold."

Day 18: If You Are Ready...If You Are Prepared... "Severus," said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, "you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready...if you are prepared..." "I am," said Snape. He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely. "Then good luck," said Dumbledore, and he watched, with a trace of apprehension on his face, as Snape swept wordlessly after Sirius.

Day 19: Obviously "Now...how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" she asked, her quill poised over her clipboard. "Fourteen years," Snape replied. His expression was unfathomable. His eyes on Snape, Harry added a few drops to his potion; it hissed menacingly and turned from turquoise to orange. "You applied first for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?" Professor Umbridge asked Snape. "Yes," said Snape quietly. "But you were unsuccessful?" Snape's lip curled. "Obviously." Professor Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard. "And you have applied regularly for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?" "Yes," said Snape quietly, barely moving his lips. He looked very angry. "Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?" asked Umbridge. "I suggest you ask him," said Snape jerkily. "Oh I shall," said Professor Umbridge with a sweet smile. "I suppose this is relevant?" Snape asked, his black eyes narrowed. "Oh yes," said Professor Umbridge. "Yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers'--er--backgrounds...." She turned away, walked over to Pansy Parkinson, and began questioning her about the lessons. Snape looked around at Harry and their eyes met for a second. Harry hastily dropped his gaze to his potion, which was now congealing foully and giving off a strong smell of burned rubber. "No marks again, then, Potter," said Snape maliciously, emptying Harry's cauldron with a wave of his wand. "You will write me an essay on the correct composition of this potion, indicating how and why you went wrong, to be handed in next lesson, do you understand?"

Day 20: Very Like His Father "How touching," Snape sneered. "But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father?" Yes, I have," said Sirius proudly. "Well then, you'll know he's so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him," Snape said sleekly. Sirius pushed his chair roughly aside and strode around the table toward Snape, pulling out his wand as he went; Snape whipped out his own. They were squaring up to each other, Sirius looking livid, Snape calculating, his eyes darting from Sirius' wand-tip to his face. "Sirius!" said Harry loudly, but Sirius appeared not to hear him. "I've warned you, Snivellus," said Sirius, his face barely a foot from Snape's, "I don't care if Dumbledore thinks you've reformed, I know better." "Oh, but why don't you tell him so?" whispered Snape. "Or are you afraid he might not take the advice of a man who has been hiding inside his mother's house for six months very seriously?" "Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he's delighted his lapdog's working at Hogwarts, isn't he?" "Speaking of dogs," said Snape softly, "did you know that Lucius Malfoy recognized you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform...gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in future, didn't it?" Sirius raised his wand. "NO!" Harry yelled, vaulting over the table and trying to get in between them, "Sirius, don't--" "Are you calling me a coward?" roared Sirius, trying to push Harry out of the way, but Harry would not budge. "Why, yes, I suppose I am," said Snape.

Day 21: Wormtail's Whine "We...we are alone, aren't we?" Narcissa asked quietly. "Yes, of course. Well, Wormtail's here, but we're not counting vermin, are we?" He pointed his wand at the wall of books behind him and with a bang, a hidden door flew open, revealing a narrow staircase upon which a small man stood frozen. "As you have clearly realized, Wormtail, we have guests," said Snape lazily. The man crept, hunchbacked, down the last few steps and moved into the room. He had small, watery eyes, a pointed nose, and wore an unpleasant simper. His left hand was caressing his right, which looked as though it was encased in a bright silver glove. "Narcissa!" he said, in a squeaky voice. "And Bellatrix! How charming--" "Wormtail will get us drinks, if you'd like them," said Snape. "And then he will return to his bedroom." Wormtail winced as though Snape had thrown something at him. "I am not your servant!" he squeaked, avoiding Snape's eyes. "Really? I was under the impression that the Dark Lord placed you here to assist me." "To assist, yes--but not to make you drinks and--clean your house!" "I had no idea, Wormtail, that you were craving more dangerous assignments," said Snape silkily. "This can be easily arranged: I shall speak to the Dark Lord--" "I can speak to him if I want to!" "Of course you can," said Snape, sneering. "But in the meantime, bring us drinks. Some of the elf-made wine will do."

Day 22: A Loving Caress Snape set off around the edge of the room, speaking now in a lower voice; the class craned their necks to keep him in view. "The Dark Arts," said Snape, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible." Harry stared at Snape. It was surely one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, another to speak of them, as Snape was doing, with a loving caress in his voice? "Your defenses," said Snape, a little louder, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures" --he indicated a few of them as he swept past-- "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" --he waved a hand toward a witch who was clearly shrieking in agony-- "feel the Dementor's Kiss" --a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall-- "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" --a bloody mass upon the ground.

Day 23: Better People "What does it matter?" said Malfoy. "Defense Against the Dark Arts--it's all just a joke, isn't it, an act? Like an of us need protecting against the Dark Arts--" "It is an act that is crucial to success, Draco!" said Snape. "Where do you think I would have been all these years, if I had not known how to act? Now listen to me! You are being incautious, wandering around at night, getting yourself caught, and if you are placing your reliance in assistants like Crabbe and Goyle--" "They're not the only ones, I've got other people on my side, better people!" "Then why not confide in me, and I can--" "I know what you're up to! You want to steal my glory!" There was another pause, then Snape said coldly, "You are speaking like a child. I quite understand that your father's capture and imprisonment has upset you, but--"

Day 24: Revulsion and Hatred Etched on His Face "Severus..." The sound frightened Harry beyond anything he had experienced all evening. For the first time, Dumbledore was pleading. Snape said nothing, but walked forward and pushed Malfoy roughly out of the way. The three Death Eaters fell back without a word. Even the werewolf seemed cowed. Snape gazed for a moment at Dumbledore, and there was revulsion and hatred etched in the harsh lines of his face. "Severus...please..." Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore. "Avada Kedavra!"

Day 25: Don't Call Me Coward Mustering all his powers of concentration, Harry thought, Levi-- "No, Potter!" screamed Snape. There was a loud BANG and Harry was soaring backward, hitting the ground hard again, and this time his wand flew out of his hand. He could hear Hagrid yelling and Fang howling as Snape closed in and looked down on him where he lay, wandless and defenseless as Dumbledore had been. Snape's pale face, illuminated by the flaming cabin, was suffused with hatred just as it had been before he had cursed Dumbledore. "You dare use my own spells against me, Potter? It was I who invented them--I, the Half-Blood Prince! And you'd turn my inventions on me, like your filthy father, woudl you? I don't think so...no!" Harry had dived for his wand; Snape shot a hex at it and it flew feet away into the darkness and out of sight. "Kill me then," panted Harry, who felt no fear at all, but only rage and contempt. "Kill me like you killed him, you coward--" "DON'T--" screamed Snape, and his face was suddenly deranged, inhuman, as though he was in as much pain as the yelping, howling dog stuck in the burning house behind them-- "CALL ME COWARD!"

Day 26: The Guest Voldemort raised Lucius Malfoy's wand, pointed it directly at the slowing revolving figure suspended over the table, and gave it a tiny flick. The figure came to life with a groan and began to struggle against invisible bonds. "Do you recognize our guest, Severus?" asked Voldemort. Snape raised his eyes to the upside-down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as thought they had been given permission to show curiosity. As she revolved to face the firelight, the woman said in a cracked and terrified voice, "Severus! Help me!" "Ah, yes," said Snape as the prisoner turned slowly away again.

Day 27: I Regret It "All this long night, when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here," said Voldemort, his voice barely louder than a whisper, "wondering, wondering why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be, refuses to perform as legend says it must perform for its rightful owner...and I think I have the answer." Snape did not speak. "Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever man, after all, Severus. You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen." "My Lord--" "The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine." "My Lord!" Snape protested, raising his wand. "It cannot be any other way," said Voldemort. "I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last." And Voldemort swiped the air with the Elder Wand. It did nothing to Snape, who for a split second seemed to think he had been reprieved: But then Voldemort's intention became clear. The snake's cage was rolling through the air, and before Snape could do anything more than yell, it had encased him, head and shoulders, and Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue. "Kill." There was a terrible scream. Harry saw Snape's face losing the little color it had left; it whitened as his black eyes widened, as the snake's fangs pierced his neck, as he failed to push the enchanted cage off himself, as his knees gave way and he fell to the floor. "I regret it," said Voldemort coldly.

Day 28: You Hurt Her! "Tuney!" said Lily, surprise and welcome in her voice, but Snape had jumped to his feet. "Who's spying now?" he shouted. "What d'you want?" Petunia was breathless, alarmed at being caught. Harry could see her struggling for something hurtful to say. "What is that you're wearing, anyway?" she said, pointing at Snape's chest. "Your mum's blouse?" There was a *crack*. A branch over Petunia's head had fallen. Lily screamed: The branch caught Petunia on the shoulder, and she staggered backward and burst into tears. "Tuney!" But Petunia was running away. Lily rounded on Snape. "Did you make it happen?" "No." He looked both defiant and scared. "You did!" She was backing away from him. "You *did*! You hurt her!" "No--no I didn't!" But the lie did not convince Lily: After one last burning look, she ran from the little thicket, off after her sister, and Snape looked miserable and confused....

Day 29: Save Your Breath "I'm sorry." "I'm not interested." "I'm sorry!" "Save your breath." It was nighttime. Lily, who was wearing a dressing gown, stood with her arms folded in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. "I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here." "I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you Mudblood, it just--" "Slipped out?" There was no pity in Lily's voice. "It's too late. I've made excuses for you for years. None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends--you see, you don't even deny it! You don't even deny that's what you're all aiming to be! You can't wait to join You-Know-Who, can you?" He opened his mouth, but closed it without speaking. "I can't pretend anymore. You've chosen your way, I've chosen mine." "No--listen, I didn't mean--" "--to call me Mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I any different?" He struggled on the verge of speech, but with a contemptuous look she turned and climbed back through the portrait hole....

Day 30: Anything "If she means so much to you," said Dumbledore, "surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for the mother, in exchange for the son?" "I have--I have asked him--" "You disgust me," said Dumbledore, and Harry had never heard so much contempt in his voice. Snape seemed to drink a little. "You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?" Snape said nothing, but merely looked up at Dumbledore. "Hide them all, then," he croaked. "Keep her--them--safe. Please." "And what will you give me in return, Severus?" "In--in return?" Snape gaped at Dumbledore, and Harry expected him to protest, but after a long moment he said, "Anything."

#severus snape #snape fest #bring back the bastard fest 2021 #bring back the bastard fest #bring back the bastard #bring back the bastard prompts #harry potter fandom fest #hp fandom #snapedom #pro-snape #snapelove #prompts #daily prompts #snape prompts

[smellslikemultifandomimagines]

Hi there! Can I request Dick Grayson x fem reader where they’re training and one thing leads to another and the end up having some sexy time

warnings: smut // fem!reader.

word count: 1.9k

Omg I’m so sorry this is so late!! Hopefully it’s hot enough to make it up to you!!

requests are open!

Announcement coming tomorrow (titans related)!

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Ever since the Titans found out that their old enemy, Dr Light, is back in town, everyone had been pretty on edge. Dick had us all training harder than before; longer hours, tougher fighting and weapon training. One thing seemed to impress him — and even calm him a little — is the persevering determination that I possess. Each time he’d walk past the training room, he’d peak his head in and see me beating up a boxing bag or throwing knifes at the wall or even working with the cross bow. I was new after all and felt that I needed to get up to speed with everyone’s training skills. 

Dick had been tense and agitated all night. Him and the Titans — excluding Jason, Rach, Gar and me, of course — were going down to the stadium to fight Dr Light. The rest of us sat around the Titan Tower. Jason was pacing around the living room, where we all sat, complaining about Dick not taking any of us seriously. Rachel, who seemed to have zoned out ages ago, was scrolling through her phone and not even bothering to look up at Jason. Which left Gar and I to converse with Jason. 

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“Where’s Dr. Light?” Jason snickers at Dick. 

“Jason,” Rachel warns. 

“A little stealth job on a guy who shoots what, head lamps? I mean, half the city’s on fire and still no sign of Dr. Light,” Jason scoffs as he approaches Dick.

“Not the time Jason,” Dick replies sternly, yet exhaustedly. 

“Look, I don’t take orders from you anymore, man.” Jason steps closer to Dick, both of their jaws are clenched and we all knew this wouldn’t end well. “I do what I want, when I want.” 

I roll my eyes at Jasons remark. This kid thinks he’s older and more experienced than he is. I love him, but I think he doesn’t even have the slightest clue what we’re up against. No one does. 

Jason puts a hand on Dick’s chest, stopping Dick from walking past him.

“Get out of my way,” Dick said lowly, causing Jason to sigh. 

“I think you got it all wrong. You’re in my way. Yeah, and maybe you need to see a retirement package, huh?” Jason turns away and looks at us. His knuckles crack as he balls them into a tight and angry fist. Turning back to Dick , Dick says a serious “Don’t” almost as if he was warning him. Jason ignores him and swings his fist toward Dick, but Dick takes it and thrashes him down on the ground. Jason whimpers as he hits the ground. 

“Shit. Here,” Dick reaches his hand out apologetically towards Jason, who just slaps it away angrily. Jason stands up and snarls at Dick before storming off, pushing past Dick as he does so. 

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“I hope you’re wearing gloves with that, don’t want you to hurt your hands before you’ve even started fighting the guy,” I joke, slowly walking towards him in the training room. Dick turns towards me. His breathing is still fast and heavy. His forehead is beaded with sweat, making the strands of hair stick to it in the hottest way. He looks me up and down discreetly, his lips turning upward into a smirk before frowning again. Dick couldn’t let me know that he was infatuated with me. He knew if I got hurt that he’d only have himself to blame. Sometimes he thinks that if he can be as detached as possible, it wouldn’t hurt. Problem is, he already is. 

“If I wanted an audience, I would’ve asked,” he snarls; his voice raspy through his panting. 

“Not here to watch. I just came to see if you were alright,” my warmth seems to cause him to drop his guard a bit. His shoulders relax and both his fists and jaw begins to unclench. 

“You know, I’ve been quite impressed with you recently. I know coming here must be hard, but you really put the work in. I’d love for you to show me sometime,” Dick smirks. “But for now, I’ve gotta blow off some steam.”

“How about we fight each other. I could do with another practice round for today,” I suggest, hoping that he’ll oblige. Dick shrugs and nods for me to come closer. 

“Grab the sword,” he instructs, as he takes a wooden sword-like weapon. “Show me what you’ve got then.”

Bringing the sword up, I position myself in a fighting stance. I squint my eyes at him, waiting to see if he’ll make the first move. After a second later, I charge at him, kicking his sword before swinging my sword down to his legs. He catches it with his weapon, pushing back and blocking every move. I round-house kick his side, causing him to be caught off guard. With my sword still clenched tightly in my hand, I break his wooden weapon in two. 

“Smart move,” Dick smirks, cocking an eyebrow in astonishment. Swinging his, now two, weapons at me, I block every move. Finally, I corner him, holding my firm stance with my sword pressing under his chin.  

“So, really,” I pant. “Are you okay?”

“It was a hectic night,” he sighs. “I didn’t handle it so well.” 

“I’ve been there, it happens to the best of us,” I reply back, before being caught off guard by his arm knocking my sword out of my hand. In my quite pathetic attempt to punch him, he grabs my arm and flips me to the floor. Letting out a small grunt, Dick mumbles out a ‘sorry’. His arm extends out to help me up, but I pull him down, causing him to fall next to me. We both erupt in a fit of laughter before I kick his wooden sword out of the way. 

“Oh, we’re still going are we?” He snickers, trapping my body under his. Dick’s hands pin mine on each side of my head. He’s so close to me that I can feel his hot breath on my face and neck. 

“What’re you gonna do now, huh?” His voice low with anticipation. I didn’t answer. We stayed like that for a few seconds before his lips smash onto mine, catching me off guard for about the millionth time this night. My heart is beating so fast I’m sure he can feel it against him too. Flipping him over, I straddle his waist and take my shirt off, flinging it across the room. Leaning down again, I plant needy kisses on his neck, feeling his hands glide up my back. Tingles spread across my body as I felt Dick unclasp my bra. Items of our clothing were flung around the room in an attempt to rid them as fast as we could. We both need each other and we both know it. 

Dick kisses up my neck while I grind on his now uncovered cock, and a whine slips through his lips. 

“ride my face,” he instructs in a low growl. Crawling up his body, I begin to feel nervous as I straddle his face. But all those nerve seem to disappear the second he touches me. There is something about Dick’s touch that just makes me feel safe. His hands reach up and grip my hips, holding me down against his mouth. I grind my clit against his tongue, letting out quiet whines while my eyes roll back in pleasure. Dick’s tongue rapidly flicks at my clit and laps up each of my folds, completely immersing himself in the taste of me. 

“Fuck, oh my god,” I moan softly, trying hard not to be too loud. I feel his tongue tease around my entrance before pushing in only slightly. Dick’s hand slaps my ass, causing me to let out a little yelp. I giggle as I lean back and press my hands against his stomach to hold myself up better. His eyes connect to mine and a tingle can be felt in my stomach. I’ve never seen such passion in his eyes before. His eyes are usually hard and cold; the anger, hurt and burdens are carried in his eyes. But right here in this very moment, they’re different. Brighter, yet dark with want. 

“Dick, I’m gonna cum,” the faintest whimper slips through my lips as I feel his tongue give my clit more attention and rapidly flick against it again. My body shakes above him and I swear I can feel him smirking against me. A small squeal escapes my lips as I cum on his tongue, feeling nothing but absolute bliss. Dick laps up every last drop, wanting nothing more than to savour every bit of taste he could get. If that alone doesn’t say something about his need and want for me, than I could never know what does. 

Shuffling down to sit on his stomach, I lean down and kiss him, not caring if his mouth is covered in my wetness. 

“do you want me to ride you too?” I tease, reaching behind me to jerk him off slowly. 

“yes,” he breathes out, closing his eyes for a moment to enjoy the feeling of my hand on him, before opening them back up again. I shuffle further down his body and line myself up. Dick’s hands snake down from my waist to my hips, giving them a gentle squeeze either as reassurance that everything here in this moment is okay, or as a reminder to himself that this might by the last time he’ll ever get to hold me like this. My hands rest themselves on his shoulders to balance myself. A groan passes through the both of us as I sink down onto him. 

I waste no time in slamming my hips into his. A smile creeps on my face as I watch his face contort with pleasure; the feeling of my pussy around his cock already has him at a loss for words. Leaning down, I press my lips against his. Almost immediately, dick wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me down further into him. It was like he was completely starved of all touch, and I were the only one to provide him with it. A giggle slips past me again as I sit back up against him. I rest my hands on his thighs, thrusting myself harder onto him. Dick sinks his teeth harshly on his bottom lip to suppress a moan, but fails. He lets out the most hottest sound I’ve ever heard; a mix between a moan and a grunt. Dick’s hands press into my hips again and grips it so tightly, I’m sure they’re gonna leave a bruise. I moan as he holds me down against him, feeling him thrust up into me roughly. 

“fuck,” I whimper, closing my eyes as he fucks me faster. Feeling myself lose balance, I lean forward and press my hands against his stomach, feeling his abs tense from the pleasure.

“are you gonna cum, babygirl?” Dick asks, his hand snaking around to my clit. I nod and bounce myself faster on his cock. Suddenly, everything just feels so intense I begin whining. Dick pulls me down and holds me against him while he thrusts up into me harder. 

“it’s okay, I got you. Let it go, baby,” he soothes, letting out a moan as he feels my walls pulse around his cock as I cum. Again, my body is almost convulsing above him from how strong and powerful the orgasm is; whines and moans are now uncontrollable, but neither of us cared. Dick came from just watching me cum, and his arms never left my body; just having me pressed against his chest, especially naked, is all he could ask for.

#dick grayson #dick grayson imagine #Dick Grayson smut #dick grayson titans #titans #titans smut

[kalstar]

What my Genshin Team members would say about each other

Featuring Jean, Bennett, Chongyun, and Xiao

A/N: This is basically what I think they would say about each other in those "about ___" voice lines in the game. The setting is you the traveler, have put Jean, Bennet, Chongyun, and Xiao in one team. This is what they think about each other after a couple months of fighting and adventuring alongside each other. Is this where I slowly turn into a writing blog?

Tw: mentions of death (?) (no one dies it's just Xiao being mean)

Word count: 2.3k

Story (?) under the cut

Jean

About Bennett

"Bennett? I think he's very charismatic. I hear that he goes on adventures on his own, it must be hard dealing with everything by yourself; he seems like a very independent individual. I think he would make a great member of the Knights of Favonius in the future if he so chooses.

I very much admire his perseverance and positivity. Even when we were faced with near-death experiences, he could still laugh and brush it off as if it was nothing. He always manages to cheer everyone up. It's great having someone like him to boost our morale on the team.

I've heard a little bit about his past from the Adventurer's Guild… How he was found as a baby barely holding on to life… without having any real parents and that extremely bad luck of his, I truly hope that we're able to at least bring him a bit of comfort. I should check up on the Adventurer's Guild every once in a while... "

About Chongyun

"Hm, Chongyun is quite the strange one. At first, I was always so confused on why he always stayed in the shade and it really concerned me how much ice cream he was eating at a time… but then he told me about his congenital positivity and it made a bit more sense. It's strange how this condition of his works, I've never heard anything like that in Mondstadt before. I wonder if we can find a cure for it.

He seems to be very invested in his training as a martial artist and as an exorcist. He's constantly pushing himself to be better and learning how to control his condition. He always asks me about how to train or how to be stronger. I hear he's already the best exorcist in Liyue, I can only imagine the heights he can reach as he continues to grow.

Chongyun reminds me a lot of myself when I was younger. I was very focused on my training and kept pushing myself to the limit. It's quite nostalgic to see that side of me living through someone else. I hope that he can achieve his goals in the future, I think he very much deserves it."

About Xiao

" I thank you, traveler, for giving me the opportunity to fight alongside someone as powerful as Adeptus Xiao. It truly is an honor to be working with him. I never thought I would live long enough to see gods of another region, but you've made that possible. I am in your debt.

Adeptus Xiao is truly one of the strongest fighters I've ever seen. I've only heard stories about the power of Adepti, but to see it with your own eyes is truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The way he gracefully moves on the battlefield with seemingly little effort is truly inspiring.

When the other boys are asleep, we often have long conversations over the fire. We would talk about our troubles and worries over the campfire, hearing the wisdom of someone as wise as him, it brought a bit of comfort. There is a lot about Adeptus Xiao that I don't know, especially about this "karmic debt", but I hope that we'll be able to help him get through it."

Bennett

About Jean

“It’s really awesome that I get to fight with someone as cool as Master Jean, and it’s all thanks to you traveler! I always travel alone, so to think that I can go on adventures with someone as amazing as her, maybe I’m not so unlucky after all! I hope my bad luck doesn’t get in the way of our adventures though hehe.

Don’t tell anyone, but I always try my best to impress Master Jean hehe. I always put out my best effort whenever she’s around, not that I don’t usually, but you get what I mean right? I make sure to hit the enemies harder and my fire burns longer! I know it’s silly but if I impress her, do you think she’d let the Adventurers Guild team up with the Knights of Favonius?

She can be a bit intimidating with how strict she can seem sometimes but she cares about everyone a lot! She always makes sure that everyone is doing alright and if they ever need anything. She's taught me about a lot of things, like how to better treat my wounds, what plants are safe for eating, and how to better hit weak spots of enemies. She's just so cool!"

About Chongyun

"Chongyun? I think he's super cool and strong!! Do you see how big his claymore is?? How can he just swing it around so quickly AND he can summon even more swords from the sky! Man, I wish I could do that, maybe more people would want to join my adventure team. I should train with him and ask for tips.

Both Chongyun and I can't eat spicy foods and Chongyun can't even eat anything warm, so we try to be careful of what we eat. Though there has been a couple of times where his condition, I think it's called "Congenital Positivity", started acting up after we ate something hot in Liyue. He acted all hyper and energetic, it's like he was drunk or something. Thankfully I could give him a popsicle before Adpetus Xiao could throw him in a cold river.

Since Chongyun is the best exorcist in Liyue, I asked him if he could get rid of my bad luck with his cool exorcist powers. He used these blue talismans and made a summoning circle thing with his hands, it was so awesome! I think it worked! For like… an hour… but it was still really cool!"

About Xiao

"To be honest, I was really scared of Adeptus Xiao at first... He looks like he could kill me just by his sharp stares! It sends shivers down my spine sometimes... I didn't know much about legends in Liyue since I never really travel far from Mondstadt, but after fighting with him for a while, I can see that he's definitely really strong; he's probably the strongest person I know!

Sometimes I find him looking really sad and when I get the courage to ask him what's wrong he always says that it's none of my concern... I've overheard a few of your conversations with him, something to do with "Karmic Debt" and his burden to carry or something? I don't know much about Adeptus Xiao's past but I wish he would stop being so hard on himself...

Whenever we rest after a really hard fight, I always offer to heal up his wounds. I know what it’s like to get hurt a lot of the time, so I try my best to help patch him up. He wouldn’t let me treat his wounds at first, but over time he warmed up to me and I make sure he always feels better by the end of it!"

Chongyun

About Jean

"It's an honor to be fighting alongside someone as important as Master Jean, I wouldn't have this chance if it wasn't for you traveler, I don't know how I could ever repay you! I don't know much about Mondstadt but it's very interesting to learn more about the areas of the world, maybe our exorcist services could reach their people someday as well.

The first time I saw Master Jean fight on the battlefield I was truly starstruck. She was able to control her movements so well while also supporting all of us; it was amazing! I also heard that she was able to take down five ruin guards on her own, she must train very hard every day to be able to do that...

Being able to meet and fight with Master Jean has been a motivating experience. I hope I can learn much more from her and maybe become as skilled and strong as her one day. She's quickly become a role model for me and I highly respect and admire her. Again, thank you very much for this opportunity traveler!

About Bennett

"Ah, Bennett? I think it's really nice having someone my age on the team that I can easily talk to. Sometimes we exchange stories and legends from our hometowns. I'm glad I get to share more of Liyue with other people and it's also very fascinating to listen to the stories of Mondstadt. It just shows how diverse Teyvat can really be.

Bennett's passion can be a bit much sometimes so I need to keep my distance... I hope he doesn't notice, I know many people tend to avoid him because of his bad luck but I hope he doesn't think of me like that. I just... don't want to embarrass myself in front of everyone ahaha...

Bennett says that ever since we started adventuring together his bad luck has decreased. He thinks that I bring him more good luck and that I’m his “good luck charm”, I think that might just be placebo, but I appreciate the sentiment. Maybe one day it would be possible to exorcise one's bad luck. He would definitely be the first I test it on if I ever figure it out."

About Xiao

"To be honest, I wasn't very pleased when I found out he was on our team. Of course, I have the utmost respect for him, my family and the Adepti have been exorcising evil for generations, but his demeanor isn't one that I'm particularly fond of... But, after spending more time with him, I realize that we have more in common than I thought.

Though Adeptus Xiao is definitely a very skilled and powerful warrior, he can be a bit... strange... We were in Dragonspine one day and I saw him try to eat the snow. I gave him one of my popsicles instead and he looked so confused. He seemed to enjoy it but I guess there are even some things that Adepti don’t know about.

I've gotten to know him a bit more and though there are still many secrets that he holds, I realize that he just wants to protect Liyue like the rest of the exorcists. He seems to face his own struggles and demons as well, whenever he looks more down than usual, I offer him some of my Qingxin infused water and it seems to calm him down a bit. I'm glad that I can at least help him a little bit in any way that I can."

Xiao

About Jean

"At first I thought she was just any other human, but you told me she was the leader of the people of Mondstadt, I quickly realized there was more to her than meets the eye. She's a very skilled fighter on the battlefield, it's impressive to see a human fight with such strength and skill. I've only ever seen that kind of power from you, traveler.

The people of Mondstadt are very lucky to have someone like her to lead them. She can work well with just about anyone. She was brave enough to ask me to spar with her at one point. I assumed she had a death wish but she can carry herself very well and never holds back.

Often times she asks me for advice about a lot of different things. I keep telling her that I'm not a teacher nor a fountain of wisdom, just an Adeptus. Though from what I can see, she seems to be stressed over a lot of the little things that go on in Mondstadt, if this keeps up she’ll burn herself out."

About Bennett

"That Bennett... he can be very overbearing. How can a human be so happy when their life has only been filled with turmoil. It confuses me and I can never understand what sort of tricks he's trying to pull on me... He has such a passion for adventuring but knowing his luck he's going to get himself killed at some point...

Honestly, I pity him. No one dares to go on adventures with him anymore, why hasn't he given up and moved on to something else? You humans are always so confusing. You find it admirable, I think it's just asinine. Though... I guess he is quite a skilled adventurer, it would be ignorant of me to not acknowledge his skills on and off the battlefield.

It annoys me that he can just live without a care in the world. How can one have such bad luck? He’s just… always one step away from death. How has a mortal survived for this long when the archons hate him so much. It truly irritates me how reckless he can be and leaves me to save him at the last second..."

About Chongyun

"It brings me a bit of peace of mind to know that there is another person from Liyue with us. I don't feel... as much of an outcast... I hear that he's from a family of exorcists. I've never paid much mind to the affairs of humans, though because we share similair duties, it was unavoidable that I would cross paths with them at some point.

I must admit that it's fascinating how he exorcises demons. While I exorcise demons and monsters with my spear, he seems to exorcise evil spirits... just by being present... I never knew that such things were possible. I hear it was because of his congenital positivity, I think it's an impressive skill, though he seems to treat it as a curse of his own.

It’s strange, whenever Chongyun is around their screams and cries don’t sound as loud as they usually would be. It’s as if all my years of karmic debt and demons within slowly fade away into nothingness. Maybe it's the cooling aura that he always carries with him or the Qingxins he brings back. I wonder if he actually has anything to do with it."

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin quotes #genshin impact xiao #xiao genshin impact #xiao #genshin impact chongyun #chongyun genshin impact #chongyun #genshin impact bennett #bennett genshin impact #bennett #jean genshin impact #genshin impact jean #jean gunnhildr #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact fics #I am slowly starting to ship bennett and chongyun #i think that xiao and chongyun would be really great friends #i think it's cute that chongyun really looks up to jean :)

[smaidjor]

i know they're losing (Chapter 1)

hi mothers and fuckers of the jury, this fic is a hot mess but so am I, please appreciate it. Also, obligatory disclaimer this is about the characters not the people, all that important stuff.

Some important notes:

1. You will probably hate Scott just a little at points. He has chronic dumb bitch syndrome and there's a whole lot of bullshit going on in his life that you don't see in this fic because it's not his pov. That being said, he's still a bit of a jerk.

2. This has a lot of lord of the rings lore. A LOT. You may be kinda confused if you're not a lord of the rings fan. It's fine, Jimmy's confused too, and all of it will be explained at some point.

3. The chapter titles are from the Last Goodbye from the Hobbit films. The general title is from I Bet on Losing Dogs by Mitski.

4. General content warnings: there is a little blood, and a little violence, and a lot of mentioned death and morbid jokes. If you don't do well with themes involving death this fic is probably not for you. There is also possibly going to be referenced emotional abuse and generally unhealthy ways to raise children, though that will be talked about much further down the line. I will also put specific cws at the start of each chapter, don't worry!

5. The alternate title for this was '10k words of flower husbands being sad'. You have been warned.

Title: i know they're losing

Chapter Title: under clouds, beneath the stars

Current Total Wordcount: 3740

Content Warning: referenced/past character death, very frank discussion of death.

Snippet:

Scott whirls to face him, robes spinning behind him. “I’m fading, alright? I’m dying, now leave me alone!”

Jimmy feels like he’s been smacked in the face, the words hitting him with all the force of a well-thrown trident. Dying? “You- what- but elves don’t die, right?”

“We do. From poison, from swords, from arrows through the throat-” Jimmy’s hands fly to the scar on his neck, the one that matches Scott’s own- “from grief.”

AO3 Link

Actual fic under the cut

Scott’s hands are cold. That’s the first sign, the chill that’s uncharacteristic of an elf.

Scott’s chest hurts. That’s the second sign, the bone-deep ache he can’t seem to quell.

Scott is weaker than normal, and that’s the third sign, the one that confirms what’s happening beyond a shadow of a doubt. He’s fading, Scott thinks as he leans against a wall, trying to stop his head from spinning. He can’t say he’s surprised, not after all he’s been through; in fact, he’s more astonished it took so long to start.

-

In another world, it happens like this:

Scott’s hands are cold, and Shubble notices as he shows her around the nether. It’s worrying, a bit, how icy his skin is even in the boiling dimension, but Scott’s empire has always been cold, hasn’t it?

Katherine notices how long it’s been since Scott visited her, one of his few allies, and she worries, a bit. But Scott has always been distant, hasn’t he?

No one notices or worries enough to go check on him, and Scott fades away to nothing, cold and alone in his icy empire.

-

What actually happens is this:

Katherine has gotten word of the demon that haunts the server, and amongst all her worry, one of her thoughts is ‘has anyone checked on Scott?’. The answer is no, and next time she has a free day, she sets out for Rivendell. It’s not a long trip, not with elytra, anyways, and soon she’s at the doors to his keep.

“I need to see Lord Smajor,” she tells the guards.

“He’s not taking visitors right now.” is the response she gets.

“It’s a vital matter to the safety of both our kingdoms.”

They let her in.

Katherine spends far too long looking around the elegantly decorated downstairs and storage area before she realizes he must be up the spiral staircase in the corner of the room. She’s never been upstairs in Scott’s house before, which makes her a little nervous, but… this is an urgent matter, so she presses on into what turns out to be a very pretty bedroom. Decorated with bookshelves aplenty and gorgeous lanterns, it practically screams Scott.

The man (elf?) himself is harder to spot. At first, Katherine’s worried he isn’t there at all, but eventually she realizes that he’s still in bed despite the fact that it’s a quarter to one, only his pale face sticking out from under the covers.

“Scott?” She asks, cautious. “Lord Smajor?”

He blinks at her tiredly. “Hi, Katherine.”

“I came to talk to you about some empires stuff, but, I mean, if this is a bad time, I can come back later…?”

“No, no, stay.” He waves at the sole chair in the room, which is near-enough to the bed. “I can muster the energy for a meeting, just don’t ask me to get up.”

Katherine takes the seat hesitantly. “I came to talk about the corruption on the server, but- are you okay? Are you sick?”

Scott laughs, a little bitter. “In a way, yes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take my hand.”

She obeys, confused, and finds that Scott’s hands are like ice despite the warmth of the room.

“Elves don’t get sick like mortals do,” Scott says. “Nor do we die of old age. But we get...heartsickness, you might call it. We call it fading in our tongue- the cold hands are a symptom of that. Our souls are fragile, and the grief of the mortal plane can be overwhelming. If an elf is too struck by it, they fade away and die.”

She gasps a little.

“It usually happens to old elves, world-weary,” Scott continues. “Those who are tired of existence. But any elf who has experienced enough grief is at risk.”

It takes Katherine a moment to process everything, and once she does, she stares at him in horror. “You’re- fading? But doesn’t it usually happen to old elves? Wait, are you old?”

“I’m fifty-five.”

“Is that old?”

That gets a laugh out of him. “Fifty is the elven equivalent of eighteen for humans, the age of maturity.”

“Oh.” She struggles for words for a moment, settling on “How can you be so calm if you’re dying?”

“I’m tired, Katherine. The world tore me away from the people I loved, and..I’m tired of fighting it.”

Try as she might, there’s nothing she can say to that. “Is there a way to reverse fading- to fix it?”

Something pained and raw flashes through his eyes. “Technically, yes. If an elf recovers enough emotionally, it’s reversible. But whatever caused them to fade the first time can- and often does- cause it again.”

Katherine nods seriously, absorbing the information. “We’ll just have to reverse it, then.”

“That’s sweet, Katherine, but I’m dying.”

“No,” she tells him firmly. “You’re not going to die. Now come on, you can show me your empire while I fill you in on what’s happening on the rest of the continent.”

Scott stares at her for a long moment, but eventually he takes her outstretched hand. “Alright.” His hand is frozen cold in hers. “We can try.”

Katherine lets him lead her around Rivendell, pointing out the sights. He’s done an impressive job decorating, like her, and an even more impressive job at uniting the elves and building an empire from the ground up. The people of Rivendell are weary and battle-scarred, for the most part, elves who have seen too much, but the children are bright and happy, and the cyan and gold banners wave proudly in the wind.

As they walk, she also tells Scott about the demon, Xornoth. “The demon’s already visited a lot of people, I think. Gem and Shubble for sure, and Fwhip and Sausage. That’s not even mentioning the corruption that’s been spreading.”

Scott nods. “There’s corruption in Rivendell too. Likely Xornoth’s work. And given that Jimmy still has Vilya- well, I haven’t been able to do much.”

“Vilya?”

“A ring of power. My inheritance from the Noldor.”

“Why does Jimmy have it?”

He doesn’t answer that one.

Katherine leaves feeling unsettled, with more questions than answers. She has new resolve, though, and a new goal: keep Scott from fading. He’s a good friend, though they don’t know each other that well yet, but more than that, he’s a powerful ally. And Katherine can’t afford to lose allies. So while they’re both rulers and busy in their own right, she promises to visit and drag him outside at least once a week.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Scott jokes, but his laugh is weak.

Katherine vows to hold herself to it.

-

The plan works for three entire weeks before Katherine has a week that’s so busy there’s no way she can find the time for a trip to Rivendell. Worse than that, because Scott is so isolated, he has almost no other friends, and many of Katherine’s allies are busy too. She’s a little short of options, to be honest, which is how she finds herself on Jimmy Solidarity’s doorstep that Sunday afternoon.

“Hello?” Jimmy asks as the door swings open. Katherine can see why Lizzie calls him the sweet swamp boy- his confused head tilt is frankly adorable.

“Hi! I know we don’t talk much, but I could use a favor,” she says.

“What can I do for you?”

“I need you to visit Scott.”

Jimmy looks beyond startled. “What- I mean, he doesn’t even like me! I couldn’t possibly.”

“Please?” She wheedles. “I promised him a visitor every week, but I have meetings all week this time.”

He shakes his head, hesitantly at first and then stronger. “No, Katherine. He’d just throw me right out again. I’m his enemy, for goodness sake!”

“If he hates you so much, why do you have his ring?”

Katherine knows she’s won, watching emotions flit across his face too quickly to catch. Grief is what he settles on, and she feels a little bit bad for the ring comment when his voice comes out wobbly.

“I guess I should return that, huh? Alright, I’ll go.”

“Sorry,” she says.

Jimmy brushes it off, saying there’s no need to worry, but he fiddles with the ring on his finger all the more. It’s on his left ring finger, Katherine notes. She wonders if that truly means what it implies.

“I’ll visit him tomorrow,” Jimmy says.

“I’ll hold you to that!”

-

Jimmy isn’t sure why he agreed to this at all, to be honest. Scott may have given him this ring in another world, another lifetime, but that doesn’t mean Scott doesn’t hate him in this one. What other explanation is there for how all his gifts have been rejected, how cold the elf is? Jimmy would be surprised that Scott’s never tried to take his ring back if it wasn’t for how thoroughly Scott avoids him nowadays. Getting the ring back would require talking to Jimmy, something Scott has made it very clear that he doesn’t want to do. Jimmy doesn’t have another use for it, and try as he might to forget flower fields and warm hands in his, he can’t bear to throw it away. So it’s remained on his hand all this time, a painful reminder of someone who used to love him.

Jimmy tries to avoid looking at it as much as possible, every glimpse bringing back the memory of Scott gently sliding it onto his hand, a faint blush dusting his cheeks and a smile on his lips. Even the faint shimmers in the blue gem remind him of how the starlight seemed to get caught in Scott’s hair when they were out at night. The ring had been one of their most valuable possessions on 3rd Life, the rare silver band and elegant forging more than proof of that. Now, though, the ring has to be one of the least valuable things Jimmy owns; on 3rd Life, they were humble folk in little hobbit holes, their most expensive possessions being their diamond armor and swords, but here, they’re kings and lords. Scott probably has a thousand treasures more valuable in his elven empire, so Jimmy’s not sure why he’s bothering to trek all the way across the world just to return this one.

Then again, it’s not really about the ring, and never has been. It’s about the way starlight used to shine in Scott’s eyes when he smiled, his rare, soft grin that was reserved just for Jimmy, how he gave Jimmy the most valuable thing either of them owned. It’s closure, in a way, giving it back. He won’t have any debt to Scott once this ring is returned, and they can both move on like Scott so clearly wants to.

Shaking off those thoughts, Jimmy slows to a stop in front of Scott’s house. It’s grand, nothing like his old hobbit hole, but still so clearly Scott in the decoration and color schemes. Jimmy would know who built it even if he hadn’t known Scott lived in these mountains.

“I’m here to visit Scott,” he says to the guard stationed outside.

They raise an eyebrow, presumably at the familiar way he refers to Scott. “On formal business or personal?”

“Personal? Sort of? I mean, I don’t have any diplomatic reason for being here.” Truth be told, he has no reason to be here at all, really, but...the ring.

“Then Lord Smajor cannot see you.”

Jimmy grits his teeth, suddenly furious at this whole ordeal. “Then tell Lord Smajor that I need to return his ring.”

“May I see it?”

He sticks his hand out obligingly, and the guard examines the ring, surprise blooming across their face. “I did not realize my Lord had lent you Vilya! My apologies, Lord Codfather, I see the alliance between our kingdoms is stronger than I had assumed. You may pass.”

Vilya? “Thank you, gentle, uh, gentleperson!”

The guard dips their head slightly as he walks by, a gesture of respect that he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. He shakes off the strangeness of the interaction, though, pushing open the door to Scott’s house.

The inside is beautiful, exactly the kind of decor Scott loves...and empty. There’s no one in the spacious kitchen, the storage room, or anywhere else for that matter. Jimmy’s seconds from giving up and going home when he realizes that there are stairs up to the balcony above. That’s where he goes, finding himself in Scott’s bedroom.

Which is awkward, to say the least. It’s not like they never slept in the same room when they were married, but now that there’s this awkward, painful distance between them, Jimmy feels like he’s intruding. What’s worse is, Scott’s still in bed, laying on his side with his face tilted away from Jimmy’s awkward entrance.

“Hello, Jimmy.”

Jimmy half-jumps, not expecting that. “How’d you know it was me?”

Scott rolls over to face him, and Jimmy notes that his face is too pale for it to be natural or healthy. “Do you think I could ever forget the sound of your footsteps?” He goes on before Jimmy can answer. “What are you doing here?”

“Katherine asked me to visit, I’m not sure why, but...here I am. Say, why is she visiting every week?”

Scott’s laugh is bitter. “Katherine thinks she can save me.”

“Save you from what?” Jimmy asks, concerned despite himself.

His (ex?)husband doesn’t reply.

“Save you from what?” Jimmy presses, and gets no answer yet again.

Instead, Scott sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “You should go.” He stands, and immediately stumbles, Jimmy rushing to steady him on instinct. Scott’s hands are like ice when he grips Jimmy’s arm to regain his balance, taking several deep breaths, and Jimmy’s instantly struck by how wrong that feels. Scott’s hands were always warm, even on the coldest nights in 3rd life. Some elven thing, probably, that Scott didn’t want to talk about or have time to explain to a silly human like Jimmy.

“Scott, what is going on?”

The elf brushes him off again, heading for the stairs, but the regal effect is ruined by how hard he has to grip the railing.

“Scott, seriously! Answer me, are you okay? What’s happening?”

Scott whirls to face him, robes spinning behind him. “I’m fading, alright? I’m dying, now leave me alone!”

Jimmy feels like he’s been smacked in the face, the words hitting him with all the force of a well-thrown trident. Dying? “You- what- but elves don’t die, right?”

“We do. From poison, from swords, from arrows through the throat-” Jimmy’s hands fly to the scar on his neck, the one that matches Scott’s own- “from grief.” Scott turns back to the stairs. “Come on. If you’re not going to leave, I might as well show you around.”

Jimmy follows, reluctantly, trying to think of something to say that isn’t incoherent sputtering with a bit of ‘why do you hate me now’ added in. “You can’t just drop something like that on a man, you know!”

“You did ask, to be fair.”

Why oh why is he so stupid around Scott? “I guess so, but- but still, dude.”

Scott pushes open the side door, holding it for Jimmy. “Here.”

Jimmy nods and slips through the door.  “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They start along the path, Scott walking far too quickly for Jimmy’s comfort given how terrible the elf’s balance is currently. He nearly has to jog to keep up, irritatingly, but at least they aren’t snapping at each other for a few precious moments.

Of course, Jimmy has to go and ruin that. “So, uh..are we going to talk about 3rd life?” He has to hear it from Scott’s own lips that he remembers, that it affected him even half as much as it’s affected Jimmy.

“No.”

“Why not? We need to talk about it some time-”

“I said no .”

“It’s literally killing you to not talk about it!”

Scott freezes, face going icy calm in the way Jimmy knows means he’s actually upset. The elf’s hands grip the fabric of his robes tight, his back going rigid. This is a bad idea, Jimmy knows.

He’s in too deep to back out now, though, the pent-up hurt of the past few months all coming out in a rush. “Tell me I’m wrong, Scott! I dare you, tell me I’m wrong! Tell me you never cared about me, tell me you didn’t bother to bury me, tell me it didn’t hurt even a little when I died! Tell me I was just stupid little Jimmy, a toy for an elf who’d live far beyond my lifespan! Tell me whatever, just tell me the truth! ”

Scott breathes out slowly, fury gradually building on his face. “Fine. You want to know what happened after you died? You want to hear about me screaming until my throat went raw? You want to know that I kissed your face and sobbed and begged you to wake up, over and over until I couldn’t speak at all? You want to live with the knowledge that Grian had to physically pull me away from your body? Is that what you want to hear, Jimmy ?”

Jimmy’s name on Scott’s lips punches all the remaining air out of him, sounding so wrong in that angry, bitter tone. Beneath all the rage, Scott sounds wrecked , and the fight leaves Jimmy’s body abruptly. “No,” he says softly. “That’s not what I want to hear, not at all. I’d rather you be happy than love me.”

Silence follows those words, only the faint sound of a waterfall in the distance there to break it.

“I buried you on the hill above our houses,” Scott says finally. “I planted a poppy over your grave.”

“Oh.”

“Grian came over the next day. I didn’t want to see anyone who wasn’t you, but I let him in because I had to. He helped me do the straps on my armor and asked me if he could do anything else to make things easier. I told him to bury me next to you.”

Jimmy swallows hard. “Did he?”

“How would I know?” Scott’s tone softens, just a little. “Grian was honorable enough, though, loyal to his allies. I like to think he did.”

“He was a good guy,” Jimmy agrees. “A little bit bloodthirsty, I guess, but good. I don’t suppose he survived any better than the rest of us, though maybe being bloodthirsty helped.”

“Maybe.”

“Can I- can I ask you why you hate me so much now? I mean, if you mourned me in third life and all.”

Scott turns away again, starting down the path a second time. He’s not looking at Jimmy when he says “I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?” It’s a shock, honestly, given that this is the first time the two of them have really spoken since the beginning of empires. “But you burned the pufferfish-”

“I didn’t. I kept it.” Scott still won’t look at him. “I never hated you. I don’t think I’m capable of it.”

“Then why do you keep avoiding me?”

“I’ve been kind of busy dying,” Scott says dryly, and Jimmy doesn’t even realize it’s a joke until he looks over at Scott’s wry little grin.

“Scott! That’s not funny!” He scolds, aghast.

“It was a little funny.”

“No!”

Scott must hear the genuine distress in Jimmy’s voice because he drops the act. “Jimmy, I’m an elf. I won’t live far beyond you, but only because I’ll fade without you.”

“So your solution is to isolate yourself and fade now?” Jimmy demands.

“It does sound stupid when you put it like that, doesn’t it? But I lost you once, and I don’t think I could bear it again.”

Jimmy wants to argue, wants to fight him on this, but there’s nothing he can say. Instead, he puts a hand on Scott’s arm to stop him walking any further. Scott turns to look at him, seemingly startled, and Jimmy throws his arms around the elf.

Scott stiffens before slowly relaxing, arms coming up to wrap around Jimmy in return. It’s not as natural a gesture as it used to be, but it’s warm, gentle in a way Jimmy thought he’d never get again. It reminds him of the soft, starry-eyed boy who put flowers in his hair and laughed at him over a cake. Scott will never be that soft again and Jimmy will never be unscarred, but they’re here. They’re alive, that has to count for something.

Scott pulls back, his expression so achingly tender and heartbroken all at once. “I’m sorry, Jimmy.” His voice is raw, a little shaky. “I can’t. Not again.”

“But-”

He’s cut off by Scott shaking his head. “Losing you will destroy me. We dared to love, and now all we can do now is lessen the pain when it all comes crashing down.”

Jimmy’s in too much shock to speak, the ache in his heart returning tenfold as Scott turns back towards the house.

“Goodbye, Jimmy.” He sweeps away, elegant as ever, but stumbles and nearly falls as he reaches the door. Jimmy’s not there to catch him.

Jimmy stumbles home in a daze. It's somewhat of a miracle that no mob manages to kill him, honestly. To be so close to a resolution, to have the person he wanted most right there in his arms, and then to have all that ripped away- he can’t think of anything that could have hurt more. Even his deaths were less painful than this- at least an arrow through the throat is quicker than feeling like your heart is being ripped out through your ribs, Jimmy thinks, a little bitter. He throws Scott’s stupid ring in a pool in the swamp, watching as it sinks to the bottom of the shallow water with hardly a bubble.

Wait.

The ring.

It’s significant, somehow, according to a Rivendell guard, and more than that, it’s an excuse to see Scott again. One last chance to change his mind about the stupid plan that’s literally killing him.

Jimmy dives in without thinking, scrabbling around until his fingers close around the smooth stone and thin band. When he pulls it out, the gem glitters in the starlight even under the layers of dirt, and it looks like something special. It looks like hope.

#scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #flower husbands #uhh #empires smp #i wont tag 3rd life since its only referenced #my writing

[catxsnow]

REPLACED part two

Summary: Part 2 to replaced. It was Damian’s time to train you, this time you were ready

Warning: mentions of blood, canon violence, Bruce being an ass 

A/N: Had this requested a few times lol. Here it is! Also I’m rewatching The Witcher and 🥵🥵

Part one

Word Count: 2.3k

"Again."

Sweat dripped down your body and you were heaving for breath. The cold training room now emanated with heat just from your movements. It had to have been hours that you were down there, working until you had perfected your motions. Hours of blood, sweat, and tears, but that wasn't going to make you stop.

You rested on your hands and knees, trying to catch your breath. Today had been harder than the rest, you had been pushed far past your limits. Frustrated tears gathered in your eyes from not being able to get this down packed. Again and again you failed miserably - just like you had for years before.

"Again!" Damian repeated louder. He stood over you with his arms crossed and a nonchalant stance. Sparring with him was terrible. You never won and he never held back. You would leave the training room with bruises and cuts every time. He was ruthless, just as he was trained to be when he was a child.

Damian had taken you up on your offer to train you. Unfortunately, he only knew one way to do it. Damian wasn't patient like Dick, he was frustrated the second that you fell to the mat. He didn't worry about you or your feelings like Tim did. The only thing that he did do, was teach your more than Bruce ever had.

Your hands clenched into fists at his anger towards you. You swore that the only reason that Damian kept this up was because he liked to win so often. In your months of working together, he never seemed to gain any more like towards you. Not that you were surprised about it, his heart was cold.

Every muscle in your body screamed at you not to get back up and fight. You needed rest from this. It drained you more and more every day but if that meant that you would get to go out on patrol, to prove everyone wrong, it was worth it. You had improved so much with Damian's help.

"Get. Up!" Damian yelled.

"I can't," you finally whispered. Your voice was broken. Damian had barely heard what you had said. He dropped his sword onto the mat beside. Instead of walking off like you had expected him to, Damian grabbed the collar of your shirt and heaved you up to his eye level. You were startled by the movement.

"You get up or you get out," Damian threatened. His eyes were narrowed as he waited for your response. He wasn't going to waste anymore time if you weren't willing to put in the effort needed. He had spent years being pushed by his grandfather, his skills didn't just come naturally.

Damian was letting you off easy with his version of training. Had it been his mother instead? You would never have made it past the first day. He was stern, but he would never treat you as he was treated. No one deserved that.

You had no response. Getting back up seemed impossible to you. Defeating him seemed impossible. Damian scoffed at you lack of motivation. He dropped the collar of your shirt, letting you fall back to the ground. The echo of his footsteps walking away rang through your ears.

Just another person giving up on me.

No. No, you had come way too far for someone else to give up on you. You needed to do this, not for everyone, but for yourself. Proving that you could do this is the one thing that you always thrived for. Giving up couldn't be an option anymore. This was your time to become who you were always meant to be.

Damian paused as he heard the clank of his sword being picked up. You stood tall and proud, the heavy metal tight in your grip. Damian turned back to face you, a smirk on his lips as he saw you wipe away the blood from your busted lip. As long as you weren't going to give up on yourself, he wasn't going to give up on you.

"Again," you parroted his words. It was the first time that you held his weapon. For some reason, it felt at home in your palms. Maybe you had been taking this whole training from the wrong perspective. You were always trying to be like Bruce, and even Dick. Maybe if you were going to be trained by Damian, you needed to use the same kind of weapon as him.

Just from mimicking the moves that you had seen him do time after time, you had moved so much more effortlessly. It seemed almost natural to swing the great blade around, like you had been doing it for years.

Damian ruthlessly attacked you, giving you everything that he had left in his system. For once, you had been able to hold you ground. You felt confident in what you were doing - both on offense and defense. Damian was shocked by your sudden skill - he hadn't even considered that you wished to use a weapon like his.

Damian had jumped up to get a higher angle against you. It was as if every gear turning in your body had been perfectly in sync - you knew exactly what you needed to do. Just as Damian was mid-air, you had landed a perfect kick right into his abdomen. It had caught him so off guard that he didn't have time to catch himself before hitting the mat.

You stood above him, the tip of his own blade pressed lightly against his skin. After months of training, you had finally taken him down. You removed the sword, spinning it around in your hand before offering him help up. Damian accepted it, along with his weapon that you handed over.

His usually angered scowl was replaced with a prideful smile. It was the first time he had looked at you like this. You had genuinely taken him down without going easy on you. Damian was impressed, which didn't happen very often.

"You did good, (L/N)," he congratulated you. Of course you still had a long way to go, but if you continued to progress at this speed - you would be just as good as everyone else. "I believe it's time to test the new suit."

Your eyes widened in shock. With Damian taking your place as Robin, you had to create a completely different persona. This one, suited you far more than Robin ever would have. You hadn't gotten the chance to go out to the streets to use it, Damian still deemed you unready. Until now.

Bruce was out of the city that week - it would be just the two of you out there. For some god forsaken reason, it didn't scare you anymore. Being by Damian's side out there excited you.

"I'm ready."

><

The smile on your face wouldn't disappear.

After coming back from patrol you had been ecstatic about it. The night had gone perfectly smooth. Snobbish criminals were out and about - the perfect candidate for your first night out. Damian would watch from above, ready to swoop in if you ever needed help. There was only once where you had been far too out numbered.

A couple bruises here and there but nothing that was going to slow you down. You would have been out until dawn if he would have let you. Being out there, saving people, it made you feel alive. There was nothing more that you wanted than to go back out. Saving people, it was a whole thrill you didn't realize you were missing out on.

Damian could see how happy you were to be out there. When under Bruce's training you had gone out a few times here and there, but each time you were to stand by, never to dive in unless necessary. Damian had let you take the lead all night, it was a learning curve that you needed to accomplish.

Even getting back to the cave, you were still vibrating with excitement. As soon as you hoped off your motorcycle, you had flipped all around the cave. Damian only watched you - even though you were several years older than he was, it felt as if he was the adult. This whole time training you it felt as if he was older.

"That was incredible, Damian!" You grinned, stopping in front of him. The high of your night wasn't going away any time soon. It had gone well tonight, but Damian dreaded to see you after the hard nights. The nights that you couldn't save everyone. He suddenly felt protective of you, not wanting you to see how cruel it really was out there.

"What the hell were you thinking?" A sudden voice bombed through the cave. You and Damian were on high alert, weapons raised as to who was angered at you. Bruce stood at the entrance of the cave, his suit on and cowl lowered. You could see the scowl on his lips and feel the anger that radiated off of him.

He must have come back early from his trip. Bruce came home to an empty cave with both your suits out of their cases. He had known about your training with Damian, your sudden rebellion against him. He never imagined that Damian would be so reckless to take you out on the streets without him.

When he noticed the matching swords in your hands, he had only gotten more angered. Bruce hated Damian's choice of weapon - it was deadly and if used incorrectly could do more damage than it was worth. To have you pick up on his bad choices as well? It had enraged him. In the short time that he was gone, it seemed like you had betrayed him more than ever.

"Father-" Damian tried to explain.

"(Y/N) could have been killed because of this reckless behavior! Innocent people could have been killed!" Bruce shouted. He stormed towards the two of you. Whatever mission he was on must have gone bad, he was angrier than usual. "They're not ready! You had no right to lead a patrol without me knowing like that! It was irresponsible and-"

"Enough!" You yelled. You were tired of Bruce treating you like a little kid still. It was like he still saw you as that weak child that showed up to his home. You had grown, far more than ever in these few months. Bruce couldn't accept that you were old enough to realize what you could handle and what you couldn't.

Bruce and Damian looked over at you in shock at your sudden outburst. Ever since that fight with Bruce in the library, you had been giving him the cold shoulder. This was the first time that you had outburst to him in a long time.

"Damian's trained me better than you ever have Bruce," you narrowed your eyes at him. Damian noticed as you stepped between him and his father, as if you were protecting him. "You just don't want to accept that your son is better than you will ever be! I'm ready to be out there! I'm ready and you just can't fucking admit that it wasn't you who got me here."

"Dick, Jason, Steph, they were all right about you," You continued. "You raised kids as weapons, and as soon as they defy you, you can't handle it. Everyone left you, Bruce! Can't you see the pattern! It isn't because they're grown, it's because you're too fucking stubborn to see things any other way."

You scoffed at him and his ridiculous anger for thinking that he still had control over what you could and couldn't do. Damian watched as you stalked away from the both of them, slamming into Bruce's shoulder as you passed. Just like the rest of the kids that he had taken in, it was your time to leave as well.

Even if you appreciated everything that Damian did for you, you couldn't stay in that house anymore. Having Bruce watch over you, waiting for you to make one mistake so he could revoke your privileges, you couldn't handle it anymore. Bruce was the one holding you back for years, now that you were liberated, you weren't going to let it continue.

"(L/N)," Damian called out for you. He was jogging to catch up, leaving his father in the cave to ponder your words. It wasn't time for him to leave his father, not yet, but he understood where you were coming from. Bruce was the one to hold you back, you needed to be free of his reign to grow even more.

You paused for Damian, wondering what he had to say to you. You wished him to join you, the two of you could become your own dynamic duo. Damian would do better with you then he ever would with Bruce. Even if you had much to learn from him, he too had so much to gain from you.

"I just wanted to say," he awkwardly coughed before finishing. "I'm proud of you. For learning, adapting, for standing up for yourself. Whenever you wish to train more, I would feel honoured to help. I wish you the best of luck."

"Don't worry, Dames. I could never replace you."

#batfam #batfam x reader #batfam imagine #batfam one shot #damian wayne #bruce wayne #batman #robin #dc one shot #dc imagine #dc #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne oneshot #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #dick grayson #tim drake #jason todd #stephanie brown

[heliads]

The Football Player (Part Two)

Based on this request: “Bucky is a football player and you are a fan of the team but you’re also really shy. Secretly Bucky also developed a crush on you. He sees you getting mocked by some idiots and he gets in between to stand up for you. Later then he asks you for a walk and he kisses you.”

part one / masterlist

To be honest, you’re not entirely sure that the last couple of days have actually happened. Bucky Barnes, star football player and receiver of about a thousand crushes from all of the girls at your college, asked you out? If you’d heard that a week ago, you would have laughed, but it’s real. All of it. 

Your friend was over the moon when you told her. She had grabbed you by the hand, dragging you away to some isolated corner of the campus so you could go over everything, detail by detail. Honestly, she might have a bigger lot in this date than you, and that’s saying something. You’re pretty sure that the high pitch of her excited scream upon hearing the news could shatter glass, or possibly just your eardrums.

Now, all you have left to do is plan out exactly what you’re going to wear and do on this date. You’d asked Bucky what you’d be doing, but he’d just winked and said that he had a plan. You’re not entirely sure what that means, but the excited grin tugging at his lips had convinced you that it was going to be absolutely perfect, just like him. Just like the idea that he loved you and you loved him, and everything was going to be alright.

In the end, you meet him in the late afternoon, just before the golden hour of dusk when everything takes on an additional shade of rose and mystery. Bucky had picked you up outside your dorm, driving you off campus to a spot he’d picked out earlier. You had your doubts beforehand, half convincing yourself that none of this was real and it would end up being a study date or something, but the look in his eyes when he saw you coming out was like none you’d ever seen before. Either he’s an amazing actor, or he’s truly head over heels for you. When he presents you with a hand-picked bouquet of flowers, you’re pretty sure it’s the latter.

Now you sit beside him in his car, watching him tap absentmindedly on the steering wheel as you wait for the red light to turn green. You feel like you have an entire storm of butterflies making themselves a home in your stomach, but you’re too excited to even think about turning back.

Eventually, Bucky comes to a stop in a parking lot that’s more gravel and sand than asphalt, helping you out and into the fading sunshine. A light breeze toys at your face as you look around you, recognizing the wind-washed slats of a nearby boardwalk. You turn to Bucky with a smile as he holds up a slightly battered notebook the size of a cell phone. “I’ve got it all planned out here. First, we walk around the shops, then we get ice cream at the place down the block, and then we can head down to the beach until it’s too dark to see anything.”

You can’t help but laugh, letting the sound ripple away from you, carried away by the breeze. “I’m impressed. You planned all of this out?” Bucky nods, tapping the notebook against his hands. “It’s Steve’s notebook, actually, but this was a very important occasion so I borrowed it.” You raise an eyebrow, unable to hide a grin. “You stole your friend’s notebook for the date?” Bucky loops an arm around your waist, guiding you towards the boardwalk. “I had to make sure everything was perfect. I’m sure he won’t notice.”

In the end, it turns out that the sacrifice of Steve’s notebook is indeed for a worthy cause- Bucky has planned out every detail, every shop. You find yourself laughing harder than you have in a long time, watching as the setting sun brings out copper highlights in Bucky’s hair and eyes that you never noticed before. He seems reluctant to let go of his touch on your arm, choosing instead to escort you around like a proper gentleman. You can’t find it in yourself to have a problem with this.

Later, when you feel like you must have walked miles up and down the time-worn wooden slats and poked your head inside every small antiques shop and brightly-postered tourist trap, Bucky points out the ice cream store at the very end. It’s such a walk from the entrance that not many visitors have taken the arduous journey down to its front stoop, but Bucky swears by it and so the two of you slip inside, smiling at the bright ring of the bell affixed to the door.

The chill of the air conditioning, albeit arriving only in irregular cycles, is a welcome balm and you enjoy the simple feeling of Bucky’s hand linked around yours as you peruse the menus taped to the walls before ordering. The two of you take seats outside underneath a striped awning, watching the other beachgoers play on the sands below. When he attempts to steal a bite of your ice cream, you fend him away with your spoon, imagining the defending swoops of plastic against plastic to be the clash of metal swords in an all too crucial duel. 

Once the sun has begun to slide beneath the horizon, you walk with him down to the beach, slipping off your shoes and holding them in your hand. The feeling of the cool waves against your feet soothes the dim heat of the sand, and you let the night breeze cool your temples. Bucky picks you up, twirling you around in the air before kissing you. You can taste the salt air on every breath, and you can’t help but hope that this night will never end.

Eventually, however, the sky darkens from rose to indigo to inky black, and stars begin to spangle themselves across the horizons. You hold out for as long as you can, but eventually one well-cursed yawn tears itself from your lungs and Bucky holds out his arms, ready to take you home. You lean against him as you walk, letting your head slump against his shoulder. You feel him press a kiss to your head, and curl into him a little more.

You’re only a few feet from the parking lot when things take a turn for the worst. Perhaps the universe sensed that things were going too well for you tonight, and wanted to balance out the scales. Regardless, when you see the silhouettes of a few rival football players emerge from the shadows of the closed-down shops, you can’t help but know that this won’t end well.

You go to Mid-Capital University, home of the Avengers, and if there’s one thing you know it’s that the MCU football team has a long and lasting rivalry with Pierce University, home of the Hydras. Most colleges have rivals, that much is true, but there’s nothing like this one. You’ve heard stories of the Hydras crossing fans of your school and giving them trouble, or breaking into the MCU locker rooms to steal gear and damage property. Judging by the look in the eyes of the Hydras in front of you, they both recognize Bucky as a star player on the team they hate and are eager for retribution for their latest loss.

Bucky recognizes them too, and you feel him stiffen beside you. His arm gently unlaces itself from yours, guiding you to stand slightly behind him. He speaks to the football players, making sure to keep his voice light. “Hey, boys. Mind if we pass through?” The leader of the pack, Brock Rumlow, steps forward. “Afraid not, Barnes. We’ve got unfinished business.”

Bucky tilts his head to the side, brow furrowing. “We don’t want trouble, not tonight. Let us through.” Brock folds his arms across his chest. “What, you don't want to get into a fight in front of your girl? Too bad, Barnes. We’ve been waiting for this for a while.” Bucky turns to face you, jaw already set. “Get to the car, now. I’ll be right behind you.” You don’t hesitate, taking in the determined look in his eyes as the rival football players draw ever closer, and dodge around the Hydras to get back to the parking lot. They let you go, but they do eye you in a way that makes you pull your arms closer around yourself.

Once you make it back to the parking lot and stand anxiously by the car, you find that you don’t know what to do. There were only a couple of them, and Bucky’s stronger than them by far, but the odds are definitely against him. You don’t think any of Bucky’s friends on the MCU football team would arrive in time to help him, and Bucky specifically told you to get to safety, so you can’t involve yourself. Besides, you dressed for a cute date, not a fight. You’re not sure your shoes would support you against football players whose biceps are the size of your head.

This being said, you hate the idea of just standing here and waiting to see what happens, so you pick your way back through the line of cars to see what’s going on. From the first glance, it looks bad. Bucky’s managing to hold his own, but there’s only so much you can do when the fight is three to one. As you watch, one of them brings his leg down hard on Bucky’s left arm. Even from here, you can see that the impact is brutal, and hear the groan of pain echo across the empty boardwalk.

You must have made some sort of sound, maybe a gasp of horror, because Bucky’s eyes fly to you. They linger on you for a second, and then a new wave of determination floods through them, and he stands back up again to take on the football players once more. As you draw closer, you almost trip on a large rock next to your foot. A sudden idea enters your head, and you pick it up, tossing it once or twice in your palm before launching it at one of the football players. It hits his hand hard, and you can hear the impact of stone against bone even from where you stand. 

The Hydra grimaces in pain, turning towards you in a mixture of rage and surprise. Bucky takes advantage of his sudden distraction to hit him one last time. The Hydras look at each other, taking in the bruises and weakened arms already lacing their features, and without another word, take off into the night. The second they’re gone, you run over to Bucky, eyes flying to the way he hugs his left arm as if it’s been seriously hurt.

Bucky just laughs, the sound echoing off into the night and rattling off of the closed shops. “You have good aim, doll. Maybe you should try out for the team too.” You smile at that, although you can’t shake the worry knotting in your gut. “What about your arm? What if it’s really hurt and you can’t play?” Bucky considers it, moving it stiffly back and forth, then shakes his head. “I think it’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me, Y/N, I’m more worried about you. All my planning for a perfect date and you had to see that.”

You scoff, surprising yourself. “I’m not a delicate daisy, I can see a fight and move on. I wasn’t the one who had to fight off three guys at once.” Bucky manages a grin, brimming over in a mixture of surprise and pride. “Maybe so. I’m not intending on doing it again any time soon, though.” You tilt your head to the side. “I’d hope not.”

The two of you end up driving home, and you let Bucky into your dorm through the empty hallways so you can see to his arm. It ends up being fine, just requiring a few bandages to keep it in place so it can heal properly. The mixture of gray doctor’s tape and bandages reflects off the light, making it look like it’s almost made of metal. You look up at him, worried. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

Bucky smiles, gently touching the side of your face with his good arm. “I’m sure of it. I’ve got you to look after me, don’t I?” You let yourself smile at that. “You do indeed.” Maybe it’ll hurt him a little longer, maybe it won’t. You intend to stay by his side to see it through.

marvel tag list: @mycosmicparadise​

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #winter soldier #winter soldier imagines #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier oneshot #avengers #avengers imagines #avengers x reader #avengers oneshot #marvel #marvel imagines #marvel oneshot #mcu #mcu imagines #mcu oneshot

[smileposting]

s4mweek day 1 - secret

[ao3 link] [it’s got author’s notes!]

“Well,” he says, tilting his head to look up at the flower child like their boxing glove is a sword pointed at his throat. But he knows no matter how hard he tries to make it seem otherwise, there’s nothing noble about the gesture, no pretty and quiet defiance like the kind you’d see in a hero. “I suppose this is it, Flower Child.”

Flower Kid stands over him, haloed in the fluorescent lighting of the office behind them. The hood of their jacket casts such a harsh shadow that Habit can only see their face from the nose down. A trail of blood trickles down from their mouth. 

“One more shove and you’ve gotten your way,” he says, ignoring the taste of bile, the bite of glass digging into his palm, the way he can’t clench his jaw properly and can’t even tell himself that it was all worth it in the end anymore. “Perhaps it’s time. A younger me would do the same.” The balcony railing is low. Even if Flower Kid chose to have mercy on him for whatever reason, if he were to stand up and back away now, he’d most likely trip and fall to his doom anyway. The thought is almost comforting; no perpetrators, no victims, just the culmination of one very foolish man’s mistakes. If nothing else, at least he can have this, the knowledge that in the end, everyone got exactly what they deserved.

Flower Kid rolls their eyes - or at least, Habit assumes they roll their eyes, based on the minute curl of their lip and their head turning left for the briefest of moments. They pull their arm back.

He flinches, bowing his head and closing his eyes in one swift motion, and braces himself for the impact of a second hit that never comes.

There’s a pause. And then the dull thud of leather against linoleum. What?

 He doesn’t dare to let go of the breath he’s holding, but he does, against his better judgement, crack one eye open. The boxing glove lays discarded on the floor, forgotten as the flower child rummages through their bouquet. “Flower Child…?”

“Enough theatrics,” they sign. They’re remarkably articulate for someone who should either still be waiting for the laughing gas to wear off or should be doubled over in pain from the earlier extraction. “I have something for you.”

And then they turn around. When Boris sees what they have in their arms, the shock of it strikes him so hard he might as well have been punched after all. He lunges for it like a starved animal, seized by a sudden ferocity, and it takes everything in him not to snarl in frustration when Flower Kid holds it just out of his reach.

“First,” they sign. “You promise that you won’t hurt anyone else.”

“There’s no one else left to hurt,” he pleads, arms outstretched plaintively. “Please…?”

A silence follows as Flower Kid seems to contemplate their next move, eyeing Boris like a cat sizing up a pigeon. Then they relent, and Lily is finally back in his arms.

“Where did you get this?” Boris asks after what feels like hours spent on the floor of his office, running his hands over thick, waxy petals, of reveling in the feeling of the flowerpot in his hands, in its cool terracotta. He knows the answer, but something in him demands some confirmation.

Flower Kid shrugs. “Grew it myself.”

Silence. A tacit understanding. They sit down on the floor across from him.

“You know everything about me, then,” says Boris. It isn’t a question.

“Not everything. Just what was important to know.”

“Right,” he snorts. “That I’m a sad, selfish little man-baby who takes it out on everyone else. Very important.”

“Right now, yeah,” they concede, earning them the stink eye of the century from Boris despite the honesty. “But you don’t have to be one forever.” Their movements slow down, and it suddenly strikes him that they’re scrambling for the right words just as much as he is. “I know this doesn’t feel like that great of an ending, but... maybe that just means it isn’t an ending at all. For you, anyway.”

Boris blinks. “And for you?”

Flower Kid takes a moment to look around the office. The lighting’s grown dimmer, flickering on occasion. “Yeah. I think I’m done here.” And then they stand up as though they had never been on the ground at all, heading towards the doorway.

“Wait.”

They pause, turning back to look at him quizzically.

Suddenly, Boris’ mouth is dry. Idiot, a little voice tells him. You whine and beg for people to stay and when they do, you can’t even be bothered to give them a reason?

“If it’s not too much trouble,” he says, cringing at how stilted his words are. “Maybe you could… listen to what I have to say?”

“...Yeah. I can do that.”

Oh, goodness. Okay. Now he really has to think of something good. “I…” he pauses to swallow before starting again. How do they do this in movies? “I thought I had destroyed all those seeds. Squashed them flat and buried them deep, deep where they wouldn’t resurface. I used to be a naive flower child like you-”

Somehow, Boris gets the distinct impression that Flower Kid raises an eyebrow at that. He elects to ignore it and continue.

“ - But I gave up believing that everyone could be saved. I learned that you gotta break a few eggs to make a happiness omelette. Or, teeth-”

Wait.

Oh, wait.

“Teeth!” Boris hisses, scrambling to his feet. “Flower Kid, your teeth - oh, how did it - how did I-?!”

The closer Boris gets, the further Flower Kid backs away, pulling the hem of their hoodie up over the visible parts of their face. “It’s not that big a deal,” they sign hurriedly. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine!” Boris exclaims in what should have been a booming voice, but came out as more of a faint scream. “You’ll be fine?! I tore out your teeth - I didn’t use anaesthetic.” His breath is coming out in short, labored huffs as he begins to pace about the office, bringing a hand to his mouth as though it’ll do anything to stop the ensuing tidal wave of anxiety. “Oh, God. Oh, my God-”

A hand reaches out to grip his shoulder, urging Boris to look Flower Kid directly in the face. As much as the two of them can manage, anyway - now that they’re both standing up, Flower Kid has to crane their neck a little to look up at him, face full of steely, stone-faced determination. Then they open their mouth, revealing a full, if not bloodied, set of teeth. 

Boris’ jaw hangs open in kind, unsure if he should scream or sigh in relief or ask how any of this is happening right now. “No,” is what he finally settles on.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I mean,” he sputters. “That this should not be happening! You should be writhing on the floor in pain! And have at least twelve less teeth than you do right now!”

“Are you… angry, that isn’t the case?”

“Yes! I mean, no - I don’t know,” he says, throwing his free hand up before it comes to rest on his temple, the other still holding Lily protectively against his stomach. “...People don’t just… grow teeth back, Flower Kid. If they did, we would not be here right now.”

“Debatable,” they sign. “Anyway, I’ve never had the best relationship with things like physics. Or lasting damage. Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re going to kill me,” Habit groans. “Instead of punching me off the balcony you’ve decided to mess with my head so much it will kill me. Is that it?”

“Hardly. Besides, you’ve seen weirder. You’ve done weirder.”

Boris opens his mouth to protest before closing it again, lips pressed together into a thin line. “Touché.”

“There we go. Think of it like this: I keep my mouth shut about the part where you performed impromptu dental surgery on me, and in return you discover why I throw myself down stairwells all the time.”

Boris blinks, his grip on the flowerpot tightening. “I… I don’t-”

“I get it, you wanna do the right thing,” Flower Kid assures him. “But believe me when I say that it’s way harder to do that from jail, and I don’t think five to ten years in relative isolation from the outside world would do your mental health any favors.”

“That’s-”

“You’ll probably still get charged with medical fraud, though. Nothing I can really do there. Sorry.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about!” Boris finally manages to get a word in, much to Flower Kid’s apparent surprise. “Flower Kid, I hurt you. Badly. You were bleeding... You really didn’t feel any of it?”

They study Boris for a moment before responding. “Sure, I did. Why do you think I punched you?” When Boris doesn’t laugh, they sheepishly add, “It only hurts for a couple seconds. I’m used to it.”

“You’re still hurting yourself,” Boris says quietly. “Flower Kid, that’s no way to live.”

“Look who’s talking,” they retort, and immediately wince. “Sorry. I’m supposed to be helping you.”

“No, no, you… have a point,” Boris sighs. “You’ve done enough, anyway. I think it’s time for you to go.”

Flower Kid frowns. “What about you?”

Boris looks around the office with a small grimace, “I have a few things to clean up, first. But I’ll follow when I’m done.”

They tilt their head and nod - not totally satisfied, but it will have to do for now. “Take care of Lily.”

“I will,” says Boris, managing a half smile despite his exhaustion. “Take care of yourself, too, Flower Child.”

They hold up their hand as they walk away, snapping their fingers and thumb together a few times as they do to mimic someone talking. Yeah, yeah, it says. No promises.

Boris wants to - needs to - say something before they leave. He needs to tell them how much good they’ve done; how much good they’ll continue to do; what a fool he is.

But before he knows it, they’re gone.

#my writing #sfmweek2021 #boris habit #flower kid #spoilers #dental trauma #physical assault #nothing on-screen but its referenced throughout the fic

[justanotherfoolhere]

I managed to write something for the KakaIru Valentine’s Week 2021!

Me: I want to write something. Maybe a double drable or a ficlet. Shouldn’t take more than an hour.

Also me: spends the whole day writing a 3k words one-shot. Ooops.

Anyway:

Title: Soulmates (I know, very original)

Rating: T (could be gen)

Pairing: Kakashi/Iruka

Wordcount: 3283

Tags: Kakairu Valentines Week 2021, Fluff, Light Angst, Soulmates, First Dates, Friends to Lovers

You can read on ao3 too!

            Soulmarks appeared around six or seven years old.  But it was not as exciting as one could imagine: as much as the tropes of 'first words they say to you', 'a cool mark where they first touch you' or even 'matching marks' or 'their favorite thing tattooed on your skin' were popular in books and films, the reality was far less thrilling.

               Words appeared on your forearm, but not the first ones they would say to you. No. The words that appeared were the ones they would say the moment they realized they loved you. It didn't even have to be words they say to you. You could very well never get to hear the words yourself, if whoever your soulmate is realized it when by themselves.

               All in all, soulmarks weren't that important. They were not reliable and, even if they were, they just made sense when your soulmate already loved you. Not that helping at all. Sure, children loved seeing the words and tracing their little fingers over them, and teachers took advantage of that to teach them proper spelling, reading, writing and calligraphy. Nothing made a kid work harder at writing something right than copying the words on their forearms over and over again.

               Adults, on the other hand, mostly ignored them. Sure, some helpless romantics (cough, cough, Gai, cough) still clung to them like a lifeline, but most people just kept going about their lives and never seeking them out.  Let life that its course and everything.

               Kakashi avoided his like the plague.

               It hadn't always been like this. As a child, he liked to daydream about his soulmate as much as his peers. Things got different when his father died though. Grief settling in, chilling his bones and washing away his childlike hopes. Things only got worse when his team died, when he saw Obito be crushed and failed on his only promise, failed to keep Rin safe. Then their sensei died too and he was alone.

               He didn't deserve love. He didn't deserve a soulmate.

               And a bitter and irrational part of him reminded him that everyone who loved him died. He'd be doing his soulmate a favor if he never met them.

              *

               People thought Kakashi was being stubborn or proud when he refused to go to the hospital after a dire mission. He wasn't. Well, not totally.

               When he was a kid, the words on his forearm sounded odd yet funny.

               Of course he'd try to shrug off a stab wound, the idiot.

               Like, him? Getting stabbed then just walking away? Sure, little Kakashi knew first hand how a ninja's life could be rough, but the idea was so foreign and ridiculous. He'd never ignore something so drastic!

               Also, it sounded like a funny thing to say when you love someone. Didn't sound affectionate at all.

               He was glad for it when he grew up. Maybe his soulmate wouldn't be burdened with loving him (sure they would like Kakashi a bit, but maybe not love him). And maybe Kakashi wouldn't even be present to hear it, since the sentence wasn't adressing him.

               Still, he didn't want to take any chances. So, since Kakashi can remember, he stitches up his own stab wounds. Avoiding getting stabbed also helped, but it was near impossible in fights with shurikens, kunais and the ocasional sword.

               He figured whoever his soulmate was, they must work at a hospital or be a medical nin. So he avoided both. Seemed like the best course of action.

              *

               It was just another day. A common, boring day. Kakashi was waiting in line to hand in his mission form (he was still scribbling some things on it as he waited) and could barely wait to be done with it, so he could drop dead on bed. The last mission was a nasty one and he had barely washed the blood off his face before coming here.

               Sure, he could procrastinate it, as he ever did, but now he had five old mission reports still blank and an increasingly annoyed Iruka who chewed him out for it. So he decided to drop the habit and actually hand in this one as soon as possible.

               His whole tired body complained about this choice, though.

               "I can't accept it," Iruka said with a thinly-concealed scowl.

               "Why not?!"

               "Well, for starters, you're still writing it," Iruka gestured to Kakashi still scribbling on the form, using the desk for support, "go home and rest a bit, Kakashi. You can give me the report tomorrow," wow, Kakashi thought, he should look really deplorable if Iruka missed the opportunity to reprimand him.

               He didn't recall when Iruka went from calling him "jounin-san" to "Kakashi", maybe sometime between their quarrels about what an acceptable form was, but it always made his heart skip a beat. A silly little crush, but Kakashi allowed his heart this treat. It's not like he'd ever act on it anyway.

               "Yeah, maybe I should," Kakashi concedes, too worn out to complain. A shame really, he wanted to see Iruka smiling at him for handing in a report in time for once.

               He manages to walk away two steps before Iruka calls him again, scowl deepening and something too akin to concern on his voice.

               "Kakashi, you're bleeding."

               "Oh, that?" He look at the growing blood stain on his vest. It didn't seem too serious in the fight, and he could barely feel it over his generaly aching body, "yeah, I just came from the mission, I'll take a look at it at home," he smiled, trying to look reassuring despite the mask covering most of his face.

               "Fine," there was a finality to his tone. Kakashi thought it'd be the end of the conversation.

               Than Iruka called someone to cover for him and, in less than a minute, he was up and grabbing Kakashi by the hand.

               Kakashi made a mental note that Iruka was fast and could move pretty silently when he wanted to. The blush on his face hidden by the mask.

               "Uh, you don't have to—"

               "I do," Iruka cut him with his best non-nonsense voice, "since you clearly can't be trusted to prioritize you own well-being, and I'm sick of watching it after every mission of yours."

               He let Iruka half-guide half-drag him, not even bothering to keep track of where they were going until he sees himself being pulled inside Iruka's apartment.

              *

               "I know it's a mess," Iruka didn't sound apologetic in the slightest, "but it'll have to make do," he gestured for Kakashi to sit on the sofa, throwing some things on the floor to make space, and went to fetch a first-aid kit in the bathroom.

               Kakashi took a moment to took everything in. The papers and books thrown everywhere, a few take-out packages littering the floor, the clothes scattered around. It was not dirty, just messy, which made sense with how much work Iruka had between teaching kids and scolding jounins. He probably didn't spend that much time here. Enough to make a mess, but not enough to tidy it properly.

               Still, it felt homey. Warm and safe.

               "Shirt off," Iruka came back, a serious expression, and motioned to his blood-soaked vest.

               "Maa, sensei, at least pay me a dinner first," Kakashi joked, attempting to both lighten the mood and conceal his own nervousness. Iruka didn't seem impressed.

               "Fine, fine," he took his shirt off, it landed with a wet thump on the floor.

               Iruka's eyes widened for a sec before he recomposed himself.

               "I can't believe you decided to wait on a line to hand me a half-written form after you got stabbed," Iruka sighed, pouring antiseptic on the wound without a warning, "whoever let you graduate in Academia is a moron. You have no sense of self-preservation. Or common sense," he admonished.

               Kakashi winced at the sudden sting of antiseptic, but accepted the scolding. It was fair enough. Despite the harsh words, Iruka's hands were gentle when he started stitching him up.

               "It was not really stabbing, just a tiny hit. With a kunai," He said nonchalant. Maybe Iruka would give it less importance if he did too, "I've had worse."

               "I don't doubt it," Iruka didn't look at him, his eyes on the task, "And most people call 'a hit with a kunai' stabbing," he said wryly.

               Ouch.

               When Iruka was finished with the stitches, he put some ointment over the wound and dressed it. Kakashi insisted it was more fuss than it was worth.

               "Just lie down and get some rest," Iruka sighed, "I'll fetch you some pillows and a blanket. Don't you dare getting up,"

               "Really, you don't have to. I'm fine, I can go and sleep in my own house."

               "I want to," and there it was, the finality to his voice that made clear not even the Hokage could get Kakashi out of that couch, "now stop being stubborn for a second and sleep."

               Kakashi complied (what other choice did he have, really?) and Iruka made sure to get him comfortable, a pillow under his head, another one supporting his sore legs and a fluffy, warm blanked tucked snugly over him.

               Kakashi was drifting off to sleep when he heard Iruka muttering to himself.

               "Of course he'd try to shrug off a stab wound, the idiot."

               Kakashi heart raced a bit, the too familiar words sounded weird now that he actually heard it. He'd have fled if he wasn't so comfortable and on the brink of sleep.

               His last thought was that he was wrong about his soulmate not liking him that much. He'd never imagined someone could say "idiot" in such a fond, loving tone.

               *

               Kakashi's half-baked plan of avoiding Iruka didn't even have a chance to be properly formed. It'd be a nigh impossible task when he woke up on Iruka's sofa, covered in Iruka's blankets, inside Iruka's house and with a very nonchalant Iruka sat on the floor near him with a new take-out bag on his lap.

               "Oh, good, you're awake," he said, putting his food down, "Hungry? I bought some ramen."

               "I— Ah," he said eloquently, "no, you shouldn't have bothered. I'll— I should head home now. Finish all that late reports and everything," he all but stumbled while trying to get up.

               There was a faint, amused smile on Iruka's lips.

               "That's okay, Kakashi, calm down," he handed him a bowl of ramen, "you can run away and never look at me again after you eat," his voice was even. It didn't sound like a joke nor a reprimand.

               Kakashi accepted the chopsticks offered to him and they ate in silence. there was still a bundle of warm blankets on Kakashi's feet and the sofa was more inviting than it had a right to be.

               Iruka didn't look bothered at all for the silence. His face was unreadable, as if he already expected it.

               Wait—

               "You knew!" Kakashi accused, pointing a finger at him.

               "I knew what?" Iruka feigned inocence, then, when Kakashi grunted, added more serious, "yeah, I figured it out some time ago."

               Kakashi was stunned by how lightly he said it.

               "How long ago? Exactly?" He narrowed his eyes. Iruka put a hand on his neck, a nervous habit.

               "Well... I kind of knew since we became sort-of-friends? But I just confirmed it some months ago," he tried to laugh it off, then extended his forearm to Kakashi's field of sight.

               There, in neat letters, was written Maa, Iruka, I already said I'll finish the reports! No need for violence.

               Kakashi kind of remembered this talk. It was so similar to all the others they had that it was hard to place exactly when this one took place. Iruka had rolled up a magazine and smacked Kakashi's nape with it, saying he would 'beat some sense of responsibility into him if he had to'.

               "There are not a lot of people who never hand in their reports and are on a first-name basis with me," he explains, "the 'maa' narrowed it down a lot too."

               "...I see," Kakashi was at a loss of words. So his soulmate wasn't a medical-nin like he thought, but a sensei with years of practice in patching up kids and adults alike.

               "Yes. Well, I, uh," this was getting more awkward by the minute, "I'll go back to work now. you can take you time before you leave. Eat, take a shower... You can hand all your late reports to someone else later."

               Iruka was already getting up to leave when Kakashi hastily grabbed his wrist.

               "Wait! Are you leaving just like that? After telling me you knew I was your soulmate for months?"

               "Well, I figured you didn't want a soulmate," He smiled, and there was no judgement there, "I wouldn't have told you, either. But, since, you know now, I guess it's okay if you want to put some distance between us," he motioned vaguely to the pillows Kakashi had knocked on the ground in his hurried attempt to leave.

               Kakashi couldn't find a good enough answer, so he watched mutely as Iruka made his way to the door and closed it after him.

               *

               Days passed.

               Kakashi thought it'd be fine. Iruka have handled everything so well. They hadn't sought each other out and, when they bumped into each other, Iruka was polite but distant. 'Kakashi' went back to 'jounin-san' or even 'Hatake-san'. He didn't act weird or sad either.

               So why did it hurt so much?

               Kakashi felt like he was missing something. Which made no sense whatsoever, because he and Iruka never were a thing to start with.

               Iruka was right, he didn't want a soulmate. Never wanted one. The lingering thought that he would hurt whoever it was or that he didn't deserve any happiness present on his mind since he was a kid.

               Yet there he was, hurting and wanting to go after him.

               He's better off without me, Kakashi reminded himself once again.

               *

               It took Kakashi almost a month to put his finger in what exactly bothered him so much. He came to two conclusions.

               One: Iruka was a good liar.

               The scene of him leaving with a smile played again and again in Kakashi's mind, haunting his dreams and following him through the day. It hurt, like being rejected on repeat, nonstop. A cruel thing, really, like his mind enjoyed torturing itself.

               But then he payed attention to details, like he should have done since the beginning. Like any good jounin would have done. Iruka left with a smile, and it looked real, but he wouldn't meet Kakashi's eyes. And his tone was too cheerful, as if he was trying to compensate for something.

               Every time he bumped into Iruka (accidentally at first, deliberately later), he saw it. The hesitance, the too-happy smile, the eyes wandering around but never quite meeting his eyes. The lingering touches and the sad look on Iruka's face when he thought Kakashi wasn't looking.

               Iruka lied to him when he said he was okay with parting ways. Lied when he said he understood Kakashi's wish, when he made it so easy to ignore everything and leave.

               Two: Kakashi had grown up.

               This one should be pretty obvious, yet it took him weeks of introspection to realize it. He had just... Grown up. Made peace with everything that happened. It still hurt, and he still caught himself sobbing after nightmares or feeling guilty, but he knew, deep down, that it was not his fault. And no one would die just for loving him. It was a childish idea.

               He spent years pushing away the idea of a soulmate, but he couldn't picture Iruka dying because of him. He knew Iruka could stand his ground just fine and, even if he couldn't, Iruka was far better than him at reaching out for help.

               And Kakashi deserved some love too. He blushed at the thought, but he knew he had to tell it more to himself. He deserved it. Iruka deserved it too, if he still wanted Kakashi after the shitty way he dealed with the situation.

               Well, just one way to find out.

               *

               "Oh, hello, Kaka— Hatake-san," Iruka smiled at him, like he always did, that fake yet convincing one.

               "Kakashi is fine, Iruka," Kakashi felt bold. Or at least maybe he would if he faked well enough, "I, uh, wanted to talk to you. In private. Mind if I pick you up after you're done working?"

               "I—," was Kakashi delusional or was it a faint rosy blush on Iruka's cheeks? "Fine, you can pick me up here in two hours. Sound good?"

               "Sounds perfect!" He grinned and with the last of his bravery added, "it's a date then."

               Iruka made a choking sound and Kakashi left with the goofiest smile.

               *

               Kakashi's place was different from Iruka's. Tidier, nothing out of place, but with a thin layer of dust on the less used things and too much free space. It wasn't as homey. Kakashi found himself missing the messy couch and thrown around clothes and books.

               "So, let me set it straight," Iruka gave him a pointed look, "you decided you want a soulmate after trying to run away and pretending nothing happened for a month. And you want to take me on a date," He briefed.

               Kakashi nodded, it seemed like an accurate description. He could unwrap all the insecurities and emotional baggage later.

               "Fine," Iruka pressed the bridge of his nose, "took you long enough. I don't even know why I try to make sense of it."

               "That easy?" Kakashi was a bit surprised, "I had prepared a speech and everything. Scribbled a half-decent poem," he threw some crumpled papers on the table. Iruka chuckled a bit.

               Good. He wanted to see his genuine smile.

               "If I wasn't willing to, I wouldn't have bothered to patch you up in the first place," He explained, "idiot," he said as an afterthough, but in the same fond tone he used before.

               Kakashi found himself smiling too.

               "Well, what about dinner tomorrow then? Anywhere you want."

               "Oh, I have a better idea," the smile on Iruka's face was a bit devilish now, "just meet me at my place tomorrow. Let's say... At seven?"

               "Deal," Kakashi really shouldn't have ignored the chill on his spine at the evil grin.

               *

               "That's your idea of a nice first date?" He whined, his wrist hurting from writing too much.

               "That's your idea of good penmanship?" Iruka retorted, giving him yet another blank report to fill, "We are almost there! Just two more," he said a bit more encouragingly.

               "We? What exactly are you doing?" He handed another complete and pristine form to Iruka.

               "Moral support," he didn't miss the slight jest on Iruka's voice.

               Accepting his fate, Kakashi sighed and prepared himself for a night of writing down mission details he just vaguely recalled whilst Iruka criticizes his calligraphy.

               "Don't sulk like that. I have some ice cream in the fridge. We can have it after you're done," he used his slightly-less-stern teacher voice. The one he used to bribe the pests to finish their homework so they could play.

               "My hand is killing me," Kakashi said with a dramatic flair, "you'll have to feed me, sweetheart," he mocked, making Iruka laugh at both the exaggerate whining and the sappy nickname.

               "You're impossible," Iruka rolled his eyes, which, Kakashi noticed, was not a 'no', "Does it mean you'll go to the hospital now after being stabbed at least?"

              "Never," he replied with a grin, "that's what I have you for now, right?"

              The glare he received wasn't enough to spoil his sudden good mood.

*

*

*

It was fun to write! And can fit in three prompts! (soulmates, first date, friends to lovers). That bit was mostly accidental I swear! It just happened.

I don’t think i’ll try my hand on other prompts, but it was fun! That’s my first time in a writing challenge. Thanks for @kakairu-rocks for the funny prompts and for answering my questions!

Also, you can thank @kakairuincorrectquotes for single-handedly giving me the headcanon Kakashi will never, ever go to the hospital after being stabbed. You’ll have to pry it from my hands now!

Bye. ♥

#kakairu valentines 2021 #kakairu valentines week 2021 #kakairu #kakairu.rocks #my first time trying a challenge out! #yey

[thiefswathe]

#FFxivWrite 2021    Prompt #1 // Foster

  ' Steady, now. Take aim. '

  It is just him and the stag — alone together in the dense green of the Twelveswood. The Keeper boy's ears swivel and turn around him, listening out as his leonine tail steadies and stills. He's balanced. Quiet.

  'You've practiced this. Y'know what to do.'

  The air is so thick with fog, he can hear the wood of the arrows clinking together inside the loose quiver as he draws back his arm. The season was deep in autumn. Still lush in its verdant, but now the leaves had begun to turn to bright yellows and oranges. The cold was settling in. Food was getting harder to find.

  'You've almost got it, Co'to. Just a little more...'

  Eyes bright as moonlight left the steady gait of the stag scavenging for his own meal. Instead, they looked to the creek, the glinting water from what few beams of sunlight broke through the trees. He needs to focus! Antelope was fleet of foot, Da told him. How many stripes had this one had? One, two...

  '— now!' And he feels his fingers loose on the bowstring. 

  A miss.

  The prominent horns of a great stag turned and met eyes with the boy long enough to sense the danger, and he's gone. Long gone, leaving behind the tremble of a half-eaten shrub.

  A heavy hand comes to ruffle the grey hair of the small kit holding the bow. The arrow… what arrow? It hardly made it but a few fulms away, veering off to the left. The boy had been hungry, distracted, but now...?

  A boy was angry.

  "That's not fair! You distracted me!" He shoves the figure behind him. Once. Twice! And with his ears back and tail lashing, he growls— "I could've HAD it this time —could've HAD IT!!!"

  "Yea — ? Then why didn't you?" The quirk of a grey brow lifts as he peers down at the child. "Th'Shroud's full of distractions. And every time, you always fail. Wonder why that is..." No point in standing around wondering. The figure turns, tugging the front of the boy's tunic.

  "Come. We'll miss th'caravan if we wait too long..."

  "— Co'a !!!"

  The young man stopped and turned back to witness the boy throwing the bow down onto the ground. Oh. Oh, this ought to be good. The older clanskeeper crosses his arms, "—throwin' a fit, are we?" A short breath draws inward, and he can smell the smoke of the campfires growing weaker. They must have been put out, meaning they wouldn't have much time. The hunt was never meant to take this long, anyhow.

  But a child like this one cares not for the essence of timeliness. In fact, he's resolute in consuming every last bit of it. The young Keeper then threw his quiver from off his shoulder, handmade arrows scattering as he kicked them in defiance. Hard.

  "Keep at it. Go on. You'll earn yer marks behavin' no less like a foolish tickwomp, for sure! How proud our mother'll be..."

  "I hate you. You're always PICKIN' on me!"

  "Am not!" He’s almost offended. Almost. "I'm tryin' to help you."

  A low growl, the stomp of an angry foot. "Gobshite! You're doin' it jus' t'be mean! Jus’ like you always do!" And now an angry boy is picking up an angry-looking rock.

  But the older Miqo'te was not afraid. Nor was he impressed. Amused, though? Amusement brings a laugh. Louder now when the boy rears his arm back with the intent to toss it. The young man who had aimed to be his target had seen over twenty summers and more than a few spats of combat and this angry little boy-child expects him to be afraid of a rock? A grey mark, proud and adorning his face, tattooed stretched across his cheek. And he calls attention to it with the tap of a finger.

  "Y'want your marks, Nico'to, you'll need to earn 'em. Ain't not a soul born in our clan who hasn't. Y'think I do it just so I can pick on you? Quite wrong you are." But Nico'a won't explain why. Not today. Gesturing to the strewn arrows. "Come… we'll practice again next time we make camp. New lands, new game." The hour was getting late anyhow. "Pick those up. Can't afford to waste 'em."

  Whether the boy followed or not... well, he had to, didn't he? Couldn't risk being left behind. He tried to defy, tried to stand his ground, but Co'to stood there long enough to drop the rock, begrudgingly lifting his bow and the bundle of arrows to stuff back into his quiver, kicking up the mud that had left his footprints before following his brother into the grass.

  They weren't too far off from their camp, but the trees in this part of the Shroud were so dense that it would be as if nightfall had come by the time they arrived. The ashen boy eventually caught up with his elder brother, who laughed once more, now putting an arm around him— "Little brother..."  

  ...Only to have it shoved off. "Don't touch me," the boy hisses. Though he may be small, a boy is fierce, and his words are bitter like poison.

  “Be angry all you like Co'to, but if our father saw you actin' a fool, he's not gonna take you to hunt. Now just imagine what our mother'll say, then..."

  "I don't care."

  "You will...~"

  "—Will not!"

  "I promise you. You will." And he means it, stopping dead in his tracks and kneeling down to better meet the boy, eye to eye, on his level. He turned Co'to by his bony shoulders to better face him. This was serious now, his ears falling back. "You have to. Ma said that we have to focus on gettin' our lands back if we have any chance at takin' back th'South. That means we won't be goin' on anymore hunts with Da. No more trips to Coerthas. No more ceremonies or childishness. No more whimsy, Co'to. You have t'grow up for a while now. We're in conflict with our enemies, you understand?"

 Oh yes. The boy understands. Better than most his age. Having a Matriarch for a mother meant that the world's weight held heaviest a burden to the family she leads. So, as angry as the boy wanted to be, his head falls, ears wilting. Co'a didn't need to see that his expression had softened beyond that mess of unruly grey as he turned his head away from him. But these boys were not weak, nor did they hide. So Co'a was there to bring those eyes right back.

  "Say it. Say it true. What's got you so angry?"

  A small sigh, "... Do we really need to leave? This territory is unclaimed, ain't it? Why can't we just make it ours?"

  "Because it's not home." And it's not unclaimed. "Y'know this..."

  "No, I don't! I barely remember home. I just remember it burning."

  "—And if we don't stop moving, the Trappers will just burn us out of this place, too. Same as last time." And the one before that. Co'a would have been surprised if Co'to could recall the wetlands or the great lake. Unfortunately, such was the case for most of the younger children. Clan Tjahaar had not held territory in the South in so many Turns; it was becoming something of a far-off distant memory. Even for him and his eldest sisters. 

  But that was soon about to change. The elder brother drew in a breath, releasing the somber expression he wore, "Y'didn't get the childhood I had. All this moving and poachin'. It's not how it's supposed to be. So that's why I have to be tough on you. And I'm only tough on you because there's still a chance that you can someday."

  Co'a rises, lifting Co'to so that they could move quickly as one. Another moon and the boy would be eight. He was getting too big to carry like this. They spent the remaining trip in silence, cautious in their journey back to where the camp had been established.

 But they wouldn't get far before the pair would need to hide. The sound of a movement not far from them sent the Keeper pair to the ground. Co'a kept the kit tucked safely against his broad chest. Ears up, mouths quiet.

  It's a language that neither of them knew, but only one could recognize. Co'a raised his head to peer up above the grass. They hadn't been seen. Not yet. A soft rumble in his throat, the purr of Huntspeak, "[It's the enemy...]"

  "[Trappers?]"

  "[No. Garlean...]" Enemy of the Wood. He very quietly rests his brother to the ground, letting him move out from under him to see the soldier in the distance. It's faint, but he's there. "See him?"

  Co'to had to follow his brother's finger as he pointed, but sure enough, he could see. They found themselves spying upon a patrolman. Adorned in fancy clothes and a sword on his back. Red. He stands out far clearer than any stag with all that unnatural red and black.

  Was this another test...? Nico'to was already drawing an arrow from his quiver. "I can hit him from here—!"

  "—Don't." A fast hand brings that bow back down. Co'a kept his eyes searching. So soon as the patrolman turned his back, the boys continued to move through the tall grass. "Your arrows won't pierce anything more than a stag's hide. Besides, there could be others. We must return an' inform Ma—"

  The hefty stomp of a large boot as they left the grass brought Co'a to realize that he had missed two imperials who now stood before him and his kit brother. Well...

  "...Shite." So much for a lesson in distractions. With no time to react, he slowly the older Keeper raised his hands in mock surrender as the soldiers began speaking. Neither of them could understand, not like they could understand much of what either of the boys could say, either.

  But wasting no time once Co'to was on his feet, Nico'a stood with him, snatching up his bow and a handful of arrows, and it is with fierceness and immediate reflex of a Keeper bowmaster that he draws back, letting loose one deadly arrow after the next. He's aiming for the nearest open space as they draw out their weapons — finding it high on the soldiers' throats.

  "Run, Nico'to! Run!!"

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #entry 1 #cw violence #late to post my entry but here it is!